Smiley reached over to the basket and took a large strawberry. He blew on it and bit down to the little green leaves. Everyone seemed to wait for his judgment. He shook his head. “I don’t know, ladies. They’re mighty sweet, but I don’t know if they’re as sweet as—”
“Daddy loves strawberries with thick, sweet cream. I’m going to fix him some right after supper,” Pearl said in a faraway voice. Then she returned to her humming.
I decided all this nonsense had gone on long enough, so I reached for my red purse. “Strawberries? This late in the season? Probably imported and have as much taste as a tomato in the middle of winter. How much do you want? I’ll give you a fair price, but not a penny more.”
You would have thought I’d offered the man a snake the way he jumped back. “Oh no, lady. I don’t want no money. Them berries was give to me, and I’m givin’ ’em to you. That’s all they is to it.”
He made a little bow as he backed up. Then he turned and left us with a little backward wave. He walked with a stiff knee, which gave a jerk to his stride, stepping with his left foot and dragging his right. Step … drag. Step … drag.
The strange man’s long hair swayed and jerked with the same rhythm, brushing his tanned back. All eyes watched him cross the porch, thump down the steps, and disappear out of sight. The sound of his boots made a hard scraping sound that echoed against the sidewalk. Lil smacked a card onto her tray. “Well, I never—”
“Fresh fruit. A true gift from heaven,” Alice interrupted. “God uses all kinds of people for his purposes. Did anyone notice his beautiful hair?”
Lil started bouncing in her chair like a kernel of corn on a hot griddle. “Oh. Oh. I know why that man came up here on this porch. He’s casing the place so he can come back later and rob us. That’s what they do these days. Don’t any of you people read the papers? I’m sure he saw that big wad you keep in your purse, Agnes. The only way he’d get my money is to tear my clothes off.” She patted her left breast with a king of hearts.
“You wish,” I said. “That man probably doesn’t have an evil thought in his head. A hard-working man who does a good deed and you think he’s up to something. What do you think, Smiley?”
“I say let’s enjoy these berries and quit fretting about why he brought them. Period.”
Everyone, even Pearl, was silent after that. Lil’s card playing became soft and slow, the only other sound the tinkling of wind chimes hanging from the far corner of the porch. I resumed my knitting, but the smell of plump strawberries pulsed out of that basket and into my inner being. Smells of the earth’s bounty, ripened by the sun on cloudless days. Didn’t matter what country they had come from. I thought of tobacco curing in the barn, its sweet, musty odor pulling me back to another time—when my Charlie was still alive. Two years and my heart still ached for that man. Didn’t think it would ever stop.
The restless feelings that had plagued me since my first day at Sweetbriar Manor stirred deep inside and rose clear up to my eyeballs. The only thing I knew for certain was that it wasn’t my delicate digestive system. As my unsettled thoughts whirled like one of those tornadoes predicted by Ralph Robinson, my stitches got tighter and tighter. Finally, I quit knitting altogether and held the sweater up to inspect my less than perfect handiwork. “Won’t be finished by tomorrow,” I said. “Look at the rows I need to rip out.”
No one even glanced my way as the remaining residents gathered on the porch, a cluster of shuffles, followed by the sound of staccato heels. Straight to the dinner bell, the director pulled its cord six times with such vigor I’m sure that young fellow down at Mike’s Motor Service raised his head and checked his watch. Then she faced us, closed her eyes, and prayed like a preacher come to Sunday dinner.
I glanced around and, in spite of myself, almost burst out laughing. Lollipop was asleep, his head supported by his fist that also held a sucker. The orange candy was stuck in his hair.
“Serves him right for being so selfish, Charlie.”
But then I forgot about Lollipop when I noticed the sky beyond him, dark streaks of purple bleeding into brilliant shades of red and yellow. The heavens were on fire.
Smiley patted my shoulder. “Time for supper, Sis. Come on, strawberries tonight.”
Most everyone was up and moving inside. Lil carried the berries on her tray, grumbling about us eating throwaway produce and how things would be different as soon as she talked to her Edward.
Alice scooted her feet along. “I’m sure our new cook will fix these for us. Isn’t God good?” Her voice sounded as weak as the slightest breeze.
“What if Miss Johnson decides to keep them for herself?” I said. “She could do that you know. She pretty much does as she pleases around here.”
When the residents creaked and groaned and finally settled around the dining tables, they sat in front of their name cards. I knew they would sit in the same spot anyway, cards or not. Always and forever. The sameness of it all made me want to scream, but somehow I contained myself.
Before Prissy could reach our table to carry the basket off to the kitchen, I took some berries off the top, wrapped them carefully in my napkin, and laid the small bundle in the top of my purse. Everyone around our table glared at me.
The food was awful. The meatloaf smelled like dog food and the instant mashed potatoes like wet cardboard. And the peas? Always hated little frozen peas.
“If I had a straw, I’d put these to better use, Charlie.”
“Come on now, Sis, you’ve got to eat.”
I looked over at Smiley’s plate. He was sopping up meatloaf juice with his roll.
“How can you eat that stuff?”
“I’ve had worse. Or sometimes nothing at all. Eat fast and you don’t taste it much. Got to eat to survive, don’tcha know.”
“That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Survival. That’s why you and nearly everyone else go around with blinders on.” I grasped my fork and attacked my peas, smashing them into mush. No easy task since they were hard as pebbles.
I had more to say, so I plowed ahead. “You must have been a prisoner in the war. That’s how you think you can live in this place. You think Sweetbriar Manor is better than having to live alone. Well, let me tell you, there are worse things than being alone.”
Smiley polished his plate with his last bite of roll and pushed it back. “You might say I was a prisoner of sorts, though I never served in the war. Tried to, but they turned me down. Said I didn’t weigh enough. Guess I’ve always been scrawny. Anyway, I was shipped to an orphanage at the age of five. Never knew my daddy, and my mother died of TB.”
“Oh my. What about your grandmother? Didn’t she raise you?”
“She wasn’t my real grandmother. Cleaning lady at the orphanage. Always had a biscuit or piece of cornbread tucked in her apron. ‘Here, child,’ she’d say, ‘you got to eat or you’re going to be nothing but a stump. You and that smile are going places one of these days.’”
I tried to swallow little bites of meatloaf with a big bite of roll. This story was worse than Mama telling me about all the little children starving in China.
I turned to Smiley. “Did you make all that up?”
His eyes sparkled, but he kept a straight face. “I never tell a lie to the womenfolk. Never. You have my word, and you can take it to the bank. And another thing—” He lowered his voice and leaned close. “It’s obvious things aren’t what they ought to be around here. I see and hear things. I’ve also experienced some things, and Alice has told me plenty. We need to talk when we’re sure no one can overhear. No one.”
A chill went clear to my bones and shook my nerves like a north wind had blown into the dining room. I couldn’t force another bite of cold peas or mashed potatoes into my mouth.
At that moment, Prissy swished into the dining room, cleared her throat, and made an announcement. “People. Listen, people. We have a special treat tonight. Fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream.”
I patted my purse. �
�I like my fruit plain, straight from the fields.” Alice leaned forward. “Don’t you think the strawberry man looked like Jesus?”
Before I could answer her, I was distracted by Lollipop. Out of his shirt pocket he had pulled the orange sucker covered with hair. He proceeded to dip it into his iced tea, pull off a few of the hairs, and then stick it in his mouth.
“Jesus?” Lil said, gazing upward, her hand at her throat.
“Alice, you probably think every man with long hair looks like Jesus,” I said. “What if Jesus came back today with a crew cut? What if He shaved His head? I hope when you get to heaven, he’s wearing a nametag. Hello, my name is—”
Alice gasped, looking more pale than usual. “Agnes! God will get you for blasphemy.”
Smiley, always the peacemaker, said, “Ladies, let’s don’t get too carried away.”
Lil didn’t help the situation. Stroking her throat, her eyes dreamy, she said, “Personally, I hardly noticed his hair, but did you see the muscles in his arms and across his back? If I were a few years younger, I’d wonder what kind of lover—”
I thought Alice was going to faint or have a stroke. Smiley rushed over as fast as he could and raised a glass of water to her lips.
“Breathe, Alice,” I said. “We may be old, but we’re not dead yet. I’ll bet Francesca can remember what it was like having a man to warm her bed at night. Right?”
“What did you say?” she asked.
I repeated every word, my voice rising with each syllable. People sitting at the other tables stopped eating and stared.
Lil laughed deep in her throat. “You and I have more in common than I thought. I never told this to anyone before, but the truth is Harold and I enjoyed each other so much it was almost a sin.” Then her face turned downward, and she looked like a tired old woman, her pink neck sagging in folds. In a soft voice, she added, “Harold’s been gone almost twenty years, and I miss him every day of my life. Every single day.”
Alice gathered her utensils and clattered them onto her plate. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you ladies talk about such things—things that should be private. All I did was ask a simple question about the man’s appearance, and you twisted it into something else.”
We were saved any further discussion of the strawberry man, of Jesus, or of our past sex lives when our new cook, a freckle-faced young woman, served the ice cream and strawberries. I wasn’t hungry, even for dessert, and gave my dish to Smiley.
Lil took her last bite and folded her napkin. “I think I remember that man from a week or so ago, asking for work. You’ll forget his tanned torso and his long curls if he puts a knife to your throat and demands your money—or worse. Mark my words. That man will be back.”
The director clapped her hands. “Time to finish up now, people. Time to finish up. Before retiring this evening, we’ll enjoy some wonderful music. The Red Bird Baptist Quartet will perform in the sitting room. Time’s marching on, people. Ten minutes until they begin.”
“If she calls us people one more time, I’m going to … to … well, I don’t know what I’ll do,” I said to Charlie, feeling like a whole bag of grumps.
“Oh my,” Alice said, “I haven’t heard a good quartet in years. I hope they sing, “I Come to the Garden Alone.” If they don’t, I’ll ask them if they know it.” Reaching for her pansy-wrapped walker as if she suddenly felt a surge of life, she stood quickly, her gold cross swinging as her tall figure bent and moved away.
“Everyone assumes old people always want to hear church music,” I grumbled. “How about bluegrass? Fiddle playing? Something you can pat your feet to and clap your hands?”
I rose and helped Smiley, who tottered a bit before he got going good. “Only church music I ever heard that came close was Ebenezer Baptist Church. Used to hear their music drift clear across our tobacco fields on Sunday nights. Those black folks can surely belt out some sweet music. Nobody who heard it could keep still. Me and Charlie used to stomp and shout on the front porch nearly every Sunday night. Made you feel good all over.”
The wheelchair breezed past us, taking the lead from Alice. “Wish to goodness you would speak up, Agnes,” Lil shouted. “You’re always mumbling. Can’t hear you half the time.”
“Well, don’t be so prideful and buy yourself a hearing aid,” I shouted back. “Or tell that rich son of yours, Edmond.”
“Edward,” she yelled. “His name’s Edward.”
A frown washed over Smiley’s whole face. Then he shook his head and moved quickly to catch up with Alice.
“That man. He thinks women have to always be nice, act like a lady, be polite, like his Alice. Humph. Well, I don’t feel so nice all the time, Charlie.”
Lollipop sauntered over, offering me the sucker he had taken from his mouth. Little hairs stuck out in all directions. “Wanna be my girlfriend?” he asked with a silly grin.
“What?” I managed to stammer, though I’d heard him just fine.
He stuck his hairy sucker in his mouth, reached into his pocket, and offered me a new one, wrapped up tight, fresh and unused. I couldn’t believe he was willing to give one up.
“Keep your suckers.” I pushed his hand away. “Your sister buys them special for you.”
That must have satisfied him, and he didn’t seem to remember the girlfriend question, thank the good Lord. I certainly didn’t want to walk down the hall beside Lollipop, so I hung back as he passed on by.
The Red Bird Quartet was warming up. The sitting room was almost full, but I stopped just short of entering and looked down the left hall toward my room. The red EXIT sign at the end caught my eye and pulled me toward it.
Chapter Twelve
I imagined myself swimming upstream in a great river, like the Amazon. Before I was halfway to the door, someone called, “Hey, you’re going the wrong way.”
When I stopped and turned, William was striding toward me. “What are you in such a hurry about, Red?” He removed the cigar I’d brought him from Begley’s, now wet and disgusting. “That was my mama’s nickname, you know. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I’ve … I’ve got to visit the ladies’ room. Fast. Don’t wait for me.”
“What? Oh yes, you do have that sort of problem, don’t you?” He backed up. “Well, don’t take too long now. You might not find a seat. Unless you want me to save you one.”
“No, I may be awhile. Might not even make it at all.”
“You’re the boss.” He left with a little salute of his cigar-filled hand.
Leaning against a handrail, my purse tight against my chest, I shut my eyes for a moment. Maybe some fresh air would help. I looked back down the hall. It was deserted, but the tune of “I Come to the Garden Alone” floated toward me, faint and ghost-like.
“A good song, but not enough pep, don’t you think, Charlie?”
If he agreed or disagreed, I didn’t hear him.
The EXIT sign pulsed above the gray metal door, shouting its message. I could feel its throbbing call inside my body … or was that my heart? Louder and louder, racing now, until I pushed down on that cold steel bar. And then—instant, deafening silence.
Amazingly, no alarm sounded. But then I remembered Prissy didn’t set the alarm until dusky-dark, after nine these days. Even though I meant to close it easy-like, the door slammed behind me like a clap of thunder. The garden was bathed in the golden light of early evening. A gentle breeze kissed my cheek, and the fountain sounded like the little creek on our farm. I understood why Lil came here after supper and stayed as long as possible.
Remembering what she’d said about the “Queen Bee,” I scanned the upstairs windows. Only one dim light glowed, and there was no sign of anyone standing there. Beside the confederate jasmine, I drank in its fragrance and looked back at the house again. Directly above, the North Star sparkled like a dewdrop catching all the light a promised moon could offer.
I never sat in the glider as I had intended. Instead, I found myself on the sidewalk. If someon
e had asked me, I couldn’t have told him how I got there. Maybe by the same way as this morning, through the empty weed-filled lot behind the boxwood. This morning seemed like years ago. Leaning against the 15 Minute Parking sign, I stopped to catch my breath.
“Now what am I going to do, Charlie?”
A faint ping-ping, ping-ping sounded in the quiet. A car had pulled into Mike’s Motor Service across the street. Mike’s business had been in that very spot for as long as I could remember. The old, rusty Gulf sign still hung haphazardly on a wooden pole. Mike said he couldn’t bear to part with it. Regular customers didn’t seem to mind paying such a high price for gas. After all, where else could you get your gas pumped, your windshield cleaned, and the latest gossip all in one stop? Places like that had become obsolete. Now it was pump your own.
“Well, Charlie, one thing’s for certain. I don’t need gas, and I’m not in the mood to listen to that Mike Murphy.” I turned and headed in the opposite direction.
Once I reached Blind George’s Pool Hall, I was tempted to go inside where it sounded as lively as an old-time tent revival. People shouted and laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world while cue sticks scattered balls in all directions. Jukebox music swelled above it all. Someone had chosen “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town,” one of my favorites.
A couple brushed by me, looking at nothing but each other. The man wore cowboy boots, one scraping against the sidewalk as he walked. His blonde girlfriend was clad in little white shorts and a black, gold-lettered jacket. When they paused in the dimly lit doorway, he removed his cowboy hat, revealing long curls. Not only did his walk sound like the strawberry man’s, he looked like him too.
“Lil’s thief,” I said and continued on my way.
Begley’s Drug Store was closed up tight and dark inside—the only place to get a decent vanilla milk shake since Gene’s Daisy Queen produced only soapsuds and lint these days. Next to the drugstore was a barbershop with a striped pole, and then Kut ‘N Loose with wrinkled drapes pulled behind posters of glamorous women taped to its window.
Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) Page 9
