Sweet Karoline (30 page)

Chapter
30

"I don't think she meant to fall," I stammer through my tears. "I think she was so shocked by what I said. I think she wanted me to tell her it was going to be all right. That we'd work it out. That I'd stay with her forever."

Ethan
moves around so he can see my face.

"
No wonder you feel so guilty. Oh, Anne, that's horrible. So awful and traumatic. I'm not surprised you had your own breakdown."

My
eyes burn and my throat is sore. There is so much anguish and guilt pouring out of me. My tears have turned to acid.

"
I've been so afraid that I'm a bad person. I probably burned down Vryheid when I was four. I killed two of my uncles. I murdered my best friend when I shouted at her. Instead of calling emergency services, I was haughty enough to think I could deal with her. Then instead of talking to her nicely, I argued with her. I shouted at her. I dared her to do it. I obviously have this terrible anger. What if that monster is still inside me? What if I can't control her?"

We
both sit up facing one another now. I am shaking but not with cold. Ethan puts his hand under my chin and forces me to look into his eyes. Those blue understanding eyes.

"
Anne, you are not a bad person. You are loving and sweet and thoughtful and kind. You can't even see yourself. Karoline had you twisted around. She convinced you that you were worthless and heartless. That's what psychopaths do. They abuse and hurt and shame."

He
puts his hands on both my shoulders.

"
You didn't kill Karoline. She got up on that damn wall and she fell. Maybe you startled her with your honesty. But she was up on a railing seven stories above the ground and that was her fault."

He
looks as though he wants to shake me. Ensure his words are driven home.

"
And I do not for one minute believe you set that village on fire. You were a little girl. You might have dreamt now and then that you would get rid of the place by burning it down. But you couldn't have done the kind of destruction that resulted in two deaths."

I
cannot stop crying, but I do hear him. After a minute or two I collapse against him and we lie back down. He caresses my cheek, wipes away the tears. His lips brush against mine. His hands feather my neck and my breasts.

I
lean into him. I stop weeping.

"
I love you."

"
I love you, too," I answer and this time I don't feel reluctant or doubtful.

Ethan
pulls me on top of him. Encircles me with his long sturdy arms. Our lips connect. Our tongues find each other's warmth and silk. I shift a little and open my legs. He enters me and we move in slow tender motions.

And
the two shall be as one, I whisper to myself, and this time no one contradicts me.

Dear Diary,

I
've read psychology books that say people's personalities are pretty much fixed by the time they are four. I think they're wrong. People can change. They can get better or worse. Maybe there are some things that are written in stone, like if you're anti-social or something. But the rest can be influenced by the situation. I can point to a few examples in my life, believe you me!

Epilogue:
2013

In response to recent revelations, the reporters will be here in the morning. I have to get ready for them. Having spent my whole career in the television and movie business, you would think I'd be a natural. I can handle anyone else's book-to-screen press conference. Handling my own is turning out to be completely different.

Outside,
the Pacific goes about her daily chores. Nothing will be different for her tomorrow. As for me, I will present a book to the world that will turn the light of millions of eyes onto our family.

I
love this ocean. She is wild, untamable, beautiful and ugly. Every day she reacts to her natural rhythms without censure. Waves might be gentle and easy, immediately followed by aggressive ferocity. The water grabs at the sand, pulls it in to blend with the salt, capriciously throws it back again. I love the sound of its fists against the rocks.

I
am still breathless when I look out over this vista. I can't believe my good fortune and never take it for granted. This house, these houses really, since there are three of them on the property, are beyond decadent. I reside in complete and utter luxury.

Sometimes
the guilt washes over me, the same way my beloved sea covers my head with a wave now and then. I'll spend a few minutes giving to charity online.

Mostly,
however, my days are filled with sunshine, water, laughter, extravagance and love. Perhaps I am not deserving of such things, but that's the way it happened.

Thinking
once more about what led to this place, this unveiling, has made my past come alive again. That's good, because I must be prepared for questions. I must be ready to answer correctly. To never be exactly truthful.

As
I wait for the reporters to arrive and snap pictures of the Book of Vryheid, I don't just think about those early events from the 1980's. I also contemplate the twenty years since Karoline died. I know time hasn't really gone by quickly. Sometimes it just feels that way.

Ethan
took a leave of absence that summer of 1983 and we stayed in Canada at the farmhouse for several months. Throughout those long luscious weeks, Memé enjoyed a well-deserved remission from pain. It was a wonderful time. We laughed a lot. Played like children. Got to know one another for real.

Vera
and Ian came to visit. So did sister-cousin Elizabeth. There was, eventually, forgiveness.

When
Memé's time was over, Vera returned to the farmhouse. She was there with us at her sister's deathbed. She was helpful and kind in the aftermath, too. She wouldn't talk much about her early years, but we learned enough to become somewhat sympathetic.

Vera
plays grandmother to my children, though she's slowing down in her early eighties. Ian is wonderful as a grandfather, too. They remain in Bell Canyon but they're in a retirement home now. We visit as often as we can.

Parris
came to Memé's funeral and stayed a few days. All these years later she is still my friend. We've gone through a few life changes together, including marriage and babies. It's a great feeling to share life's joys and sorrows with someone who knows you so well.

I
learned more in those months at the farmhouse than I had in thirty-three years. Memé, Dembi and Miriam modeled family for me. Ethan taught me love.

Memé
never did fully recover her power of speech. She never told us much about what had happened with Karoline and Glenn. As for him and his cohorts, they did their time in jail. We haven't heard anything about them since.

By
pointing at pictures and mumbling simple words, Memé was able to reveal that Larue was our father. Although they never married, she really knew a strong healthy love with him. I hope it's true that people reunite in the afterworld.

I
became very proud of my heritage. No longer do I feel as though I have to pick sides. I am a hybrid. Years later I became a spokesperson for unity between races. Ironically, my face is well known throughout the country these days. Something I didn't want when I was younger. I am a television star. I am often a guest on talk shows. I'm the one in those ads from the state promoting understanding and community.

We
found Cornwall Johnston. He lived in a hovel just outside Vancouver. Gradually we convinced him to come and stay with us. He hasn't left. He's one of the residents of our compound beside the Pacific Ocean. Of course no one knows that. An agent still sells his paintings. The art world is astonished every time a new one is 'discovered'. As a result, we are all insanely rich. Even his paint box was worth a fortune.

The
Johnstons were, indeed, a talented bunch. Cornwall's forefathers had kept the Vryheid Book throughout the decades and every one of them was a great artist. CoJon was the best of them, but he says that's because he had the example of his ancestors. I think it's because the artistic gene just kept getting stronger. One of my daughters shows great promise. Maybe the talent will keep going into the future.

It
wasn't easy getting Cornwall to tell us about the Vryheid fire. He was wracked with guilt because he hadn't paid any attention to the abuse and insanity within his family. A gentle giant with a huge talent, he kept to himself. Lived quietly in one of the village huts. That terrible night he was away in the cave—Dembi's cave—where he did his painting, when the smoke and screams drew him back. It was only after his two brothers died that he learned of the appalling treatment of their younger sister. He gave the farm to her and retreated from the world.

Although
Cornwall is now in his eighties, he's still energetic and strong. Every morning he walks around the property. Every afternoon, until the light wanes, he paints. I think he's overjoyed at this second chance with Memé through her children and grandchildren.

Ethan
left his job shortly after we were married. Ted and Teresa were ecstatic, both with the wedding and my husband's retirement. They are thrilled to be grandparents again. Ethan keeps very busy with a variety of projects. Three of them being our two daughters and me.

We
kept the farmhouse but followed through, in a fashion, with the donation of Vryheid. Our lawyers negotiated a major change to the gift. The museum has a ninety-nine year lease. The Johnstons technically own the village. After all, the rumors about the gold still might be true. Memé wouldn't be expected to know all those nuances when she originally gave the land away.

The
farmhouse serves as the Burford museum these days. Mary Lou West and her collection moved in with the antiques we agreed to leave behind. Dembi spends a lot of time there.

Every
year we all return to Vryheid for the annual powwow held on the grounds. You should see the place now. It's dotted with little gardens. The church has been restored to its former beauty. The cemetery is well kept. There's even a real road right into the village.

The
farm is now surrounded by huge homes that are architectural beauties. Miriam, her husband Viho and their children live in the loveliest one. They have a house here, too, more like a cottage, where they spend several weeks a year. Dembi has a room at Miriam's as well as a small cottage here. He has become close to Uncle Cornwall on visits to California.

Dembi
hasn't been the same since Memé died. He lost some of his childlike nature. Now that we're all in our fifties, we're a bit more subdued, but Dembi is almost withdrawn.

In
the last couple of years we decided to release the Book of Vryheid to the world. It will be a national treasure in Canada and a source of endless interest in the States. Its sale will also keep our children and future grandchildren in the style to which they are or will be accustomed.

As
usual in L.A., there is talk of a documentary and a movie. Right now I am simply interested in getting through the press conference.

Initially
it wasn't easy to move the book from its hiding spot. Dembi was terribly upset. He changed his mind when we took him to Dublin and showed him the Book of Kells. He decided our book deserved a similar place in history.

I
still have the occasional doubt or run-in with the Ice Queen. However, I am living proof that people can change. On the whole I am gratefully happy with life. I adore Ethan and my daughters. I'm a very good mother. I miss Miriam and Dembi every day and revel in our long visits and vacations.

As
long as I remember to never be exactly truthful, everything will be all right.

No
one will ever know that my memory returned during my first stay at the farmhouse. Flashbacks of the night Vryheid burned gradually became clearer. Eventually, I saw my little girl self as plainly as though I had remembered all along.

I
lit the dry grass around the hut where my uncles were working on their illegal home distillery. They'd told me to stay away from the equipment in the back. At the time I thought they said it was highly flappable, but soon I knew what they meant. I did stay away. I didn't get too close when I threw the smudging stick right into one of the open cans.

Those
men didn't deserve to live. Filthy disgusting animals. I saw what they did to my mother when Larue was away. I saw how they got her drunk and crawled into her bed. Memé did love me, but she had to give me away for my own protection. And perhaps to protect the others, too. I don't know whether or not she knew the truth about the fire. She never asked and I never told.

No
one will ever hear about the rather strong shove I gave Karoline the night she died. She would probably have jumped anyway. After all, she was responsible for Giulio's suicide and she kept my trio away from me. She was a psychopath. Ethan said so.

As
for my husband, I will never tell him that I knew who he was the moment he set foot in our apartment. How could I not know? The upper echelon of money and stardom in Hollywood is surprisingly small. I was a little afraid my lifestyle might change once Karoline was gone. My creature comforts and travel budgets might have been cut drastically without her. As it turned out, I needn't have worried. My calculated pursuit of Ethan doesn't really matter anyway. I truly did fall in love with him.

I
will never mention Glenn or the Fischers. As far as anyone is concerned, they simply dropped out of sight after jail.

Nowadays
I can handle the Ice Queen. I only let her out when absolutely necessary. I simply keep her thoughts and secrets to myself, locked up safe in my diary.

~ * ~

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