the big, proud smile. “I’m shavin’ my legs, ’cos I’m a young lady now, and I gotta do ladylike things.”
“That’s what our mother says,” the younger one seemed to regret. “I can’t wait till I’m a young lady, too, so I can shave my legs.”
Collier almost winced at the sight. A cup of shaving lather sat beside the blonde, and indeed, she was shaving her legs in the creek, with an old-fashioned straight razor.
Then she splashed the lather off with creek water.
“Oh, wow, you should be careful,” Collier warned. “You ought to do that at home. If you cut yourself, you could get all kind of germs from that water.”
Both girls traded bewildered glances. Now the blonde splashed off some more, shot her gleaming legs up. She wriggled her feet in the air, and seemed pleased with the effect. “There,” she drawled. “All smooth now, just like a real lady.” The doughy face beamed back up. “My name’s Mary, and this here’s my sister, Cricket. I’m fourteen, she’s eleven.”
“Hi,” Collier said, and tasted a waft of old beer.
The younger girl jumped out of the water and poked him with a finger. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Justin.”
A toothy grin turned Cricket’s face into a lined mask. “You ain’t one’a them fellas who messes with little girls, are ya? Ya don’t look like it.”
“Aw, Cricket! What’cha say that for? Now you got him scared. Don’t go, mister. She’s just teasin’.”
“No, I’ve got to—” He winced again. “Please, Mary, be careful with that razor—”
Now she was doing her underarms, rather obliviously.
“See, you’ve cut yourself—”
“Aw, it’s just a nick, but I can’t do it right with this hand.” She held up her index finger.
First glance made Collier think she was wearing a fat dark ring but then he realized it was a bruise.
“I got one, too, but not as bad.” Cricket showed her own finger. “I stole a piece of sugarloaf from the store and got caught.” A manic giggle. “But that ain’t as bad as what Mary got caught doin’—”
“Shut up!”
The gritted-teeth mask again. “She got five minutes ’cos she got caught kissin’ a boy at school!”
Mary laid a hard hand across the back of her sister’s thigh. The sound cracked through the woods.
“Ow!”
“Serves ya right. Mister, don’t listen to her.”
Collier’s mind churned over too much at once. Who were these girls? Were they staying at the inn? Collier doubted it.
“Oh, please, you really shouldn’t do that…”
Now the blonde was shaving the other armpit.
“Do mine next, do mine next!” Cricket insisted.
“There ain’t nothin’ to shave!” Mary almost wailed. “You ain’t got no hair yet!” Another gleeful smile shot back to Collier. “She’s jealous, mister, ’cos I got hair and she don’t. I got the blood, too.”
Collier’s throat thickened. “The…blood?”
“The Curse of Eve, like our mother told us ’bout. Eve did somethin’ bad in the Garden of Eden, so now all girls get the curse. But the curse gives us hair. Ain’t that right, mister?”
Collier stood speechless. He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you, uh, are you girls from town?”
“Oh, yeah. We was born here.”
“Where are your parents?”
Cricket wriggled her toes in creek mud. “Our father’s away workin’ and our mother’s at home. Where
“California—”
Both girls traded another glance that seemed in awe.
“—but I’m just visiting here. I’m staying at Mrs. Butler’s inn.”
Mary splashed off her other armpit. It occurred to Collier just then that, for sisters, the girls couldn’t have looked more different.
“We don’t know no Mrs. Butler.”
Yet it wasn’t
“Oh, yeah,” Mary informed. “There’s a man at the cooper’s named Butler, but he ain’t got no wife.”
Cricket piped in, “One time he was all drunk and he offered us half a dollar to show him our—”
“Cricket! Be quiet!”
Collier’s contemplations stretched like taffy.
“Hey!” Cricket wailed now. “What’choo doin’?”
The dog frolicked in the water, chasing plops of floating shave cream. It seemed to be trying to eat them.
“He’s a silly dog,” Mary offered.
“Sometimes
Now the dog yipped, thrashing circles in the woods. At one point it stopped abruptly, to defecate. It seemed to look right at Collier.
“He’s poopin’!”
“I have to go—good-bye,” Collier said quickly and began to walk off.
“Don’t go yet!” Cricket objected. “Don’t’cha wanna watch Mary shave her…”
Collier lengthened his strides.
As he made off, he heard:
He walked straight in spite of the dizziness: half drunk, half hungover. He slowed his pace up the hill he hoped to God would take him back to the inn.
Maybe it was another hallucination.
The half-heard sound of giggling stopped him. But he must be a hundred yards away now.
Some perverted gremlin in his psyche made him turn against his will.
And peer back down into the woods.
The girls were still at the creek. “Dirty dog!” Cricket reveled amid a flood of more giggling that could only be Mary’s.
Collier’s stomach turned at what he saw, or
CHAPTER EIGHT I
