Six Women

Karen Truesdell Riehl

Six Women is a remarkable and compelling read that will richly reward the reader.

Jack Magnus for Readers' Favorite

Also by Karen Truesdell Riehl

Helga: Growing Up in Hitler's Germany (San Diego Book Awards winner)

Love and Madness: My Private Years with George C. Scott

Dancing Bears and Messy Pigs: A Children's Play

Hello Again (San Diego Book Awards Finalist)

Deception's Sins: A Roger Sundbee Mystery

Saturday Night Dance Club

Ghosts of the Queen Mary

The Ghosts of Fort Ord

Two Plays for Children

Bad Girls: A Play

Freedom's Sins

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2016 Karen Truesdell Riehl

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Six Women is a work of fiction. Certain actual locations are mentioned, but all persons and events are in the imagination of the writer.

Cover design by Ronnell D. Porter

DEDICATION

To Richard

Table of Contents

THE CHESTER WRITERS CLUB

GLENDA

SHERI

ANNIE

MOLLY

BARB

GRETA

SIX MONTHS AFTER GRETA’S DEATH

About the Author

THE CHESTER WRITERS CLUB

The Chester Writers Club of Chester, California meets at noon on the last Thursday of each month. The club was formed when six women met during a writing class at the local community college. Their ages range from 93 to 42. They are at varying writing levels.

Each month a member is chosen to bring her latest writing to read aloud for criticism and suggestions. Listeners promise never to be too negative, but to offer only constructive criticism to avoid discouraging inhibited writers. Often, however, a member of the club becomes overly enthusiastic in her critique, explaining that it's for the author’s own good. After a brief shouting match, someone goes home early.

The ladies rotate as hostess, preparing and serving light lunches. The menu must include salad, no bread, a small dessert of nothing too fattening, and tea. Other restrictions are required by personal preference: no salt, no cheese, no milk products, and nothing blue. Annie got sick on blueberries once as a child. And nothing with seeds. Sheri had a horror of getting one stuck in her teeth and never being able to get it out…ever. She swears her grandmother died of a seed lodged in her teeth.

Sheri's forty-two years old, 5' 4", slim, with blond hair and blue eyes. She's self-published six books, all about how to have a happy marriage.

Annie is sixty-six years old, married, a mother of three, grandmother of six. She's tall, thin, with brown hair touched up to hide the gray. She works out once a week to keep the fat off her hips. She reads everything and continues to try to get her work published.

Molly's married, forty-nine, independent and smart. She has blue eyes and graying dark brown hair. She's also nearsighted and too proud to wear glasses.

Barb is sixty-nine years old with brown hair and gray eyes. She's boney thin and wears little, if any, makeup. When friends suggest a new hairstyle or brand of lipstick she always answers, No thanks. I don't like to stand out in a crowd. That's for you pretty ones. She loves the writing group and everyone in it. The feeling is mutual. She's also the best writer in the group. They keep telling her to try to find an agent.

Ninety-three-year-old Greta is smart, warm, popular, and tiny, at less than 5 feet tall and 97 pounds. She has great stories of growing up on a farm in North Dakota. Her best are about how it was during World War II. The ladies call her their walking history book. She's also the one who keeps their spirits up when they feel down. She credits The Chester Writers Club for getting her through a lot of tough times.

Glenda is sixty-six, single, and has mousey brown short hair. She's slightly overweight, has terrible posture and feels ill at ease most of the time. She's also the least popular member of the club. When Molly looked out the window and saw Glenda rushing up the sidewalk late to their January meeting, she announced to the others in the room, Here she comes with her insipid smile. She makes me uncomfortable. She’s s-o-o nice. She always sounds like she’s begging or apologizing for something.

Sheri nodded. She’s smarmy. I don’t trust her. It’s like she’s sitting there taking notes on our conversations. It was a giant mistake to invite Glenda to join the club. She's a downer! She sits in the corner with a weird look on her face, like she’s expecting either God or the devil to walk through the door.

And she has no sense of humor, Annie chimed in. She doesn’t know when something is funny. After someone has told a joke and we’re all laughing, she waits a minute and tells a stupid, unfunny joke, then stands there waiting for us to laugh.

She could win the grand prize for being Miss Jerkess of the 21st century, Sheri added. Something has to be done or we’ll all either go nuts or have to disband the club without telling her.

Annie laughed. Can’t you just see her sitting, waiting for hours? Nobody shows up and she calls to apologize for having the wrong day?

Everyone but Greta laughed. No one had the courage to tell Glenda how they felt. They finally took the easy way out and lied. They told her they decided to disband the club, but they only changed the day of their monthly meetings.

For a few months they got together in Molly's basement, until a ceiling pipe sprung a leak. When Molly discovered the source of the dripping, her bathroom toilet on the floor above, they moved to the public library's backroom.

The ladies were fine with their decision to ban Glenda until Sheri arrived late to the April meeting, looking shaky and pale.

I have some very bad news. It’s about Glenda.

Expecting a juicy piece of gossip, Annie demanded, Don’t just stand, there for God’s sake. Tell us!

Sheri loved the drama of it, having once dreamed of becoming an actress. She sat down, took a sip of water from the bottle she always carried with her, and slowly enunciated each word as if she were reading lines from a Tennessee Williams play.

There was a carh accident last evening at 8:10. Glenda’s carh collided with a black Honda at the cohner of Rochester and Union. She was taken by ambulance to Chester General Hospital.

Oh, my God! Is she alive?

What a question, Molly. Of course she’s alive, Greta said, and then turned to Sheri. She is alive, isn’t she?

Sheri nodded.

How bad are her injuries?

I don’t know.

But she is alive?

I guess so.

You guess so? the ladies gasped in unison.

I don’t know. The article didn’t say. Sheri was beginning to wish she hadn’t said anything, disappointed that the bearer of bad news had not been treated with more deference.

We really haven’t been very nice to her. I feel awful about it, Barb said, biting her lip.

Let’s all stop whimpering and pretending we really care, Annie chided them.

Well, I do care, Greta said. I’m going to see for myself how she is.

The 93-year-old struggled to her feet and moved in slow, steady steps towards the door.

Molly piped up, I'll drive!

This is silly, Sheri yelled after Greta. We can’t all traipse into the hospital.

I don’t know why not, Greta yelled over her shoulder. It shows we care.

GLENDA

I had no intention of opening my eyes or saying a word to let the ladies know I was awake as I lay in bed at Chester General Hospital. I was having a fine time listening to the kind words they were saying about me. There haven’t been many times in my life that anyone cared if I lived or died, and I wanted to savor that feeling.

One of those times was when I was six years old and lost sight of my parents during a walk in the woods. While Mother went to pee in the bushes, Daddy let go of my hand so he could walk away and take pictures. I got tired of waiting for them to return. So I decided to walk farther down the trail and jump out from behind a tree when they came looking for me. But standing in the bushes and waiting was no fun either, so when I saw a path leading in another direction, I followed it. It wasn’t long before I began to feel lonely and heard strange sounds. I wished I had my jacket and something to eat. It was getting dark. I wanted to turn back to look for Mother and Daddy, but I couldn’t remember the way. I tried to be brave, but I began to cry. When I heard them call my name I no longer wanted to surprise them. I ran toward the sounds of their voices and almost bumped into them running for me. Daddy picked me up. They both kissed me and hugged me tight. But, best of all, when we got home, there was ice cream and chocolate cake for dinner! Since that day, the memory of Daddy picking me up and hugging me, and the two of them kissing me, has been locked in my heart.

I often wish I could have stayed a little girl, where it was all kisses and hugs. Throughout the years I’ve wondered why people don’t like me. I try to be friendly. I try never to complain. I admire lovely things. I don’t keep my nose in the air. I try to stay out of the way, unless someone needs a helping hand, when I’m the first to volunteer. But people still don’t like me. I know. I can feel