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

routes had always been mapped out from the newspaper ads, so why not do the same with places to live? I zipped down to the sitting room, rescued the Timely News from a wastebasket, and was back in a flash.
Amazing how I can move fast when I need to.
    I settled into the rocker that leaned to the left no matter how I tried to straighten it. After scrounging around in my purse, I retrieved a small spiral notebook, dog-eared and limp. I intended to flip over to some blank pages to jot down a phone number or location of a house or apartment, but found myself fingering through pages where I’d kept records of each year’s tobacco crop, from the number and cost of plants purchased, to the sale per pound of the golden burley. Our tobacco always brought top price at the auctions. Charlie would read over my figures in the evening, and his chest would swell with pride.
    Why, Lord? Why did Charlie have to go and die on me?
    With no more tobacco records to keep, there was no practical reason to hold on to the little notebook, but seeing my scribbling that I had written year after year spoke to me of Charlie. This was our life together. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and reflected on the times we worked side by side planting tobacco beds, suckering tobacco, stripping and housing it in the barn to cure, and waiting for the right day to haul it to market. Times of hard work when we’d fall into bed exhausted, but at the same time …
    My door opened and Prissy’s head appeared. “Well, well. I see we decided to spend some time in our room this afternoon. Rest time is important, you know. Not one of our written rules, but maybe one we should consider. What do you think?”
    I didn’t want to tell this woman what I was really thinking, so I said nothing. The room suddenly felt as if the walls had moved closer and were squeezing the very life out of me. I picked up the newspaper that had slipped to the floor and shook it to straighten the pages. And shook it some more as I found the classified section.
    Prissy waited. Instead of taking the hint and leaving, she cleared her throat and tapped her pointy-toed shoe. “I assume we’ve made a phone call? Your daughter sounded concerned.”
    “She’s not home.”
    “Well, if she calls again, I’ll tell her you tried. Dinner bell rings at six sharp on the front porch. Weather permitting, we gather there for the blessing. Enjoy your afternoon.”
    Soon as she left, I made my list. Two-bedroom house on LocustStreet, freshly painted. Was that too far from here? I wasn’t sure, so I wrote down the exact address and phone number. There was a one-bedroom apartment downtown over Blind George’s Pool Hall. Nice location, but probably noisy. Those were the only two listings, and they were in opposite directions. It was too late to get started and get back before dark. Besides, I was curious to see if the food was any better at dinnertime.
    Gee whiskers, Agnes, you have fiddled away the afternoon.
Now I’d have to spend the night in this place.
Drat
. And double drat.
    Right then I decided to get out of that crooked rocker and do something. I had to move because I could feel a hissy fit coming on, and that wouldn’t do anybody any good. This Johnson woman and this whole situation were irritating me to no end.
    After slipping out of my room, I hurried to the phone on the wall near the front office, praying that Prissy would not be around to hear my conversation.
    Betty Jo had tried to convince me to get a cell phone. I never had any use for one of those contraptions, but I decided my daughter, for once, might have been right. At least I had a plan. I would call about the little house first. Maybe it had a small yard that would be perfect for Miss Margaret.
    I made several phone calls that afternoon without laying eyes on Prissy, for all the good it did me. The house had already been rented, and the other number for the apartment only buzzed busy no matter how many times I tried.
    I groused and