Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 5 - Conquest!

“Conquest!”  

     Freddy Abel smiled, pointed a finger at me, then let a piercing shriek rip away from the bottom of his diaphragm before Mrs. Abel could reach over and slap a hand over his mouth. His mother urged him to shut up while Freddy’s bright eyes; which were fixed on my lips, slid downward, swept from left to right then lowered some more and rested on my waistline. His loud outbursts were sheer expressions of joy yet Freddy’s shrieks were well known to be murder on the ears and adrenal glands of the unbraced. We had not seen one another in a few days and Freddy was elated by the fact that I had walked into Abel’s Tavern. Mrs. Abel clenched her jaw. The veins in her neck became nearly visible as she growled something harsh into Freddy’s ear. With his smile concealed, Freddy obediently brought his chin to his chest and dropped his pointing hand. The top of his head inclined toward me but beneath his dark eyebrows, Freddy’s Windex blue gaze continued to skitter willy-nilly all over my body. Mrs. Abel drew her hand away from Freddy’s mouth and the upper row of his perfect white teeth immediately jammed hard into the red of his bottom lip.

     We were in the main room of Abel’s Tavern, Mrs. Abel and Freddy sat at a table in one corner. It was nearly five o’clock and I had just arrived three minutes early for my job interview. I’d already been home where I’d successfully out bluffed Matilda and prepared for my appointment. Matilda’s attempt to frighten a confession out of me regarding Scrub Peak had backfired miserably. At nearly sixteen, I could quite easily disarm Matilda on occasion. The key was in knowing half her secrets and then pretending to know them all. Oh Yeah? Next time I go up there maybe I’ll bring a camera so I can take a snapshot of you and your filthy dolls. How do ya like them apples? Huh? I gave her my best dead-pan expression. Matilda’s face blanched, her entire hairline moved backward a quarter inch and she shut her mouth in mid-tirade. She knew what I meant. My gamble paid off. I hadn’t actually followed Matilda during her clandestine night sojourns in more than a year. Father Gabriel had threatened to excommunicate Matilda and her associates if they continued the moonlight swoon dances, idol making and chicken sacrifices in the desert. Apparently, she was still worshipping her pantheon by night then posing pious and most prim, at Our Lady Of The Assumption on Sunday mornings. It had gone on for years. Matilda hid more than a dozen blood soaked, foul smelling dolls made from burlap, yarn and human hair in a metal box she kept buried in our garden. Her habits infuriated my father but he was powerless to extricate Matilda from our household because of her McKee status. I had come to realize that Matilda had been foisted upon my widower father in the forlorn hope of creating a marriage. I will not marry Matilda. They can’t force it. It will never happen Amelia, so don’t you fret about it.

     With a wave of a well-manicured hand in my direction, Mrs. Abel indicated that there was Freddy business to attend before our interview could begin. She poked an elbow into Freddy’s side and began to study the array of condiments on the table as Freddy opened his mouth.

“I’m very sorry. Amelia. I shouldn’t have done that.” Freddy spoke in a clear, careful and moderated voice. While many of his other words were often delivered in a jumbled fashion, Freddy had learned through practice, how to apologize in a plain linear manner. Freddy looked up and held my gaze. He’d been lucky. The dinner rush had not yet started. A crowded room full of customers would certainly have earned Freddy more than an elbow in the side for such a lapse.

“It’s all right Fred.” I smiled at him. I hoped in vain that there wouldn’t be more to Freddy’s social lesson. 

“Don’t tell him that or he’ll never learn to stop doing it Amelia! Tell him not to do it again! Tell him he’s rude!” Mrs. Abel glared at me. I obeyed her. Freddy cowered as I spoke.

“It’s those braids of yours. Freddy has finally caught on that you’re too old for them. He’s trying to make a spectacle of you.” Mrs. Abel seemed to relish her idea but she was dead wrong. The evidence was obvious. I could see it in the bulge that interrupted the flat front of Freddy’s chinos whenever he saw me. I couldn’t tell her so, Mrs. Abel hated to be wrong and there was no way to predict what she would subject us to if she knew about it.