Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) (24 page)

Some people hurried away. Others shuffled into the heat and followed the train tracks, which led to only-heaven-knew-where.

Mr. Case swept over to where I stood watching Jack. The shopping bag, damp now on the bottom, threatened to break. I hugged it close with my hands underneath.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered at me. “Where’d you come from? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Don’t want to know where you’re going, neither. Just go on away from here. Go on.” He made little sweeps with his broom as if sweeping me away.

“I’m here to see Juanita,” I said, dancing away from the advancing broom.

Jack walked between us to pick up a box. “I don’t know nothin’ about it, Boss.”

Mr. Case scowled like a storm cloud. I scowled right back and held on to the bag that felt like it might give way any minute and spill baby
clothes all over the dirty floor. Then I heard a young girl’s voice behind me.

“She don’t look like no social worker, Virgil. I can handle this.”

I turned to face a pretty young girl carrying an infant in a sling-like contraption across her chest. She practically looked like a child herself, with her freckled face, hair in two long plaits, and thin cotton dress.

“Can we go some place to talk?” I asked.

“We can sit on them empty crates over there. Trailer leaks. Besides, Frankie’s getting hungry again.”

While her baby suckled and made little contented sounds, I told Juanita about Alice. Told her everything. When I finished Alice’s story and handed the young mother five hundred dollars, I didn’t mention it was actually my money and not my friend’s. I showed her the little ring, baby bracelet, and lock of hair too, putting them inside my coin purse and then into my red purse, in case Alice would want to hold them one more time.

While I talked, Juanita sat with her head bent, fingering one of her baby’s blonde curls and lightly touching his cheek. When I finished, she looked up. Her eyes had filled with tears that began to spill over, and she let them flow. They made me think of a soft spring rain refreshing the earth. I handed her a handkerchief, one of my mama’s with a crocheted edge, and told her to keep it.

As she moved Frankie to her other breast, she tucked the money underneath his sling. “I never had such as this. I’ll have to study on how best to use it.” Her eyes danced as she considered the bag sitting on a crate between us. “What size you reckon them clothes is?”

I held up a little shirt with ducks marching across the front. “Oh, I don’t know about these things anymore. Besides, they’re handmade, so no tags like store-bought. Do you think they’ll fit?”

She laughed, making her freckles jump about. “I’ll swanee, if they don’t, they will soon. Frankie gets bigger each and every day.”

“I wish I could’ve washed them up nice for you, but I didn’t have time.”

“Don’t you worry none. I got plenty of rainwater now, and I got me some Ivory flakes. Will you come back to visit when our place ain’t soppin’ wet and the yard a mud hole?”

“I’d like that. I plan on visiting Alice tomorrow. Anything you want me to tell her?”

“I don’t know what to say. Nobody ever done nothin’ like this for me
before. Ever. Somehow,
thank you
don’t seem like enough.” She hoisted Frankie up on a shoulder that seemed too small for her hefty baby and proceeded to burp him. After an extremely loud belch from her son, Juanita wiped her eyes, sniffed, and let out a long sigh. “Just tell Miss Alice that she has give us a pure blessing from heaven, and she must be an angel to have thought of such a thing. Tell her that soon as I can find me a better job, me and Frankie are gonna look for a nicer place to live, and this money is gonna help me do that sooner than I thought. Not that I’m not grateful to Mr. Case. I am. But this here ain’t no place to bring up a child. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded as Jack started the truck, which sputtered and then backfired a few times. Its engine sounded like a thrashing machine, vibrating not only the hood, but the whole vehicle, even the tail pipes. I looked at the baby boy expecting him to protest, but he was sound asleep on his mother’s bony shoulder, a slight smile on his face. I don’t think it was gas either.

Jack stuck his head out of the truck, waved his hat, and yelled over the noise, “Hey, Miss Hops, you wanna ride? Goin’ your way.”

Best offer I’d had all day, so I gave the young mother a quick hug and said, “I’ll tell Alice what you said. I think she’s an angel too.”

I ran to the truck that looked like a bulldog straining against a leash. Jack pushed open the passenger door and pulled me inside.

T
he old truck, with windows rolled down, roared down the street like a souped-up dragster. I held on tight to my hat with one hand, braced myself on the cracked leather seat with the other, and pressed my feet against the floorboard until my purse began bouncing around, ready to take wings and fly. I managed to stomp on the handle.

It was impossible to talk, so I tried to collect my wits while all the questions about Juanita buzzed around me like a swarm of bees. I didn’t even know her full name, but I was worried about her all the same. She didn’t want to raise her Frankie there, behind the produce stand, on the edge of the worst part of town. At least it was the poorest. Homeless people, winos, and the mentally ill probably wandered by all hours of the day and night.

Now I was beginning to sound like that oversized scout leader. I shook my head and fussed at myself for lumping the homeless together in one pot. Charlie didn’t say one word. It seemed my questions would have to wait until I could ask someone besides my mute driver. Maybe Shirley could fill me in.

In no time, we came to a screeching halt in front of Sweetbriar Manor. Over the truck’s quivering idle, Jack turned to me, pushed his hat back on his head and surprised me. “Her name’s Juanita Featherstone. She’s a good mother, a hard worker, and you couldn’t have picked a better person to help.”

For a moment I was speechless, but I sure felt like hugging this Lovingood man.

He raced the motor. “Well, Little Hops, I ain’t got all day. Deliveries, you know.” He started to reach across me to open the door.

“I can do it myself, thank you. And thank you for answering at least some of my questions about Juanita. I have a lot more, you know.”

“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—”