Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction)

by Carol Heilman

  “You did?”

  “What were we supposed to think?”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “You were selfish, thoughtless, and … and childish. You think you’re the only one with problems around here? Can’t you think about anybody but yourself? Miss Johnson’s boiling mad and bound to lash out at someone who can’t fight back.”

  My face burned with his tongue-lashing. This mild-mannered man was angry enough to spit nails, and they were aimed at me instead of where they ought to be. I felt my blood pressure rising clear to the top of my head.

  “What do you know about this place, about her, that you’re not telling?”

  A small puddle of bath water had formed at my feet. I picked up my towel, clutched my slipping robe with one hand, and grabbed the door with the other, suddenly feeling weak and trembly all over.

  Then Smiley nearly made my heart stop when he said in a quiet voice, “Sis, I’m getting too old to be caring so much. Too old.” He left shaking his head, his shoulders stooped more than I’d ever seen them.

  As I watched him walk down the hall, I whispered, “What did he mean coming in here like that? Why won’t he tell me what’s really going on?”

  As I turned to shut the door, Diamond Lil wheeled up. She was laughing, causing her heavy breasts to jiggle up and down. “This is better than television,” she said. “A real blue-light special.” She laughed again as if she’d made a wonderful joke.

  “Well, go on back to bed,” I said. “Excitement’s over.”

  She stopped laughing and got serious. “Tell the truth, Agnes. Weren’t you afraid to let that man walk you home? Are you sure he didn’t lift some money from your purse? Have you checked? What about your watch? He didn’t steal it, did he?”

  “Don’t be silly. Jack’s a little different, but I’m sure he’s innocent of any wrongdoing or that deputy would have him sitting in jail right now. He’s a hard worker, thoughtful, a real gentleman to Shirley, and to me. He’s too quiet at times, though, like he has a lot on his mind and keeps it to himself.”

  “That’s the kind you have to watch out for—sneaky. It’s always the silent types who seem like regular people by day and burglars by night—or maybe something worse like serial killers. Don’t you remember reading about that meek little man who turned out to be a cannibal? Boiling human parts like you would a chicken?”

  My stomach did flips. “You’d better open your eyes to what’s going on right around you. Miss Johnson probably leaves you alone because of your Edmond, or whatever his name is.”

  Lil flounced about in her wheelchair, waving her diamonds. “His name is—”

  “And another thing. I’m not loaning you any more of my tabloids. Jack is a regular person. Just happens to be quiet and doesn’t let the world hear his thinking. Oh, quit shaking your head at me. You’re not listening. I’m going to finish my bath.”

  “Wait,” she said. “The next time you get out of this place, would you do me one favor?”

  I’d reached my limit. First Smiley had left me feeling unsettled and confused, and now Lil’s narrow-minded thinking had me steamed. The combination called for a double-shot of Jack Daniels, which was impossible, so I thought of the Nyquil I’d poured into the lotion dispenser. So much had happened since then, it seemed like another lifetime.

  My mind was in a fuddle, but I finally answered in a half-calm voice. “I don’t know if there will be a next time. If I do leave, it might be permanent. I might have to move to … to no telling where.”

  She cackled a funny little laugh and waved her hand in the air like she was shooing a fly. “Now who’s being dramatic? You might have to follow a few rules, like signing out before you take off. Big deal. Anyway, next time, get me one of those hot dogs from Blind George’s. My stomach’s made of iron.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Before Sunday morning’s breakfast buzzer sounded, the residents of Sweetbriar Manor hurried toward the dining room, drawn by the aroma of coffee, sausage, and biscuits. But anticipating a delicious breakfast wasn’t the only reason for all the smiles and excited chatter. Word had gotten around that Shirley, our nail lady, was also our cook—at least today. And after she’d taken charge last night, I figured she could handle most anything.

  As soon as I entered the dining room, heads leaned toward each other. They weren’t discussing the delicious smells coming from the kitchen or the sounds of Shirley singing, “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” No indeed. Their buzzing voices reminded me of the Bible story Miss Briggs always told about great swarms of locusts coming into Egypt, wings beating the air until those awful creatures landed and gobbled up crops and fields of wheat.

  People turned clear around in their chairs to stare. Some even pointed fingers as snippets flew about the room.

  “You didn’t hear all the commotion last night?”

  “Why, that woman was in a gunfight down at Blind George’s.”

  “It’s a disgrace, the police bringing her home. My mama always told me—”

  “My goodness, doesn’t anyone around here have any manners?” I said.

  Pearl walked over to our table and stood by my chair. She had that terrible frown working the wrinkles in her forehead, and her mouth was drawn down to her chin. Her bracelets trembled as she wrung her hands. Finally, she spoke. “Is there something I need to know?”

  I felt terrible and certainly didn’t want to cause Pearl any more anxiety. Apparently, she was afraid of anything that happened outside her narrow routine, and I was beginning to piece together parts of her world that were real, not imagined—things that would frighten anybody. Made my heart ache for the carefree Pearl I had known years ago.

  I resisted the urge to touch her because she didn’t seem to like that. “Of course not, Pearl. People are excited about Shirley’s hot biscuits and wondering if she made gravy to go with ’em. That’s all.”

  She didn’t seem convinced and made no move to return to her seat.

  “Tell you what …” I got up and walked her back to her table. “Come to my room after breakfast, and we’ll find you a hat to wear to church. You like my hats, don’t you?”

  She nodded, still frowning.

  “I’ll let you have first choice. You can wear it all day long if you like.”

  “I don’t know what everyone’s talking about,” she said, more to herself than to me.

  “Don’t worry, Pearl,” I said, easing away from her. “Everything’s going to be fine. Just fine. You’ll see.”

  At least if I have anything to do with it, things will be better.

  Shirley delivered our breakfast and all chattering ceased. Plates were heaped with scrambled eggs, sausage, grits, and biscuits. We were served enough food to feed a gang of field hands. It tasted so good no one mentioned not having gravy. We ate like refugees who hadn’t had a bite in days.

  Alice’s chair remained empty. When I asked Smiley about her, he said she was resting after a hard night. He probably didn’t want everyone knowing she’d taken one of her little pink pills kept hidden in dozens of secret places.

  I tried to act casual. “Okay. I’ll check on her after breakfast. A cool cloth on her face and a cup of coffee will do wonders.”

  “Let her be,” he snapped. “She needs to sleep.”

  “Well, we certainly are crossways this morning, aren’t we? Some people can be a regular horse’s behind.”

  Smiley turned and looked at me, but I don’t think he saw me at all. He didn’t say anything else, but the sad look in his eyes was almost more than I could bear. My thoughts were in a whirl and, as I turned away, my elbow tipped over a full glass of orange juice.

  Lollipop jumped up, but I stopped the yellow liquid with my napkin before it reached the table’s edge. Shirley happened to be standing nearby and wiped up the mess.

  “No harm done, honey. I’ll bring you more juice. And, Lollipop, sir, you sit right back down. You haven’t eaten your fill of biscuits yet.”

&nb
sp; I tried to smile and thanked her for her kindness, but my hands were trembling when I took a sip of coffee.

  Smiley’s eyes, usually sharp, bright, and often crinkled with humor, had streaks of red running through the white like a crazy road map. Was it because his lady didn’t make it to breakfast or because he worried himself sick over me last night?

  No, this had to be something more. His nightmares must be spilling over, haunting his waking hours. I dropped my fork and it landed under Smiley’s feet, but he completely ignored me when I asked him to get it.

  “Can’t seem to hold on to anything this morning,” I said.

  He finally looked at me but turned away without so much as a word. I didn’t want the stupid fork. I was only trying to get it for Shirley. I felt hot all over and fanned myself with the fresh napkin beside my plate. What right did he have to treat me this way? Did I have to answer to him? Certainly not.

  Everyone raved about Shirley’s biscuits. They must have been delicious, but my biscuit, minus the sausage—which I gave to Lollipop—sat in my stomach like a lump of clay.

  Lil talked on and on, not seeming to notice she carried on a one-way conversation. “And another thing,” she said, pointing with her knife—a habit that irritated the daylights out of me. “Did you ever hear the name Lovingood?”

  No one answered.

  “I didn’t think so. You know why? It’s made up. My Edward’s checking him out. He’s bound to have a criminal record and a string of aliases.”

  Smiley hardly ate anything at all and finally pushed back his plate. As he stood to go, he leaned over, the usual, comforting aroma of Old Spice missing.

  “Agnes, we need to talk. I’ll be on the porch.”

  Anything would be better than this arctic air blowing between us. First a tongue-lashing and now, hardly talking to me at all. And I thought he was such a steady, even-tempered man who stayed the same whatever came his way. “Some people are not what they seem, Charlie.”

  Then again, maybe his changeable behavior didn’t have anything to do with me. Maybe he was upset because his beloved Alice wasn’t around. Normally, he would be asking if she slept well or if she would like more juice. If she could eat a bowl of oatmeal, he was glad to ask the cook to fix her some.

  Now, my Charlie was as dependable as a sunrise, no matter what. So why was I getting my life tangled up with a man who changed with the wind? I thought he was going to be a friend, someone to count on. But if he wasn’t? Oh shoot, what difference did it make anyway? I would be leaving soon and more than likely never see Smiley again.

  My inner confusion continued. Didn’t say two words to me until he declared, “We need to talk.” Humph. And double humph.

  Thirty minutes later we sat in two porch rockers side by side. Most of the other residents were back in their rooms tending to personal needs before the student preacher came from Fruitland Bible College. The only other person nearby was Lollipop. He sat in the swing at the far end of the porch, dragging his long legs and slurping a fresh sucker.

  The hot, humid day reminded me of my first day at this place. Only five days ago, but in some ways, it seemed like a year or more. If the meeting with Miss Johnson went as I predicted, this could be my first and last Sunday here … in this rocker … on this porch.

  “What a mess, Charlie. What a mess.”

  My tangled thoughts turned to the little man next to me wearing seersucker pants and a pale blue shirt. Who did Smiley think he was? You let a man become your friend, and he thinks he owns you—thinks he has the right to tell you how you ought to behave. Well, I’d had enough. I felt like a ticking time bomb, and the time was about gone.

  “What gives you the right—”

  “Alice is dying,” he said barely above a whisper.

  “What?” I said, searching his drawn, white face. “Are you sure?”

  “She had breast cancer years ago. It’s returned, ’bout six months ago now. Doctor says it’s aggressive this time and has spread all over her body. Can’t seem to keep any food down. Wasn’t your fault she was sick last night. Been happening a lot lately.”

  “How long does she have?”

  “Weeks … maybe days. Only the good Lord knows.” He sighed deep and sorrowful. “She won’t be able to stay here. She’ll have to be moved to the Lane Wing. You know, the part of Berea’s Mission Hospital where they take the terminally ill.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, patting his hand. “Does she have any family?”

  “A nephew. Arizona I think. Miss Johnson’s notifying him, but I don’t expect him to come. Alice hasn’t heard from him in years.”

  We both fell silent. I stared across the front yard, but everything seemed out of focus somehow. Lollipop sauntered inside. Hot, humid air moved through the hanging ferns as our rockers moved back and forth, back and forth in a broken rhythm.

  A young, clean-shaven man bounded up the steps clutching a well-worn Bible to his chest. “Good morning, folks. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  I had forgotten about him coming, and I looked up in surprise. He might as well have been babbling in a foreign tongue. He started to repeat his greeting.

  “We heard you,” I said. “Before you start your preaching, go see Alice, Alice Chandler. She won’t be able to make it to the service today.”

  He looked at his watch. “What’s wrong? Is she sick? Guess I’ve got a few minutes, but I have to find someone to play the piano and choose the hymns. What’s her room number?”

  “Seven. Alice is dying.”

  “Oh,” he said, and then flipped through his Bible. “Does she know the Lord?”

  “You don’t need to find a verse to read,” I said. “She knows them all by heart, and I expect if she’s up to it, she’ll quote a few. Just pray with her a little while or, if she’s sleeping, pray over her. Take your time. We’ll take care of the piano player and the hymns.”

  “We will?” Smiley said, the smallest flash of amusement in his voice.

  “Of course,” I said, standing up to show this man we could move into action if we so chose. Smiley rose too, though a little unsteadily, and held on to his chair. I was glad to have something to do. Anything. A person can do only so much rocking.

  While we placed worn Broadman hymnals on sofa and chair cushions, the aroma of fried chicken drifted from the kitchen where Shirley sang “Red River Valley.” I was glad to know she was staying past breakfast.

  Smiley said, “You play the piano?”

  “Only some old honky-tonk tunes, by ear. Do you?”

  “Tone deaf. Francesca can play, but she plays high-brow stuff nobody can sing to.”

  People were beginning to come in and take their seats. “This shouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “Who usually plays for Sunday services?”

  By the look on his face, I knew. Alice.

  I grasped one of his limp hands and squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

  He dropped his head. I didn’t know what I would do if he started crying. As it was, I had to resist folding my arms around him to comfort him like a small child.

  “Maybe I’d better go check on her,” he said. “You take care of things here. Just don’t ask old Miss Watson. The only thing she wants to play is “Jesus Loves Me.” She knows scores of hymns, but she’s stuck on that one.”

  I laughed and it felt good.

  A wheelchair pulled up next to me. “I hear you need a pianist.”

  “Yes, but Smiley said—”

  “That man doesn’t know everything. I can certainly read music. Show me what you want me to play.”

  We started with one of Alice’s favorites, “I Come to the Garden Alone.” You would have thought Lil was auditioning at Carnegie Hall. She performed three hymns so wonderfully we just listened to the music and didn’t sing. In between them all, Miss Watson yelled out, “Play ‘Jesus Loves Me.’” When Lil played it with a simple touch, we sang along.

  When we finished, Miss Watson yelled again, “Play ‘Jesus Loves Me.’”
/>   A voice called out, “She just did, Nellie.”

  The preacher stood and faced us, his face ashen gray. “Let us pray.”

  Smiley didn’t join us. Then I remembered Pearl. She hadn’t come either. Was she in her room? Was she waiting for one of my hats? I jumped up to find out.

  William had his big feet sticking out, and I wasn’t paying attention. In my rush, I stumbled and nearly fell into his lap. As I recovered, he saluted. Everything in me wanted to wipe that silly grin off his face. The man acted like we shared some kind of secret.

  “Forgot my hat,” I whispered.

  “Amen,” the preacher said. “Let’s sing one more song. Does anyone have a favorite?”

  As I headed down the hall, I heard Miss Watson yelling.

  Lil began playing “Jesus Loves Me.”

  Pearl was not in her room, but in mine, sitting on my bed. She chose my wide-brimmed straw with the red silk flowers, the hat I’d worn the day I’d first come to Sweetbriar Manor. I grabbed a little navy one with a crinkled veil and pinned it on my head. When we reached Alice’s closed door, I sent Pearl ahead, assuring her I’d follow soon. I tapped softly.

  My eyes widened when Miss Johnson opened the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The director stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her. “I was just coming to get you.”

  “You were?”

  “Miss Chandler has called for you twice. But don’t expect her to recognize you or even know you’re there. She’s been talking out of her head, saying outlandish things.” She wagged her finger in my face. “Near the end, people hallucinate, say things that aren’t true.”

  “When is she being moved?”

  “This afternoon. I’m going over to Mission now to make arrangements. Fortunate for you, I’ll have to reschedule the meeting with your daughter until Tuesday, or maybe even Wednesday.”

  “Yeah, lucky me.”

  Prissy did a sharp-stepping retreat as the sounds of the young preacher gathered like static. I thought of the first time I had seen Alice sitting at our dining room table. I’d been struck by her frailty, the way she looked lost behind thick glasses, wearing a dark dress several sizes too large. When she told me she was a writer, quoting favorite authors instead of answering my questions, she sounded strange. And she paid no attention to the gentle man sitting across the table from her who was obviously love-struck.