One More River by Mary Glickman

Author:Mary Glickman [Glickman, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781453220252
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2011-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

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Greenville, Mississippi, 1962

EVERYONE AT NEEDLEMAN’S FURNITURE TREATED Laura Anne differently after her daddy yanked her back to Greenville. The men looked at her longer than they should. Whispers warmed her back each time she passed two or more of them together. The women smiled too broadly when they said hello and took too much interest in what she wore, remarking on the length of her skirts, the fit of her blouse. If she dared to wear a fabric that wasn’t coarse or a color that wasn’t dull, she’d overhear them criticize. Look at the way that silk lays against the skin, they’d say. I bet it feels like it’s not even there. Can you imagine? Walkin’ around in public feelin’ naked? And that yellow is bright enough to wake the bees on a winter’s day. . . .

All this was from her coworkers, many of whom she’d known since she was a baby girl when Lot would take her into the store as his “chair tester,” when he’d set her down on something hard and then something cushiony and ask her to pass judgment on how they felt. The customers were worse. As she approached, her face tarted up in her would-you-like-some-help-smile, they turned on their heels, tossing her the insult of a sidelong glance before they walked away with chins up in the air. It got so bad, she quit working the floor and spent her time in the office banging about trying to find enough to do. Lot did not like having her at close quarters. He couldn’t curse his suppliers or tell racy jokes with his daughter right there at the next desk. He couldn’t have his best salesmen or the shipping crew in to share a shot at the end of the day. There were times he considered firing her.

Out on the street, things were better, but only if Laura Anne chose neighborhoods where people didn’t know her. Otherwise, she was stared at, pursued by wolf whistles so rude and sharp they made her jump. If she walked to the drugstore to take her lunch at the counter, men sitting next to her exchanged winks and got their arms and elbows in her way or brushed their thighs against hers. In short, her public life had become that of a fallen woman, a consequence of her behavior she’d never considered when she was occupied with being heroic and in love. There were other consequences, too.

What she’d done to her mother, for example. Rose was a wreck. Her twitch was as fierce as it ever got, including the time she suffered the shingles and spent three weeks in constant agony. Her hair was a mess, she wore the same housedress every day. She kept herself in to avoid others. She would not answer the door. She couldn’t look anyone in the eye, not even the help. The only gaze she met was Laura Anne’s. Her daughter suffered each wet-eyed, red-rimmed stare like a knife to the heart.

Supper times were the worst.

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