by Dara Girard
Janet rested a hand on her hip and pointed at Maxine. "I found what you were looking for."
Maxine sat up in relief. "Oh good. I was worried."
"What were you thinking?'
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"How could you have posed for those sketches?"
"You act like I did a bad thing. You sketch nudes at school, right? Wilcox said I made an excellent model."
"You're too young."
"He told me that models start at sixteen and older."
"Not doing these types of poses."
"Yes, they do," Trudy said. She pulled out the magazine and showed Janet the cover of a teenaged girl posing in a sheet. "She's a singer."
Janet rolled the magazine up. "It's still not appropriate and you're not supposed to be looking at these."
Maxine swung her feet. "Nothing happened. I wasn't naked or anything. I kept my underwear on and I was covered with a cloth."
"But the drawings—"
"He just sketched me, that's all. Are you jealous that he didn't choose you?"
"Don't be ridiculous, but you know you shouldn't have done them or you wouldn't have worried about Daddy finding them."
"You've never told Daddy about some of your classes," Maxine shot back. "Does that make it wrong or is it just that he wouldn't understand? I think you and I know the answer to that."
She was right. Janet had never shared the fact that she had taken several live nude figure drawing classes. And she had kept all her sketches carefully hidden behind a panel in her closet. How could she condemn Wilcox's sketches if she did the same? The models in her class were someone's sister too. But somehow she felt the sketches of Maxine were wrong.
Janet tossed the magazine down and Trudy quickly hid it, but Janet didn't care. Her focus remained on Maxine. "Your body is God's temple. It belongs to Him, then you then your husband."
"No. My body only belongs to me and Wilcox didn't touch me so there's nothing wrong with it. Anyway, it's not the first time."
Janet stared at her sister as fury crawled up her spine. She clenched her hands into fists. "Shit!"
The word left her mouth before she could stop it. Someone spun her around and knocked her to the ground with the back of his hand. She held her hand against her burning cheek and stared up at her father, his face a mask of rage.
"Stand up," he said in a quiet tone as lethal as a rattlesnake.
Janet sat paralyzed.
He raised his hand. "Do I need to hit you again?"
Janet scrambled to her feet. He grabbed her chin and held it until she felt her lower jaw would break. "Is this the language they teach you at school? They teach you to swear at your sister? To say this filth?"
Trudy tentatively stepped forward, tears shinning in her eyes. "Daddy, please—"
He pointed at her. "Quiet."
She lowered her head and stepped back.
He turned his attention back to Janet. "For the next three days you will stay in this house and cleanse yourself."
Janet widened her eyes. She could take the cleansing, which meant praying and fasting, but staying home for three days would be torture. "What about school—"
"Do you want me to make it a week?"
Janet swallowed and lowered her gaze. "No."
Mr. Barnett shoved her towards her bedroom as though she disgusted him. "Start your prayers now."
"Daddy, I'm sorry."
He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't want to hear your voice. Leave your words for God."
Janet glanced back at her sisters—Trudy in tears and Maxine looking bored—then left.
* * *
"I struck her hard across the face with all the strength I could manage," Mr. Barnett admitted as he sat in Pastor Wainwright's office. The familiar seat where they usually discussed church affairs today offered him no comfort. It felt worn and stiff. "There is something in that child I don't understand."
Pastor Wainwright stroked his mustache with his long delicate fingers then said after a moment, "Or perhaps you do and that's what frightens you." When Mr. Barnett didn't reply he said, "Has she repented? Shown regret?"
"Yes, the moment she said the word she regretted it."
"Then if God can forgive her you can too. Janet is a nice young woman. Even the most righteous have their faults." He clasped Mr. Barnett's hand. "I will pray for you now and for your family on Sunday then I want you to let it go. Will you do that for me?"
Mr. Barnett swallowed hard. "Yes, Pastor. Thank you."
That Sunday, Pastor Wainwright stood at the pulpit after his sermon and stared out at his congregation. He briefly met Mr. Barnett's eye then raised his hand and said, "Today one of us needs special prayer. Sister Janet, please come down to the altar."
Janet gripped the pew, but didn't move until her father nudged her. She took a deep breath then rose and slowly walked down the aisle amid the curious and accusatory eyes of the congregation who stared at the purple bruise on her face. She stopped in front of the pulpit and stared up at the pastor.
"Turn to the congregation."
"No," she said in a soft voice.
The Pastor stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown horns. He blinked then covered his microphone. "Janet, do not shame your family. Now turn. You know this has to be done."
"No," she said in the same quiet voice. "I am truly sorry for what I have done and I have cleansed myself. I have prayed to God and asked for His forgiveness. I know I am a sinner and I know my sins and I am ashamed. However, I will not stand here for man to judge me when I know that others in this congregation have done far worse," she said thinking of Russell who sat in a few rows behind her family. "I accept your prayers, but I will not turn. Please send me back to my seat. I do not want to disobey you or dishonor my family unless you force me to."
Pastor Wainwright took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat gathered on his forehead then stuffed it back in his pocket and addressed the congregation. "Brothers and Sisters it seems there was a misunderstanding. Sister Janet and her parents only need our prayers that she does well in her studies. Sister Janet, please return to your seat."
She did and everyone remained quiet until the end of the service. On the walk home Mr. Barnett said, "What you say to the Pastor?"
"I told him I had repented."
"But—"
"Daddy, there are worse things happening right before your eyes."
"What worse things?"
Janet glanced at her younger sisters who looked at her with fear. She let her shoulders fall. "Just things."
"If you can't be specific then don't speak at all." He frowned annoyed. "We'll watch The Harder They Come tonight," he said then marched past her and joined Mrs. Barnett. In the distance Janet saw Russell surrounded by a group of church sisters. Behind him she saw a hawk glide through the sky.
Chapter 27
Janet slammed the sketch down on Russell's desk. "How dare you come to our church and sit there all righteous when you know what you've done."
Russell held out his hands confused. "What have I done?"
She shoved the sketch across the table. "Does that help?"
Russell glanced at it. "Oh, that."
"Yes, that and there are others." Janet tapped the image. "She's sixteen."
"I know." He looked at Janet's face then surged to his feet. "Wait. Are you accusing me of something more? My honor and reputation means a lot to me Janet, be careful how you handle it." He came from around the desk. "Don't make this anything more than it is. I admired her body and sketched it. I thought you, of all people, would understand that the artistic eye worships anything of beauty. Don't let your father's teaching pollute your mind. Don't make something beautiful dirty by judging it." He sniffed. "Or perhaps you're more like Frederick than you think."
Janet blinked, stung by the comparison and surprised by his vehemence. "That's not fair. I'm nothing like him, but she's a child."
He sat on the corner of the desk. "And innocent. I know
. She's still innocent. As untouched as the day she was born. It was my imagination, Janet. Your sister was clothed."
"Barely. She was in her underwear!"
"And covered in fabric."
"Which was transparent. And why does she look naked in the sketches?"
"Janet, you're an artist, you know about artistic license. I added the extra elements. Your sister was thrilled with the result. But you've disappointed me." His brown eyes bore into hers with chilling intensity. "What kind of man do you think I am? I'd expected you to think better of me. Do you honestly think I would enter your father's house and disrespect him like that? That I would enter a church with no fear of God? Is that how you see me? As depraved, deceitful and a hypocrite?"
Janet opened her mouth then closed it, embarrassment and regret making her mute. She stepped back from his desk and fell into a chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"No," he said his tone more gentle than before. "It's good." He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "I think we should have this conversation. Your sister is a free spirit. A girl like that cannot be caged for long."
"She still needs guidance."
"With a firm hand or a lenient one? What do you think when you see those nude models you sketch in class? Have you ever thought of living without inhibition?"
She thought of Ramani. "No, some rules are needed for our survival."
"Is that the church talking or you? Do you know the difference?"
"I am not blindly following rituals and beliefs," Janet said defensive.
"But you find them constraining at times. I know. I can tell. I grew up with them and I respect them. But why is it that the Song of Solomon is rarely spoken about?" He lowered his voice to a husky tone. "'... the joint of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.' Sex, love, beauty are just as important as honor and obedience.
"We are all tempted and it is important to understand those temptations so that we do not fall prey to them." He took her hand in his, his liquid gaze smoldering with fire. "The scripture tells us to 'yield not' to temptation He didn't promise us there wouldn't be any." He leaned closer.
Janet didn't move. She couldn't. She'd never had a man hold her hand like this and she knew she should pull away, but didn't. He held her mesmerized because he understood temptation and didn't judge her. Her skin tingled at his touch and Ramani's words came to her again, Men were created for a lot more than sketching. She wondered how it would feel to succumb to the delicious pleasures of the flesh, of how it would feel to kiss a man and have him hold her in his arms. How it would feel to be one with him.
"You know I would never take advantage of your sister," Russell said. "That's why I gave all the sketches to her. I didn't think that she was going to keep them. You know you can trust me. Haven't I always been honest with you?"
Janet didn't speak. She trusted him and knew there was nothing to fear. Everything about him was trustworthy, the way he honored her father, he attended church every Sunday, and socialized with people in the church and in the community. He was a very popular instructor and in spite of his full schedule, he had made time to tutor her with her watercolors.
Unlike other artists she had met, there were no visible vices and everyone who knew him liked him. Janet liked him too—a lot. She admired his freedoms: His freedom of thought, his freedom of speech. Nothing about him was guarded. He was like no other man she'd met. Yes, he'd always been honest with her. Would another man have been so open to share his misfortune and Frederick's terrible treatment?
Frederick. Her judgment of Russell's sketches reminded her of his coarse judgment of hers. The sketches were innocent. She was the one who'd seen more into it. She looked down at their clasped hands then met his eyes. "Yes, I do trust you."
He smiled.
* * *
Unfortunately, Russell's explanation still didn't solve her problem. Mrs. Lind had the rest of the sketches and threatened to show them to her parents. Janet knew that couldn't happen. Her mother would drop dead and her father would send all five of them to a cloistered monastery, somewhere in the hills of Jamaica, where none of them would be allowed to leave until they reached eighty.
Janet paced her bedroom. She had no one to confide in. Valerie was gone and happily married. Beverly would not be able to understand and certainly not her sisters. She had to find a man before Mrs. Lind acted on her threat. She stared up at her picture and shook her fists. Why me?
Janet fell face down on her bed and buried her face in her pillow. What was she going to do? Then she stared at the pillow and pounded it. She wasn't going to find a man in her bedroom. She had to search.
Janet grabbed her coat and jumped into her car. She drove aimlessly for a while trying to sort her thoughts then drove to the market.
The cold chill of the coming winter didn't bother her as she made her way from the parking lot to the building. She needed a man and she might find one there. Janet strolled along the different stands checking her options. There was Mr. Crawford, a man with a short stature who sold music and movies but liked to smoke and favored something much stronger than tobacco.
And there was Mr. Shelton Morris. Depending on the day, he could be considered handsome, but he liked the bottle too much and had gone through three wives already. Janet sized up each man feeling her hopes dimming. Finding a suitable man outside the church might prove just as difficult as those inside. She was about to give up hope when she heard Mr. Beecham say, "I can't do that kind of thing."
"But it's not normal for a man your age to live alone," his companion said.
"I prefer to be just the way I am."
"But you haffa big house, an' no woman to clean it. Don't you want a woman to cook fi you and be there fi you?"
"I don't need dat."
"How about to keep your bed warm?"
Mr. Beecham made a tsking sound. "I'm not good wid women. After mi wife die, I met a few at the community center, but I don't know what fi say to dem. The last time I tried to ask a woman out, Mrs. Maynard, the woman who sells fish here in di market, she just look pon mi and laugh."
"You can do better than dat. You don't want a woman like her anyway."
"Why not?"
"You ever see how large her backside is?"
Both men fell out laughing.
Janet knew this was her opportunity. Mr. Beecham was a widower with a grown son, but most importantly he was a US citizen. She approached the two men, startling them and smiled. "Good afternoon Mr. Beecham."
"My, it's nice to see you here, Janet. It's always a pleasure. So what you need today?"
"Well, Mrs. Lind is going to be making a delicious pumpkin pie and I am looking for the best pumpkins in town. I know you carry the best." Mr. Beecham bid goodbye to his friend, and led Janet over to a private collection of pumpkins he had kept behind his stand. "These are my best."
"Mrs. Lind loves your fruits and vegetables. She is always asking me where I get them. I also think she likes you."
"Mrs. Lind? Dat woman's never looked at mi."
"She's shy."
"She wasn't shy the last time she was at the market. I heard her telling off Clifton Bishop. She didn't tink his cheese was wrapped properly; she didn't look shy to mi."
"You know how we women are. She's shy with men she likes." Janet's insides clenched, she didn't want to tell an outright lie. "Would you mind bringing over a fresh basket of vegetables to our house, around six pm on Sunday?" Janet hurriedly selected various items, and paid Mr. Beecham.
Janet knew that Sunday at six would be perfect because Mrs. Lind was in the habit of baking several pies, and prided herself in cooking the best Sunday dinner in Hamsford.
"No problem. But don't you want to take a few with you now?"
"Thank you, but no I can't. I'm on my way to school
. I'll see you Sunday. I promise you'll get a great tip." Janet dashed away before he could change his mind.
She did not go to the university. Instead, she went to the local Salvation Army and picked out a few items, for Mrs. Lind. She gasped when she saw the polka dot lace dress she'd gotten rid of at their charity function. She glanced around then bundled it up and threw it away determined that no one would be forced to wear it. After feeling she'd done her duty, she continued searching for clothes for Mrs. Lind. If she was going to be successful at finding a husband for her, she needed to spruce up the package. That would be a challenge.
Chapter 28
"Why?" Beverly said staring at her sister surprised.
"Because you're the one who knows how to do this," Janet replied.
Beverly looked at the clothing items spread out on Janet's bed. "You want me to help... um... pretty up Mrs. Lind? Will she allow me?"
"Yes, she will."
"Okay," Beverly said then headed for Mrs. Lind's room.
"Even if I have to force her," Janet muttered following behind. Beverly gently tapped on the door. When they didn't hear a response, Janet pounded on it.
The door swung open and Mrs. Lind appeared. "No need for all dat noise. What you want?"
Janet pushed past her and walked into the room. "I've found you a husband, but he can't see you like this."
"You found her a husband?" Beverly said.
"Yes." Janet shook her head and held up her hand. "Please don't ask."
Mrs. Lind folded her arms. "What's wrong wid me?"
Beverly and Janet shared a look, but wisely said nothing. Janet placed the clothing on the bed. "We have no time to discuss the issue. He's coming on Sunday at six o' clock. You're going to meet him at the back door and you're going to be wearing this." She held up a wool top and tweed skirt. "But that's just the beginning."
Beverly and Janet worked on fixing up Mrs. Lind, after she agreed to their scheme, but it wasn't easy because she firmly told them, "I don't want to look like a painted woman."
Janet didn't think that was possible as she looked at Mrs. Lind's makeup selection. She barely had one. Although she had no religious restrictions regarding makeup or jewelry, she rarely wore any. Janet looked at Mrs. Lind's face the way she would a blank canvas then at her supplies. Mrs. Lind had two tubes of lipstick, a bright red rouge, black eyebrow pencil and translucent face powder. Janet sighed then went to work.