the ears. Be sure they know what is expected of them and what will happen to them if they humiliate me in public. Make an example of someone ahead of time, and be certain the other children see it. This party represents an important opportunity to grow our reputation for offering the finest. With the new advertisements, we’ll have all of the best families in Tennessee and a dozen states beyond. They’ll all be coming to see our children, and when they see them, they won’t be able to help themselves. They’ll have to have one.”
“We’ll make certain the children are properly prepared. Just let me look again at the list.” They stop talking. Papers rattle. The wind shifts and blows the azalea branches, and I see Miss Tann’s head. Her short gray-brown hair catches the breeze and stands up straight when she bends close to Mrs. Murphy.
I press against the wall and hold real still, afraid they’ll hear me and look over the railing. The wind brings up the smell of something dead. I can’t see it, but it probably ate the poison Mr. Riggs put out. Once the stink gets bad enough, he’ll find the body and bury it someplace.
“Even May?” Mrs. Murphy asks, and my ears perk up. “She’s hardly a cherub.”
Miss Tann gives a sharp little laugh. “She’ll be a help with the little ones, and she is quite a pretty thing to look at, as I recall.”
“I suppose so.” Mrs. Murphy doesn’t sound happy. “She isn’t a troublemaker, to be sure.”
“I’ll have cars come for them at one o’clock on Saturday. Do not send them hungry or sleepy or needing to use the bathroom. Perky and bright and guaranteed to behave. That is my expectation.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What in heaven’s name is that ghastly smell?”
“Rabbits. We’ve had a problem with them this summer.”
I slip away before they can decide to go looking. Mr. Riggs is nowhere around, so it doesn’t take me long to get past the fig tree and back to the hill. I don’t tell Camellia about the viewing party or that we’re supposed to have an extra bath tomorrow. No sense letting her get started on a conniption fit ahead of time.
I’ve got a bad feeling that I don’t need to tell her about the extra bath anyhow.
Camellia hasn’t got blond hair.
Turns out, I’m right. After breakfast on Saturday, I find out that Camellia’s not on the list. Wherever we’re going, she’s not going with us.
“I ain’t sorry they don’t want me if it means another bath.” She pushes me away when I try to hug her goodbye.
“Be good while we’re gone, Mellia. Don’t give anybody trouble, and stay away from the big boys, and don’t go past the fig tree, and—”
“I don’t need lookin’ after.” Camellia lifts her chin, but there’s a little quiver in her bottom lip. She’s afraid.
“May!” one of the workers barks. “In line, now!” They’ve already got all the kids on the list gathered up.
“We’ll be back real quick,” I whisper to Camellia. “Don’t be scared.”
“I ain’t.”
But then she hugs me after all.
The worker yells at me again, and I hurry into line. The next hour and a half is full of soap, and scrubbing, and hair brushing, and bows, and toothbrushes under our fingernails, and ribbons, and lacy new clothes. We try on shoes from a closetful until we find some that fit.
By the time the workers take us to the cars out front, we don’t even look like the same kids. There’s the four of us, three other girls, a boy who’s five, two babies, and Stevie, who’s been told that, if he wets his pants again, he’ll get a whipping right then and there.
We’re not allowed to talk in the car. On the way over, the worker does the talking. “Girls, you will sit politely with your legs together like young ladies. Do not speak unless you are spoken to. You will be mannerly toward the attendees at Miss Tann’s party. You will say only good things about your time at Mrs. Murphy’s house. There will be toys and colors, cakes and cookies at the party today. You will…”
I lose track of her voice as the car goes over a hill and comes within sight of the river. May fades like a speck of sun on the water, and Rill comes out. She stretches toward the crack at the top of the window, and pulls in air and catches all the familiar scents.