Read Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 03 for Free Online Page A

was quivering like molded gelatin. He seemed to be muttering to Bernswallow, who was also looking rather displeased. Everybody else, with the exception of Mrs. Jim Bob, was observing the spectacle with varying amounts of interest/amusement.
    "Yo, Johnna Mae," I called as I walked across the road.
    "The Bank of Farberville discriminates against women! Take your business elsewhere! Sherman Oliver hates women! Don't bank here -- take your money to another bank!" She broke off to catch her breath, then snapped her sign up and took off in the opposite direction. "This bank cheats women! Don't trust them with your hard-earned money!"
    "About time you got here," Ruby Bee said out of the corner of her mouth. "This could turn right ugly."
    "Elsie said that Johnna Mae said she was going to bash Sherman Oliver smack on the top of his head if he so much as laid a finger on her," Estelle added out of the corner of her mouth. The two of them watch way too many gangster movies, along with their daily diet of police and private eye shows.
    "I can't see this crowd turning any uglier," I said out of the middle of my mouth. "How long has this been going on?"
    Ruby Bee kept her eyes on Johnna Mae. "Estelle and I just heard about it ten minutes ago. Dahlia came in to work and said something about a commotion. I stuck the Closed sign on the door and we trotted right down here to see what was happening. What do you aim to do about it, Arly?"
    "Why should I do anything about it?"
    "I don't know. I just think there's gonna be trouble if you don't do something pretty quick."
    "I doubt it," I said, glancing at the crowd. "Johnna Mae'll get tired of all this parading after a while, and everybody will wander off to get out of the heat. I don't want to hurt Johnna Mae's feelings, but this isn't all that exciting."
    "Hussy!"
    I looked over my shoulder at the character stomping across the street. Mizzoner held the number-one spot on my list of least popular, and now we had the first runner-up in our midst. Brother Verber, spiritual leader of his fuzzy flock, defender of the faith, and beacon of sanctimony carried a Bible in one hand as he charged into battle with the devil. His nose was aglow with righteous indignation, and droplets of spittle dotted his lips.
    "Hussy," he panted, pointing the finger of retribution at Johnna Mae, who'd paused in mid step to stare at him. "Don't you know what the Bible says about women? It says they're supposed to be obedient, not loud-mouthed and vulgar."
    Mrs. Jim Bob nodded. "That's right, Johnna Mae. You're supposed to stay home and take care of your family, not march up and down in the street and make accusations against good Christian folks like Sherman Oliver."
    "Maybe she can't afford to stay home," Ruby Bee muttered. Mrs. Jim Bob spun around to glower, but Ruby Bee stood her ground and glowered right back. Estelle managed a glimmer herself. I settled for a comradely wink.
    Brother Verber mopped his shiny forehead. "That is not the issue. The Bible says women were made out of a man's rib, so they're supposed to be subservient and do what-all they're told. They're supposed to be modest, not vulgar. It says in the vows of holy matrimony that women are supposed to obey their husbands, and I think we can safely conclude that they therefore ought to be obedient all the time. This woman is making a disgrace of herself. Where's your husband? He ought to drag you home this minute and teach you how to behave."
    Johnna Mae's fingers tightened around the stick of her sign. "My husband is home with the kids. Just who do you think you are, you pompous old fart, telling me how I ought to stay home and keep house? I'd like not to have to work, but I'd like to put food on the table every night, too."
    "A woman's place is in the home," Brother Verber countered. Several of the pool hall hulks nodded, although I would have bet a week's salary that all of their wives were plucking feathers at a poultry plant in Starley City or waiting