in his groin.
Now that feels good. Warm soapy water cascaded over his body enhancing the sensation. Damnation. He couldn’t run around like that all day.
He reached for the faucets, turned off the hot and turned on the cold.
— • —
Lottie rocked back and forth, her thoughts as dark and brooding as the morning sky. Things were not going well, she mused glumly.
In the first place she was miserable. Second, she hated herself. She couldn’t comprehend how she had misjudged like that. She had only wanted to make friends, let the tenants know she was around. Why, she could be such a help! But, no. They were so unaccepting.
Hot amorphous tears came up behind her lids and streamed down her face and splashed in her bony lap. Oh, if only Elmer were here. He always knew the done thing, knew how to wring a problem out until it dried up and blew away. Times like this she felt like giving up, just going on over to the other side without squeak or squawk. She would find Elmer and join up with him.
An inner resistance stopped her thoughts in that direction. It seemed a shame she had come this far only to backtrack. She may not have flesh as yet, but she had fiber as stout as a length of good hemp rope. That’s what made folks what they were—fiber.
Anyhow, she couldn’t be certain of Elmer’s whereabouts. She had no doubt about which direction she herself was going when the time came—she’d been good-hearted and God-fearing her entire life. Howsomever, Elmer had a tendency to curse a blue streak and thunder at the Lord when weather went against him, soil washed away or tobacco worms devastated tender shoots. He had favored strong drink, too. Could be he was still atoning and had been thwarted on his final upward journey.
It wouldn’t do to get ahead of Elmer. He had firm ideas about a woman’s place—which had made for a fair amount of bickering between them. That forward thinking she’d been, even in those days.
Lottie shifted in the rocker.
Last night she had not dared to traipse beyond the kitchen, had taken little joy from trying out Justine’s gadgets.
Recollecting how she had frightened Judy Ann put a cloud on even that small pleasure.
Mayhap, she thought unhappily, she ought to just stay in her attic for a while, let things below quiet down.
She could keep busy straightening up. She’d been neglectful of her things ever since the newcomers’ arrival, hardly touching dust rag or broom. Why, she’d been so intent on learning about the new family that she had ignored all manner of dust and web. More than that, whilst she’d been below last night a possum had sneaked into the attic and left droppings from one end t’other. No doubt the flea-ridden critter was curled up in a nook somewhere sleeping, just waitin’ for dark to crawl out and make mischief.
Lottie brushed away her tears and began to scurry about.
That’s the ticket. She always felt cheerful once she’d aimed her energies toward fruitful occupation.
— • —
Agnes spooned prunes onto her shredded wheat. “Isn’t Judy Ann coming to the table?”
“I thought it best to give her some special attention. I made her cinnamon toast and hot chocolate and let her have it in bed.”
“Does she seem better?”
Justine shrugged. “She still won’t have anything to do with Mrs. Pratt—otherwise, she seems her normal self.”
“Of course she’s normal,” put in Pauline. “She just got carried away by her imagination.”
“Imagination or not, she believes Mrs. Pratt served herself tea. I’m not trying to convince her otherwise. It upsets her.”
Agnes made an elaborate gesture out of placing her napkin in her lap. “Don’t either of you find something odd about this house?”
“Odd? How?”
“Don’t you think it strange that I always seem to be surrounded by pockets of cold air, even when it’s perfectly warm? I mean—I have the sense the house is—” Agnes floundered. “—well…occupied.”
Pauline
Now that feels good. Warm soapy water cascaded over his body enhancing the sensation. Damnation. He couldn’t run around like that all day.
He reached for the faucets, turned off the hot and turned on the cold.
— • —
Lottie rocked back and forth, her thoughts as dark and brooding as the morning sky. Things were not going well, she mused glumly.
In the first place she was miserable. Second, she hated herself. She couldn’t comprehend how she had misjudged like that. She had only wanted to make friends, let the tenants know she was around. Why, she could be such a help! But, no. They were so unaccepting.
Hot amorphous tears came up behind her lids and streamed down her face and splashed in her bony lap. Oh, if only Elmer were here. He always knew the done thing, knew how to wring a problem out until it dried up and blew away. Times like this she felt like giving up, just going on over to the other side without squeak or squawk. She would find Elmer and join up with him.
An inner resistance stopped her thoughts in that direction. It seemed a shame she had come this far only to backtrack. She may not have flesh as yet, but she had fiber as stout as a length of good hemp rope. That’s what made folks what they were—fiber.
Anyhow, she couldn’t be certain of Elmer’s whereabouts. She had no doubt about which direction she herself was going when the time came—she’d been good-hearted and God-fearing her entire life. Howsomever, Elmer had a tendency to curse a blue streak and thunder at the Lord when weather went against him, soil washed away or tobacco worms devastated tender shoots. He had favored strong drink, too. Could be he was still atoning and had been thwarted on his final upward journey.
It wouldn’t do to get ahead of Elmer. He had firm ideas about a woman’s place—which had made for a fair amount of bickering between them. That forward thinking she’d been, even in those days.
Lottie shifted in the rocker.
Last night she had not dared to traipse beyond the kitchen, had taken little joy from trying out Justine’s gadgets.
Recollecting how she had frightened Judy Ann put a cloud on even that small pleasure.
Mayhap, she thought unhappily, she ought to just stay in her attic for a while, let things below quiet down.
She could keep busy straightening up. She’d been neglectful of her things ever since the newcomers’ arrival, hardly touching dust rag or broom. Why, she’d been so intent on learning about the new family that she had ignored all manner of dust and web. More than that, whilst she’d been below last night a possum had sneaked into the attic and left droppings from one end t’other. No doubt the flea-ridden critter was curled up in a nook somewhere sleeping, just waitin’ for dark to crawl out and make mischief.
Lottie brushed away her tears and began to scurry about.
That’s the ticket. She always felt cheerful once she’d aimed her energies toward fruitful occupation.
— • —
Agnes spooned prunes onto her shredded wheat. “Isn’t Judy Ann coming to the table?”
“I thought it best to give her some special attention. I made her cinnamon toast and hot chocolate and let her have it in bed.”
“Does she seem better?”
Justine shrugged. “She still won’t have anything to do with Mrs. Pratt—otherwise, she seems her normal self.”
“Of course she’s normal,” put in Pauline. “She just got carried away by her imagination.”
“Imagination or not, she believes Mrs. Pratt served herself tea. I’m not trying to convince her otherwise. It upsets her.”
Agnes made an elaborate gesture out of placing her napkin in her lap. “Don’t either of you find something odd about this house?”
“Odd? How?”
“Don’t you think it strange that I always seem to be surrounded by pockets of cold air, even when it’s perfectly warm? I mean—I have the sense the house is—” Agnes floundered. “—well…occupied.”
Pauline
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