.
The second shoe drop came in the form of
Betsy. Two days later Mr. Fletcher (I still couldn't get used to calling him Dave) brought her to the house. When I saw her, the look on her face revealed that he had practically dragged her. I saw them drive up and saw how she remained in the car until he opened the passenger side door and ordered her out. I was in the field where I had just put in some late-summer plants. I stood up and watched them walk toward the front door. Betsy lagging behind with her head down. Wiping my hands on a rag. I started for the house. too.
The afternoon sun had fallen behind some rather thick clouds the color of wood ashes. Shadows were cast over the house like a net woven out of darkness. I rolled my sleeves down as I walked. I was nervous about being face-to-face with Betsy. but I knew Mama would be angry if I wasn't there to greet our new "princess," as she had been referring to her the past forty-eight hours. When I stepped in, I found them still standing in the hallway.
Betsy had her head down with her shoulders hoisted and her arms crossed over her breasts. She wore a pair of ragged-looking jeans with the threads parting in the seat of it just under her left cheek, a faded blue T-shirt with the word Dead still legible, but the rest of it not, and a pair of what were once white tennis shoes, but were now more gray and scuffed. She wore no socks.
Mama was standing across from her. and Ms. Fletcher was on the other side looking at her hard, his eyes full of disappointment and anger. I had obviously already missed the opening blast of unpleasantness.
"I said," Mr. Fletcher punched out at her. "this is Sarah. You know how to say a proper hello. Betsy."
"Hello." she mumbled, then turned to look at me. Her eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing way that made me fidget inside.
She looked different from the last time I had seen her close up. Her face had thinned out and appeared longer, her nose sharper. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, but her cheeks were flush, bringing a crimson tint to the area just below her hazel brown eyes. As she brought her arms down, she cupped them into fists and pressed them against her thighs. She wore no bra and her full bosom pressed her well-out-lined nipples against the thin. worn Tshirt. Whatever she had been through to cause her to lose weight actually made her look more curvy and attractive.
She smirked and then softened her smug aria into a coy smile. "So this is my new baby brother. huh?"
"Noble is hardly a baby," Mama said. "He has many important responsibilities on the farm and he carries them out efficiently."
Betsy didn't look at her. She kept her eyes on me. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights and looked quickly to Mama.
"Noble." She nodded toward Betsy. Her expression urged me to greet her, "Hi," I said. "Welcome."
"Yes, that's right. We want to welcome you. Betsy," Mama said with a waxy smile. "and show you where your new room will be."
"New." she spit disdainfully. She gazed about her. "This is hardly what I would call new. It's probably older than the dump we have now."
"As a matter of fact it is," Mama said, undaunted. "And it has lots more history to it as "Whoop-de-do," Betsy said. "We're moving into a museum. That's just great."
Her father was glaring at her with such anger and distaste, I thought he might just swing out and strike her squarely in the center of that disrespectful smirk. Instead, he pulled back on the reins of his temper and smiled at Mama.
"Showing Betsy around would be very nice of you. Sarah. Thank you."
"Why can't I just stay in our home until it's sold?" Betsy moaned.
"We've been through this. Betsy," Mr. Fletcher said through his clenched teeth. "I've got the furniture placed and I want the house kept immaculate for real estate showings. As a matter of fact. Sarah" -- he turned back to Mama-- "we've got a showing tomorrow. A couple from New York City who are looking for a vacation spot, weekends and summer. They are already interested from just riding by."
"Some vacation they'll have in that rat tap," Betsy said. and turned to me to get some agreement. I didn't change expression, which tightened her lips and sent her looking elsewhere. She folded her arms across her breasts again and looked as if she had planted her feet in cement.
"Well, we've all got to learn how to appreciate the little we have," Mama said. "What you think is a rat trap might look like a palace to the couple coming to view it."
"A palace?" B
etsy laughed. "They'd have to be comin' a from a slum."
"Your father actually fixed that old home up very nicely." Mama insisted, "So then maybe we should stay there," Betsy retorted. She was not going to be intimidated easily, not even under Mama's cold eyes and controlled fury.
Mama simply stared at her a moment, then turned and smiled at Mr. Fletcher. "Shall we take the tour?"
"Please." He reached out to take Betsy's arm, but she pulled back, glanced at me, and reluctantly followed them through the hallway, stopping at the living room.
"Who plays the piano?" Betsy asked.
"Sarah, and she plays beautifully,"
"You mean Noble isn't efficient at that?" Betsy asked with a laugh. No one responded.