Read Contemporary Women's Fiction: Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar (Humorous Women's Fiction) for Free Online

that magnified her milky blue eyes, she said, “Old people can’t be sissies when their time is up. Betty Davis.”
    Her quote didn’t sound exactly right, but I didn’t question her. Instead, I cut my peach into little bits and studied this woman. Her dark dress looked three sizes too big, and I wondered how much she weighed. For sure a puff of wind could carry her straight to heaven. A walker sat to the right of her chair, plastic pansies wrapped across its front bar. Around her neck she wore a large gold cross and a magnifying glass.
    When she glanced up I asked her, “Did you write the poem on your shelf? I’ll stop to read it after dinner … or lunch … or whatever you folkscall it.” I heard a harrumph from Diamond Lil but chose to ignore it.
    “God provides for His children, you know. Gave me a voice in the closet of my soul. I had to listen and write what I heard. Sometimes words can shine a light into a dark corner. Sometimes. Most of what I write is of no interest to anyone but myself. Fills the hours. Keeps my mind busy when I can’t sleep, can’t read, and can’t even pray.”
    There was probably no use asking why she couldn’t sleep or read or pray. “How long have you been here?”
    “Forever. Yesterday. What does it matter? Don’t expect I’ll leave this place alive.”
    Her negative words put us all in the same boat—one without a paddle. I felt like I knew the answer, but asked anyway. “Do you like it here?”
    She laughed, soft as a summer’s breeze. “Remember, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And then it might kill you after all. Chief Featherstone.”
    “Chief Featherstone?” I whispered to Smiley.
    I started to ask him if she always talked this way, in quotes and riddles, never responding to a question with a direct answer. Instead, I watched his big eyes adore Alice like a lovesick schoolboy. Oh brother, Smiley’s smitten. Maybe she would become his next sweetie. But she seemed so lost in her own world, she probably had no idea.
    “Charlie, how is it smart people can be so dumb?”
    Charlie surely felt better since Smiley loved Alice. Eased my mind too. Maybe we could be friends if I stopped by Sweetbriar Manor to visit Pearl—friends with no worries of getting familiar.
    But what if I ended up living too far away to visit? I no longer had my own wheels. Betty Jo wouldn’t interrupt her busy life to carry me here, and taxi service was entirely too expensive.
    “What am I going to do, Charlie?” He didn’t have any suggestions. Not a one.
    Self-pity is a terrible thing. Without warning, tears filled my eyes and spilled over. Smiley handed me a clean handkerchief out of his pocket that had become scented with his Old Spice. I managed to thank him and tried to smile, but felt like my life was coming undone. The tears kept coming no matter how hard I tried to stop them.
    “Allergies,” I said as I blew my nose into his nice handkerchief.
    “Confounded allergies.”

Chapter Five

    L emon meringue pie was the most edible part of the meal though I had trouble even swallowing that with the lump in my throat. Not homemade, but it was the same Winn Dixie brand occasionally brought home by Betty Jo.
    Prissy rushed through the dining room and into the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with dirty dishes, like she’d been saving them in her room or wherever it was she ate. With ruffled eyebrows and lips clenched tight, she looked bound for a stroke before reaching forty. When she breezed through and out again, a cloud of perfume settled over our table and left me with a sneezing fit.
    After dinner—I mean lunch—nearly everyone retreated to their rooms. Reminded me of groundhogs popping back into their holes as soon as they sensed danger. I lollygagged a little, not excited about spending any more time in any room this place had to offer. I stopped to read Alice’s poem.
    A Dry Spell
    By Alice Chandler
    Here it is
    the end of January
    and the cold ground is
    brittle