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It is Saturday night, and the Threadgoodes have already had supper and dessert. A few of the older boys are inside listening to the radio, but the rest of the family is asleep.
Idgie and Ruth are up a tree, sitting next to each other on a wide low branch. Ruth hadn’t climbed many trees before coming to Whistle Stop, but whenIdgie looked up at her with big blue eyes and said “Ruth, I’m not ready to turn in for the night, will you come sit up in the big oak tree with me?” How could she refuse?
“I have church in the morning, Idgie, so I have to turn in early.”
“Turn in? What do you want to do that for? Can’t you see the night is young?” She sweeps her arm out grandly to display the sticky night air, fireflies and moonlight, backed with a symphony of cicadas and crickets.
Ruth leans her head against Idgie’s shoulder and sighs, “yes, but I have to get some rest so I can wrangle those wild hooligans in my Sunday School class.” She rubs her face, exhausted by the thought.
“Aw, it won’t be that bad. You always talk about how much you love them dern younguns. They sent you home with a whole bouquet of dandelions last week.”
“Yes, it was very sweet how they painstakingly collected that sad, wilted bunch of weeds from the church’s sidewalk. But you didn’t see them taunting me about dating Jeremy Watson.”
Idgie freezes. “You’re what now?”
Ruth forces out a laugh. “I’m not dating Jeremy Watson. They just want me to date him, so they decided that I am.”
Ruth snuggles deeper into the other woman’s shoulder causing her to shiver.
“Hmm. Well you need to get them to cut that mess out. You can’t have them going around disrespecting you with a rumor like that.” She scoffs, “imagine, ole picks-his-nose Watson.”
“I think they meant it to be flattering, Idgie. He is widely regarded by all the little girls as the most ‘absolute most cutest boy’ in Whistle Stop. Besides, they’re in second grade, most of them pick their nose too. They don’t know the difference.”
She begins to protest, but Ruth places a hand on her thigh. Just high enough to distract her from protesting further, but low enough that it could theoretically still be a friendly gesture.
“Five more minutes. I'll also need to have the energy to listen to the Reverend after.”
“Ah, the poor Reverend. If he can’t get the good little Ruth Jamison to pay attention in church, he really must be the most boring man alive. I know the joy of the Lord usually thrills our Ruthie to death.”
Ruth rolls her eyes. “I don’t know that I'd quite describe my faith that way.”
“I bet dear Mrs. Scroggins can’t hardly keep her eyes open when that man is around.”
“That sounds impractical and unlikely.”
“Hmm. That Reverend Scoggins is so boring I bet the missus drifts right off to sleep every time he opens his mouth. I bet while he’s huffin and puffin she just lays there and has a little snooze.”
“Idgie!” Ruth smack her, trying, and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice. “You’re so crass! That’s too far!”
“And every time he moans she lets out a snore.”
Idgie makes a horrendous snoring noise, and when Ruth goes to smack her again, she grabs her wrist, eyebrow cocked, disapproving.
“Now Miss Ruth, is that any way to behave? We know what the Bible says about violence, don’t we?”
Ruth blushes and tries to pull away, but her grip is strong and steady.
“Idgie Threadgoode, you couldn’t memorize a Bible verse to save your life! You have no idea what the Bible says about violence. Or anything, for that matter.”
“Miss Ruth,” Idgie tsks and shakes her head, grabbing Ruth’s other wrist. “I know plenty. Turn the other cheek, for instance?” Taking the captured hand, she places it on her cheek, her head turned dramatically. “Go ahead, do your worst, darlin’.”
Her skin is terribly soft in spite of how tough she acts, and Ruth is struck by how delicate her jaw feels beneath her hand.
They’ve been flirting for weeks now, their attraction looming over them, a suffocating cloud that neither has acknowledged aloud. Ever since Idgie took her on that picnic, poor Ruth has been as charmed as the bees.
“Idgie, you amaze me.”
“Oh yeah?” She is so damn smug, but Ruth can’t help tracing the freckles on her cheek with her thumb.
“Yes, you successfully recalled one whole phrase, out of context, from the Bible. You are right on par with my second graders!”
Idgie throws away Ruth’s hands as the other woman cackles.
“We’ll see about that, Miss Ruth.”
***
When Mama Threadgoode knocks on Ruth’s door early the next morning, she puts on her gingham dress and cute little white shoes and tiptoes around the upstairs bedroom, trying not to wake Idgie next door.
Ruth and Mama Threadgoode always eat breakfast together and leave for church early, before the rest of the churchgoing family–all of the Threadgoodes except for Idgie join them later at the Sunday service.
Ruth teaches the little girls Sunday School and Mama Threadgoode teaches the little boys, and when they arrive at church they go their separate ways to set up lessons in the quiet calm before the storm.
As Ruth walks into the stuffy little Sunday School room with the streaky blackboard and small wooden chairs, her mind wanders to Mrs. Scroggins snoring underneath the Reverend as he pumps away. She fails to stifle a giggle then shakes her head at the depravity Idgie has brought out in her.
“Ruth Jamison, what are you grinning about so early on the day of the Lord?”
Ruth jumps, hand to her chest to calm her now racing heart as she takes in the sight of Idgie, feet propped up on a table, leaned back with her head in her hands. She’s wearing a plain white shirt and those wonderfully awful tight pants that she caught Ruth staring at when she bent over the other day.
“Idgie! I near jumped out of my skin! What on earth are you doing in my Sunday School class?!” Ruth places her hands on her hips, faking indignance, “That grin of yours is positively wicked. Why do you look like a tom cat that just dropped a mouse on the porch?”
“I’m just comin’ to help you out with your Sunday school class is all. You said they were givin’ you a hard time about dating that Jeremy Watson. I just wanna help ease your burden and give you an extra hand.
Idgie cracks her knuckles, and Ruth does not stare down at her lithe, long fingers and definitely does not think about how they would feel in her hair. That would be both ridiculous and improper, especially in church.
“And how do you plan on ‘helping’ me Miss Idgie? You think they need another hand picking them dandelions?”
“Course not, I’ll just be another watchful, adult eye.” Her gaze runs slowly down the other woman’s body, before returning to meet her eyes. Ruth shivers. Interesting. Idgie files her reaction away and attempts to turn down the steam. They are, after all, about to be in a room full of children. Not exactly the time or place. “So, what are we learning about today, teacher?”
***
The girls love her. Of course they do. Halfway through the class Idgie took over the story of Daniel in the lions den and did all of the voices. She got some of the details wrong, but Ruth popped in every now and then with biblical context and the actual details.
They cackle and squeal when she roars like a lion and tosses her mane and Ruth tries to ignore the way her heart clenches.
The clock chimes and Ruth is startled to discover that the hour is over. Usually she ends a little early to let the girls go play for a bit before service, get some of those wiggles out so it’ll be easier for them to sit still, but today the girls’ attention span has managed to run long.
“Alright girls, it's time for you to go find your parents. Don’t forget to bring your Bible with you and don’t forget about the Sunday School picnic in three weeks.”
There is a chorus of “yes Miss Ruth, thank you Miss Ruth” as they scramble to get their things and run out of the classroom.
“And thank Miss Idgie for coming to do the Bible story for you this week.”
Molly, a little girl with dark black hair runs up to Idgie, hugging her waist and looking up with big brown eyes. “Miss Idgie, can you come to Sunday School every week?”
“Well we’ll have to see about that. God has me out doing an awful lot of things on Sunday mornings, so won’t be able to come every week. Just when Miss Ruth asks me to come entertain y’all. ‘Sides, you’ve already got the best Sunday School teacher, so you really don’t need me.”
The girl leaps over to Miss Ruth, “That's true. I like it when Miss Idgie does the silly voices, but Miss Ruth, you are the sweetest and prettiest Sunday School teacher in the whole world AND in the whole state of Alabama!”
“That is high praise indeed, Molly.” Ruth bends down for a hug and Molly gives her a kiss on the cheek.
“See you next week Miss Ruth! And I hope God lets you come back sometime, Miss Idgie.”
Ruth sighs and Molly bounds out the door to go catch up with her friends. She always feels a little lost in the quiet after the chaos of Sunday School is over.
Idgie throws her arm around Ruth and whispers into her ear. “You know, you really are the sweetest and prettiest Sunday School teacher ever.”
“Oh?” Ruth ignores the pounding of her heart. “How come you didn’t tell me you were coming?”
“I just wanted to catch you off guard, see you in action,” a pause, “and maybe I was a little afraid you’d say no.”
Ruth scoffs, turning into the embrace of the taller woman, whispering, “I could never say no to you, Idgie Threadgoode.”
Idgie’s pulse quickens, her grip tightening. “You can’t say things like that,” her voice strangled, “not if you don’t mean it. Not if you’re getting married at the end of the summer.”
Hot guilt swells in Ruth’s throat. “Maybe I do mean it. Maybe I don’t want to get married. Not to him.”
Idgie swallows thickly, then looks around. The lights have been turned off in the classroom, the door is locked, the hall quiet with everyone upstairs in the sanctuary. Every time she gets close to confessing her feelings, something happens. Ruth changes the subject, Idgie chokes on her words, they get interrupted, and Idgie chickens out. Not this morning, time and place be damned.
Emboldened by Ruth’s confession, Idgie takes a deep breath. “How do you think God would feel about kissin’ me in his house of worship?”
Ruth bites her lip as her heartbeat jumps to her throat. “I think he’d take you up on it, if given the chance.”
Ruth’s hands slip to Idgies waist, inching up under the hem of her shirt to lightly brush the bare skin of her ribs. Idgies lips are pink and warm, and if Ruth tips forward slightly, their mouths will touch.
Idgie groans, stepping away.
“We shouldn't. Momma would beat the tar outta me if she caught me corrupting you in church.
Ruth lets out a strangled noise and smacks Idgie’s shoulder, and they stumble into the wall. Her breath is warm and her lips are so close, softly grazing Idgie’s neck. Then she looks up, and whispers, “What if I corrupt you instead? What would she say to that? I think about you all the time, Idgie Threadgoode. What you must taste like, the way your hair smells, what you look like underneath those awful tight britches that torture me. And–”
Idgie cuts her off with a kiss. Her lips are soft, questioning. She makes sure to be gentle and slow, keeping her hands to herself. Ruth is so sweet and delicate, she doesn’t want this to be too much for her. Before the kiss can get any deeper, she pushes back to look at her, saying, “Oh hell. Was that okay?”
The only response Idgie gets is a strangled whine before Ruth is on top of her.
Feverishly kissing her neck, behind her ear, her throat, her collarbone. Possessive and desperate. It is heavenly, the desire evident in Ruth’s frantic movements.
It would be so so easy to give in. So heavenly for them to explore each other. It would be so easy for Idgie to let Ruth take the lead, get swept away in her frantic expression of desires long repressed.
But the cold wall is pressed into her back, and unfortunately, Idgie knows this is the last place in the world Ruth would want to get caught getting handsy with the town delinquent.
A huge painting of a big, weepy golden retriever Jesus gazes down at them from the other wall, as though even he is devastated that they can’t possibly continue. She pulls herself together, physically shaking the depraved thoughts from her head.
“Ruth, honey,” but her words are swallowed by kisses, and she lets herself, just for a moment, get swept up in the desperate drowning of teeth and tongue and the way Ruth’s lips are soft and gentle but her teeth nip her lips, wicked and sinful.
“Ruth, honey, we have to stop now.” Ruth’s hands are still exploring her body frantically, traveling from her hips to her chest to her hair and back. Idgie captures them in hers, firmly pulling them to a resting position between their bodies before dropping them. Taking a step back to give them some space.
She finally comes up for air, her eyes hazy and lips pink and flushed. “Oh my god, did I do something wrong?”
“No no no, that’s not why–” she says it gently, like she’s soothing a spooked horse.
“Oh my god,” Ruth is fluttering, face red, panicked, “I was reading too much into it and I was wrong to–”
“Ruth!” Idgie puts her hands on Ruth’s shoulders, holding her at arm's length, cutting her off. “I am convinced you have never done anything wrong in your entire life. But as much as I would love to continue, we really need to get goin’. Someone is going to come down here looking for you if you don’t show your pretty little face upstairs at service. I don’t need somebody’s mother coming down here ruining everything between us because she has some questions about the Sunday School picnic.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It’s just–” She is not too far gone to realize the truth in what the typically far more reckless woman said, but…
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t we kiss a little more? We have,” she glances at the clock, “nine more minutes before service.”
“Yeah?” The corner of Idgie’s mouth quirks up in an evil tilt and she steps forward, looming over her, in her space, “Desperate for a few more minutes are we? I think you were enjoying yourself.” Ruth looks away, suddenly bashful. God, this was the best outcome Idgie could have ever imagined. “Tell me, Miss. Ruth, how long have you been thinking about that?”
“About what?” Ruth tries to play coy, taking a step back.
“About my mouth on you?”
Ruth can’t breathe. “Oh my god.”
“What was that?”
“Oh–I don’t know.”
“No?” Idgie tuts. Ruth swallows, Idgie's eyes track the movement, setting Ruth’s skin ablaze. “I think you do know.”
Ruth whimpers, stepping backwards and running into a bookshelf full of Bibles.
“I was right then, hm? Tell me please, Miss Ruth. You have nowhere else to go.”
“I don’t know the exact date.” Ruth’s voice is a breathy whine.
Idgie’s eyebrows go up in mock concern, her hands coming to hold Ruth’s hips, rubbing soothing, maddening circles with her thumbs. “Approximate for me then.”
A kiss! That would distract her! Ruth licks her lips, and leans in.
“Oh no, none of that. An answer.”
“Well–what day was it when I arrived at Whistle Stop?”
“The moment you saw me then?” Idgie crows.
“No, it was the day after.”
“What happened between the first and second day that made you fall so madly in love with me?”
Ruth’s blush somehow deepens. “Well, you see, I had this dream where–well–it’s just–it’s rather inappropriate and–”
“No! Not another word!” Idgie scrambles to grab Ruth’s Bible and sweater. “Nine minutes be damned. One more word and the Lord Jesus himself in a chariot full of fire could not drag me out of this room. We are going to do this right, so help me.”
Reassured by Idgie’s distress, Ruth crosses her arms with a huff. “Fine. I guess I don’t want to be interrupted. But immediately after service we will be continuing what you started.”
“Yes ma’am. I will look forward to it.” Idgie opens the door and ushers Ruth out frantically.
***
Idgie hasn’t paid this much attention during a church service in her entire life.
Every other Sunday her mother had managed to drag her through the doors, she'd shot right back out and straight into the woods before Reverend Scroggins could say Methuselah.
But today? Oh man. Nothing in this world could keep her away.
The two women sit in a back pew pressed tightly together, shoulder to shoulder, despite the summer heat. Idgie couldn’t tell you what ol’ Scrogg is droning on about, but she’s memorized every freckle on Ruth’s right cheek and is worshiping the single, perfect sweat soaked curl pressed against Ruth’s temple.
Ruth catches Idgie staring for the hundredth time, and biting back a grin whispers, “eyes forward.”
Idgie rolls her eyes and drops her head back in a pathetic display of very real anguish.
Ruth places a hand, gently, friendly, on Idgies thigh, right above her knee and caresses gently with her thumb, with each pass dipping the slightest bit closer to her center. “Not much longer now, dear.”
She continues the dizzying circles, higher and higher until she is dangerously close to committing a real, honest to God sin in the middle of church.
With a gentle squeeze of farewell she pulls away as Idgie moans quietly, eyes fluttering shut.
Ruth wants to scoff and tease but she finds that the soft little moan is just a bit more than she can handle at present. She clenches her thighs and gives herself a shake, recentering.
“Please stand for the benediction.” The two women rise onto shaky legs with the rest of the congregation.
“Aleluia indeed.” Idgie whispers.
The moment the music stops Idgie hisses, “go, go!” and they make a break for the exit fast enough to escape all of the little old church ladies that are just dying to tell the wild blonde heathen how incredibly overjoyed they are that she made her way back to church.
But not, unfortunately, fast enough to escape Mama Threadgoode. She steps in front of the exit, large and looming. Ruth straightens her skirt and Idgie runs a hand through her mane of curls.
“Idgie! What are you doing here? You better not be playing another one of your awful pranks.”
“Mama!” Idgie plays aghast, but after a few more seconds of frowning from the matriarch, cuts the shit. “I was here to help Ruth with Sunday School.”
“Idgie I have just about had it with your–”
“It’s true Mrs. Threadgoode!” Ruth jumps in before a lecture can go underway. “I asked her to come help with the story of Daniel in the lion's den.”
“Well why didn’t you walk to church with us this morning, hm?”
“I, uh, forgot until this morning that there was a potluck after service! And Ruth here has been telling me all about how Mrs. Jackson makes the absolute best pear salad!”
“So then why are y’all sneaking out before the potluck?”
Man oh man, this woman sure is used to Idgie’s tricks.
“We uh–”
Idgie cuts in, “because Ruth got a sudden dizzy spell and asked me to take her home. Come on, let’s get you home.” Idgie steers her out by her elbow from beneath Mama Threadgoode’s watchful eye.
“Oh, yes.” Ruth puts a hand to her head and squints her eyes, trying to look pale.
Mama Threadgoode instantly softens. Idgie sends up a rusty prayer of thanks that Mama has such a tender spot for Ruth. “Oh, you poor dear. Do you want me to come home with you?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine after a quick lie down, don’t worry about me, Mrs. Threadgoode.”
“Alright dear, we’ll be gone all afternoon at the potluck unless you send Idgie to come fetch us.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure I’ll be alright after a little rest.”
Mama Threadgoode watches the them scamper away, shaking her head.
Papa Threadgoode joins her, looking after the two giggling girls. “Was that Idgie? At church?”
“It sure was.”
“Huh. Never thought I’d see the day.” He shakes his head, dumbfounded. “Anyway, I had a bit of work I wanted to get done at home, would you mind if we miss the potluck this week?”
“Oh no, we have to stay late dear.”
“We do?”
“Mmhm. Our little baby is in love.”