Bravado's House of Blues by John A. Pitts Read Free Book Online

accepted the phone, took a quiet breath and held one hand against her breast. “This is Agnes Barnham.”
    A familiar voice, tinny and distant, filled her ear. “Miss Barnham, lovely to hear your voice.”
    She glanced at her father, one hand covering the phone, eyebrows raised.
    Mr. Barnham rolled his eyes and shambled out of the parlor, mumbling.
    Agnes grinned. “Mr. Schonfeld, how nice of you to call. You’re buying poetry these days?”
    “Listen, I haven’t much time,” he said. His words tumbled fast. “Do you fancy snakes?”
    “Not so much,” she said. She paused, waiting for him to continue but he didn’t. “Why do you ask?”
    She heard other voices in the background, equally excited. She heard Jacob’s muffled voice as his hand covered the receiver. “Please, can you keep it down? I’m on the line with Boston here.” Clearer now as he answered her question: “A chap up in Maine rang Fort to say there’s been a snake-fall near Portland. Would you like to see it?”
    She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “A what?”
    “A snake-fall. A rain of snakes. Would you like to see it with me?”
    She looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Where are you?”
    More voices. “Oh. I’m in New York. But I’m leaving in a few minutes and wondered if I could swing by and pick you up.”
    Formality slipped her mind. “Jacob, you’re over two hundred miles away. Portland is at least another hundred miles from here.” Her mouth wanted to smile. She fought it back as if somehow he’d be able to hear it in her voice. “You’re just going to swing by?”
    He seemed embarrassed now. “Well, only if you want to see it.”
    “Mr. Schonfeld,” she said in her sweetest voice, “you’re either batty or drunk or both.”
    He ignored her comment. “I should hit Boston easily by morning. Shall I pick you up at eight?”
    She thought for a moment. “Oh, I should think eight-thirty at the earliest. At the train station, please.”
    “At the train station?”
    “It’s easier that way. Trust me.”
    “I’ll see you then,” he said and rang off.
    Agnes stood for a moment, holding the phone in her hands. A snake-fall in Maine. For a moment she wondered if this was some odd courtship she’d happened across, then wondered if calling it a courtship presumed too much and wondered exactly why some part of her felt afraid and hopeful all at once as memories of his eyes, his hands, his mouth flashed silently past.
    Last, she wondered what lie she’d tell her father about tomorrow.

    *

    The field of snakes stretched on and on before them. Agnes poked at one with her foot, ready to jump back if it moved. It didn’t; it seemed all the snakes were dead. “You do this often?”
    Jacob looked up from unloading the Model T. He smiled, pulling out a collapsible chair. “When I can.” He unfolded the chair and steadied it.
    Agnes shielded her eyes from the late morning sun. “This must explain why there is no Mrs. Schonfeld.”
    He laughed. The sound of it still made her feel warm. “I suppose it does.” He unfolded a second chair and set it up near—but not too near—the other. Then he worked the easel free.
    She sharpened her pencil while Jacob set up his easel and squeezed paint onto his palette. She sat down and drew her notepad from her satchel. She scribbled:
    Caught up, cast down in a courtship of snakes
    A carpet of corpses unmoving, unliving
    Untethered at last from past mistakes
    Free from the unloving and unforgiving.
    She lined it out and stole a glance at Jacob. His eyes flashed merriment and his mouth twitched into a grin. She fell back into the last several hours and returned his smile.
    The jostling of the car and the easiness of his voice had drawn her out. They’d talked about everything. Movies and music. Last week’s vote in the House to approve the new amendment, the one that would finally expand America’s democracy to her and millions of other women. (“If we’re going