Music Box Dreamer

The teenager pursed her lips up into a pout and frowned, “I’m sorry Mr. Jones for being rude.”   Jones stopped his frantic pacing for a minute, “Apology accepted dear little girl.” He rubbed his weak hand through the wispy stubble on his pallid face, “Say little one, did Annie happen to call and say where she is?”   Bertha mumbled, “No,” and turned away so here mother wouldn’t see the lie in her green eyes. She wasn’t quite quick enough.   “Bertha,” the voice was cold and as hard as tempered steel. “Tell us where your sister is right now, or you’ll need a cushion to sit on for a week.”   Alexander Foster added his two cents but in a far gentler tone, “Be a good girl and tell us where Annie is please. Mother and b,” he stopped and winked at his youngest daughter. “Your mother and Robert are worried sick.”   A quick gamin grin flashed across her pretty face, “She called me last night and said she’d be staying with a good friend. She said she would be home late this morning and not to worry,”   Abigail Foster glared at her youngest daughter and yelled, “What friend?”   Bertha took two steps closer to the half open hallway door, “A friend, that’s all she told me.”   The lie lay heavy on her face and her big eyes.   Mr’s Foster pushed her bulky frame off of the couch and marched towards her daughter. She put a bit of warmth into her voice this time. “Please Bertha, tell me the truth.”   The girl backed up until she was in the doorway, “She said she met an Irish boy at the dance and that they were going to the jazz club.” She heaved a big sigh, took too deep breaths and got ready to bolt out of the room. “She said she was going to spend the night with him and that they were going to get married to day.”   Abigail froze in her tracks and her always red face turned pale as the blood drained from it.”   Bertie squeaked, “My word you certainly are good at making up fairy tales. You should be a writer when you grow up.”   Alexander Foster added an even louder, “My word, an Irishman. Mother it does seem that our Annie has finally kicked the traces over. I always knew the girl had spunk but I didn’t know she had this much.” He gave his youngest daughter a big wink, “Did she say what he looked like. He must be a handsome bugger for our Annie to fall for him.”   By this time Mrs. Foster had regain all of her composure, “Don’t encourage the child in her lies father. Now Bertha, I want the truth this time or I will warm your bottom. Bertie, I mean Robert go and fetch the big wooden spoon from the kitchen.”   The teenager started to sniff, “Honest mummy, cross my heart and hope to die but that’s what Annie told me.” She turned around when she heard a noise behind her. “Here’s Annie now. You can ask her yourself. She stepped into the parlour to make way for her sister to enter. “I’m sorry I told your secret Annie but mummy made me.”   Abigail Foster shouted, “Is it true, did you spend the night with an Irish tramp.”   “Yes I did mother dear and he’s not a tramp. He’s the most glorious, the most handsome man I have ever know.”   Mrs. Foster lowered her voice and put all of the anger and all of the frustration she felt in to her words. “Get out of my house you two bit street walking strumpet. I won’t have here for another minute. I won’t have the dirt from potato fields dragged all over my clean rooms. What were you thinking you whore. You’ve gone and ruined everything with Bertie. What are we going to tell his nice parents?”   When Annie replied there was no anger, no regret in her voice, “I only came back to get a few of my things for our honey. Though if my Tommy boy has his way all I’d really need is my birthday suite.”   By this time Bertha was dancing up and down. A big smile was plastered on her face, “Is your Tommy boy handsome Annie? Do you think he’ll like me? Can I come to your wedding? Can I be your flower girl, please, please?”


1 Comment

Filed under Literature

One response to “Music Box Dreamer

  1. Very lovely. I like this

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