Georgie Blake and the Bushie Sisters

GEORGIE BLAKE

AND

THE BUSHIE SISTERS

Miriam Nesset

Published by Winsor Bleu Editions

www.miriamnesset.com

Copyright © 2011 Miriam Nesset

#TXu 1-768-341

2nd Edition

All rights reserved, including the right of

reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ISBN #978-1-4507-8663-8

See the website for other books

by Miriam Nesset

www.miriamnesset.com

Book design by Miriam Nesset

Cover Art by Beth Bird

www.bethbird.org

Printed by Walch Printing

Maine, U.S.A.

For Harriet Ann

With thanks to first readers Alison Rowe,

Donna Saywright, Harriet Story, Linda

Windell, Lauren and Elise Powers, Lyn

Anglin, and Hilda Chilton. A special thanks

to Joan Martinez for all her assistance.

Georgie Blake and the Bushie Sisters

is a work of fiction. Any reference to events

people, locales or events is used fictionally.

Chapter 1: GEORGIE BLAKE

Georgie Blake’s real name was Martha Miller, but she had big plans for her life and needed a name with marquee appeal. And so, three months before her eighth birthday, tired of waiting for this important milestone, and with summer vacation approaching, she told her dad, Walter, that she was now eight, and wanted to be called Georgie Blake. Her dad humored her, thinking it was just a phase she was going through. He didn’t know that all phases do not come to a natural end. Eventually, he got so used to calling her Georgie Blake that he forgot about her real, given name, until some occasion, like a teacher’s conference or school concert, when they’d talk about Martha Miller or he’d see it in print, and have to remind himself it was his daughter.

A girl named Martha Miller would probably wear pink dresses and Mary Janes. Georgie Blake wore striped tee shirts, jeans or bib overalls, and red sneakers. She lived in a small Midwestern town, an average feature of her life she rebelled against, preferring to have been born somewhere more exotic, like Istanbul, Marrakech or even Reykjavik. But one’s place of birth was not something one could easily arrange. Even at the age of almost eight, she realized her appearance would not convince anyone she was Chinese, Indian or African, so she eventually chose to tell anyone who might ask that she’d been born in Boston. It was still well within the United States.

Her house was a very normal, white, story and a half, with green shutters. There used to be lots of flowers in front, but her dad wasn’t a gardener. Her bedroom was upstairs. In it there was an iron bed with a quilt on it that her grandmother had made. It was red with patches of green, blue, and white fabric. Her lamp table, bureau, desk, and chair were of walnut wood, and her lamp had frogs all over it. A rag rug lay on the floor by her bed. There were white, see-through curtains on the windows and shades that pulled down. She didn’t want a lot of stuff in her room that took up space and got in the way. A small mirror hung over her bureau and there was a picture of a child on a rocking horse on the wall above her bed. In her closet were three dresses, worn only to church and piano recitals, and a pair of saddle shoes. There were white socks in a drawer of her bureau to wear with the saddle shoes, but none of them had ruffles. She wasn’t much on jewelry but had a necklace of her mother’s tucked away for safe keeping in a secret place. Blue jeans and tee shirts were also kept in bureau drawers. On top of her bureau was a picture of her mother and some extra shoelaces for her sneakers. They kept breaking. The window to her bedroom looked out from the west side of the house, facing the one the Bushie Sisters lived in.

Georgie loved catching snakes and frogs. She didn’t keep them though, mostly because her dad wouldn’t allow it. The only time she’d ever seen her dad really upset was once when he found a bucket full of snakes in her bedroom. Georgie loved the color red. Most of her tee shirts were red or had red stripes. Two of her jackets, her galoshes, and her sneakers were red, and she had a red baseball cap. Even her umbrella was red, with black kittens on it. She wanted a kitten, a gray one, more than anything in the world, but her dad said she wasn’t old enough to take care of a pet. Every once in a while she’d ask him again but his answer was always the same. She had the name ready, though, in case he ever changed his mind. If it was a boy kitten, it would be named Sam. She liked that name. If it was a girl kitten, it would be named Tillie. Georgie liked most everything to eat except three things; oatmeal because it tasted like paste, mushrooms because they tasted like dirt, and rutabagas because they tasted like ear wax.

Georgie Blake’s dad worked downtown in an office, something to do with the law. He couldn’t leave Georgie alone while he worked after her mother died, so he tried to find someone to watch her during the day, when school was out for the summer, and before and after school. He felt it was important to find someone close to their home, so Georgie could still walk to and from school. He finally settled on the Bushie Sisters next door. Despite rumors in town about them, he thought they would take good care of Georgie and they seemed eager for the opportunity. He had briefly considered asking the guy who lived across the street on the other corner, but felt Georgie would be happier staying with women since she didn’t have a mother.

Georgie Blake’s mother had been killed in a car crash by a drunk driver when she was just six. Her mother had given her the name Martha and would not have been pleased with it being changed, but Georgie felt sure she’d understand if it was explained to her in just the right way. Georgie missed her a lot. When she talked to her dad about it, he said he missed her, too but life must go on. It surprised her when it did. What she missed most were the hugs and kisses. Her dad hugged her, kissed her, and held her in his lap when they read together but he didn’t smell as good as she had. Evelyn was her mother’s name, and she was very pretty. Her mother had died when she was young, too.

Georgie and her dad used to go to church. Her dad said it was because he was trying to follow the good example of her mother. Georgie would sit in the pew and squirm and twist. The pews were hard as rock and made her bottom sore. She enjoyed the singing, though, and didn’t need to read the words from the hymnal because she knew all the songs by heart. Not that anyone could hear themselves sing. Miss Crystal, the organist, pounded the keys so hard the windows rattled. She looked twice as tall as she was because her hair was done up in a huge beehive that you could see daylight through when the sun shine lit up the stained glass windows. Her earrings were always larger than her ears and the glasses she wore on her tiny nose had wings with sparkly stuff on them. She was probably not very good at coloring because her red lipstick went outside the lines of her lips.

Church was a lonely place to Georgie because it was where her mother’s funeral had been. The part of the church service she hated most was the sermon. The preacher yelled at the congregation. Georgie had learned early on to use that time to decide what she’d do the rest of the day. She also hated Sunday school, but her dad made her go for a time. She was eventually able to convince him that one could be a good person without going to church or Sunday school. He seemed relieved when she announced her intention not to go near the church on Sunday, or any other day, again.

I guess by now you’d like to know what Georgie Blake looked like. She was kind of skinny, to tell the truth. She had big brown eyes that her grandmother said looked like they belonged on the Gingerbread Man. Her hair used to be real long but she liked it shorter. It was cut straight across the back about shoulder level, all the same length except for bangs. She could just get her hair into braids, which is how she wore it most of the time. Unlike her mother’s dark, straight hair, hers was light brown, blondish, and fuzzy. Sometimes, when she got up in the morning, her hair would be a complete mess.

Was there some kind of explosion in your bedroom? her dad would tease.

Every night before bed, she had to take a bath, but she only had to wash her hair on Saturday morning, unless she got extra dirty. She could manage it on her own but thought it a real bother even once a week. Georgie had a birthmark on her right shoulder that was the shape of an umbrella and a big brown mole on her left arm that had a dark hair growing right out of the middle. People, when they didn’t think she heard them, said she looked like a gangling waif with big feet.

That means you’re special and have nice long, thin arms and legs, her dad told her. And don’t you worry. You’ll grow into your feet before you know it.

On Saturday mornings, Georgie took piano lessons. Her mother had played the piano. Georgie didn’t like practicing every night after supper but her dad insisted. Mrs. Knight was her piano teacher. She was eighty-four years old, hard of hearing and couldn’t see well, so didn’t catch most of Georgie’s mistakes, and there were quite a few. When Mrs. Knight heard a mistake, she would get out a huge magnifying glass and look at the music to see what was wrong.

This is how you play that part, she’d say, taking over the piano bench. Now, try again, please, Martha.

She was a nice old lady and Georgie didn’t even mind the farting, except when they smelled. Her children had a birthday party for her on May the tenth when she turned eighty-five. Georgie went but wasn’t very happy about having to wear a dress. She got a huge red balloon with a picture of her teacher on it. Sometimes, when Georgie played the piano at home, she’d sing along. Lily Bushie said she had the voice of an angel.

Georgie’s first grade teacher had been Mrs. Seabloom. She smelled like lilacs. Georgie couldn’t remember much about school from first grade, except learning the word yellow. Somehow that had stood out. She liked coloring, and her dad had bought her the largest box of crayons. Her favorite colors were periwinkle and corn flower; besides all shades of red, of course. Those crayons were always the first to get worn down. Mrs. Seabloom’s son, Donny, was in her first grade class. He was a big boy whose nose scrunched up when he laughed. He had skin that was puffy, like marshmallows, and he wanted to be a cake decorator and floral artist when he grew up.

The spring Georgie announced to her dad that she was eight, she was just finishing second grade. Mrs. Welchert was her teacher and Georgie really liked her. Mrs. Welchert wore red lipstick, had long fingernails painted red, and dark curly hair. In second grade, Georgie learned lots of new words. She was a good reader, her teacher said, but her favorite subject was math. School was all right, but she would rather have been doing something more interesting.

Chapter 2: HARRIET ANN

Harriet Ann, or Hatchet Annie as her stepbrothers called her, lived in a blue house with purple trim and pink shutters. Everyone said it looked like a giant Easter egg, but Harriet Ann’s mom, Mrs. Beecher, had chosen the colors, and no one would say anything to her face about her choices. Harriet Ann had three stepbrothers, from her mother’s first marriage. Jeb, Tom, and Ben were mean as snakes, even to their pet dog, Rover. Harriet Ann also had an older sister, named Victoria Beth. Her sister had always been sick, unable to play with her, so it didn’t seem like she even had a sister. Since Harriet Ann lived only two blocks away from Georgie, it was logical that they become best friends. And they did. They’d only been in a fight once, in first grade, when Harriet Ann said Georgie’s mother wasn’t very pretty. Georgie grabbed onto Harriet Ann’s dress and tore all the buttons off. She got into a heap of trouble for that. Mrs. Beecher got so mad, she called Georgie’s dad. Georgie had to go pick up all the buttons then her dad had to sew them back onto the dress. Harriet Ann felt bad about the whole thing and told Georgie she was sorry. After that, they never fought.

The fall Harriet Ann was seven and a half years old, her father suddenly died from a heart attack, leaving her in the sole care of her mother, who she often referred to as the Wicked Witch of the West. Since the girls had each lost a parent, they decided their remaining parents should marry. Though they repeatedly pressed the point, arguing strongly for the union, the two parents would not agree to it. Georgie felt certain it was because her dad didn’t want anything to do with Harriet Ann’s older brothers and, to tell the truth, she didn’t either. She kept this to herself, though, so she wouldn’t hurt Harriet Ann’s feelings.

All the children in Harriet Ann’s house played some kind of musical instrument. Her dad used to play the violin, as did two of her brothers. The other brother, Tom, played the cello, and her mother played the piano. Since Harriet Ann’s mother thought she was too young to play an instrument, besides the piano which she had no interest in, she sang. She would like to have played the drums but every time she mentioned it, her family said drums were too loud. Unlike her mother, Harriet Ann had a nice voice; maybe not the voice of an angel, but nice enough. Her sister, Victoria Beth, just sat in the swing and clapped her hands together. Often, the family would have concerts in the evening. It sounded pretty good, but Georgie thought the boys could use some more lessons.

Harriet Ann and her dad had been very close. She’d been his favorite, and she could always count on him. He had taught her to build birdhouses and other things at his workbench in the basement or out in the garage, and he’d shown her how things worked. He used to repair clocks, musical instruments, and sometimes cars, and she helped him. When he was in the middle of a repair project, he’d ask her to hand him a tool. She knew what every one of them was called, so she could always hand him the right one. He’d hold her hand when they walked up town or to church, and she’d sit with him in the porch swing in the evening. She missed him a lot. After he died, Harriet Ann practically lived at Georgie’s house.

From hanging around her dad’s workshop, Harriet Ann got the notion that she could build things on her own. Once she built an aquarium out of glass. It was a lot of work cutting the glass and gluing everything together. She was very disappointed when she found out you could just buy an aquarium and that it actually held water. She had a pet goat named Suzie her dad had given her and a gold fish named Hermes. She usually forgot to feed Hermes. He lived in a glass bowl in her bedroom. Often, he’d be floating on his side in slimy, green water when she and Georgie went up to her room. Harriet Ann would put Hermes in a glass of water then clean the bowl and put him back into it with fresh water. Georgie was sure Hermes was dead each time, planning an appropriate fish funeral in her head. But he would flap a fin, then another, and soon be swimming happily around the bowl again. Georgie had heard that cats had nine lives, but she felt sure gold fish must have a hundred.

Harriet Ann’s stepbrothers were generally a problem but were especially mean to her. It was bad enough they never had to help with dishes, but they managed to torment her while she washed and wiped them. They’d come into the kitchen and start singing Jingle at the Window Ti-de-o, but with different lyrics. Because Harriet Ann had a tendency to be a little stubborn, like her goat, Suzie, the boys took advantage of this fact,