conflict

Andrew and Molly Part 31

Molly’s rage deflated at Aggie’s outburst. Though Aggie had often been sharp-spoken and critical on her arrival, she’d mellowed and become like a mother, especially after Andrew was taken. The relationship changed further after Molly married Wharton and the children started coming. Aggie was simply “Granny” to them, a different status for both of them. Molly couldn’t deny her pride in coming up in the world. Aggie stood her ground but there were some who called Molly uppity and thought she ought to get off her high horse, especially those who had come over on the boat with her and were still struggling under indenture. In truth, Molly was acutely aware that Andrew’s position was lower than Wharton’s had been.

Meanwhile, Andrew recalled his devastation upon his return at finding Molly had been wed and widowed. She’d borne his son and given him another man’s name. He’d spent years suffering humiliation and pain watching for his chance to escape not knowing his old life was already lost to him. He couldn’t deny he’d taken comfort in Sarah, but that fact only complicated his ambiguous situation. Upon seeing the baby at birth, he couldn’t deny it. It was fully white, his child. He couldn’t leave it behind, even knowing it would be unwelcome. He knew he had no right to be angry at Molly but the change in their class angered and shamed him. Legally, he was her bondsman and she’d not yet offered him release nor welcomed him back in her life.

The two stared at each other across the table. The truth of the situation couldn’t be denied. Besides the history between them, they needed each other. Molly’s farm cried out for a man of Andrew’s talents. They shared a son, though he bore another man’s name. Molly had two girls and Andrew had a baby who needed raising.

”What are we to do?” cried Molly.

Aggie was gratified when Andrew wasn’t at her house for breakfast.

Rascal Boy

Charley’s appearance was deceptive. A slow-speaking, stodgy little guy, you could have been forgiven for thinking him unobservant. He used this to his advantage, taking in everything around him.

When he was about three, he noticed his dad emptying his pockets one day after work. “What’s that, Daddy?”

Daddy worked for the telephone company and often had to go in yards to do work when customers weren’t home. “That’s dog repellent. I use it if a dog gets after me. Don’t mess with it.” Both went on their merry way.

It just happens, Charley had history with Granny’s mean little dog. Boochie snapped at Charley every time Charley got close. I expect, not without cause. The next time Charley went to Granny’s, Boochie came after Charley, who was armed and ready. Boochie was heard squealing and made a hasty retreat out the doggy door.

Stodgy little Charley trudged out behind him. In a minute, Boochie was heard squealing a couple of more times in rapid succession. That got dad up to investigate. It seems young Charley had appropriated Dad’s dog repellent and was putting it to good use. He had poor Boochie on the run. All’s well that ends well. Dad confiscated the dog repellent. Boochie never interacted with Charley again.

Maniac in the Wilderness

Bill 2Bill ever survived my mother’s abuse.  When he was only a tiny lad of eighteen, he was six feet four inches tall. I think the fact that she wasn’t even acquainted with five feet gave him a feeling of superiority.  While I won’t say he had a smart mouth, I will allow it was extremely well-educated.  I am sure they only reason my mother hadn’t already killed him was because she hated to go to prison and leave her younger daughters motherless.  It certainly wasn’t because the thought hadn’t crossed her mind at least a thousand times a day since puberty attacked him and her by proxy.

Anyway, on occasion, they had to travel places alone together.  It was a misery to them both.  It didn’t help that the car was a tiny Volkswagon Beetle.  It’s always worth a person’s time to stop and watch a huge guy unfold himself and crawl out of a Beetle, a pleasure Bill dreaded providing mirthful onlookers.  It didn’t improve his mood on arrival, a mood already blackened with inevitable conflict he’d shared with Mother.

At any rate, on this particular day, they started home with Bill driving.  According to Mother, he was driving like a maniac: driving too fast, following too closely, cutting people off.  I have no doubt this was true.  It was his typical manner.  She insisted he slow down.  He crept along at ten miles an hour, hoping that was slow enough to please her.  She’d finally had enough, telling him to pull over.  She’d drive.  He critiqued her driving as soon as she started.  “Speed up!  Don’t ride the clutch! Change Gears!”

Finally, she’d had enough.  She pulled over.  “Get out!”  Delighted, he hopped out, thinking she’d come to her senses and wanted him to drive.  She drove off and left him standing on a country road, thirty miles from home.  She enjoyed the rest of the peaceful drive.  At  home, Daddy wanted to know where Bill was.  “I left him somewhere close to Bossier City.”

Daddy was shocked she’d left the little fellow all alone in the wilderness.  “Well, You’d better go get him!  It’ll be dark soon!”

“You go get him if you want to!  I don’t care if he never gets home!”

Daddy was a lot better at giving orders than taking them, but he jumped in his truck to rescue his precious son and heir.  Billy met him at the end of the driveway, brought home by a Good Samaritan.  He’d somehow survived his abandonment but I think he still drives like a maniac.  I don’t think he and Mother voluntarily ride together till today

See attached picture if you care to put out APB on either