Sheila and Her Friends Pt. 05

Sheila, being no pushover--no school yard bullies ever got the better of her, boy or girl, answers Jilly's intimidation. Moving a step closer, her breath on the girl's smooth face, close enough to be nearly cross-eyed, she stares into the girl's green eyes, and asks, "What is a cunt, Jilly?"

Jilly giggles, "I like you, too, miss prim and proper! Eileen and Tiger were right about you," and wraps her arms arounds around Sheila's, pressing her chest to chest. Reluctantly, she releases Sheila. Taking her hand, she drags her to the couch, where they sit together, Blackie at Sheila's side, her legs closed now from the force of Jilly and Sheila being squeezed against her.

"Blackie, sweetie, show the girl what a cunt is."

"Show her yourself, sour puss, if you dare--the girl could faint dead away, she see that red hairy beast."

"You like it, enough!"

"Takes me hours to clean you up."

"With your tongue, toiling away like a maid on my floor."

Now they fight, the black girl jumping up and straddling Jilly, her knees wedged next to Sheila. Holding Jilly at bay, long fingers tying together thin wrists, she pushes her arms up and pinches Jilly's breast, twisting the nipple, outlined invitingly through the taut cloth.

"Ow! Leave my little titty alone!"

Blackie wiggles her hips, snuggling onto Jilly, who giggles spreading her legs so that Blackie' bottom is trapped between her thighs. Blackie looks over at Sheila, who watches their shenanigans, wide-eyed. "Here," Blackie says, pulling up Jilly's night gown, leaning back so Sheila can see the full bright red bush of hair sprouting between Jilly's legs, "here is a cunt, a sour puss cunny.--My cunny." Sheila's month is open, amazed especially when Blackie adds, "if you treat us right, I might share this cherry pie with ya'!"

Jilly is watching Sheila, "You can touch it, go on..." she says, her eyes intent.

Sheila shivers and wonders if she's getting a fever.

At this, Tiger quickly pulls Sheila up and away, "Quit!"

"Come on, let's visit me Miss Betty. She wants to be introduced to you."

Eileen joins them, hugging Sheila, "Don't mind the wild girls, they're always fighting--like cats and dogs in love."

"In love?" Sheila asks, finally recovering her voice, as she stares back at the girls, now tickling each other, where she sees a wisp of that red bush still exposed under Blackie's twisting legs.

Inside Cheroots, Sheila is surprised to find a proper drawing room--one that would not be out of place in her own home where the furnishings are rather lavish for this mining town. In walks Miss Betty, dressed like any other wealthy matron. Seeing Sheila, Miss Betty comes to her and takes her hand in both of hers, "Welcome to Cheroots! You must be Sheila! The girls hardly talked about anything else after your last visit--you made a very special impression."

"Thank you," Sheila replies and introduces herself.

"I'm Betty Gordon" Betty replies, "people call me Miss Betty."

"We have the same last name?" Sheila remarks, looking closely at Miss Betty's features, wondering if she is somehow a part of Sheila's family.

"Yes we do," Miss Betty says, "a coincidence, I'm sure. Won't you have some tea with us, Tiger is found of serving tea to her friends. For days now my good china and silver tray have been outside in the sun, waiting your return."

"Aren't we happy your efforts returned Miss Sheila for a visit, Tiger?"

"Yes ma'am. If Blackie and Sour Pus' don't scare her away again."

"Don't worry, Tiger," Miss Betty says, rubbing her shoulders affectionately, "I am sure Miss Sheila Gordon is a strong and true woman who can stand up for herself." As she says this she studies Sheila intently, marveling at how beautiful her niece has become. The last time she was this close to her all she saw was a profile, the turn of a pretty covered head, glimpsed between the shoulders of parishioners standing at mass, their voices raised in song, not noticing the matron in the flowery dress who slipped out of the church, her eyes teary, six long years ago.

Sheila finds the remark strange, but nods her head acknowledging the compliment with a whispered 'thank you.' Her eyes follow the contours of Miss Betty's patrician face, realizing with a start the similarity in the curve of the eye and the shape of the nose, features undeniably like those of her father.

No half-heartedness for your girl friend, Sheila looks directly at her, "Are you sure you aren't related to my father, Miss Betty?"

"Yes, I must confess, indeed I am. I am truly his sister--his fallen sister--one I'm sure you've not heard about."

"You're my Auntie!" Sheila exclaims and rushes to hug Miss Betty tightly. Here finally before her eyes was a woman relative, not some distant matron back in Ohio--everyone in the immediate Gordon family are male except her mother. This was wonderful! Here at last was someone she could talk to, someone she instinctively understood to be not at all like her mother, despite the similarities in their wardrobe.

"I'm so glad to see you grown up, so strong and beautiful." Miss Betty says, leading Sheila to the big sofa. "We have so much to talk about--but I need to say that if your father ever found out about your visits here. You and I would be in trouble. My brother wouldn't hesitate to run me out of town. I don't know what I'd do with my girls, then. Don't misunderstand your newfound Auntie, you are always welcome here and if you ever need my help for anything--anything at all--I am here for you. But in the future we must keep your visits a secret."

"I think I understand!" Sheila says, "My father can be mean when he loses his temper! But won't the girls talk?"

"The girls are the family I never had. I watch out for them and they watch out for me. But we need to have a plan--maybe a disguise--a way you can visit us unnoticed."

Sheila laughs and points to her boots and pants, "The girls think I look like a dandy. Maybe I can dress like a cowboy!"

Betty thinks about this. "You'll need some place to secretly change into a real cowboy costume, someplace where no one will notice you. I'll get Clarissa to take you to the women's spring, we call it the Secret Spring. Men don't even know that it's real. They think the Spring is a nickname for Cheroots."

Miss Betty and I spent the better part of the afternoon talking about family. She knew about my mother's nervous spells, my dad's mean streak, and about the women left behind in Ohio. She described my cousins and my life as a child, giving me an amazing picture of what my life was like--something I was too immersed in to recognize. Glancing at the slanting sun now working its way behind the mountain, she asked Tiger who listened intently to us the whole time, to fetch Miss Clare.

In walks an unsmiling young black woman with a remarkable, forthright presence.

(Sheila smiles at Julie and Lily, thinking, One we all have come to know so very well now.)

"Miss Clare this is Mistress Sheila." Miss Betty says.

"Hello." Miss Clare says, her eyes neutral, almost smiling, as she extends her hand.

Sheila hesitates, but shakes Miss Clare's hand by the fingertips in the fashion of the ladies of Bisbee. She cannot remember ever seeing a white woman shake hands with a black woman. Then she smiles broadly, remembering Jilly and Blackie, how natural and fun they were, and hopes this forthright, but stern Miss Clare might someday be her friend too, unlikely as it seems at the moment.

"Miss Clare, you need to keep a secret for me."

"Yes ma'am."

"Take Miss Sheila to the Spring the back way, but don't go in unless you know for sure no one has seen you."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll keep the girl hid."

(Julie is watching her Lily in the here and now, shivering as she hears the familiar purring vowels murmur forth out of the past.)

"Thank you, Miss Clare," Betty says, "She is very important to me."

"Me, too" Tiger says, playfully bumping her shoulder against Miss Clare, who ignores her, until Tiger nips her earlobe with gleaming teeth, causing Miss Clare to surrender a stern giggle, before pushing her away. Sheila smiles and smiles feeling a new kind of glow, a glow like candle light on playful girls and smiling women, lighting up a hidden world among soon-to-be new friends.

Into the afternoon shadows they step, nothing more than a woman with her maid following. Clare is talking quietly to Sheila: "Turn left here, see that alley, just ahead is another alley, see that old blue door?" They have arrived at the Spring the back way.

"I don't think you need to worry about anyone seeing us in this narrow alley." Sheila says, intrigued by the adventure, but doubting weather she can retrace her steps.

"It's twisty." Clare says as she knocks on the door, a tap-tap-TAP pattern, twice done. "Hope they hear..." She mutters. Then they do hear a shuffling, the draw of a lock and the creak of the door opening an inch to reveal a dark inquiring eye. The voice inside: "It's Clare."

Once inside, they follow an older woman down a narrow rock lined mining tunnel, its old wood lintels causing them to duck their heads at intervals. They enter a warm misty room where a spring overflows a rock cistern. Clare points to the buckets along the wall. "I work here sometimes, hauling water to the bath over yonder."

The woman turns to Clare and looks at her questioningly, "Tiger told me you would be coming the back way. I'd never hear you, otherwise."

"She tell you why, ma'am?"

"Yes. Can't say I'm happy about it, but Miss Betty is my fast friend. So here's whats what: You are Miss Sheila. My name is Annabelle Rogers." She pauses, looking at Sheila closely, judging the risk. "Your father will close this place down if you are ever discovered here."

"My Aunt Betty said the same thing.--That she'd be run out of town." Sheila replies.

"First thing: Leave off the Aunt Betty. You are a cowboy. When you step out of that backdoor, you are nothing more than a hungry cowboy out for an afternoon's sport at Cheroots. You will be dressed like a man and you must act like a man, especially if there are customers at Cheroots. And never tell anyone you know Betty or me."

"Yes ma'am." Sheila says. Clare secretly smiles, enjoying Sheila's humility under Miss Roger's stern gaze, a place she's been herself many times before.

"Miss Clare!"

"Yes ma'am."

"Miss Betty and I trust you. Take care of this girl, don't let her stray or be seen." Miss Rogers looks again at them both. "There are three ways into the Spring. You know the front (never come into the Spring that way--and don't show it to Mistress Sheila--no other customers should ever see you) and you've just been in the back way.--That's the way you will always leave once Miss Sheila has changed into a cowboy."

"You two will enter through the milliner's shop on Front St. There's a locked storage closet near that door to the toilet in the back. Open the door quietly. Miss Hardiman will lock it behind you and will keep an eye out.--She is the only one you can trust. If someone else is in the shop don't go near the back--even to the toilet. The door in the storage closet is hidden and must never be known by anyone else."

Sheila watches this exchange wide-eyed. The intrigue is like a drama--like some passage she might have read in an English novel. Yet, here she is in the heat of this steamy room next to the mysterious black girl, Clare, and the strange woman, Miss Annabelle Rogers, characters in her own book of memories about her lost Aunt and all her playful girls.

"Miss Rogers" Sheila says solemnly, looking directly at the woman. "I will keep your secret and Miss Betty's secret and Miss Clare's secret--you all would surely be in trouble for helping me. I won't jeopardize you. I am a serious girl--woman. I will not gossip."

"Do you keep a diary?" Miss Roger asks.

"No, ma'am and I will not start one either."

"Good. Come alone to Miss Hardiman's at 10 in the morning next Tuesday. Look at the hats she sells. Clare will be waiting to take you down the passage and show you where to change. She'll be your lookout and take you to Miss Betty's out the back door of the Spring after you change."

...

The days of waiting tick by like an old woman walking, tedious and eventual, but oh so slow. Sheila thinks about the mystery, the playful girls, Blackie and Jilly fighting, Tigers touch and the way she nipped at Clare's ear, Clare's rueful smile, and, Miss Betty--my auntie, long lost. Finally, it is Tuesday morning. She tells her mother she is only going to the library down the hill, giving her the excuse the she feels better reading when she has her monthly pain. Now she walks in that direction, but crosses the street and innocently enters the hat shop to browse. When she enters she notices someone else in the shop, she frowns suddenly feeling forlorn. She knows she can no longer directly visit when she wants--simply take the steps as she innocently did just days ago. She has not met Miss Hardiman, so when the customer turns and looks at her, she is startled to hear, "Most women smile when they look at my hats, you should too, Miss Gordon!"

"I'm sorry. I thought you were a customer. I am pleased to meet you, you must be Madam Hardiman." Sheila says to the spritely older woman, who has turned to look intently at her.

"You can call me Miss Hardiman, the only Madam around her is your auntie, as I'm sure she's already told you. Don't let anyone know that you know her much less have visited her."

"Yes, ma'am." Sheila says to this familiar refrain.

"You'll need an excuse for coming here. See that fancy hat on the holder over there," Miss Hardiman says, motioning to a purple and white feathered bonnet.

"Yes ma'am."

"You will be working here part time, in secret, to pay for that hat as a surprise gift for your mother on her birthday. That is the story we will use if anyone asks why you're here so often."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can go on back now."

"Thank you!" Sheila says hurriedly as she nearly skips to the back.

Down the hallway she goes, past the curtained storage room where suddenly a graceful black hand grabs her wrist. Sheila giggles as she sees Clare behind the curtains. Clare puts her finger to her lips and leads her to the back, around the corner from where the toilet door stands half open. Yet another curtain, then a closet. Squeezing into the closet together, bosom to bosom, Sheila can feel Claire's breath on her neck. Claire reaches around pressing into her and pulls aside yet another curtain. Sheila struggles not to giggle, as she feels fingers slipping down her front. With the click of the old key Clare has on a string around her neck, a three-quarter high door like you might find under a stair opens inward to reveal steep steps into a dark passage.

"Hold my hand," Clare says.

Sheila whispers, smiling "You aren't related to the forward Miss Blackie are you?"

"You could have worst friends than Blackie." Clare says.

"What I meant is everyone at Cheroots is always holding onto me or touching me, like I'm a doll they can play with."

"Hmm." Clare says noncommittally, but can't resist squeezing Sheila's hand playfully.

"See!" Sheila says. Clare can hear the smile in her voice.

"You know why?"

"No." Sheila says hesitantly, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

Clare hesitates, afraid she's gone too far.

(Julie and Lilly giggle and whisper into their storyteller's ear: "Don't be shy, dear Miss Clare, we're already here in the present camped between the lovely legs of your charge.")

Clare decides the truth is better than all this pussy footing around.

("Pussy footing?'" Julie smiles as her foot nudges Sheila's mound.

"Quit, let me finish my story. Aren't you curious? There I am on this dim dark stairs about to be told a truth by Clare--that's you Lilly in case you've forgotten." Sheila says.

"Yes, Ma'am!" Lilly giggles.)

Sheila stops on the steps, still holding Clare's hand. "Tell me, please, Miss Clare."

Clare looks at Sheila before she plunges into what she is damn sure is none of her business. She cannot understand how she can be so frank with this rich girl, this girl who could ruin everything for them all.

Sheila squeezes Clare's hand. She hears a sigh. "Don't tell them I told you--please."

"Never. I have so many secrets to keep now. It makes me feel like a Queen, a secret Queen that has somehow been granted a mirror into which she sees everything."

"Your highness," Clare smiles, "The girls touch you because they like you and they want to be close to your innocence. They touch you because they love to touch each other. The girls don't have men for lovers. The men they touch are customers. Their lovers are the girls they live with. That's why Blackie and Jilly were playing together, why they asked you to join them."

"Is that why Tiger nipped your ear? You looked like a mother tolerating her daughter's silliness."

Clare sighs, they are stopped now on the bottom landing where the steps turn. There is enough light from a crack in the foundation above them to see each others hesitation. "Yes, Tiger and I often share a bed."

"Like a slumber party where friends stay overnight?" Sheila's heard about this in the past at school but she was never been allowed to attend one.

"No, girl!" Clare giggles now, "Like where we make love together."

"Love?" Sheila shivers.

"Love!" Clare answers and with exasperated sigh plants a kiss, wet parted lips onto Sheila's staring face and half-open mouth.

"Girls kiss like that?" Sheila says with an involuntary pant.

"Well?"

"Well what" Sheila feels her face blushing, bursting with color.

"Did you like being kissed by a woman?"

Her full wet lips made a huge hot impression, sending shivers everywhere, but Sheila won't admit this. Something might change. Maybe the girls won't like her anymore. Maybe she won't even be able to marry!

Clare, still holding her hand, says. "Quit worrying. It's just a girl kiss, a taste of the sweet. I won't tell anyone I kissed you. They'd be so jealous and Tiger'd tease me bad. But be warned, that is surely not the only kiss you'll get from the girls at Cheroots!"