The Courtship of Miss Loretta Larson by Mary Lou Cheatham

Author:Mary Lou Cheatham
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Mary Lou Cheatham
Published: 2014-11-15T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Qué Bréayanne

Thursday afternoon. Why was I surprised when Johnson showed up on my porch steps? I took him for a walk around the block.

As we turned the corner from Noble Street onto Old Town Road, we met Mayor Samson.

“Good afternoon, Mayor,” I said. “It appears you’re taking a walk in the opposite direction.”

Mr. Samson, gasping for breath and flushing, tipped his hat.

“Maybe you need to walk a little slower.”

“Shut up.” Johnson growled at me from the side of his mouth, the words almost inaudible. His face, already red, turned purple with rage.

What had I done wrong? I simply spoke to the mayor.

“How are you, Samson?” Johnson spoke in a measured tone.

“Fine, thank you.” Mayor Samson looked at Johnson with a look I considered smug.

We walked on.

“What was that about?” I asked Johnson halfway up the hill.

“Mind your own business.”

I accelerated the pace.

Johnson panted.

“You’re terribly out of shape,” I said, trying to needle Johnson.

He cursed.

We returned to my house in hostile silence. As soon as we reached the porch, he pushed me aside on his way to the swing.

I had work to do. While I cooled down from the walk. I sat waiting for him to leave.

He kept hanging around.

I stood.

He remained seated.

Since he failed to take the hint, I sat again.

“I’ve been planning to ask you to go to church with me.” The moment seemed perfect for saying something he didn’t want to hear. Furthermore, if God had plans to change Johnson, it wouldn’t hurt for him to hear a sermon. “I realize my church isn’t your choice of denominations, but we’re having dinner on the grounds Sunday. Would you like to come?”

“Church is for old women like Old Lady Barker.” He cupped his hand like a megaphone around his mouth and bellowed her name. He wanted her to hear him so he could hurt her.

“Don’t shout.”

“I have to go out and check on the Morris farm Sunday morning.”

“Is that your answer? I’d invited you to a fabulous meal, but you don’t have the decency to respond in a polite manner to my invitation.”

“The bank is foreclosing on the property. It’s a fine piece of land. What I need to do is look around while the Morrises are at church.”

“I can’t believe I heard you say what I think you just said.” I felt the blood pumping into my face as I jumped from my chair in fury.

“Calm down. I have to look after the financial interests of all my clients, including you. Your investments have done quite well.”

Nothing sincere or noble went through this man’s thick cranium. How could he even say, much less believe, he was looking after the interests of anybody but himself?

“Sit.” Standing over me, he dug his fingers into my shoulder. “I need to talk with you about something else concerning your money.”

Frightened, I sat. “What now?”

“You’re wasting your money giving so much to the church. This tithing idea of yours is antiquated. No intelligent person gives away money these days the way you do.

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