“Aggie, what are you doing? “He groaned. “You don’t know how I feel.”
Agnes knew how he felt because she felt the same way. But something else was at stake. Her vanity.
Keeping one hand cupped over a certain place, Agnes had retrieved her clothes and stepped behind a bush to redress. Woody had protested painfully all the while. Then, when he realized she was going to leave, he became rude.
“Why do you think I brought you here?” he’d shouted.
“To propose?” Agnes stepped out from behind the bush, fully clothed but mostly unbuttoned.
“Yes, but . . ..” Woody had kicked at a stone. “Go on, then, I’ll live.”
And she’d fled, telling herself she’d make it up to him.
Agnes saw the light in the kitchen before she saw Olivia’s car. She used her key to the front door, hesitating in the shadowed living room. Olivia, being Olivia, was going to say something and she didn’t want to wake Mother. Instead, she’d come up to stand inches in front of Agnes, holding a teacup. Her hands were shaking so badly that the liquid spilled.
“I warned you, and now look what you’ve done.”
It was a whisper.
“I’ve done nothing!” Agnes hissed. Seeing the disbelief in her sister’s eyes only made her madder. That she’d wanted to, that she’d denied herself as well as Woody (who would pout for days), because she’d forgotten the henna rinse should be applied everywhere did not matter. Agnes did not like to be teased.
“Listen to me,” Olivia said, “Woody’s back, but he brought a women boarder with him. She’s living with the family out on Kill Creek.”
“That woman is a schoolteacher.” Agnes spat out the word, as if calling it were the worst thing she could imagine. Besides, she already knew this. Woody had said his family needed some extra income and Parboiled wanted to start a kindergarten on the second floor above his barber shop. That is, if he could get the loan. Then, he’d winked.
“Besides, she’s old,” added Agnes, as if calling her a schoolteacher wasn’t insult enough.
“Jenny Parry is not old,” Olivia told her. “I saw her at church last week. She was sitting with Esther.”
“Woody’s mother is a stickler for attendance. Esther probably dragged her along.” Agnes was flailing and she knew it. Yes, she knew the woman was moving to Kill Creek, but she didn’t think the family would take to her. Woody said she was an embarrassment. “She’s old. Woody’s s been laughing about her for months.”
“Come in the kitchen and talk to me.”
“Not a chance,” Agnes had bolted up the stairs, and slammed the door to her room. Even so, her sister’s warning floated up, loud and clear.
“None of those Garret men are worth a bucket of warm piss. You’re not the first girl they’ve ruined.”
Agnes had cried herself to sleep that night because she hadn’t been.
to be con’t.
copyright, Joan Spilman That’s not Love! “Harshbarger Mills”, 2023
