Desperate
Desperate
By
Sylvia McDaniel
1876
“I
don’t believe you. My sister was not charging boys to kiss her,” Meg McKenzie said, standing in the field of her small East Texas family farm in her father’s hand-me-downs.
Her sister’s schoolteacher stood in front of Meg with her arms folded, her expression filled with contempt, her nose wrinkling up in disdain.
This was her fourth trip out to the farm this year. Surely by now, the schoolmarm had grown accustomed to the smell of manure that permeated Meg’s clothing. Certainly, she knew Meg worked the farm alone, which was not for the faint of heart, and most definitely, she had to know Meg could barely tolerate the woman who wasn’t much older than herself.
Meg closed her eyes and wished for the thousandth time she lived the life of a normal young girl. With a living mother and a father who spent time at home. That she had a life of dancing, pretty dresses, and young men courting.
When she reopened her eyes, Meg recognized the poke bonnet and a bustle beneath the teacher’s skirt from the last catalogue Papa had brought home. The woman was wearing the latest fashion. Fashions Meg longed to design. Fashions Meg wanted to wear. Fashions that would make Meg feel like a woman, rather than an ugly hoyden.
“She was kissing boys,” the woman repeated. The schoolmarm’s reddening cheeks and narrowed eyes bespoke of the temper she seemed barely restraining as she confronted Meg about Ruby’s bad behavior.
At nineteen, Meg felt too young to be the responsible parent of a fifteen-year-old. And her sister, Ruby was definitely more than one person could handle.
“I’m sorry, Meg. I know you’ve had to raise this child without much help from your father, but I can’t have her coming back to school. She’s a distraction in the classroom,” the refined woman told Meg, her parasol shielding her from the hot midday sun.
For a moment, Meg wanted to reach out her hand to touch the silky fabric of the woman’s dress. But knew that would be wrong. Yet she longed to know what such rich material felt like.
They stood in the pasture where Meg had been hoeing as she prepared the spring garden for planting. Mud coated her work pants, she smelled of animals and sweat, and her hands were calloused and rough from time spent working the land. This was not the life she wanted for herself. Meg dreamed of being a woman who had few responsibilities and wasn’t accountable for the care of the farm and her two sisters. She didn’t want to be a parent.
And Ruby seemed to stay in trouble. “My sister may not have had a mother to raise her properly, but she’s been taught that girls don’t chase boys.”
“She wasn’t chasing them, Meg. She was charging them a nickel a piece to kiss her,” Miss Andrews said, her parasol held tightly in her gloved hands.
Meg couldn’t help herself; she laughed. Not even Ruby would be foolish enough to do something so naughty. “I don’t believe you.”
Miss Andrews placed her hand on her hip and almost snarled at Meg. “I would never have found out about it, if the line hadn’t gone clear around the building. I caught her in the act of kissing Jimmy Brown.”
“Oh,” Meg said, her brows drawing down into a scowl. Could Ruby have been so stupid? At first, Meg couldn’t believe what the teacher was telling her, but when she thought about it, Ruby was at a stage in her life when she seemed intrigued with boys. “I’m sure she has a perfectly good explanation for her behavior. I’ll talk to her.”
The teacher took a step towards Meg, a frown on her scholarly face. “I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. She would have graduated next month anyway. Let’s just say she’ll receive her certificate showing she completed school in the tenth grade. I don’t think I can teach her anything else.” The woman lowered her voice, muttering under her breath, “She might be able to teach me some things.”
“She’s a kid. A girl who’s curious,” Meg said, defending her sister. Yes, Ruby was troublesome, but she was not a bad girl, just someone perplexed about the changes going on in her young woman’s body. Ruby was highly intelligent, easily bored, and often mischievous if left to her own devices.
The schoolmarm raised her brows in an insolent way. “Well, she’s training the students in a subject that neither boys nor the girls in my classroom need to learn at this time in their life.”
A rush of fury tightened Meg’s chest at the contempt she sensed from the schoolmarm. All of her young life, Meg had been dealing with the prejudice of people like the schoolmarm, who didn’t understand that Meg wanted to act and dress like a woman, but because of her situation in life, she dressed like a man. It wasn’t a choice, but a necessity. And now it seemed as if that injustice was reflecting on Ruby.
With a toss of the hoe, Meg walked up to the teacher. “Okay, Miss Andrews, Ruby will no longer be attending your classroom. I’m sure that will make your life a little easier.”
“Most definitely, since this is my fourth visit to your place this year. I’ll have more time to spend on students who are not so…social.”
Rage bristled Meg’s insides, and her Irish temper roiled at the not so subtle reference to Ruby’s antics. How dare the woman belittle her sister? Ruby could cause trouble, but still, she was a McKenzie, and Meg would protect her sister and the family name with her dying breath. “Maybe if your lessons weren’t so boring, Ruby wouldn’t be involved in seeking outside stimulation.”
The woman gasped. “If your sister would study rather than spending her time kissing young men, then I wouldn’t need to come out here. Good day, Meg.”
Meg reached out and grabbed the woman’s dress, her muddy hands clasping the material. It felt smooth and shiny and oh, so wonderful. The schoolmarm was in a hurry, and the material ripped, falling away from Meg’s hands.
Oh, dear
. She hadn’t meant for that to happen; she’d only wanted to feel the material.
“Get your dirty hands off my dress,” the teacher said, taking a step back.
A smile lifted the corner of Meg’s mouth. She’d been rude, but the woman had deserved it, though she hadn’t meant to mar the lovely dress or the beautiful material.
Meg shouted after the woman, glad to see her leaving, “Hobble your lips about my sister, Miss Andrews. She’s young, impressionable, and she’s family. I won’t have you trashing her good name. Now, get off my farm.” She watched the woman hurry across the field to her buggy.
Ruby McKenzie could get in more trouble than a whole gaggle of small children. For some reason, she’d become fixated on boys and fornication and things she shouldn’t. If she continued, Meg would have to speak to their father about finding her a husband.
Quickly
.
Meg strode to the quaint farmhouse, taking deep breaths to cool her temper at her youngest sister. The red hair and green eyes she’d inherited from her mother, as well as the Irish temper that went along with her disposition, were well known by her sisters. And right now, her stomach churned like a plunger in the butter crock at having to yet again deal with Ruby and her shenanigans.
Meg was the only one around to keep a rein on Ruby. Her mother had died, and her father was out trying to earn money for the family farm. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have parents who were present like other young women had? A family life, rather than three girls trying to make do. There was no one for her to turn to, but herself.
Ruby, Meg’s beautiful, blonde haired, blue-eyed sister with a pixie chin met Meg at the door, her expression contrite. “I can explain.”
“What’s to explain?” Meg asked, walking into the house and setting down her cowboy hat on an armoire. The house looked the same as the day her mother had died; only now, it was Meg’s responsibility to keep it clean and tidy. “You’ve just been expelled from school for acting like a trollop.”
“A trollop?” Ruby asked, a frown drawing her eyebrows together, as she rushed after Meg into the kitchen. “What’s that?”
Annabelle, the middle sister and the only one in the family with dark chestnut curls with streaks of red and gold, hurried toward them. Annabelle was the peacemaker—the sister who kept the screaming arguments to a minimum and prevented Meg from killing Ruby on a weekly basis.
“A trollop is a woman with loose morals. A woman you don’t associate with because of her reputation,” Annabelle said in a calm, rational voice that lacked Meg’s drama.
Annabelle was the quiet, soft-spoken one in the bunch. She seemed more refined, more of a lady than either Meg, who wore pants because of her chores, or Ruby, the beauty in the group.
“My morals aren’t loose,” Ruby said indignantly. She shrugged. “Those boys were stupid enough to pay me. I made well over a dollar today, charging them to kiss me and to—”
Over the last seven years, Meg had to learn how to interpret her sister’s reactions. She’d had to learn what being a mother entailed. Though her own instincts were never as good as her mother's, Meg’s intuition raised the hair on the back of her neck. What else had Ruby been charging for?
“What did you do?” Meg asked, knowing it couldn’t be good. Her gut twisted with anger, and she wished for the thousandth time that her mother was still alive. Now that Ruby was older, Meg didn’t know how to deal with her younger sister’s knack for getting into trouble.
“It was nothing.”
“What were you charging boys for?” Meg insisted, knowing there was something Ruby wasn’t telling, and they were not moving until she found out.
“Oh, all right. I would kiss them on the lips for a nickel, and I would give them an open mouth kiss for a dime. Or if they were real adventurous, I would let them touch my breast for a quarter. Paid in cash up front,” Ruby said, her blue eyes not flinching, not lowering like she felt shame.
Annabelle gasped, her brown eyes widening with disbelief. “Ruby Diane, how could you?”
Ruby shrugged.
“It was through my clothes. It’s not like they could feel anything. All they felt was my dress,” she said, like they were upset over nothing.
Good God, her mother was probably rolling over in her grave. Meg was out of her element. She needed her father here to help tame her wild youngest sister.
“Still you were charging them money, like a common whore,” Meg said, knowing her mother would have taken a switch to her backside.
“You mean those women down at the saloon?” Ruby asked innocently. “Never. They felt my dress, nothing else.”
Where had Meg gone wrong in teaching her youngest sister? She’d tried to guide Ruby the same as their mother had taught Meg until she’d died when Meg was twelve and Ruby a mere eight years old
Meg shook her head. “It’s morally wrong. The only man who can touch you is your husband, not silly schoolboys who will tell all the other little foolish boys. If this gets back to Papa…”
Tears welled up in Ruby’s soft blue eyes. The same eyes their father had. “I only wanted to earn enough money to get Papa a birthday present.”
Annabelle shook her head, her mahogany curls bouncing. “Letting boys kiss you and feel your breasts is not the way to earn money.”
No, it wasn’t, Meg thought, but how else did a woman earn money in today’s world? There weren’t many choices, and most women chose marriage over working drudgery jobs that paid them little.
Tears spilled over and slid down Ruby’s cheeks, but her blue eyes glazed with defiance. “Boys are always asking me for a kiss, and I decided if they were stupid enough to pay me, then I’d give them their kiss and take their money.”
“Oh, honey,” Meg said, unable not to hug her youngest sister. Boys were stupid, and Ruby was a precocious young woman. And her tears got to Meg every time. “You’re beautiful. Boys are going to chase you. I understand the satisfaction you must have felt to take their money, but you’re playing with a prairie fire.”
Ruby hiccupped a sob. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes a boy can get so worked up by a woman’s touch and her kiss that even when she’s saying no, he keeps going. Why do you think Papa taught us all how to shoot? Why do you think we all carry a persuader hidden beneath our skirts?” Meg said, patting Ruby on the back.