Sweet Karoline

by Catherine Astolfo

  "I think Memé believed I did it. That's why she sent me away. Probably so did my adoptive mother."

  Perhaps this explains Vera's wariness, her distance. I am a being to be feared.

  Dee pushes her chair closer to me. I almost flinch when her arm drapes over my shoulder, pulling me to her. Instead, I allow the heat of her sympathy to drift over my skin. I'm not sure what I will do if she doesn't hold me upright.

  "Remember that Libby was, and still is, limited in her understanding. She was the product—and the victim—of incest. Despite her beauty and gentleness she was not very smart. She couldn't help but believe in the superstitions and tales of witchcraft."

  "So she called her sister to come and get me."

  "Yes, I think so. Of course I wasn't here, so I don't know for certain. No one but Libby and Larue would know."

  "And Vera."

  Dee takes in a large breath and cuddles me closer. I don't resist. I can't sit up.

  "Maybe. You will have to ask her some day, poor child. The important thing for you to remember is that you were little more than a baby back then. It's extremely doubtful that you could have done such a thing of your own accord."

  I think of the pampered, oblivious, selfish, icy Anne. The 'me' who walked through life with her haughty self-aggrandized attitude. Could that person have lit a fire that killed two people? I believe she could and would. She murdered her best friend. She could easily eliminate those abusive uncles from her life.

  And who am I now? Can a monster of such epic rage transform into a loving, beloved creature?

  "But what if I did do it?" I ask Dee, my voice tremulous against her breast as she holds me.

  She grasps my chin and forces me to look straight at her. "You were four. A little girl in a terrible situation. Most of Libby's brothers were cruel drunks. Who knows what they did to you or to Dembi? Maybe you had reasons to burn down that cesspool."

  On some level, she too thinks I did it. She believes I was justified. But wonderful, generous, kind-hearted Dee will never know what it's like to feel responsible for the death of three people. To experience a rage so deep and uncontrollable that it turns you into a raving maniac. To not know who you are. She is a wife, a mom, a caregiver. Who is Anne? Which Anne can I trust?

  I am suddenly too tired to think. A blanket of exhaustion washes over me. Slowly I extricate myself from Dee's embrace and sit up.

  "I have to lie down, Dee. I can't even think."

  "You rest, love. We'll talk again soon."

  The big woman lifts herself gracefully from the chair and leans over a cupboard. She pours something into a small glass.

  "I found some very nice Scotch in the cupboard just now," she says with a smile. "This will calm your nerves."

  I smile back, remembering my binge the other day and take a satisfying sip. "Thanks, Dee."

  "I'll see you in the morning, dear."

  I traipse a little further into the hallway, past the route to my room, and listen near Memé's door. I can hear the soft voices of my siblings though I can't tell what they're saying. The cadence is excited and joyful, held quiet out of respect alone. The puff, puff of the oxygen machine is our mother's only reply. I take a sip of the scotch and feel a burning sensation in my stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

  Guilt churns its way through my intestines. I am, for the first time, truly sorry. I'm sorry for telling you I hate you, Memé. I'm not sorry for the feeling, only for the selfish act of saying it out loud.

  I slip quickly past the doorway to the parlor where I curl up in a chair and dial Ethan's number.

  He sounds sleepy when he says "Hello."

  "Are you okay?" I ask, and suddenly he's awake.

  "Anne," he breathes, as though he has just discovered me.

  I picture him falling asleep in his chair, hair sticking straight on end, big eyes blinking without the glasses to focus them.

  "I'm okay. Just bushed. That case kicked the shit out of me. I'm glad you can't read the L.A. papers."

  I listen to his voice for a while as he outlines his harrowing experiences. Try hard not to imagine how dangerous it must have been. In mid sip, he suddenly asks me how I am doing. I swallow quickly and a hiccup bursts into the receiver, which makes him laugh. I love the sound of his laugh, so I giggle, too. I decide to leave out a few details of my own narrative, keep the conversation light.

  "I assume you're imbibing again this evening, milady."

  "Yes. I'm becoming quite the lush, kind sir. I shall return to LA LA Land with several new habits."

  He laughs again. "You'll fit right in. But seriously, how's it going? I can't imagine how strange all of this must be."

  "I'm okay, really." I feel the reverberations of truth. "I can't believe how easily Miriam and Dembi and I have bonded. They're so…good, Ethan. Easy to love. I can't wait for you to meet them."

  "You say the word, my sweet, and I will be on the next plane. I'm getting sick of the smog and the crime. L.A. and I are not on good terms right now."

  "Wow, I don't think I've ever heard you so down about the job. Don't tell your parents."

  He laughs again, even heartier than before. "They would be thrilled if they knew how I was feeling. But I think L.A. is just missing a spark or something. Or maybe a beautiful body snuggled up to mine. Something like that, anyway."

  "Aha! You're not depressed, you're just horny."

  Now we both laugh and it feels great.

  "I mean it, though. If you want me up there, I have weeks of vacation coming to me. And if that doesn't work, we can take a trip when you come home."

  "A trip sounds wonderful. As for coming up here, I think not just yet."

  I struggle to put it into words for him.

  "We've hired a nurse for Memé and she's terrific. Dembi and Miriam and I hung out together all day. Ethan, I think I'll be here longer. I want to see how Memé progresses with the new help."

  How can I tell him that the real reason I don't want him here is because I haven't yet discovered whether or not I am a monster? That I cannot trust myself, as a friend, sister or lover?

  "And we've been invited to a huge powwow near Vryheid next Saturday," is what I do say.

  "What's a powwow?"

  I explain the celebration in general terms, the way Miriam told it to me. At first Ethan sounds intrigued but a yawn soon betrays him.

  "I'll let you go, babe. You sound so tired."

  "I hate to admit it but I can barely stay awake. At least things are back to normal around here, if there is such a thing as normal in L.A. My hours won't be so long. We can talk more often."

  We say good night. I am left with an unsatisfactory, empty feeling. Despite the scotch I am no longer relaxed.

  Out in the hallway I hear my sister and brother laugh as they prance toward the family room next door. I join them in front of the television. We watch a movie that I've never even heard of. Something Canadian I think. I mostly watch Miriam and Dembi. They think it's hilarious, can repeat some of the lines and love tossing popcorn at one another.

  I try very hard to loosen up but I am tense and uncomfortable. Ice Queen Anne rears her ugly head and wants to comment haughtily on the poor quality of the hick film. I override her voice with a hearty guffaw. I feel apart from my siblings right now. The newbie. Removed from some of the quirks they have learned about one another. I have not been given this gift of knowing through time. Both Memé and Karoline robbed me of that. Ice Queen Anne laughs at me.

  Miriam stretches and yawns as she reaches over to grab my stockinged toes. Next she pats Dembi's arm. I am enthralled with the way she does this so naturally. She touches us constantly. Her love is reassuring and physical.

  "I'm sorry, guys, I'm so tired. I'm going to bed to read and fall asleep forever."

  Dembi frowns at her. "If you fall asleep forever, you die," he says, his voice serious and worried.

  "Sorry, Dembi, I was just exaggerating. I think hunting all day has made me very, very tire
d. But don't worry, I will wake up tomorrow."

  "Okay." He nods, walks over and turns off the television.

  "Did you want to keep watching, Anne?" Miriam asks.

  I stand up. "Nope, I'm right behind you. Even though I've hunted for a couple of days, I am still not in shape. Not like you, Dembi. You are so strong."

  He curls himself into me. His tall frame c-shapes the way a very large dog would try to sit on its owner's lap. I instinctively reach around and pull him close. His head lolls on my shoulder. We stand side by side, child-man and childish woman, neither of us quite fit for this world.

  Miriam joins us. Wraps us in her firm, responsible, generous embrace. For a moment there is no sound but Dembi's contented sigh, until Rolly begins a loud purr at our feet. My brother automatically breaks the huddle, reaches down and sets the cat on his shoulder. We all toddle off toward our rooms.

  Dear Diary,

  I had some friends who were Catholic and I think they have the right attitude. Sin, sin, sin all week, then off you go to confession and get forgiven. I like that.

  Chapter 20

  From Friday to Wednesday, our days become something of a routine, though not in any usual sense. We arise, have breakfast and go hunting for gold. On hot days we swim in an inlet of the river that's deep and cold and protected from the rapids. Every afternoon we're back at the farmhouse.

  Melody comes to work every single day, including the weekend. Her husband, she informs us, is off on a course. Her own children have gone on vacation with the grandkids in tow. She insists that she's bored and lonely, that Libby needs her.

  We certainly don't object.

  Dembi and Miriam visit Memé to bring her up to date on the treasure adventures. By the fourth day, I stand in the doorway watching, but I am still reluctant to enter. Although our mother is clearly dying, her color has improved. She is able to speak a few intelligible words. She doesn't react badly to my presence, though I'm not sure she really sees me.

  I send a post card to Parris and call her once. She's supportive and kind. I realize that I haven't really been gone that long. Yet it feels as though I have been away forever. I am not the person who left L.A. such a short time ago. Despite the occasional resurgence of the Ice Queen, I am different. It's reassuring to know that the separation hasn't altered my friendship with Parris or my love for Ethan.

  I used to be terrified that everything would change once I left. That I would lose what I'd gained. Now I am cautiously satisfied that those who really care about me will not abandon me in my absence. I must be on the right track. I hope.

  On three separate occasions we venture out into Brantford to shop, consciously avoiding Burford. We decide that it's too small to provide the groceries and toiletries we need. But I know we're really postponing the three-ness of us and the inevitable scrutiny. The powwow becomes our target for the unveiling, though surely by now Dee has spread the word about my presence.

  In the evening we play board games, watch television or work on Dembi's puzzle. Rolly curls around at our feet or hops onto the table to mess up a few checker pieces or roll a marble off the edge. I begin to feel quite fond of the little scamp.

  Miriam and I talk every night about everything. She becomes closer to me than Karoline or Parris ever did or could. Gently she encourages me to be honest about my struggles with who I am. Ice Queen Anne slowly splinters, only rearing her ugly head now and then. Miriam teaches me that there are good and bad sides to everyone, though I'm aware that her definition of bad doesn't cover at least two of my sins.

  "Miriam, I was so self-absorbed and entitled. You wouldn't believe it. I was the kind of person who took her own olives to the bar, so I'd have the right blend for my martini."

  My sister gives me the laughter I was aiming for. I can tell her about my superficiality, my snobbishness, my shameful treatment of the men and women who lived on the periphery of my life. I can tell her about Giulio and try to figure out the why of Karoline's treacherous letters. I am able to speak of my breakdown after Karoline's death. I can talk about Ethan and how his love has helped transform me.

  I cannot tell her about the night Karoline died. Or about the memories that began to surface when I set foot in this house.

  Miriam speaks of her failed relationships. She too has been stalked, stared at, mistreated, but somehow she never saw her beauty as a handicap. One man broke her heart three years ago and she's been unable to reach out to anyone since. Of course much of her time lately has been taken up with family history and Dembi and Memé.

  She talks about Karoline, too. I try hard to listen. We both continue to feel a depth of betrayal that may never disappear. I tell Miriam something about Karoline's disintegration. I confess my inaction and the consequent guilt. I attempt to follow Karoline's trail backwards, but I haven't got all the information. I vow to solve the puzzle of her actions eventually, but right now I am focused on the present. On the developing relationships, not the past disappointments.

  We become almost as obsessed with our family history as Dembi is. We call Elizabeth. She and Miriam talk for a long time. I avoid Vera and Ian for now. I tell myself that I'm already dealing with too much.

  We decide that we have to make an appointment with the Burford museum curator. Thus far we have avoided the village and the inevitable scrutiny. We shopped in Brantford or Miriam went alone. Even in the larger town we've been objects of interest, but who could blame them? Three identical beauties stroll through the mall in the middle of the day. I am used to the attention. However, it's far better when it's shared.

  Our curiosity eventually overcomes the fear of gossip. Miriam makes an appointment with Mary Lou West. We don't even attempt to convince Dembi that we should show her the Vryheid book. We plan to soak in information, not provide it.

  I also talk to Ethan every night. Although I am tempted to ask him to come up here, I resist. I am a little more self-assured but there are still so many questions. How can I say, "I love you", when I can't say that to myself? When I'm not sure if the deep-seated rage has disappeared or is simply hiding? When I can't forgive myself?

  On Wednesday, a blistering sultry day that feels as though we are walking through a hot shower, Miriam, Dembi and I visit the Burford Museum.

  Dembi is in a strange mood. He's fidgety and doesn't eat much. Although he says he's feeling all right and wants to come to the museum, he looks tired and cross. He brightens a little as we near the museum. His beloved history beckons.

  Dear Diary,

  Do you find nice people boring? I know I do. I like edgy, mean characters with some intelligence. I love that comedian, Rodney Dangerfield. "My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I want a second opinion. He said okay, you're ugly, too." Honestly, that's hilarious. Especially if you say it to someone who's really crazy.

  Chapter 21

  "Hi, Dembi, hi, Miriam," the curator says as she gazes with unabashed curiosity at the three of us.

  "This is Anne, our missing third," Miriam tells her.

  Mary Lou West is a young, slim woman dressed in a professional blue skirt and jacket that look incongruous with the earring in her nose. Her straight black hair, deep brown eyes and dark skin hint at a heritage similar to ours. She is friendly, enthusiastic. Her handshake is cool and firm. Though a look of bewilderment crosses her face, she doesn't miss a beat in her greeting.

  The museum is located in an old red-bricked, two-story house with a wide porch painted grey and a welcoming green door. I don't generally like old houses, but this one doesn't have that customary moldy scent. Its rooms have been opened up and are lined with display cases and bookshelves. In the middle, tables are piled with papers, books, and files. They look orderly, however. Mary Lou leads us to the chairs around one of them.

  "I've pulled some files for you," she says. "Our collection is the result of several years of hard work and grants. Plus, there are volunteers like yourselves who have brought us a lot of information. Especially you, Dembi."

  H
e grins, flaps his hands happily and returns her hello in an overly loud voice. He looks funny in a red shirt suspiciously spotted with something yellow. I wanted to help Dembi with his outfits but Miriam reminded me that this is a harmless way of honoring his independence. So I try not to be embarrassed.

  "We're very proud of our museum and I'm thrilled that you've come. The history of Vryheid doesn't have much documentation, so Dembi's interest and insights have been invaluable."

  You have no idea just how detailed the documentation is, I wish to say.

  Mary Lou can't wait to give us her historical lecture. She uses some of the papers and books to prove her points.

  "As you know, Joseph Brant lived in this area in the 1780's and he brought slaves with him from the United States. We think they came voluntarily and were more like employees than slaves."

  The Book of Vryheid is certainly split on that theory.

  "Lots of runaway slaves came up through the underground railway during those years. Some of them joined the native bands, married into the families and settled in this area. Others travelled to more distant parts of Ontario."

  "They used the Grand River," Dembi says.

  "Yes." Mary Lou smiles at him. She's not at all condescending. Her fondness for Dembi is obvious. "Most travelers used the river to move around. And that's where most of the native settlements were built. All up the river, so they could fish and hunt and travel."

  "Joseph Brant had a lot of land."

  "He certainly did, Dembi. But he used it so our native inhabitants could live and work there. He gave a lot of it away and sold some of it, too. Though he had to fight for permission to make those sales."

  "Didn't he own it?" I ask.

  "Sure, but not in the way the white man did. Indians had to get permission from the government to lease or sell the land. In fact, it's still much the same today on the reservations."