by Leigh Tudor
They were seeing homes that had perfectly sod front yards that looked more like wafts of carpet than blades of grass, and exteriors glistening with fresh coats of paint. Some even had decorations on their front doors depicting the current season. Others had window boxes filled with all kinds of plants and flowers that looked straight out of one of those home decorating shows.
That night, during dinner, they’d discussed what they could do to spruce up the outside of their house. Cara piped up that a friend at school said something about the moms always looking at a certain app for house decorating ideas.
And that’s when the magic began.
With the magical help of Pinterest.
Loren removed her work gloves, pointing toward the other side of the driveway. “I see purple-blue hydrangeas along the far fence and a bricked walkway trimmed with begonias from the house to the driveway.”
She’d also envisioned this in the usual mathematical patterns, but kept that to herself. She picked up her new iPad sitting next to her to search for ideas.
Mercy turned her phone toward Loren. “What about a pale sea green for the exterior of the house?”
“But white trimmed in black is so timeless,” Loren said, noting she should check the time. “We should stop. We’ve got to pick up Cara from band practice in an hour, and there are some things I want to do on the way.”
“You go ahead. I’ll stay here and finish up,” Mercy replied.
“But we are finished, and I want to show you the McAlister House. We’ll drive right by it. It’s a bed & breakfast, which is kinda like a hotel but with higher rates and fewer amenities.”
Mercy shoved her rain boot in the dirt. “I don’t want to go. I don’t like the way the townspeople look at us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like . . . like they don’t like us.”
Loren nodded. She noticed it, too. It was like they were the town outcasts. “They just don’t know us.” She lifted herself from the front porch step and pulled down her cutoffs, and repositioned her silver faux metallic bikini top.
“How are they going to get to know us if they won’t even talk to us?” Mercy pulled on the garden hose to wash off her shiny red rain boots, herself wearing a yellow Mumford and Son’s tee cut off just below her boobs and black bikini bottoms.
Loren thought about it, “We’ll kill ’em with kindness. Say hello to everyone we pass until they have to say hi back.”
Mercy cricked her neck back and forth. “I don’t think I would even know how to have a conversation with them. I mean, what would I even say?”
Loren picked up the weed eater. “The weather, that’s always a good conversation-starter.”
Mercy nodded, but Loren could see she remained unconvinced. And then she finally caved. “Just let me put on some shorts and we can go.”
After driving by the McAlister House, it was official, home improvement was an important part of living in Wilder. People took pride in their homes and their overall community. If they wanted to fit in, they had to fix up their dingy little house. They agreed they, too, needed an arbor covered in morning glories leading to the backyard like the McAlister home, and started to scope out a list of materials.
“Let’s see what Wilder’s hardware store can help us with.”
Loren pulled into the parking lot of the local hardware shop. A couple of men walked by with small bales of hay as they neared the entrance.
“Afternoon,” they said, touching their fitted caps.
And then their wives walked out of the store, laughing, until they saw Loren and Mercy and went quiet, their heads down as they moved past them to catch up with their men.
“Hello,” Loren said, despite their less-than-friendly expressions.
But then: Nothing.
They watched as the women all but ushered the men to their trucks, glancing behind them.
“Maybe we should’ve commented on the weather?” Loren mused thoughtfully. She smiled at Mercy, who looked dejected. “We’ll keep trying. Come on, let’s get our stuff for the arbor.”
She grabbed the door handle to the hardware store and her mood instantly lifted.
In the last week or so, Loren had discovered that walking into an old hardware store was nothing less than a euphoric assault to the olfactory system. She breathed in the aroma of tightly packed bags of potting soil, stacks of freshly cut lumber, and what must have been decades of lingering oil spills.
Dusty rays of sunbeams shone lazily over the dirty black floor mat, which ended as they walked onto the heavily worn, creaky wooden floor. The jingle-jangly door clanged shut behind them.
A man who looked in his mid-fifties with Henry embroidered on his gunmetal gray shirt helped them to gather the lumber they would need after showing him a picture on Pinterest.
As Loren paid for their next project and arranged for delivery since they couldn’t possibly haul it all home in their Ford Escort, she noticed a Help Wanted sign hanging behind the counter. She couldn’t imagine a better place to come to work every day.
“I see you’re hiring,” she said, doing her best to refrain from waving her hand in the air, and yelling, “Pick me, pick me!”
He hesitated, and scratched behind his ear. “The position’s been filled.”
Her heart sank, but then her instincts kicked in. “Then why do you have a Help Wanted sign up?”
“Well, lookie there. I guess I forgot to take it down.”
He was clearly lying, but then he also looked remorseful.
High road, that’s what she decided to take. She held out her hand to shake his. He politely reciprocated. “I’d be interested if anything opens up again. My name’s Loren Ingalls.”
“Henry Sterling.” He smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
She started to leave and then hesitated and turned. “You related to Lenore Sterling?” she asked, remembering the woman who worked at the 7-Eleven just outside of town.
“Lenore’s the wife,” he said, which to Loren, explained everything.
The woman had looked at her and Mercy with outright disapproval the day they arrived into town and stopped by the convenience store to pick up a few things. And then again at church, with the same expression of disdain.
High road. If not for herself, then she had to show Mercy how to take it. “Yes, we’ve met her,” she said, plastering a smile on her face. “Please tell Lenore we said hello.”
They walked quietly to the car until Mercy finally broke.
“That woman hates us,” she vented, her arms crossed over her stomach. “You should’ve told him his wife was a judgmental hag.”
Loren sighed heavily as she looked at Mercy over the hood of the car. “Kill them with kindness, Mercy, remember?”
Mercy’s eyes began to fill, and she looked away. “I told you.” She swallowed heavily. “Everyone hates us here.”
Loren pulled into the school parking lot, instantly spotting Cara and Ally sitting next to one another on the curb, waiting for their rides. Loren jumped out of the car and walked up to the girls with Mercy following as if she were about to be ambushed by a band of South American terrorists—or some of the local women.
Just as they reached the girls, Mrs. Waterman walked by with her chin in the air and her hand firmly around her daughter’s arm. Samantha Waterman was in Cara and Ally’s class, but her mother refused to even look at them.
“Hi, Mrs. Waterman, Samantha,” Loren said with a meek smile. “Nice weather we’re having.”
She speed-walked past them as if they were tainted.
And then Loren was so pleased when Mercy also gave it her best shot. “I hear it’s going to be perfect bikini weather tomorrow.”
Mercy shielded the sun from her eyes. “Look at her go,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s like a swarm of locusts are about to crest over the hill.”
“Why on earth would she not respond to such a great conversation-starter?” Loren asked, almost to herself.
“I told you. E
veryone hates us,” Mercy said.
“You’re competition.”
Both Loren and Mercy turned as this pronouncement came from Ally.
“What?” Loren asked.
“You’re competition.” Ally repeated. “Not only that, you could say you’re ‘unfair competition.’ They’re jealous.”
“What are we competing for?” Mercy asked, her eyebrows pinched.
Loren sat down on the curb next to Ally. “Wait, why are they jealous? We don’t have half the shit they have. Excuse my language.”
Cara pulled out a notepad and placed a notch on the page, grimacing at Loren, yet another Sunday in purgatory.
Mercy piped up. “Have you seen the McAlister House? They have a grape orchard and a cute little greenhouse.”
Loren added to Mercy’s argument. “They have parents and grandparents and bricked driveways.”
Cara shook her head as if agitated. “I told them they dressed inappropriately.”
“No,” Mercy corrected, “you told us we dressed like the whores of Babylon. Where the hell is Babylon anyway?”
“It’s a borough in New York City,” Loren answered.
Ally laughed again and stopped as Loren narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re on to something. Please continue.”
Loren watched as Ally glanced at Cara, who rolled her eyes, and motioned her to continue. “Please, go on. Now you’ll see what I’ve been dealing with.”
Ally leaned toward Cara. “I thought you said they were really smart.”
Cara shrugged. “Zero sensitivity to social cues and apparently geographically challenged.”
“Okay,” Ally said with a sigh, turning toward Loren and Mercy. “Well, you’re both extremely fit and completely comfortable with your bodies. Wilder’s a pretty conservative small town in Texas and the women here, for the most part, are less than pleased with themselves and their bodies. Have you seen any other women in Wilder as fit and as gorgeous as you two?” She went on in a factual manner. “Mercy, look at you. You’re cut like some TV ninja warrior, wearing a cutoff tee without a bra, and wearing red rain boots.”
“What the hell is sexy about rain boots?” Mercy asked, looking down at her shoe wear.
Ally continued her explanation. “Loren, you’re petite with amazing curves but you’re also cut. I mean, look at your abs.”
Loren glanced at her bare stomach beneath her silver bikini top.
“You’re a woman with a six-pack and a rack. You look like you could go all Game of Thrones, Mother of Dragons on half the men in town.”
Loren regarded Ally as if she were working on a puzzle. “No idea what you’re talking about. Dragons are fictitious animals. Kinda like unicorns.”
Cara lifted her hands as if in vindication. “Now do you see what I’m working with here? They’re totally clueless.”
“Wow,” Ally said, her eyes wide. “They’re like superheroes who are completely unaware of their superpowers. Or pop culture.”
“Oooh, I can throw a machete and hit the bullseye from twenty yards,” Mercy offered up.
Just then Emmy Lou Roberts drove up to the curb and waved to all of them.
Mercy jumped up at the one woman in Wilder who was nice to them. “Hi, Mrs. Roberts, wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“Why, yes, dear, it is.”
Mercy grinned from ear-to-ear, looking at Loren and clapping her hands.
“I’m afraid I need your help this evening,” Mrs. Roberts said with pursed lips. “I’m pretty desperate. Would you ladies be available?”
Loren grinned. “Why, of course, Mrs. Roberts. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”
She patted her chest with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, you girls are a godsend. Meet me at the church basement in ten minutes.”
Chapter Eight
“Mathematics is the most beautiful and most powerful creation of the human spirit.”
— Stefan Banach
Polish mathematician, founder of modern functional analysis
* * *
Five minutes later, they made their way down the basement steps, where Mrs. Roberts began introductions.
To small children.
Some toddlers.
“And this is Emma Jane, she’s such an angel,” Mrs. Roberts said, and then as if remembering something from the recent past, added, “Unless you give her too much sugar.” She placed her hands over the three-year-old’s ears. “Let’s just say it’s nothing short of Armageddon. This is Christina,” she said, moving on to the smaller child. “Tina’s a bit of a live wire. Don’t let her near any light sockets, or small defenseless animals.”
Mrs. Roberts kept moving through the basement, grabbing a child and introducing him or her to a mute Loren and Mercy. They were everywhere, a horde of children running around the church’s windowless dungeon-like basement.
“And why are we watching them again?” Loren asked, the decibel level of the room making her voice hard to hear.
“Self-defense class,” Mrs. Roberts said.
“Aren’t they a little young to be learning chokeholds?” Loren inquired, just as one of the four-year-old boys by the name of Tommy gave his younger brother a quite impressive “standing near naked” chokehold. She grimaced as a green line of mucous emerged from the little brother’s nose.
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Roberts said with a light laugh, “their mothers are taking the self-defense class in the church gymnasium. Cindy Lue Lemming was supposed to watch the children, but came down with acute bronchitis.”
“Lucky Cindy Lue,” Loren said to herself, counting seven children all under the age of six.
“Thank you again, girls,” Mrs. Roberts said, tapping her lip with her finger as she looked them over. She then pulled a Jesus Slays tee from a pile sitting on a nearby counter. “Why don’t you ladies wear these shirts? They were printed for one of our high school events, and look to be your size.” She passed them to Loren and Mercy. “You know how messy children can be.”
Mercy and Loren pulled them on in total agreement.
And at that, Mrs. Roberts turned to make her way up the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll be in the gymnasium if you need anything.”
Loren turned toward Cara and Ally with nothing short of desperation.
“Don’t look at us,” Cara said with her hands up. “Ally and I are taking the self-defense class.”
Loren turned a skeptical eye toward Ally. “It’s true. I just called Alec and he’s picking me up afterward.”
She then turned to Mercy, who, she was sure, was on the verge of a meltdown and couldn’t have been more surprised at what she saw: Mercy, on her knees, with the rapt attention of four little girls. One was sucking her thumb and another seemed to have a panty-in-the-crack issue going on. The other two older girls stared at her as if she wore a Wonder Woman suit.
“Isn’t the weather lovely today?” Mercy asked the girls looking at her as if awestruck. They each nodded and Mercy glowed. “How many of you do gymnastics?” They all raised their hands.
Loren was skeptical, given their blatant lack of muscle tone.
“Excellent!” Mercy put two fingers to her mouth and produced an ear-piercing whistle. Miraculously, all the children stopped what they were doing and gave her their full attention. “Everybody line up,” she said, pulling mats from a corner to the middle of the room, “we are going to do some gymnastics.”
And when the MMA Fighter Wannabe, Tommy, grabbed one of the girls to attempt an American Armlock, Mercy’s earsplitting whistle caught his attention. “You,” she said, pointing at the derelict, “you have to go the end of the line, but before you do, grab a tissue and take care of your brother’s nose. Now, everyone, we’re going to begin with an easy forward roll and see if we can get to a back tuck by the end of the night.”
The children lined up as commanded.
“Look at you, Tina, you’re a natural. . . .”
Loren sat at a nearby table and chairs, compl
etely shocked at her sister’s total command of the room.
Mercy laughed as one of the boys performed purposely silly forward rolls. “Okay, funny man, let’s see how you fare when we get to the back tuck.”
Mercy caught Loren’s eye and gave her a thumbs-up. Loren pointed upstairs and Mercy gave her the okay sign with her fingers; the basement was clearly under her command and control.
Loren made her way up the stairs. It took her a while to hunt down the gymnasium as the church grounds were nothing short of a campus.
She counted the backs of fifteen people after opening the doors to the gym, all watching a man in his fifties, wearing what had to be an XXL tee and a pair of gray sweats that barely covered his distended belly. He spoke with an air of assumed authority, continuously pulling the back of his sweatpants up with one hand, the front with the other.
His breathing became labored after a few minutes of asking everyone their skill levels. Loren wondered how he was going to conduct a self-defense class when the intro made him breathless.
Many of the women participating were the same ones who didn’t seem to care too much for the Ingalls family, so she decided to lay low, fly under the radar and simply observe.
Alec opened one of the double doors to the church gymnasium and stood quietly to the side. He had showered and was on his way to pick up Ally from school when she’d called, breathless, asking if she could attend the self-defense class at the church.
After a brief interrogation, Alec relented but wanted to see for himself what the class was about. He had offered to show Ally a few moves on a number of occasions, but she seemed embarrassed and reticent. At the time, he wondered if she was uncomfortable grappling with her older brother or just too shy and introverted to attempt such bold moves.
He wanted to protect her, especially after what she’d been through when he’d been overseas. After many attempts, he’d finally resigned himself not to only being her parent and brother but also her personal bodyguard.
