by Loki Renard
It sounded a little silly, but the women clearly took it seriously and Annika was not going to turn down friends simply because the whole thing smacked of levity.
“We welcome Annika Soames to the Order of the Sweetville Brides,” Kitty Treewood said, tapping Annika on each of her shoulders with a gold-plated knitting needle. “May she always be jolly, may she find happiness in her marriage and support in the sorority of her peers.”
“Welcome, Annika Soames,” the Sweetville Brides chorused.
“Let us enjoy refreshments and our new sisterhood,” Kitty said, sending the ladies scattering to the plates of cookies and sandwiches lined up on a table at the far side of the room.
Annika nibbled at a sandwich and stayed largely quiet in the aftermath of her initiation. She still didn’t know quite what to make of the whole Sweetville Brides situation. Clearly these women didn’t know what hardship was, didn’t know what challenge was, were bored out of their privileged skulls and so made these silly societies to entertain themselves. Annika didn’t actually blame them, it meant they had more spirit than she’d given them credit for. There were real people behind those perfect veneers of femininity, people who wanted to have fun.
“Kitty became president by Saran-wrapping every single car in the Sweetville Mall parking lot while people were watching the spring dances,” Mary said by way of conversation.
“So this is a prank club?”
“It is much more than a prank club,” Kitty disagreed, having overheard. “It is a coalition of the proper. And we are at war.”
“With who?”
“The Sweetville Women’s Society. They’re communists and mixed planters.”
“Mixed planters?”
“They’re a splinter group who went renegade by mixing daisies and gerberas in their front gardens,” Mary explained. “Kitty told them to choose one or the other. They refused. We’ve been at war ever since.”
“Over flowers?” Annika’s confusion was growing by the second.
“Over standards,” Kitty explained. “If you don’t have standards, you don’t have anything. To the needles, ladies! We have knitting to do!”
The women dutifully reached into their handbags and drew out their assigned knitting. Dozens of little black hats were soon being cranked out by their capable fingers.
“I thought America was the land of the free,” Annika said. “Where anybody can do anything.”
“Anybody is free to do anything, but they are not free from the consequences,” Kitty said firmly. “And there are consequences for daisies and gerberas. The Women’s Society is condemned to live out the consequences of their own terrible taste.”
“You want to know what’s really quite mad?” Mary whispered to Annika as everybody knitted another row.
“Nyet.”
Mary told her anyway. “Gerberas are, technically, daisies.”
“Why are we a member of a club with a president who is mad about daisies being daisies?”
“It passes the time,” Mary said. “Kitty is always good for a laugh. Besides, the split with the WS wasn’t about gerberas anyway. It was because Lonnie Forsyth held a spring ball on the same night Kitty held a spring soirée.”
“Oh,” Annika said. “I thought it might be a petty reason.”
* * *
“Did you have a good time?” Steven made his usual inquiry when Annika managed to disentangle herself from the Sweetville Brides and escape back home.
“No,” Annika said. “I did not have a good time. Those women are crazy. The things they worry about…”
“It’s always difficult adjusting to a new culture,” Steven said soothingly.
“If you plant daisies instead of carnations, they cut you out,” Annika said. “That… that is crazy.”
“Girls will be girls,” Steven said calmly. He didn’t get it. He saw Kitty Treewood as a respectable figure. He didn’t see her as a fanatical leader planning party revenge on those who had crossed her.
“I’m not going to any more of their events,” Annika declared.
“You will,” Steven said. “Because it is more or less your job. The pastor’s wife needs to keep in touch with the community, especially those who are in the position to make donations to church fundraisers.”
“You didn’t tell me that before we were married,” Annika muttered. “There was a lot you didn’t tell me.”
Steven’s brows creased sharply. “Something you’d like to say, young lady?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not going to any more of Kitty’s mad little meetings.”
“You are,” he replied. “And you’ll behave yourself at them and keep her happy.”
“You don’t even know what you’re asking from me.”
“I do. I’m asking you to smile, make nice, arrange some flowers, and knit the odd hat. Anything Kitty does, you do too.”
Annika opened her mouth to argue more, but realized it was useless. He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t tell him without completely betraying the confidence of all the Sweetville Brides. It would be disloyal, and if Annika was anything, it was loyal. Besides, it would serve him right for not listening properly in the first place.
“Fine,” she said. “I will do what Kitty wants. But I’m not taking responsibility for the fallout, and I’m not going to get in trouble for it either.”
“I’m sure you won’t get into trouble with knitting needles and flower arrangements,” Steven said indulgently.
Annika let him think that.
* * *
The next meeting of the Sweetville Brides was held out at Treewood Stud, an impressive complex outside Sweetville proper, but more than close enough for the Treewoods to be a founding family of the town.
The ladies cooed over a young foal, then took tea and did some knitting in what Kitty Treewood called her ‘good room.’ A good room was apparently a room full of overstuffed furniture in various floral patterns. Annika was not a very good knitter, but that didn’t matter as Kitty had a project already in progress for her that only needed a little finishing off.
“Where is Mr. Treewood?” Annika asked Mary.
“He died a few years ago,” Mary murmured. “It was very sad.”
Annika felt a pang of sympathy for Kitty Treewood. She was rich and she was very proper, everything Annika had always known she was not. And yet she had still been struck by tragedy.
“This is a big place for one woman,” Annika said, looking around the impressive home. There were more porches at Treewood House than there were bedrooms at the church house. The place had bedroom after bedroom, a dedicated ballroom, and a plethora of other compartmentalized spaces that were entirely devoid of occupants.
Once tea and sandwiches were taken, Kitty had an announcement. “Tonight the Sweetville Brides bare their teeth,” she declared, resting her well-manicured hand on the gargantuan mantle of a frankly leviathan fireplace. Annika imagined that one could have roasted a boar in the thing, it was that large. “Are you ladies finished with your projects?”
The ladies shook out their knitting and suddenly Annika saw what they had been creating. She’d thought hers was some kind of doll’s clothing, or a hat. But it wasn’t. It was a garment designed to obscure the face.
“We’ve been knitting… balaclavas,” she said in wonderment.
“We’ve been knitting balaclavas and we’ve been sowing the seeds of our enemy’s discontent,” Kitty declared, pulling hers over her head, quite squashing her coif.
“What are we going to do with them?” Annika was starting to feel quite concerned. Even as an underhanded shoplifter and occasional car thief, she had never felt compelled to put on a balaclava. Bad things happened when people covered their faces.
“We’re going to teach the Women’s Society a lesson,” Kitty said. “A lesson that will go down in history.”
“We’re not going to blow something up, are we?” Annika’s mind had zeroed in on all the fertilizer Kitty must have for her
gardening exploits.
“Heavens, no!” Kitty produced a can of spray paint. “We’re going to paint the town red.”
“We’re going to graffiti?”
“Of course not! We’re off to paint those disgusting white chrysanthemums the SW insisted on planting alongside the main road. This evening, the Sweetville Brides will make their mark—and erase the heresy of the Women’s Society.”
Annika exchanged doubtful looks with her fellow cohorts. Not a single one of them seemed to share Kitty’s enthusiasm for the plan.
“What happened to your spirits?” Kitty censured them. “In my day we’d have been done already.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay out late,” Sarah said. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”
“John insists I be home by four o’clock,” Mary added, regretfully stuffing her balaclava back into her purse.
One by one, the Sweetville brides made their excuses and left, until none were left besides Kitty and Annika.
“And what do you have to do?” Kitty sighed.
“Nothing,” Annika shrugged. She had thought about leaving when Mary did, but Steven’s warning to stay on Kitty’s good side was still ringing in her ears—and she felt sorry for the woman. None of her little club members seemed to want to get involved when it meant putting their own bottoms on the line.
“You’ll do this with me?” Kitty’s blue eyes brightened. “I knew I liked you.”
When night fell, Kitty drove the pair of them into town. They stopped just outside the center and went the rest of the way on foot, carefully spraying every white chrysanthemum red. It was actually more fun than Annika had thought it would be. Now and then one of the Sweetville PD patrols would do a sweep and they would hide behind a car or a trash can before resuming their rampage of red.
All would have been well, but for some pesky concerned citizen in one of the apartments that ran along Sweetville’s town square calling in enough cops to quell a riot. Annika didn’t know that had happened, of course. All she knew was that all of a sudden, each of the exits from the town square was blocked.
“We’ve been rumbled!” Kitty hissed. “Onwards!”
“What are you kids doing out after curfew?” An authoritarian voice boomed in their direction. It was John. Annika knew his voice the moment she heard it—and she took to her heels. Then she realized that Kitty wasn’t running. Kitty was still painting. The bold woman was so committed to her terrible decision that she was spraying the flowers even as an officer bore down on her.
While Annika was distracted by Kitty’s brazen commitment to defacing flowers, John caught up with her. He swung Annika off her feet and delivered a thunderous slap to her bottom that had her scream-swearing in her native tongue.
“Annika?” He pulled the balaclava off her head and glowered into her face. “What the giddy blazes are you doing running around in the dark?”
“Ask Mrs. Treewood.”
“What would Mrs. Treewood know about this?”
“Everything,” Annika said, dropping Kitty right in it.
“Boss, you’re going to want to come and see this,” another officer called.
John carried Annika over to where Kitty Treewood was sitting on the sidewalk, her hands cuffed behind her back. She gave John a defiant look as he drew closer.
“What on earth are you doing, Kitty?”
“Arrest me or let me go, John.”
Annika was impressed; Kitty Treewood didn’t back down when push came to shove. If anything, she got pushier and shovier.
“I just found you lurking around at three in the morning with a young lady who I know should be tucked up at home safe and sound, and you don’t think you owe me an explanation?”
“It’s not against the law to lurk,” Kitty replied. “We haven’t broken the law in any way, shape, or form.”
“She was painting the flowers,” the arresting officer said. “And we found these in her bag, sir. Explosives.”
“They’re fireworks. Spares from the last display,” Kitty said. “I was taking them home for safekeeping and forgot they were there.”
“I also found these, sir.”
John squinted at the package. “Water balloons? For if the fireworks get out of hand, perhaps?”
“Oh, really,” Kitty sighed. “Do you have nothing to do but question women on the contents of their handbags?”
“When those women have been caught red-handed defacing public property, no.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kitty sniffed arrogantly.
“And I’m just as sure you do. It’s a pity old Terence isn’t around to sort you out, Kitty. He’d have had your hide for this.”
“Do not bring my late husband into this harassment.”
“It’s not harassment, Kitty, you’ve been tampering with private property. There are consequences.”
“As I said, John. Arrest me, or leave me be. These cuffs are ridiculous.”
“You’re right about that,” he agreed. “Deputy, remove those cuffs.”
Kitty smirked with triumph for about three seconds. The moment the cuffs came off, she was in trouble. John let go of Annika, and Annika watched wide-eyed as John propped his leg up on the cruiser’s bull bar, slung Kitty Treewood over his thigh and started spanking her as if she were any other misbehaving miscreant caught on a night’s mischief.
“You can stay there, missy,” he said over his shoulder to Annika. “Steven is coming for you, and I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say.”
Annika could not take her eyes off Kitty’s bottom, which was rather shapely in tight black pants, and jiggling greatly with every swat delivered from the officer’s palm. She gave silent thanks that Steven was coming for her and that John had not decided to take her in hand. He did not miss a beat while spanking Kitty. Every slap landed hard and true.
Before long, Kitty was wailing. Annika felt somewhat guilty for being witness to her disciplinary undoing, for it was clear that Kitty was in no small amount of discomfort. John spanked her until she was crying out for mercy, and then a little longer just to make his point before standing her on her feet and pulling her close.
“Now you mind me, Mrs. Treewood,” he said. “I’ll not tolerate these kind of antics in my town, you understand?”
“Yes, officer,” Kitty agreed tearfully.
“And you’ll be coming over for dinner with Mary and me tomorrow night,” he added. “Now get in the squad car. I’m taking you home just as soon as I make sure Mrs. Soames is attended to.”
Steven was not far away. In fact, Annika could already see him coming down the street at a fast trot. He closed the distance between them quickly and grasped her close.
“Annika!” Steven wrapped his arms around her. “I was worried you were hurt. What happened?”
The look of tension and strain on his face made her feel terrible. “Nothing,” she said. “It was just a silly misunderstanding.”
“It was just a silly prank,” John corrected. “Looks like Kitty Treewood convinced her little gang to start painting the flower beds.”
“Her little gang?”
“Well, she and Annika,” John said. “I suspect there were more to be found, but your wife here managed to make quite a distraction.”
“There weren’t any others,” Annika said. “The others went home after tea.”
“But you stayed out,” Steven said, glowering at her. “To cause trouble. We are going home right now.”
Annika trailed obediently after her irate husband. She did not feel guilty in the slightest, though she knew her personal feelings of guilt were not likely to impact on the punishment she had coming. The situation was unwinnable, so she simply resigned herself to it as she stamped through the front door and into the living room where there were all sorts of objects she’d probably be spanked over.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Steven planted his hands on his hips and looked down at her. “If there is anything you can say,
of course.”
“It’s your fault.”
He rocked back on his heels. “It’s my fault? How do you figure that?”
“I told you I didn’t want to be part of it; you said I had to.”
“You didn’t tell me Kitty wanted you to deface gardens in the middle of the night.”
“You didn’t ask. You told me to do whatever she wanted. To make her happy. Because you wanted her donation. You pretend like you care about people, but you didn’t care about Kitty. You just wanted her money.”
Steven looked at her, stunned. “You’re… right,” he said. “You’re completely right.”
“You’re good at helping people who obviously need help,” Annika pointed out. “But sometimes rich, powerful people need help too.”
“We all need help sometimes,” Steven agreed, drawing her close and kissing her nose. “You know what?”
“What?”
“You just talked yourself out of a spanking. It’s not going to happen often, so enjoy it.”
“I got away with that?” Annika couldn’t believe it.
“You didn’t get away with anything. You didn’t want to do any of that, I imagine. Knitting balaclavas and interfering with plants isn’t really your style of mayhem,” he said as he sat down in an armchair.
“What is my style of mayhem?” She straddled his lap and looked down at him with a little smile.
“You? You’re the more direct, infinitely more lawless kind. Kitty Treewood only has boarding school pranks from thirty years ago to draw on. Your inspiration comes more from the felony drawer, so I’ll thank you to keep behaving yourself.”
“I’m not in trouble, remember,” she said. “Nothing was stolen. Nothing was seriously harmed. And all I did was knit a balaclava and help a lady paint flowers.”
“Yes, I know,” Steven said, patting her bottom lightly. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get some sleep.”
