Free Fiends by John Farris

the—Harpeth!— River . . . well! How about that? And your father was a farmer. Your mother—"
    Arne made a sudden move toward Marjory, who looked up, startled, and shied away as he touched the bob of her hair, blunt-cut like a paintbrush.
    "Your mother had blond hair like Marjory's and she was. . . tall, is that correct? We're getting to know quite a bit about you now, aren't we? Did you have brothers and sisters? Oh, you didn't. I wonder what else you have to tell us, this is so interesting—"
    "Enid, I think I'd better carve the chicken."
    "I'll do that for you, Marjory," Ted offered.
    "Thanks. I just need to go up to my room for a minute; be right back, why don't you put everything on the table."
    Shoeless, Marjory hustled up the stairs in her stockings and closed the bathroom door. She splashed cold water in her face (it came from their own deep artesian well and was always bitingly cold, even at the height of summer), which got rid of the nausea that had suddenly come over her, but she was still a little shocked and chilled at the heart because of the way Arne Horsfall had lunged at her. Maybe Enid thought he was okay because lie could draw, a harmless old cuckoo at worst; but Marjory had her own opinion: solid instinct told her something was dangerously not right—more than memories were dammed up in Arne Horsfall, there was some dreadful passion that might come bursting forth at any time. She didn't want to be around when it happened.
    Marjory decided to take off her panty girdle because she knew how uncomfortable she was going to be while sitting down and trying to eat, although at this point she had no appetite—smelling the plump roaster simmering with onions, carrots, and celery in fatty juices had contributed, along with tension and the heat of the kitchen, to her nausea. She needed to remove her dress to get shed of the onerous girdle. When she put the dress back on it was damp in several places, and so tight it was a good bet to tear if she didn't carefully consider every move she made. Tears filled the corners of her eyes and dribbled hotly down beside her nose; her chin trembled as she heard Enid calling from the foot of the stairs. With a washcloth she mopped her face (in the bleary scheme of the bathroom mirror such a ringer for her father's broad, likable, slightly fishy face, eyes an almost incandescent, illimitable blue) until her chin was steadier. Then she went slowly down to the dining room, still without shoes, and, with wide bars of shadow from the stair railing across her white dress, looking like a canceled bride.
    Arne Horsfall had calmed down and was contemplating the slices of steaming chicken breast Enid loaded on his plate. But he glanced at Marjory as she took her place at the table and she felt the turmoil beginning again, like a bad gas pain below her heart. It was as if he sensed her fear and dislike of him, which somehow focused everything that was dark and unsettled in his personality on her. Ted had had experiences with all kinds of weirdos (of which Caskey County could claim more than its share); why couldn't he see that all of Arne's dogs weren't barking? But Ted was heaping squash with sweet peppers and au gratin potatoes on his own plate and chatting amiably about the good fishing to be found up around Paris Landing. Marjory settled into a dismal silence and, during the blessing that Enid asked, prayed contrapuntally that the day would come to an end without incident; she prayed Arne Horsfall would be returned to Cumberland State before the sun set on him. The silence she enforced on herself soon made her giddy, and she had fits of laughter about nothing much while trying desperately to avoid everyone's eyes. Enid studied her with a rocky forbearance and redoubled her efforts to make Arne Horsfall feel like one of their little family.

7
     
    "Are you coming down with something, Marjory?" Enid asked her in the kitchen while they were doing the dishes. Ted had taken fishing