Poppies

“I hope Mrs. Wood won’t be mad because we’re late, Michael.” Mara-Joy smiled as she leisurely walked beside her little brother. The boy kicked a bent can into the empty street grumpily. He had no reason to cry. The crisis was over and no one cared if he cried any more.

  “She better not or I’ll get Pappy’s gun and shoot her dead,” snarled Alan-Michael. His scrapes kept stinging and if Mara-Joy didn’t slow down he was going to fall again and split his knees open once more.

  “Oh!” snickered Mara-Joy as she threw back her head with amusement, her hand flying up to her nose. “That would solve all our problems, little brother. It sure would. If only you could.” She grabbed her brother’s hand and started to run, dragging a cranky, stumbling Alan-Michael behind her.

  His mind tried to digest Mara-Joy’s words, but he was lost in his murky thoughts. The only thing that came through clearly was the crisp tones of her voice saying, “That would solve all our problems.”

  They reached the schoolhouse in a short time and strutted into the classroom. Mrs. Wood, a recent widow after a thirty-year marriage to a kind but loveless man, turned from her lesson to stare at the two late children. She was fifty-eight years old and had been a teacher for nearly twenty-five years. She had seen many kinds of children in her time, but none were as rotten as the two who had just ambled in.

  “Why are you late?” the elderly woman hissed, her eyes bulging. Unconsciously, she pushed her bifocals up her nose and placed a strand of white hair behind her ear.

  “I have a note,” Mara-Joy said, dismissively handing the slip of paper. “My mother wrote it. If you, and I doubt you will, have a problem with it, talk to her.” Mara-Joy smiled wickedly into the stern eyes of her teacher. She turned to her seat and sat down with the rest of the children.

  That girl, Mrs. Olga Wood steamed. She is just a horror. She and her brother.

  How was it that they were so terrible and the three other children such sweet young girls? Mrs. Wood sighed. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t care to think about Mara-Joy or her siblings. All Olga Wood wanted was to finish the day and go home. She was a sad woman, lonely for human contact other than the children she taught.

  Maybe I will call Mary and see if her offer to live with her is still open, Olga Woods thought. Mary was Olga’s daughter. She was a teacher in the next county. Anything would be better than teaching these brats. Mrs. Wood shook her head and turned back to the blackboard to finish her lesson.

  Joanna watched Mara-Joy intently. She felt herself heat up with anger.

  Alan-Michael sat down at his desk in the corner away from the other students.

  Mrs. Wood had put him there only a week ago. His desk would be placed there permanently until he could play nicely with the other children. Alan-Michael was prone to viciously attacking children smaller than him.

  “How could Mr. Wood have ever climbed into bed with that old wrinkled bat?” Mara-Joy whispered into Joanna’s ear as she sat down next to her. “Maybe that’s what killed him.” Mara-Joy chuckled as she took her books out and placed them on her desk. Joanna pretended not to hear her.

  “Oh, by the way little sister, you are in deep shit.”

  “Shut up, Mara-Joy. I am sick of your voice,” Joanna spit out. A strong urge to slap Mara-Joy’s perfect heart-shaped face overcame her.

  Mara-Joy gasped, her mouth hung open in shock. Joanna was becoming a little too sassy for her own good.

  “You just like to bury yourself deeper don’t you, little twit sister?” Mara-Joy hissed, crouching close to Joanna’s beat red face. Mara-Joy’s lip curled into a sneer and she huffed, content with herself. “Haven’t you realized yet that you can’t clash swords with me because I will crush you?” Mara-Joy sat up straight and satisfied, surveying her shapely manicured nails. “Kinda like a bug.” she smiled to herself.

  “I could be like you and just weasel my way out of trouble,” Joanna whispered, looking blankly at the chalkboard. Mara-Joy turned abruptly to Joanna’s pale, stone profile. She folded her arms tightly across her large breasts.

  Like everything about Mara-Joy, her body had seasoned into a perfect figure eight. Joanna, on the other hand, was lean with breasts only starting to bud, and hips just beginning to curve.

  Joanna turned gently to look at Mara-Joy’s surprised face. “Just like you did when you had Frank Parkins in the back of the barn when you were ten. You were showing him your breasts and letting him touch them. I would never have lied for you if Shawna and Oliver hadn’t shown up.”

  “Listen, Joanna!” Mara-Joy stifled trying not to yell. She grabbed Joanna’s arm and began to squeeze it tightly, digging her nails into Joanna’s soft skin. “You don’t make threats to me. Who do you think Mama is going to believe?

  You or me? You think about that before you start threatening me. Remember--you are notorious for trying to get me in trouble.”

  Joanna tugged on her arm trying to break free of Mara-Joy’s painful grasp. She could see small droplets of blood escape between the tightly gripped fingers.

  Mara-Joy abruptly released her clutch on Joanna’s arm, causing her to lose her balance and teeter backwards on her chair. Mara-Joy sneered as

  Joanna flapped her arms aimlessly, struggling to regain her balance.

  “Quiet!” hollered Mrs. Wood, “You two girls, if you cannot stop bickering and disturbing the rest of us, you can stay after class.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wood,” Mara-Joy said in a clear voice as she stood up straight from her seat. All eyes turned to see what she was going to do next. Even Mrs.

  Wood held her breath dreading the worst. She was in no mood for this smart-mouthed little deviant today.

  “My sister is bothering me. Can I be moved? PLEASE?” Mara-Joy exhaled heavily, her chest swelling.

  Joanna rubbed her arm. It ached where Mara-Joy had grasped it.

  “Yes. Yes. Anything to finish up the day without any more distractions,” Mrs. Wood huffed, her hands flying in the air irritably. “Go sit beside Pauline-- Constance, you sit with Joanna.”

  Mara-Joy scooped up her books and sauntered over to Pauline who had just realized the lesson was disrupted. She had been daydreaming about running in a field of wildflowers when she felt Constance stand up and walk toward Joanna. She wrinkled her forehead, confused, when

  Mara-Joy flopped into Constance’s empty seat. Mara-Joy didn’t bother looking at her youngest sister. She just glared at Joanna who was speaking softly to

  Constance.

  Why did Joanna always get the best of her?

  “I will get her one day,” Joanna scowled. Her fist clenched tightly under the desk.

  “Take it easy,” Constance’s calm, soothing voice penetrated Joanna’s thick aura of anger. A firm hand patted Joanna’s shoulder. “She is not worth getting angry over.”

  “She just gets to me,” Joanna spat through clenched teeth.

  “There is nothing you can do about it now, so why let her see you frustrated and mad? It’s a losing battle, Joanna.”

  Joanna nodded in agreement and surrendered back to her studies, wishing she could do something to hurt Mara-Joy as she had hurt her.

  “Mama, Pappy, I am leaving for the party.” Mara-Joy hollered that night, as she walked out the front door of her home.

  “All right, dear. Remember, home by nine.” Jobeth answered from her and Alan’s bedroom.

  “Right,” Mara-Joy said, rolling her eyes while straightening her blouse.

  “You better,” Alan grumbled from behind Jobeth.

  “I will, Pappy,” Mara-Joy chirped.

  She opened the door quickly and left before her father

  could say more. He was not as easy to persuade as her mother was.

  “Jobeth, I really don’t agree with you permitting Mara-Joy going to parties.” Alan said, sitting on their bed and fumbling with his tie.

  Jobeth was situated at the vanity, clipping her pearl earrings on. She smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Her earring
secure, she stood and went to him on the bed. Crawling up behind him, Jobeth wrapped her arms around his shoulders and began to fix his tie, watching him in the mirror as she manipulated the silky material.

  “Alan, it is 1920. Times are changing.” Jobeth kissed his ear, lovingly. He smelled clean and fresh from his bath. Jobeth could not help herself from warming up with desire for him.

  “Times changing, bah. She is just fourteen,” Alan grumbled, not liking his girls growing up so fast.

  Jobeth quickly interrupted.

  “It seemed like we were adults when we were fourteen. I fell in love with you.” She caressed his ear with her finger, stroking the lobe up and down gently.

  “You weren’t fourteen when we married and neither was I. Besides,” Alan turned to face his wife as he put his arms around her still tiny waist, “we had to be adults. We weren’t as lucky as Mara-Joy. We weren’t able to be children.”

  Jobeth smiled down on Alan and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and thrust back his head, moaning.

  “I want to make love to you, Jobeth,” he groaned, lifting his face and nuzzling it between her breasts.

  “Oh Alan, the children--and we have to get to the dance.” Jobeth shuddered, wanting him just as urgently. He had a way of doing that to her, causing her to want him at any time. “Besides, Shawna and Oliver are waiting,” she giggled as Alan undid her blouse and released her plump breasts into his waiting hands. He growled hungrily as he gazed at the mounds of flesh, kissing them as Jobeth shivered with delight.

  “We have plenty of time and the children won’t hear anything they have not heard before.” Alan’s muffled voice came from between Jobeth’s breasts.

  She breathed deeply as she removed her blouse and lay back on the bed.

  Alan leaned over her and kissed her warmly on the mouth.

  “I love you, Jobeth,” Alan whispered as her removed Jobeth’s skirt with the skill of a man who has done it many times.

  “I love you too, my darling,” Jobeth exhaled, reaching out for him.

  Chapter 26 —