The Scent of Lilacs (11 page)

“If you don’t give Ronnie a black eye.”

“I’ll do something even sneakier. I’ll be so nice to him he’ll go crazy trying to figure out what I’m up to.” Jocie grinned.

“Confuse the enemy.”

“Exactly. Night, Daddy.” Jocie kissed his cheek and looked around. “Aunt Love already turned in?”

“I think so. I don’t hear any more pans rattling.”

“Then maybe Jezebel isn’t waiting on the other side of the kitchen door to attack. I forgot to warn Tabitha about the evil that lurks in the dark ready to pounce at unsuspecting toes.”

“I’ll shut the door to your bedroom when I go up.”

“Good, but who knows? Jezzie hates me, but she may like Tabitha. We’re nothing alike, are we?”

“She’s been away from Hollyhill for a long time. But she seemed glad to be back.”

“Yeah.” Jocie hesitated a moment before she asked, “Do you wish Mother had come with her?”

“No,” he said without thinking and surprised himself. When he stood up to go up to his bedroom, he felt lighter the way the biblical David must have felt when he took off King Saul’s armor before going out to fight Goliath. Almost floating as he went out to meet the giant. But the shepherd David had seen the giant waiting for him and at least knew what he was up against. What giants were out there waiting for David Brooke?

Upstairs, David peeked in at Tabitha. Curled up in a ball with the sheet pulled up under her chin, she looked more like the Tabitha he remembered. Her honey brown hair fanned across the pillow. She’d left the headband on. His eyes touched on the rose on her cheek. A California girl in Hollyhill. That might be the first giant he had to face. He had a feeling he better add courage to his prayer list this night. And wisdom.

T
he door to the back porch barely squeaked when Jocie let the dog in. Nothing her father would hear upstairs with the fan running beside his bed. She told Zeb the rules—no barking or growling, no hiking his leg on the furniture, no chasing the evil cat. Zeb cocked his head to the left and intently watched her until she stopped talking. Then he settled on the rug beside the cot with a contented huff and closed his eyes. Jocie had a harder time settling down.

The long outside wall of the porch had four hinged windows that swung up and hooked to the ceiling to let in the cool night air along with the evening serenade. The tree frogs and katydids were going strong just outside. When an owl screeched over in Mr. Crutcher’s woods, Jocie reached down to touch Zeb’s head. The dog didn’t move, not bothered at all by the night sounds or the novelty of being inside, or almost inside.

A whip-poor-will began his night chorus. The same notes over and over, “whip-poor-will,” but there was something calming about the sound. Nothing unexpected. The bird never got bored with the song God had given him and switched it around to “poor-will-whip” or “whip-will-poor.”

And her father was right about the stars. A couple of the windows were blocked by the maple outside, but the others were open to the sky with stars so thick it was as if God had spilled a whole package of them there and the angels had forgotten to pick them
up and spread them around. How could she close her eyes on that and just go to sleep? It seemed disrespectful somehow.

Jocie started a thank-you prayer a dozen times, but her mind kept scooting away to other things. Tabitha sleeping in her bed. How to keep Zeb from barking if Jezebel made an unexpected appearance. The Mt. Pleasant vote. The kittens and the mother cat who might lead them off and lose them in the woods. Her own mother. DeeDee. Maybe she could write her a letter. She’d written her before and never gotten an answer, but maybe if she said “Dear DeeDee” instead of “Dear Mama.”

Dear DeeDee, I hope you are doing okay. We’re fine here and really glad to see Tabitha. Daddy was surprised. Why didn’t you come back with her?

Jocie stopped and rubbed out that last question with a mental eraser. She couldn’t ask that. After a few minutes she began to write the note in her mind again.
Do you look the same? I remember you were very pretty. I don’t look the same. I’m thirteen. Do you think I should ask Dad if I can buy a bra? I’m skinny and don’t much need one, but I can’t start high school without bra straps. I got a dog. Well, actually, God sent me a dog. Dad says he’s the ugliest dog he’s ever seen, but I like him. Do you like dogs?

I really don’t know what you like. Sometimes I wonder if you were ever here. I mean, I know you were. I remember seeing you, but did you listen to the whip-poor-will at night and wish you could find his tree and see him singing? Did you ever peek in on me at night to see if I was sleeping? Did you ever kiss my bumped head to make the hurt go away? Did you teach me to say Mama? I can’t remember any of that, and it seems like I should be able to remember something. I mean, I was five, almost six. Was I too young to be your sister and that’s why you left me behind? I mean, that’s okay. I don’t think I could be a California girl. Wes says I could, that anybody can move anywhere and be okay after a while. I guess he should know. Being from Jupiter and all. But I like Hollyhill. The people are sometimes funny, but aren’t people funny everywhere?

We’ll take good care of Tabitha. Love, Jocie
.

She went back and mentally crossed out the part about Wes and how she liked Hollyhill. Her mother would just laugh at that anyway. Of course, she probably wouldn’t ever write any of it down to send. Not unless Tabitha said her mother wanted to get a letter from her. Maybe after Tabitha had a while to rest, Jocie would ask her about their mother. After all, shouldn’t a person know something about her mother? Like her favorite color. And did she lick or bite ice cream cones? And did she still wear that icy pink lipstick and that tropical flower perfume? Did she ever talk about Hollyhill? Or Jocie?

Jocie swatted at a mosquito buzzing her ear, yanked the cover up over her head, and went to sleep.

The next morning Jocie was jerked awake by a mockingbird shouting out his songs. Normally she liked mockingbirds, but this one had not only variety but volume. She put her head under her pillow, but it was no use. Aunt Love started slamming skillets around in the kitchen, and Mr. Crutcher was hitting rocks as he bush-hogged his pasture just across the fence from them.

Beside her Zeb growled low in his throat. She’d forgotten about the dog. Jocie threw off the pillow, grabbed his muzzle, and whispered, “No barking.” She slid off the cot, glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen door, and then let Zeb out the back door. Just in time. Jezebel stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen door.

“Morning, Sugar,” Jocie said sweetly. The white cat arched her back and took a swipe at the air before turning back to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later Jocie had washed her face, combed her hair, and sneaked into her room for some clean clothes. Tabitha didn’t
move so much as an eyelash while Jocie was getting her stuff, even when the dresser drawer groaned as she pulled it open. Tabitha was so still, in fact, that Jocie stared at her chest before she left the room to be sure she was breathing while crazy headlines ran through her head. “Sister Returns Home Only to Die in Her Sleep.” “Chips from Unknown Truck Driver Poison Unsuspecting Girl.” But Tabitha was breathing, her chest rising and falling quite naturally. Jocie whispered a thank-you prayer and pulled the door shut behind her.

She made it to the kitchen just in time to rescue the biscuits and turn the bacon. Breakfast was her favorite meal, since Aunt Love hadn’t come up with any way to use up Mt. Pleasant’s bountiful supply of cabbage for breakfast.

Aunt Love was nowhere to be seen. That was her problem lately. She’d start cooking and then go off to do something else and forget all about the food on the stove till the smoke reminded her. What Jocie couldn’t understand was how come Aunt Love couldn’t remember the beans she’d put on to cook ten minutes ago but could still come up with half the verses in the Bible. But her dad said that was the way it was with old people, and they’d just have to try to help Aunt Love with the things she kept forgetting.

It wasn’t that Jocie didn’t like Aunt Love. She was family. She had to like her, or maybe that was love her. Maybe it was the liking Aunt Love she had a choice on. Love thy neighbor could just as easily say love thy senile old aunt. It wasn’t Aunt Love’s fault that she wasn’t like Mama Mae. Sisters, but not alike. Just like Jocie and Tabitha. Sisters, but nothing alike.

Jocie lifted the bacon strips out of the skillet and laid them out on a brown paper grocery bag to drain the grease. She was setting plates on the table when Aunt Love finally made her way back to the kitchen. If Jocie hadn’t come to the rescue, the bacon grease would have surely been flaming to the ceiling by now. Maybe they should start eating cornflakes for breakfast. Her father had
already asked Aunt Love not to cook at lunchtime if he or Jocie wasn’t there. Some days he took the fuse for the stove out of the meter box.

“Rejoice! For this is the day the Lord hath made,” Jocie said, beating Aunt Love to the punch with a little Scripture.

Aunt Love smiled. She wore her customary dark purple housedress with a white apron tied over it. A few white cat hairs clung to the sleeves of the purple dress, but the cat was nowhere in sight. Aunt Love’s iron gray hair was fastened tightly in a bun on the back of her head. Jocie had seen her cutting it one time. Aunt Love had washed her hair in the kitchen sink and combed it out down her back before gathering it all up in her hand to bring over her shoulder in a bunch. Then she’d unceremoniously snipped off a couple of inches. She’d said it didn’t matter if the length was uneven. A hair shorter here or there wasn’t going to make a penny’s worth of difference all wound up in a bun.

“Did you ever cut your hair short?” Jocie had asked. Jocie’s hair lapped her shoulders now, but she’d also had hair so short that she couldn’t wear a barrette much less a ponytail holder.

“Once, but I didn’t like it. So I let it grow back out,” Aunt Love had said. “I’ve had it in a bun like this for some forty years, I’d say. Truth is, my head like as not would lop over on my chest if it wasn’t anchored by that bun these days.”

Jocie had been surprised by the attempt at humor from Aunt Love. Sometimes she almost seemed like a regular person, but it never lasted long.

But now Jocie was determined to make it last longer. She was determined to stay out of trouble with Aunt Love, to not let it bother her when Aunt Love found fault, as she surely would, with anything Jocie did. She was determined to listen to her advice and not do things opposite for spite.

Being nice to Aunt Love was an act of thanks to the Lord for answering her dog prayer and her sister prayer. She still didn’t see
why Tabitha had said the sister prayer was so hilarious. If she’d been praying the same thing for seven years, then she’d understand, but it didn’t seem as if Tabitha had been praying any kind of prayer lately. Maybe Jocie could help her brush up her praying skills before somebody asked her to say grace or anything.

Now Aunt Love corrected Jocie’s verse. “ ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.’ Psalm 118:24, but that’s very good, Jocie.”

“Thanks,” Jocie said. “Do you want me to do the eggs for Dad? Where is he, anyway? He’s usually up by now.”

“He went out early to walk the fields and pray, I suppose,” Aunt Love said.

“Oh, the vote. Do you think he’ll take it?”

“He should, but I don’t know what he’ll do. Your father has to make up his own mind what’s best,” Aunt Love said. “With the help of the Lord, of course.”

“Yeah,” Jocie said.

Aunt Love took the basket of eggs from Jocie. “You did the bacon. I’ll do the eggs.” Then Aunt Love saw the pan of biscuits on top of the stove and remembered. “Oh dear, I did it again, didn’t I? I say I’m not going to leave the kitchen after I put something on the stove, but then I end up back in the bedroom looking for something and lose my concentration.”

“Don’t worry about it, Aunt Love. Nothing burned.” Jocie sat a jar of blackberry jam on the table beside the butter. “Tabitha’s still dead to the world.”

“I doubt she’ll be up before noon, if then. The best thing for her is to sleep, get rested up. The next few weeks may be difficult for her.”