Sweet Karoline (17 page)

"
Why do you need this place? You have your own room at home, don't you?"

He
nods. "This is for resting when I am looking for the treasure," he answers in a tone that says, 'stupid' right after. As if to prove my lack of intelligence, he lifts a gardener's tool bag from underneath the bed and hands me a trowel.

Off
we trod through the woods. Dembi finds a spot and instructs me on how to dig. Half-heartedly, compared to his frenetic actions, I do so. As we work I watch his beautiful face, red with exertion and excitement. Will this be the trio who never betrays you? Ice Queen Anne whispers.

Once
Dembi decides we've looked enough for this day, we replace the gardening bag and make our way back to the church to pick up our picnic things. It's deathly still in the duskiness of the old building.

"
Where are the birds?" I whisper to Dembi.

"
They sleep in the loft," he answers in the same whisper. "Look."

I
gaze upward, following his outstretched finger, and notice the choir loft that runs along the upper edges of the roofline, just before the spire shoots straight upwards. Quite large, at least in comparison to the tiny church, it follows the upper wall on three sides, facing the congregation, above the stone altar. The birds line up along the railings, their heads tucked under their wings, looking like a choir who's become very bored with their own music.

"
There's some big cupboards up there," Dembi says. "I found some old paper in there, too. Other Anne said they're choir stuff."

"
You were up there, Dembi? It doesn't look very sturdy."

We
are still whispering so as not to disturb the napping choir.

"
Oh, it's really safe. See the steps? It's really a ladder but it's OK."

I
stare at what looks like a fairly new ladder up against a corner of the church. I shiver. I don't think I'd ever want to make that climb. Leave the singing for the birds.

When
we return to the farmhouse it's almost dark. Dembi and I are covered in dirt. Mud is smudged on our noses and ground into our hair. Miriam is angry, I can tell, but she doesn't express it. She simply stands and stares at us from the front porch, one hand on her hips. A frown furrows her lovely brow.

"
I'm so sorry, Miriam," I say immediately as we mount the steps. "I know we were gone a very long time. Dembi and I got carried away searching for gold."

"
Gold!" Dembi says. His grin is mischievous and hints of secrets.

"
I guess we look a fright."

"
You do indeed. Dembi, go inside and have a shower. And make sure you wash your hair. And brush your teeth, too."

Dembi
hands over the picnic basket and skips inside. We hear him whistling all the way down the corridor.

"
I really am sorry. I know I was the adult in charge. I shouldn't have gotten so carried away. It was just so much fun."

She
sits down on one of the benches.

"
To be honest, I don't think I would've been so worried, but…I guess the shock of Karoline is finally sinking in. I feel so betrayed. I was anxious suddenly that you and she had cooked up some kind of swindle. I mean, maybe you came to see if the gold deposit was real. Maybe you had taken off with Dembi…"

"
My car's still here. Not to mention my purse and my passport."

She
has the grace to laugh along with me.

"
Yes, okay, I was being melodramatic." She sighs and I sit down beside her. "Memé is so bad today. She's been yelling and muttering, tries to get out of the bed. It's getting me down."

I
'm shocked by what comes out of my mouth next. "Listen, I've got some money. Please let me hire someone to help Memé. There must be a recently retired nurse around here who wouldn't mind the extra cash."

At
first she shakes her head.

"
Please. I haven't been here for you or Dembi or Memé. I know that wasn't really my fault but I'd still like to make up for it. I can afford it. Honestly."

We
stare at each other for a long minute, each of us still trying to come to terms with the fact of our existence. Although we are clearly different in many ways, it's difficult to look at the mirror image of your face without imagining that the emotions and reasoning are identical too.

"
We can spend more time together. You agreed that we should get to know each other. As long as you don't mind my staying longer, I would like to do just that. But you can't be tied to Memé every minute."

That
's when she relents. I know she is persuaded by the opportunity to be with me, know me, but Miriam's shoulders also demonstrate the burden of responsibility that has weighed on them for too long. She suddenly sits up straighter, looks lighter, when she says yes.

"
Do you know of an agency we can call?"

"
Yes. When the community care people came around, they gave me a card. I just never called."

"
Do that now, Triplet Miriam."

We
grin at each other and, as we stand, she embraces me.

Afterward
I wind my way to my room and shower. The water is soft and the pressure strong. Once I am clean and change my dirty clothes, I feel magnificent. A surge of love for my siblings races through me, warming my cells just as the shower heated my skin. I make my way back to the kitchen.

Dembi,
too, is fresh and clean, his short hair still damp and sticking straight up from his head. He looks like a cat who's swallowed a mouse. Although I have misgivings about going on this merry treasure hunt with him, encouraging him, I can't help but bask in his delight. After all, Karoline went with him. I high-five him as I walk in and he grins even wider. He sits at a small table in the corner, where a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle is slowly taking the shape of a full picture. He goes right back to work.

Miriam
has a pad of paper in front of her along with the agency's card. She looks up at me in relief.

"
It looks like you were right. The agency said they could probably send someone in the next day or two."

"
Excellent!"

We
sit at the kitchen table and talk while Dembi does his puzzle. As the sun completely disappears, we work side by side in the bright kitchen light while we prepare dinner. Miriam dashes off once in a while to check on Memé, who is at last sleeping soundly.

We
talk about everything. Lovers, friends, jobs, aspirations. Our adoptive families. My twin was raised in Ottawa, Ontario, by a fairly elderly couple—both light skinned blacks like us—who doted on her. Despite finding out later that they weren't her biological parents, she says she feels lucky that she was a part of their lives. They died too soon, one after the other, which devastated her. Her experience of family and her roots are decidedly different from mine. Perhaps because she wasn't straddling two races all her life, despite the lightness of her skin.

Miriam
is particularly interested in my parents. These are her aunt and uncle, Elizabeth her cousin.

"
There is a bible with a bit of a family tree. It stops at Memé and her siblings. We should look at it later."

"
I brought some of the pictures Elizabeth showed me, too. Maybe we can match up with the names."

Memé
's screams interrupt dinner several times. When Miriam scurries off, Dembi and I sing a song or tell a funny story. Anything to keep us from hearing the guttural sounds from the bedroom. The last time Miriam returns, her eyes are puffy and shadowed.

"
I don't know what she's saying half the time." She pushes her curls off her perspiring forehead. "She won't settle down and I hate to give her too much sedative."

We
are enjoying our dessert before the screams start again. I stand up.

"
Miriam, let's switch blouses. This time, I'll go. You've had enough for one day."

My
sister reluctantly agrees. We step into the next room, peel off our tops, and trade.

"
If this doesn't work, I'll call you," I promise her.

I
tiptoe into the hallway. Follow the hoarse screeches as much as the memory of where Memé's room is located. When I reach the doorway I see the skeletal body of our mother, scrunched up in the sheets, twisting and writhing on the mattress. Her nightgown is, mercifully, pulled all the way down this time. In fact she appears to be trying to crawl inside it. Even her toes disappear into the cotton. Her knees are doubled and she attempts to shove her arms in as well.

Silently
I approach the bedside. I am very close to her before her rheumy eyes focus on me. At first, I can tell Memé thinks I am Miriam. When the reality hits, her face contorts with fear. She gapes, opens and shuts her mouth continually. Spit drips down her chin. She's unable to emit any sound, however.

I
hunch down to hover just at her ear and whisper.

She
struggles to get away from me, but I hold onto one wrist as I tell her what she needs to hear. Finally she lies very still, as though her last breath has already rattled through her. I mix a dose of her medication and she obediently swallows. I am not afraid to give a little extra sedative so she'll stay asleep tonight. If anyone asks, I am simply being kind. She's had a shock today.

Just
as I turn my back to leave, she hisses.

"
Diable," my mother says very clearly.

I
smile at her and join my trio. The one I lost and found, the one I was cheated of for far too long. The one I substituted with poor choices, people who ultimately betrayed me. It isn't going to happen this time.

Dembi
and Miriam cleared the dishes while I was gone and are happily washing and drying. I take Miriam's place. She knows where the dishes go and I don't, I say.

"
It worked," I tell her. "I don't think Memé realized I wasn't you. She's asleep again."

"
You're a miracle worker. Thank you."

We
have fun doing this simple but satisfying chore. I can't help but recall my breakdown, the hours I spent washing every dish. Purifying, perhaps. Tonight, the task is pure pleasure. We laugh at Dembi's antics and his silly, funny stories.

Miriam
checks on Memé, but she is sound asleep. We settle in the room that I called a parlor, with tea, cookies, the Bible and the pictures I brought. Dembi is as interested as we are.

I
look more closely at all the antiques. An old gramophone, its reddish wood polished and mostly unscratched, stands in the corner. It still works, Miriam tells me. She demonstrates with an old record by a singer from the forties whose voice is warbled and soft.

The
chairs are of the Louis XIV variety, stiff and uncomfortable for long sits, but beautifully covered and carved. Several brass or iron statues look at me with disapproving frowns. They are so heavy I can barely lift them. Judging by the dust, nothing has been moved in here for quite some time.

I
try very hard not to think about how much all of this is worth.

The
three of us sit together on a fairly new sofa, new at least in comparison to the rest of the furniture. Miriam is in the middle, the family Bible on her lap, while I hold the pictures, ready to be disseminated. Dembi is alert and excited. This is history, his favorite subject. His obsession.

The
Bible is enormous, leather bound and filled with brightly colored pictures, most of them depicting horrific scenes. Bodies spread out at the feet of a serpent with a variety of death grimaces etched on their faces. People are punished in so many different ways, drowned, speared, killed by toppled towers, that we stop looking very quickly and focus on the pages at the front.

They
are designed to fill in your family tree, with a spot for birth and death dates. As Miriam mentioned, the names at the top are those of our mother and her siblings. We start there and go down the tree backwards.

Elizabeth
May Johnston, born May 31, 1926. It's a shock to realize that Memé is only 56 years old. She looks thirty years beyond that, the way her body has shriveled and caved in. I shiver.

Vera
June Johnston, born June 4, 1924.

I
can't help but laugh. "My mother—our aunt, that is—told me and Elizabeth that she doesn't have a middle name. No wonder! Looks like they just picked the month the girls were born in. Not too creative."

"
The boys didn't get a second name at all," Miriam says.

William
Johnston, born February 11, 1923. Died August 3, 1928.

"
Wow, just a little boy when he died. I wonder what happened to him."