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

by Carol Heilman

“I don’t doubt that one bit,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  “And my name’s Agnes. Agnes Hopper.”

  I turned to get out of the vibrating monster, which was no easy task to accomplish with any dignity. The running board dipped downward, my foot slipped, and my bottom bumped on the metal strip. My purse followed, but I did manage to land upright.

  “You all right, Miss Hops?”

  I slammed the door. “Of course I’m all right.” I chose to ignore what this man seemed determined to call me.

  He waved and chuckled as the truck jumped into gear. It puffed smoke as it sped away, and I could see Jack laughing like all get out. I didn’t stand there long in that black, billowing cloud, but nearly ran up the stone steps. By the time I reached the porch, I was gasping for breath and couldn’t even talk to Charlie.

  The air-conditioning had never felt so good. Not even the tinny sound of “Dixie” bothered me one bit. All I wanted was a soothing bath—and food. I suddenly realized I was starving. The smells of lunch lingered, maybe tacos or something Mexican, making my mouth water and stomach rumble. I looked at my watch, unable to believe the time. It was past one-thirty. Lunch was over and done with and the dining room empty.

  Prissy bristled out of her office and confirmed what I already knew. “Lunch is served at twelve sharp, Mrs. Hopper, and we don’t serve anything between meals. Rule number—but then you probably haven’t read the rules, have you? Dinner will be ready at six if you’re interested. By the way, I see you’ve been to Mission Hospital. How is Miss Chandler?”

  “What?”

  She marched over to the sign-out book open on the entry table. “It says right here. Agnes Hopper. Mission Hospital. Taxi. Return time: lunch. You’re an hour and a half later than you said. I’d appreciate it if you would call if you’re going to be that late again. And another thing. Calling a cab is not the same as someone, such as your daughter, coming to pick you up. I’ll let it slide this one time, but I’ll have to inform Betty Jo. Did you eat at the hospital? The food isn’t too bad, do you think? You didn’t answer me. How is Miss Chandler?”

  “Uh, resting mostly, I think. Mostly … uh … resting,” I stuttered.

  The phone rang, thank the good Lord, and she rushed off. I didn’t need to look at the book to know William had done his best to keep me honest—with a bunch of lies. I really didn’t care that the director thought I had gone to Mission Hospital—in a taxi, no less. But now, Smiley? That would be a different matter altogether.

  I hurried over to the walnut drop-leaf table, signed back in, and scooted down the hall toward my room before I was asked more details about Alice. I had almost reached my door and let out a sigh of relief when I heard the slap, slap, slap of hard-sole shoes behind me and detected that distinct Old Spice aroma. I turned to see my friend, a little man so angry he was steaming.

  With a quivering voice, Smiley nearly shouted, “What do you mean going off and leaving me like that?”

  “Leaving you?”

  “You said we’d catch a bus. Go together.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Just tell me. Did you see her? Did you talk to her? How is she? Did she say anything?”

  Smiley looked like a man about to break down in tears. I faced him head-on, placed my hands on his arms, and felt him stiffen. I tightened my grip. “Look at me,” I said, hoping to calm him before he had a stroke. Finally, his brown eyes, soft with sadness, met mine.

  “Take a deep breath and listen to what I’m saying. I didn’t go to Mission. Didn’t see Alice. I wouldn’t go without you. Tomorrow we’ll catch the bus. Together, just like I promised.”

  For a moment we stood without moving, without speaking. I could feel my heart thumping underneath Charlie’s Hawaiian shirt that was damp from the storm and smelly with sweat. A shiver ran clear down to my toes, and I wished for my chenille bathrobe.

  I slowly released Smiley, only then realizing how tightly I had held him. He took a handkerchief from a back pocket of his madras shorts and wiped his eyes.

  “But, Sis, the sign-out book—”

  “That was a mistake. An honest mistake, I might add. I’ve had a long day and it’s not nearly over yet. I’ve got a lot on my mind and I’m worn out, but more than that, I’m starving. I think I still have some Milky Ways in my shoes. Would you like one?”

  He looked at me wide-eyed. “Your shoes?”

  “Can you think of a better hiding place? Come on and relax in my rocking chair while I look. Then I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to this morning. You’re going to love how it all turned out. But even more than that, I need your advice. My time may be running out, and I’ve got some decisions to make.”

  As I shut my door, Lil wheeled down the hall. She didn’t stop, so I figured she hadn’t spotted a man entering my room, which was probably against the rules—if I had to guess.

  I turned on my radio and tuned in to Bill Monroe’s Cannonball Express. Then I motioned Smiley toward my rocker and soon found two Milky Ways in a pair of navy-blue Sunday shoes. I took off my gardening hat, as well as my wet tennis shoes, draped my robe over my shoulders, and finally settled on the edge of my bed. Between bites of chocolate, caramel, and nougat, I related the morning’s events. Smiley nodded and looked satisfied, but when I told him of my suspicions about Alice’s missing money, he shook his head.

  “Miss Johnson wouldn’t do that. You must be mistaken.”

  “I say she’s guilty as sin and has probably done much worse.”

  He tried to clear a frog from his throat. Finally, he squeaked, “What do you mean?”

  I wasn’t ready to ask him about his nightmares and what she gave him in the middle of those nights, so I said, “Have you ever noticed how frightened Pearl gets sometimes?”

  “That’s just Pearl. She does that.”

  “Yes, and for a good reason.”

  “What on this earth do you mean?”

  “I think Pearl gives Miss Johnson money—under the table, so to speak.”

  “No way, Sis—”

  “And not only that, have you noticed the bruises on Pearl’s wrists?”

  Smiley shook his head and I could tell he was thinking. “What are you going to do?”

  “Not sure yet. I’m working on a plan and may need your help.”

  He closed his eyes as his head tilted back. His knuckles had turned white from gripping the rocker. “I’m a good-for-nothing rotten scoundrel, Sis. I’ve been denying things that have been right before my very eyes. Whatever you want me to do, just tell me.”

  It did my heart good to hear that. I reached over and took his left hand in both of mine, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “No, you’re not a rotten scoundrel. Look at me. Please?” Finally, he did.

  “You’re not. You jump ahead sometimes when you ought to listen first, but you’re a fine man and a good friend. My first friend in this place, I might add. My good friend. And Alice’s. When you fly off the handle like you did, it’s because you care about someone down deep inside. Isn’t that the truth?”

  He nodded, and one lone tear found its way down his cheek.

  “When are we going to see Alice?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll call directly and get the bus schedule. Let’s visit with our friend before we do any more worrying about Miss Johnson and what she’s up to. We won’t mention to Alice that her money disappeared. There’s no need. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. We have a lot of good things to tell Alice before—”

  “We will tell her. Don’t you worry. We will.”

  That afternoon, during a long soak in a bubble bath, one thing about Tuesday morning’s plans became crystal clear. We had to catch a bus at the crack of dawn—if one ran that early—in order to be back before lunch. Most importantly, I had to be present for the meeting at two.

  Thoughts of that meeting filled my head with—fear? Not exactly but, for certain, anxiety. Anxiety and concern for my future. I didn’t want Betty
Jo and that woman deciding my fate without me. Somehow, I had to think through this mess. What if Prissy said I could no longer live here? Didn’t I have to stay at least long enough to prove the things I suspected about her?

  And besides, how could I leave Smiley and Pearl behind? What might happen to them? I had to find a solution. There just had to be one. Could the little yellow house be the answer? Was it big enough for the three of us? What about the neighborhood? Wasn’t it on the fringe of The Bottom, a high-crime area and drug-infested? And could I live in a home where a woman had been so desperate she had taken her own life? Did the Lord lead me there or not? If He did, did I have enough faith to take this giant step?

  I felt weary. Too many questions. I pushed all the confusion to the back of my mind and tried to focus on the situation at hand—getting Smiley and me to the hospital. I slipped on some clean underwear, a soft blue and pink dress, a blue cotton sweater, and a pair of Indian moccasins that eased my aching feet. Then I headed for the phone in the hallway.

  “Dang, Charlie,” I said, after locating the number for the bus station. “Long distance.”

  A sign on the wall clearly stated: Local calls only. No exceptions.

  “Now what? I really should’ve listened to Betty Jo and got me one of those cell phones, but I don’t even like talking on the phone. Any phone.” It seemed Charlie didn’t have any suggestions. “Why is it you’ve been so quiet this afternoon? It’s not like you.” Then I studied what I’d just said. Seemed Charlie had become less talkative since I’d come to this place.

  “Now you listen to me, Charles Eugene Hopper. No excuses. I need your help here. I’ve always needed your advice. Nothing’s changed about that. Not even dying changed that.”

  There was no response of any kind from my dear departed husband. I couldn’t even call his presence to my mind’s eye, to see him smile or frown, to hear him chuckle or—

  I stomped my foot. “Charlie!”

  Feeling weak-kneed, I sank onto a nearby sofa until I gradually came to my senses and realized the phone book was in my hands, and there was still a job to do. “Charlie,” I said louder and firmer than I intended. “Help me out. Who would know the bus schedule?”

  At that very moment, Lil appeared and clamped her brakes. “I’ve been watching you for the last five minutes. What, pray tell, are you doing stomping around here and yelling at nobody but yourself? Have you lost your wits? And, by the way, what was Smiley doing in your room this afternoon? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  I didn’t know what to say—didn’t care one iota about her seeing Smiley, but how could I explain that for the first time, my Charlie had totally disappeared like steam from a kettle. And I didn’t know if this was a temporary situation, or if it was permanent. I looked into this lady’s puzzled face and asked, “What was your husband’s name?”

  “Harold. I’ve told you that before. Why?”

  “Did you ever talk to him? I mean, after he died?”

  “Well … uh … I did at the funeral home. And I think at the gravesite. But after he was buried? No. Not after that.”

  “Not ever?”

  She shook her head as she concentrated on picking a stubborn piece of lint off her navy blouse. Her fuchsia nails sparkled as bright as her many diamonds plus emeralds, sapphires, and one large ruby on her little finger. I waited, counted thirteen rings in all until finally Lil pushed out a sigh and said, “The bare truth is we didn’t exactly have the best marriage in the world.”

  “But you told everyone that you and your Harold—”

  “I know. I know. Sometimes it helps to fantasize. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  “No, of course not. Well … maybe a little. But he’s real. Real to me anyway.”

  “Here’s what I think. You’ve been busy since you came here, and getting into a good bit of trouble, I might add. Maybe your Charlie is exhausted trying to keep up with you. Maybe you need to let him rest. Or maybe he’s up in heaven enjoying himself, and you’re down here trying to take care of the whole world, and he’s turning it over to you. Maybe he knows you don’t need him, that you can handle things on your own.”

  For a moment I was stunned into silence. We sat looking at each other without blinking or moving a muscle. Ida Mae was singing and cooing to her baby doll. The grandfather clock in the entry gonged on the half hour. Finally, I found my voice, but it sounded as raspy as a dying old woman.

  “You’re crazy. Charlie would never leave me. Never.”

  “Listen to what you’re saying. You might consider going to someone for help.”

  “Help? Those kinds of doctors are crazier than we are.”

  Lil laughed so hard her breasts jiggled. She smoothed the pearls around her neck and leaned back in her chair. “No, no. Not a shrink. A Madam. Madam Isabella. She has a place just outside town on Highway 421. I haven’t been in a while. My Edward doesn’t believe in such nonsense. When I could decide these things for myself, I went. Had some things to find out from my Aunt Margaret.”

  I smiled, though I knew Francesca was dead serious. “Her name was Margaret? Hmmm.”

  Francesca leaned forward. “You don’t believe in reincarnation, do you?”

  I held up both hands. “Absolutely not.”

  “Your Margaret and mine do have the same personality—flighty.”

  There was no need to take offense, so I let her statement go and tried to get us back on track. But she had more to say.

  “I surmise you don’t even read your horoscope.”

  “You surmise right. Don’t believe in the stuff. Never did.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so snippy and close-minded. Stop by my room one afternoon, and we’ll see what the cards show us.” She reached into one of the side pouches of her wheelchair tray and pulled out a stack of colorful cards held together by a red rosary.

  “Francesca!” I shouted, jumping up and sending the phone book to the floor. “That’s worse than a preacher peddling snake oil.”

  “Oh, keep your bloomers on, Agnes. That rosary has no more meaning to me than a rubber band. But now, my daddy? He was a strict Catholic. This keeps him satisfied.”

  “You’re crazier than a bedbug. I had no idea.”

  “Because I like to fool around with tarot cards? Spare me the lecture. Please.”

  I had found out more about this woman in the last few minutes than I needed to know. I truly did not know what to say and stood there completely dumbfounded.

  Lil proceeded to turn her wheelchair around and headed down the hall toward the porch, but stopped and wheeled around to face me again. “By the way, I won’t mention—”

  Lollipop sauntered over and stood between us. He turned toward me and began unwrapping a new sucker. His mouth worked in anticipation while he focused on his task.

  “Humph,” Lil said, leaving in a huff. “When I own this place, we won’t accept demented people like him. That’s a promise.”

  In the next instant, Prissy nearly stumbled into the wheelchair in her rush down the hall, with the nurse following close behind her. Lil didn’t waste any time making herself scarce while the two other women disappeared, running now toward the big house.

  “Forgive me, Lord,” I whispered, “but I don’t want to know what they’re doing. I just want out of this place.”

  With his new sucker firmly planted in his mouth, Lollipop said, “That woman is mean.”

  I knew he meant Miss Johnson, and I couldn’t have agreed more. I wanted him to tell me his reasons, but his frightened-looking expression changed in an instant to a silly half-grin. He took a lemon sucker out of his pocket and held it out to me.

  “Wanna be my girlfriend?”

  I patted his arm. “I’ll be your friend. Would you like that?”

  Before I could stop him, he threw his arms around me and gave me an enormous hug that felt like a vise. Nearly knocked me off my feet. We rocked side to side before he finally released me. I grabbed the phone book and took a step b
ack as he placed the sucker in his pocket and patted it with his hand. Then he started talking, and he had a mouthful to say.

  “Bus pulls into the gas station at 7:05. Supposed to be seven o’clock, but it comes at 7:05. Leaves at 7:12 … on the dot.” He stopped and grinned like he’d just won the National Spelling Bee. But he wasn’t finished. “On the dot … 7:12 on the dot.” Somehow he must have thought that was funny. He threw his head back and laughed.

  “How do you know all this?”

  Lollipop looked at me as if I should know the answer. “Because my brother takes me to Berea to go shopping. That’s why. Every Tuesday. Roses’ Family Store.”

  “When does he bring you back?”

  “We catch the bus in front of Roses’ at 10:46 on the dot. On the dot.” He stuck his sucker back in his mouth and looked very pleased with himself.

  I didn’t want another bone-crushing hug, so I took a step back and gave him my best smile. “Thanks, Lollipop. You’re a real friend. By the way, what’s your brother’s name?”

  “Name’s Big Brother John. That’s what it is.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Big Brother John it is.”

  That seemed to satisfy this man who, I had to admit, was a little strange, but no stranger, or maybe not as demented, as one Diamond Lil, the fantasy queen. Lollipop was someone who knew more about what was going on than anyone had given him credit for. By chance, or maybe divine guidance, I knew that Roses’ in Berea was located directly across from Mission Hospital.

  Lollipop had given me the bus schedule I needed and his brother’s name.

  On the dot.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We stood underneath a sign painted with forever-racing horses attached to a stagecoach that squeaked as it swung back and forth in a stiff breeze. Dust swirled around our feet. I gave way to a sneezing fit and finally pulled a handkerchief loose, grateful I had thought to tuck it underneath my belt. The driver started the bus, but appeared to be doing paperwork, apparently not ready to open the door. Exhaust fumes—worse than Mr. Case’s produce truck—belched from the back end. I told my stomach to behave and didn’t voice any complaints while Smiley checked his pocket watch for the umpteenth time.