The Green Lace Corset

by Jill G. Hall

  “Don’t you ever come back!” she yelled.

  Cliff came running from the barn in his long johns. “What in the Sam Hill blazes . . .” He followed Sally Sue’s gaze as the man continued on the path off the ranch.

  “You told me it wasn’t loaded.” She’d liked the power of shooting a gun.

  “Just a white lie. I wasn’t sure what you would do with it.”

  “Are you cockeyed? I could’ve killed him. Besides, I’m no scaredy-cat,” she said, even though she was still shaking in her boots.

  Cliff put his hand on her shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, but he’s gonna be hurting soon.”

  “Why?”

  “I gave him one of those rotten apples.”

  “You’re as wise as an owl.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. Now, put your clothes on and teach me how to actually shoot before I really kill somebody.”

  He paused and walked with her to the cabin and looked around inside. “Not today. I’ve got something else I wanna do.”

  “So, you’ll teach me?” She couldn’t believe it.

  “I suppose I might.” He picked up the crib from the corner and carried it toward the door.

  “Where’re you going with that?” Sally Sue asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  “But I use it to dry laundry.”

  “You’re wise—figure out something else.”

  Her chest prickled; she was sorry to see the crib go. It had reminded her to have hope that she’d escape and have a child of her own to put in one someday. They were foolish desires, but she couldn’t help herself.

  As she began to sew the curtains again, a loud sawing exploded from the barn.

  What was he up to? For an hour she tried to ignore the noise, but eventually she tiptoed out and peeked through the slats.

  “Go away, or I’ll tar and feather you!” he hollered.

  She skittered back to the cabin. What in the world was he making?

  Around noon, he came in for a bite to eat.

  “What’re you making?” Sally Sue asked.

  “A surprise.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “What is it?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  He finished eating and returned to the barn. Soon a pounding racket ensued.

  As the sun set and she was fixing supper, Cliff carried in under his arm an odd-looking leather-and-wood folded contraption and placed it near the corner where the crib had been. He set blankets and a small satchel atop it.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  He took out a hammer and a small mirror and nailed the mirror above the washbasin.

  “A blizzard’s coming.” He eyed her and sat at the table.

  She served up supper and sat across from him. “But it’s warmed up considerably. I thought spring was on the way.” They’d even let the fire die out. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day. “What makes you say that?”

  “My right knee tells me.”

  “Tells you what?” This man didn’t make any sense.

  “Aren’t you listening? It’s gonna snow.”

  “But winter has passed.”

  “I know, but my knee aches when a snowstorm is on its way.”

  They ate supper quietly. Her mind awhirl, she hoped he was joking about the storm. She’d thought the worst weather was behind them and that her escape was closer.

  After supper he stoked the fire and lit his pipe. She sat in the rocker with Socks in her lap and considered another poem.

  “Going to read me one tonight?” He blew smoke from his pipe.

  “How about you read me a psalm?” She handed him her Bible.

  Soon his deep voice echoed in the cabin: “Make a joyful noise to the Lord . . .” He finished the verse, cracked the knee he complained of, walked to the corner, and opened the contraption. Beautifully fashioned from the repurposed crib railings, the contrivance resembled a giant slingshot, a sort of hammock laid out on crisscrossed beams. He sat on the cot and slid off his boots.

  “What are you doing?” Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

  “It’s too cold for me to sleep in the barn anymore,” he said.

  “But you’ve slept in the barn all this time. What’s different now?”

  He peered at the door. “I’ve got my reasons.”

  “What are they?”

  He eyed her, then looked down and unbuttoned his shirt. “I wanna make sure you’re safe. That incident this morning really scared me. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  She didn’t know whether it was because of what he’d said or the sight of his bare, muscular chest, but she felt her face blush hot.

  Except for his long john bottoms, he removed the rest of his clothes and folded them neatly on the floor beside the cot. “Nighty-night.” He tossed two blankets, one at a time, over his body and closed his eyes.

  After pulling off her own boots, Sally Sue scooped up Socks and got under the covers, fully dressed. She held the cat in her arms and petted her. Sally Sue had always been curious to see what a man’s body looked like without clothes. It wasn’t as bad as her mother had said.

  With Cliff nearby, she felt protected from whatever might come flying through the door. It should have been easy to fall asleep, but the thought of him so close made her lower belly tingle in a strange way, and she shamefully imagined what it might feel like to have him lying next to her in the big bed, in the smooth sheets, touching her body.

  34

  Anne could do it. She’d show Priscilla and even Karl that she was capable of establishing a space in which all the little artists felt safe and could express themselves creatively. She read her affirmation card and returned it to her backpack. Then she taped the rules-and-consequences chart on the materials shelf.

  Usually before the kids arrived, Anne set out everything on the tables, but today she had other plans. The students ran into the room and milled around. One of the twins pushed Penny. She yelped and ran to Anne.

  “Teddy, stop.” Anne kept her voice calm and was proud of herself for being able to finally tell the boys apart.

  She put her arms around Penny and whispered in her ear, “I’m hoping this will stop, but I’ll need your help. They’re trying to get your attention. Ignore them as much as you can. Can you do that?”

  Penny sniffed and found her seat next to Cindy.

  “Where’s all the art stuff?” Tommy asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Where’s the music?”

  “Later, Tommy.” Anne clapped her hands, waiting for all to echo her rhythm and be seated.

  She pointed at the chart and sang, “Dat-da-da-daaaa. We now have rules.”

  “What!” Tommy yelled.

  Anne ignored him, put her hand on rule number one, and read, “Follow the rules. Everyone, repeat after me.” She read it again: “Follow the rules.”

  Most of the students followed her cue.

  “Let’s practice. Fold your hands.”

  The students folded their hands.

  “Stomp your feet.” She allowed some noise to happen, then raised her hand and put the other on her lips.

  They raised their hands and quieted down.

  “Stand,” she ordered.

  The students stood.

  “Sit.”

  The students all sat.

  Anne pointed to the chart again. “Number two: Raise your hand before speaking or leaving your seat.” She planned to loosen up on this one later, but for now she’d remain consistent.

  Tommy’s hand shot up.

  “Yes?” Anne asked.

  “May I get a drink?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  On his way back from the drinking fountain, he crossed behind her and gave Penny a noogie. She closed her eyes tightly, folded her hands, and didn’t react to him. Anne didn’t say a word, either, but wrote his name on the whiteboard, which made Tommy smile.
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  She stared at him. “Rule number three: Keep your hands to yourself. And number four: Respect your classmates and your teacher. What are some examples of how you might do that?”

  Penny raised her hand. “Say something nice to them.”

  “Yes, good. Look at your tablemate and give them a compliment.”

  After two minutes of chaotic noise, Anne raised her hand until all the students raised theirs, even the twins.

  “Good. Here are the consequences: every time you don’t follow a rule, I’ll put your name on the board; each time you break a rule after that, you’ll get a check mark by your name.”

  Across the table, the twins frowned.

  “Here are the consequences.” She put her hand on the chart and read, “First time is a warning. Second time is the sit-out zone.” She pulled a chair to the back of the room and sat in it. “And I’ll set the timer for five minutes.”

  She walked back to the tables. “Third time, I’ll e-mail your parents.”

  “Our mom won’t like that very much,” Teddy said.

  “That’s the point. Did you raise your hand to speak?” Anne walked nonchalantly to the whiteboard and wrote his name under his brother’s.

  “Who’s ready to follow the rules and do some art?” she asked with a smile.

  They all raised their hands. She handed out paper and markers.

  “Copy the chart neatly, and decorate it creatively. You’ll take it home to share with your parents and bring it back, signed, next Saturday. If not, I’ll e-mail them the plan.”

  Wide-eyed, the twins looked at each other and got started along with the group.

  She took a jar from her backpack and held it up. “You’re all following the rules so well right now, I’m putting a gem in this jar.” She dropped in a green floral piece. “When it’s full, we’ll have a pizza party.”

  The students applauded, and she added another gem.

  At the end of class, the students walked out nicely, carrying the rules.

  Exhausted but smiling, she sat in the sit-out chair. She’d done it. It was going to be easy from now on.

  Ten business days had passed since she and Fay had ordered the DNA kit, and it still hadn’t arrived. Had it all been a scam? The clock was ticking. At this rate, it would be too late to have an abortion.

  Anne examined the e-mail order receipt again and dialed the number. A frazzled-sounding woman answered, and Anne said, “I ordered a kit more than two weeks ago, but it never arrived. I can see that my payment went through.” Anne gave her order number and address.

  “Just a moment, please.”

  While Anne waited, a Brahms lullaby played in the background.

  The woman had a voice that could cut steel. “Yes, we sent it out a week and a half ago.”

  “It never came.”

  “Perhaps it got lost in the mail?”

  You think? Anne tried to keep her voice calm. “Please send another one right away. It’s an emergency.”

  “We’ll send it out tomorrow. Confirm the address again.” Anne repeated it for the second time and hung up.

  She checked her social media. It seemed like everyone she knew was having a baby. Chrissy in New York was having her third. Every other day, her friend Kristen posted another adorable shot of her “little man.” Even Prince Harry and Meghan Markle had welcomed their first with a plethora of photos. If she had this baby, would she get in on the act too?

  Two days later, Anne spied a cardboard envelope squished into her mailbox.

  RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED was printed in huge block letters on the outside, along with a return address in Ohio.

  Mrs. Landenheim came out of her apartment, holding the black kitten in her arms, and eyed the envelope surreptitiously.

  Anne hid it behind her back and stroked the kitty behind the ears. “You are so adorable.”

  “How are you today, Anne?”

  She didn’t need this busybody asking questions. Also, she seemed to remember something on the lease about no dogs or children.

  “Good. I’m in the middle of something. See you later.” She ran up the stairs, sat on the daybed, and further inspected the envelope.

  Baby-blue dots connected by lines, like in a high school science textbook, decorated the front and extended onto the back in a zigzaggy helix motif.

  “Alexa, play Carlos Nakai.” Anne needed some relaxing music to help calm her.

  “Music by R. Carlos Nakai,” Alexa said.

  “Thank you,” Anne said, as Native American flute music began to play.

  With trembling hands, she opened the envelope, dumped the contents on the bed, and read the directions.

  First, she’d have to fill out the form on each envelope and collect four DNA samples for each person tested. She counted out the swabs in their sealed wrappers. To gather samples, a person will rub swabs for thirty seconds from inside the person’s cheeks. Put them in the prepaid return mailers and mail. She’d need to be careful because insufficient DNA collected may require recollection.

  Sounded easy enough, except it didn’t say anything about how to ask possible fathers for samples. She examined the materials again. There was only one prepaid return mail envelope. How could she have been so stupid to get into this predicament? she asked herself, for the fifty billionth time. She was in a pickle and craving them. Maybe she could just have the baby on her own and not even involve either one of them.

  Fay was right; Anne needed to find out who the father was. The thought of seeing Barnaby made her skin crawl, so she resolved to contact Sergio and composed a text: Hi Sergio. I’m pregnant and need a DNA sample from you because you might be the father. That would be so cold. She erased it. It would be better to tell him face-to-face. Maybe she should wait until tomorrow. No, she had to get it over with.

  She took a deep breath and FaceTimed him.

  “Hi, Bigfoot. I’m on my way into a meeting. What’s up?”

  Seeing his handsome face always made her heart twirl. She felt light-headed and just couldn’t tell him. “I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Want to come out next weekend? I’ll get tickets to—”

  “I’m way too busy.”

  “Sorry, I’ve gotta run. Love you. Call you later.”

  He’d said he loved her. She lay back on the daybed and remembered their last night together. No way could she tell him she’d slept with someone else and that she might not keep the baby. Now she needed to backtrack and go to plan B. She’d have to spill all to Barnaby and get a DNA sample.

  She shuddered, imagining sharing custody with him, her baby crawling all over his filthy apartment. When she told him the situation, he might glom onto her and want to be involved. Judging from his living conditions, she suspected his financial support would be zilch, even though she’d never accept it anyway.

  Did she even need to tell him? Maybe she could snag a DNA sample without his knowing. Maybe from his hairbrush? That wouldn’t work. He was bald. His toothbrush? She’d have to get into his apartment somehow. Was getting a sample without permission even legal?

  She scrolled down, found his old Facebook friend request, clicked it, and sent him a message: Hey, Barn. How are you?

  He got back to her right away. Who is this?

  That didn’t bother her. After all, it had been two months.

  Anne: We met at Rhinestone Ruby’s a few months ago.

  Barn: Oh, yeah. Didn’t recognize your art photo. You were the great dancer, LOL, in the green outfit.

  Anne: Wanna get together?

  Barn: Sure. How about Ruby’s?

  That was the last place she wanted to go.

  Anne: Do you know Coffee Cup Café on Sutter?

  35

  The next afternoon, Barnaby waved at her from a table in the middle of the café. “Annie, I’m over here.”

  She hated when anyone but family called her that.

  “Want anything?” Anne mouthed to him and pointed at the barista.

  Barnaby raised hi
s cup and shook his head. He could have waited and offered to buy her something, or at least stand with her while they ordered together.

  She got a mocha, wound her way through the crowded space, and sat down.

  “Annie, you look g—” He pulled back the hand he’d put on her shoulder. “You look different in the light.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Mr. Wanna-be-Cowboy, not looking so handsome in the light either. “So do you.”

  Instead of a cowboy hat, he wore a stained Dallas baseball cap, and had grown a mangy goatee. “Where’ve you been? I was afraid it was a one-night stand.” He laughed like a neighing horse.

  She tried to laugh too—unsuccessfully. “I’ve been busy. And you?”

  His bloodshot eyes moved to her getting-larger-by-the-minute pregnancy cleavage. “I haven’t seen you at Ruby’s lately.”

  She zipped her sweatshirt closed and felt for the swabs wrapped carefully in her pocket. “I know. How’ve you been?” she asked.

  “Groovy. I’ve been liking your Instagram posts. Have you been seeing mine?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Did he just say groovy?

  “They’re getting a lot of attention. My LPPs have gone up. The photo of me in my chaps got one twenty-five.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. “What?”

  “Likes per post.”

  “Oh.” She licked the whipped cream off her mocha and took a sip. The warmth of the drink seemed to help settle her stomach.

  “Yeah, I’m crushing it.” He did an arm pump.

  His eyes followed a girl of about twenty, wearing plenty of makeup and tight lululemon yoga pants, as she walked by and sat at a table next to them.

  How could Anne ever have slept with this repugnant guy? And how could she tell him now that she might be carrying his child? Suddenly, she felt queasy. “Excuse me.”

  She ran to the restroom and threw up. She rinsed her mouth in the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Her pale face accentuated raccoon-like dark circles under her eyes.

  What now? Maybe she could tell him she’d found out she had an STD and needed a sample, just to be sure she hadn’t given it to him. No, that was lame. It was always best to tell the truth, so she’d do just that.