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Not everyone had a car in 1915. My family was one of the didn\u2019t haves, so we walked to church even on a Sunday when rain ran in rivulets down the ruts of the country road. Our trek alongside the muddy lane that followed Bear Cave Creek from the old farmhouse to Glen Hollow was just over a mile. The twins clung to my hands and Roger, my older brother, carried the baby. Ma had gone to meet Jesus, giving birth to our little sister. Our father did his best to protect us. He turned back pelting rain with a big black umbrella and wielded it like a shield whenever a mud-slinging automobile swooshed by. Half way to town, one of those mud slingers jerked to the side of the road. Pa stopped, handed the umbrella to Roger and locked eyes with me. \u201cVirginia, you kids stay right here. Huddle together and don\u2019t get too close to that creek bank.\u201d Father knelt in the mud alongside a flat tire on Miss Lorraine Beckett\u2019s Model T, his Sunday slacks soaking up mire from the side of the road. Mama always said he had a knack for soiling fresh washed clothes. She also said he was the kindest gentleman in the county. I hoped Miss Beckett appreciated his kindness, but I doubted it. With his back to the rain, Pa pumped the jack handle. The car jostled and the bank owner\u2019s daughter clung to the steering wheel, feathers adorning her fashionable hat flounced with each jolt. I shivered and grimaced a smile when Miss Beckett waved a gloved hand from the inside of her leather-roofed automobile. Her blond hair reminded me of Mama\u2019s wavy curls, and I closed my eyes to shake off the memory. She\u2019s nothing like Mama.<\/i> My four-year-old brothers tugged on my hands. One blurted, \u201cThat hurts Ginny. You\u2019re squeezing me.\u201d I loosened my grip and apologized. Roger hollered at Pa. \u201cDo you need help? If Miss Beckett holds Anna, I could\u2014\u201d Pa cut him off. \u201cYou just hang on to her. Don\u2019t be bothering Lorraine.\u201d He flitted a glance at the woman and continued adjusting the spare. He stowed the lug wrench and jack after he finished, then stepped up to the driver\u2019s door. I bit my lower lip when Pa removed his dripping fedora to speak with Miss Beckett. \u201cYou\u2019re good to go, ma\u2019am.\u201d He backed away. \u201cI\u2019ll turn the crank.\u201d The black Model T rumbled to a start and Pa dashed out of the way. A short blast of the horn and a gully-washer of mud announced her thanks as Miss Beckett sped off down the road. I gritted my teeth and helped Pa wipe muck from his face and felt hat. We hung our wet, muddy coats in the foyer and shuffled into the back row of the Baptist church just as the minister concluded his welcome. As the congregation stood to sing a hymn of praise, I squinted at Miss Beckett, who stood by her father in the front row. Her pristine white hat complemented the lace trim and collar of her pale blue tea dress. The coarse linen of my grey middy dress crumpled in my hand as I sang. I glanced at Pa. His chin was lowered to the hymnal, but his eyes were focused on the banker\u2019s daughter. My breath caught, and I struggled to fill my lungs, the words of praise forgotten. The sermon, a discourse based on Ephesians 4:32, be ye kind one to another,<\/i> gouged at my memory of Miss Beckett\u2019s unkind departure. I slipped out of the auditorium and paused outside the door, eying Miss Lorraine. She turned her head just long enough to lock eyes with my father. Air seethed between my teeth as I donned my coat and headed to the parking lot. The brightness of the sun peeking between dark clouds after the service, refreshed my soul more than the minister\u2019s words. But my outlook soured when Miss Beckett sashayed past Pa and flashed a smile at his tipped hat. She drove off in her Model T and my lips curled into an unrestrained smile. I fondled the objects in my pocket. May justice be served.<\/i> Knock! Knock! Knock!<\/i> A sharp pounding on our front door interrupted dinner. Pa\u2019s chair screeched on the wooden floor. \u201cWho\u2019s trying to break down our door?\u201d He hurried across the room, yanked on the door handle and stepped back as Sheriff Dickens barged in. \u201cMr. Carter, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of one Lorraine Beckett.\u201d Handcuffs jangled, then clicked on Pa\u2019s wrists. I jumped up and tugged on the sheriff\u2019s arm. \u201cWhat happened to Miss Beckett? Why are you arresting Pa?\u201d The sheriff\u2019s words clenched my lungs. \u201cThe front wheel fell off of her Model T. The one your father supposedly repaired.\u201d He flicked my hand from his arm. \u201cShe was ejected when the car rolled and is in the hospital with a concussion and a broken arm.\u201d The sheriff glared at his prisoner. \u201cMister, you are lucky she didn\u2019t die.\u201d \u201cNo! No! He didn\u2019t do it.\u201d I skipped and hopped alongside the sheriff as he dragged my father out of the house. \u201cIt was me. I stole the\u2014\u201d Pa turned toward me, his eyes searching mine. \u201cNo, Ginny. Go inside. This isn\u2019t your fault.\u201d The set of his jaw and a pleading tone in his voice silenced me. Our Aunt Laurel came to stay with us. At fourteen they wouldn\u2019t let me in to the jailhouse to visit Pa. I couldn\u2019t eat and I cried myself to sleep every night. My heart hurt. My chest ached. I didn\u2019t tell anyone what I\u2019d done. I barely talked at all. Three weeks after they took Pa away, I walked two miles across town to the banker\u2019s house. I stared at the brass lion\u2019s evil eyes, afraid to knock. A maid discovered me curled up in the porch swing. \u201cYou come inside, Miss. I\u2019ll get you some lemonade.\u201d Lorraine Beckett found me in the parlor, perched on the edge of a wing-backed chair. \u201cAre you the Carter girl?\u201d She sat in a matching chair, her left arm supported by a gauzy sling. \u201cI\u2019m sorry about your arm, Miss. Does it hurt much?\u201d I kept my head down, staring at fidgeting thumbs. \u201cIt\u2019s not bad.\u201d She lifted the arm, winced, and pulled it back to her side. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to apologize for something your father did.\u201d I sat up straight and leaned toward her. \u201cBut he didn\u2019t do it! I did.\u201d My eyes stung and my vision blurred. Miss Beckett cocked her head. \u201cI don\u2019t understand. What did you do?\u201d \u201cIt was me. I wrenched the lug nuts off of your front wheel. Ma is gone, and I didn\u2019t want Pa to\u2026, to love you.\u201d I swiped tears from my cheeks. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t mean to hurt you. You were just supposed to get muddy like we did when you drove away.\u201d Lorraine sat back in her chair. \u201cOh, my.\u201d Her laugh was stifled at first, but then she leaned forward, laughing hard. \u201cYou thought he was going to fall in love with me?\u201d She hiccupped. \u201cOver a muddy tire.\u201d Her chest rose and fell as she inhaled a deep breath, puffed it out, and stood up. She stepped in front of me with her right hand extended. \u201cCome on, let’s go get your father out of jail.\u201d On our way to the police station, Miss Beckett told me a story. \u201cI was close to your age when my father had a lady friend stay the night. While they were frolicking in my dead mother\u2019s bed, I sneaked into the room and stole that trollop\u2019s lace trimmed pantalettes.\u201d Lorraine\u2019s face glowed with a pleased smirk. \u201cI never intended for anyone to get hurt, but I suppose it smarted when Papa\u2019s guest slapped him hard across the face and called him a pervert. That so-called lady marched out the back door with nothing but cold air under her skirt.\u201d I pressed a hand to my mouth to suppress a giggle. \u201cDid you get in trouble?\u201d \u201cWhen Papa asked me about it, I feigned innocence. He scowled and pretended to believe me, but Mama\u2019s bed has remained sacred ever since.\u201d The day after Lorraine visited the sheriff, all charges were dropped, and they released Pa. The banker and his daughter dropped him off at our front door. Lorraine and I shared a secret smile. I hugged my father and whispered, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Pa. It\u2019s okay if you fall in love with Miss Beckett.\u201d [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A Story Written in a FLASH! Inspired by Flash Fiction Friday prompt words.Lug Nuts & LaceNot everyone had a car in 1915. My family was one of the didn\u2019t haves, so we walked to church even on a Sunday when rain ran in rivulets down the ruts of the country road. Our trek alongside the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_ti_tpc_template_sync":false,"_ti_tpc_template_id":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1160","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1160","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1160"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1209,"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1160\/revisions\/1209"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}