Read Online Wicked Girls by Stephanie Hemphill - Free Book Online

her.
    I dig in and yank backward,
    then release my hold,
    and she crashes into the wall.
    But I let her go with such strength
    I tumble myself down too
    and bruise my tailbone
    direct on the floor.
    Mercy smiles and laughs
    like we be sharing a joke,
    but I do spit ’pon the ground
    rather than smile at her.
    â€œListen, Margaret,” she says.
    â€œI’ll not listen to thee.
    Go and fetch, servant girl.”
    Mercy slows her voice.
    â€œYou best apologize.
    You should not treat me as such,
    Margaret Walcott. I be offering
    you a hand in friendship.”
    Now I could nearly laugh.
    â€œYou are not my friend.”
    â€œNo,” Mercy says,
    and she dusts her skirts.
    â€œI suppose I am not.”

MARGARET IN THE HOUSE
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    I pull open another drawer
    and not a bloomer to be found.
    â€œWilson, do the witches
    now steal my wash and stockings?”
    My sweet dog taps his tail
    upon the boards; his tongue
    quivers in the affirmative.
    Margaret’s laughter stokes
    the hallways and shatters the ears,
    sounding like a spoon scraping an empty pot.
    Her cackles are followed by
    a deep moan, and Missus Putnam hollers,
    â€œMercy, fetch a pail and cloth!
    Our guest has fallen to fit!”
    I wiggle back into my dirty dress
    and haul a bucket toward Ann’s room,
    but halfway there my knees bend under
    and I slip to the floor.
    I slither as a beast upon the ground
    until Mister Putnam carries me
    back to my bed.
    â€œThe girl is not well.
    She cannot attend to others,”
    I hear Mister say
    after I have been
    tucked into my covers
    and relieved of my day.
    Wilson snuggles aside me.
    I stretch my arms above my head,
    rise and tiptoe to my window
    to watch the morning bowl of sun
    soak the fields with God’s first light.
    â€œMercy?”
    Ann knocks upon, then opens,
    my door.
    She holds her brush in hand.
    â€œI cannot be in that room
    with Margaret one moment more.”
    Ann hoists up on my bed
    and motions for me to sit up
    so she can brush out my hair
    while standing on the bed above me.
    Ann grumps, “Margaret lights tapers
    so my room smells
    of wax and burn. I hate it!
    Why did she have to come?”
    I shrug. “I think she was made to.”
    Ann throws down her brush.
    â€œI might have to sleep in here with you.”
    â€œThat would not please your mother.”
    â€œMy mother will have to learn
    to do as I wish, or perhaps
    I shall call her a witch?”
    Ann’s voice is more question
    than statement.
    â€œNo, Ann, you must never do that,”
    I say, and fold her into a seated position.
    I give her back the brush
    and begin her hand stroking my hair.
    But perhaps, you call Margaret …
    I shake the idea away.

ADVICE
    Margaret Walcott, 17
    Aunt Ann squeezes my hand.
    â€œA goodwife does always
    as her husband does bid her.
    To honor him be never a sin.”
    But what of the betrothed? I want to ask.
    Instead I stammer, “What of Mercy?”
    â€œMercy shall never be a goodwife,
    because she is too low
    to marry into a proper name.
    Her slim beauty will be scoured away
    unlike your fair silken own.”
    Aunt lowers her voice to whispering
    and purses her lips like she suffers
    from a bitter yam.
    â€œIf she be seen at all, ’twill be
    as one of tawdry repute.”
    The tears crash down my cheeks.
    How then could Isaac…?
    Aunt stares on me till I say,
    â€œI miss Isaac.”
    â€œI shall have Thomas ask
    Isaac and his father to supper.
    What else, child?”
    â€œAnn sees so many witches ,”
    I blurt faster than I did wish.
    â€œI be meaning, I feel as I cannot say
    all the specters I see.
    I know not the names.”
    Aunt Ann smiles larger than her land.
    â€œI can help thee. Just speak with me,
    dear Margaret, and I will provide thee
    names for the specters you know not.”
    She cradles me to her breast.
    â€œOh, I am so glad you are come.”

SUPPER GUESTS
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    Mister Putnam