Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind

by Ann B. Ross

  To tell the truth, I thought the feelings that were coursing up and down inside of me had been banked years ago along with the ashes of my marriage, but skinny little Dr. Fowler was proving virile enough to stoke my fire. And don’t talk to me about age. If you haven’t lived sixty-some-odd years maintaining a ladylike deportment in all areas of life, you don’t know what’ll suddenly turn on when you least expect it. Age and deprivation are powerful stimulants, and, if you don’t believe me, wait till it happens to you.

  Dr. Fowler turned away from the portrait he’d been studying and caught his breath as he brushed against me. He backed against the wall, still holding my hand, and I stepped closer before I could help myself. Drawn by animal magnetism and Old Spice. I leaned in for a bigger whiff. I’d always been a fool for Old Spice.

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  “Julia,” he said, his voice strident with urgency.

  I pulled his hand up to the middle of my bosom, without letting it touch anything important, and leaned into him. Excitement thundered like a drum in my head.

  “Miss Julia!” His eyes darted around the room.

  “Don’t worry. We’re alone,” I whispered, wishing he had enough hair for me to run my fingers through. In fact, there were a lot of things I wished were different about him but, if I kept my eyes closed, I could concentrate on my feelings and not on his looks. It’d been a long time since I’d felt anything close to such heady emotion, and I wanted to make the most of it as long as he was willing. Which he certainly seemed to be.

  “I…I know we are.” His voice squeaked, high and shrill. But passion can do that to a man.

  He twisted his hand in mine, but I held on tight and put my face against his neck, wet now with perspiration. A man in heat. I’d about forgotten what one was like.

  “Miss Julia…please,” he gasped, turning his head so I could snuggle closer.

  Lord, when a man is so carried away that he begs for your favors, a woman can be forgiven for having her spirits lifted.

  “Shhh,” I whispered, not realizing I was so close to his ear.

  He squawked. I have to be honest, that’s what he did, and it almost closed me down. But I’d read that in the throes of passion some men make strange noises, some cry out, and others hold their peace. Wesley Lloyd had been in the last category, and I found it interesting to be tangling with a different sort this goround. It takes all kinds, don’t you know.

  “Miss Julia,” he whispered, frantically wiggling his body between me and the wall. “I must—”

  “No, wait,” I said, understanding now what the word fast meant.

  “You don’t understand,” he said, putting his free hand on my waist and turning me toward the love seat.

  “I believe I do,” I gasped. Lord, I wished the man looked a little better, but I was running a fever by that time. Finding out about Pastor Ledbetter’s plans had gone completely out of my head.

  I closed my eyes tighter, letting the darkness bring Wesley Lloyd’s preferences to mind. He preferred to conduct our business in the dark and by feel.

  As Dr. Fowler clasped my waist tighter and pushed himself away from the wall and against me, I felt his rising interest.

  “I have to…” he croaked, pushing me backward. “I really have to get—”

  The door slammed open, and we both jumped about a foot. Away from each other.

  “What in the world?” Pastor Ledbetter stood there, bug-eyed and open-mouthed.

  “…out of here!” Dr. Fowler bellowed. He ran to the pastor and edged behind him. “The woman’s crazy, Larry, just like you said. My God, she practically ravished me!”

  Dr. Fowler’s flushed face glared at me. He patted his straggly hair and pulled his suit coat together. With trembling fingers, he buttoned it closed.

  “This…this woman,” he went on, his voice quaking with outrage. “Larry, you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Yes,” Pastor Ledbetter said, sorrow pulling at his long face and slumping shoulders. “Yes, I would. I saw it for myself. Miss Julia, what are we going to do with you? You know we can’t have this sort of thing. And in the church, too. I am so disappointed in you, and so very sorry for you.”

  “I couldn’t control her, Larry,” Dr. Fowler said, finally getting his breathing under control. “I tried to get away, but I’ve never seen such a deluded patient walking around free before.”

  Mortification swept over and through me, as I reinterpreted Dr. Fowler’s words and actions of a few moments before. My Lord, what a fool I’d made of myself.

  I did the only thing I could. I fainted.

  WHEN MY EYES popped open, I was lying on the green velvet love seat in the bridal parlor, my head flat and my legs dangling over the arm of the sofa. Pastor Ledbetter sat on a straight chair next to me, fanning my face with a legal-size envelope.

  “I think I’ll just lie here and die, Pastor,” I said as the humiliating memory flooded my mind.

  “No, no,” he said soothingly. “You mustn’t say that. You’ve allowed Satan to have the upper hand, Miss Julia, and now you have to fight back. He’s left you with a sickness of the soul.”

  “You think so?” I covered my eyes with my hand, so tired and unnerved I couldn’t bear the light.

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Fowler says so.”

  I shuddered. “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone, don’t worry. He thought he ought to leave in case his presence caused a, ah, recurrence.”

  “Little danger of that,” I mumbled, and turned my face into the sofa. “I just don’t know what got into me. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter now what I thought.”

  “Miss Julia, I know you were acting out of character, and that you weren’t in control of yourself. Dr. Fowler thinks you need therapy before it happens again.”

  “Therapy?” I turned to face him, keeping my hand over my eyes but looking at him through my fingers. “He thinks I’m that bad off? What’s wrong with me?”

  “Have you ever heard of”—he lowered his voice to a whisper as he leaned over me—“nym-pho-man-ia?”

  “Nympho…oh!” My heart skipped and thudded, and I clutched at my chest as he pronounced the name of my affliction in broad daylight. The word I’d only heard whispered about and guessed at, the word that was tinged with dark, voracious appetites. I could hardly get my breath.

  “Do you understand me, Miss Julia?” he demanded. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to take it in. “We are talking mortal danger here, and something has to be done. You are not only risking your own soul, but also the soul of any man you come in contact with. You can’t play around with something like nympho-man-ia. I’ve studied up on it, along with other sins of the flesh, and I know what I’m talking about.”

  “What does it mean?” I whispered.

  “Opinions differ, Miss Julia.” Pastor Ledbetter sat back in his chair and shifted into a teaching mode. “Some so-called experts say you’re born with a natural inclination for unnatural acts and can’t be changed. Others say it’s a learned response to childhood trauma, an arrested state of emotional development, and that it’s a normal, alternate lifestyle. Of course, Christians know better, don’t we? We know it’s sin, which can be overcome by exercising the will and being forgiven through grace. Afflicted people can choose to live normal, decent lives. And that’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes, I do. And, Pastor, I’ve always lived a normal, decent life. I really have. I couldn’t’ve had this condition all my life and not known it, could I? This just had to’ve been an error in judgment, an aberration, or something.”

  “No,” he said, so forcefully that I cringed against the cushion. “You have to call it what it is. It is sin, and nothing less. You have to admit it and face it head-on. You may’ve been able to hide these impulses even from yourself, but now, with the grief of Mr. Springer’s passing and the upset of that errant child, you’ve allowed this, this debauchery to rear its ugly head. Dr. Fowler is practically a stranger to
you and look what happened with him. Who can tell what you’ll do with somebody you know?”

  He was right. If I could go after somebody as unappetizing as Dr. Fowler, there wasn’t a man in town safe from me. The thought of flinging myself on Brother Vern or Leonard Conover or Lieutenant Peavey caused an ominous rumble from my stomach. Then I thought of Sam, and covered my face again.

  “Pastor, don’t tell anybody about this,” I begged as tears streamed down my face onto the velvet love seat. “Please promise you won’t tell. I’ll get some help. I’ll do anything, just don’t tell anybody.” I clutched at his hand, pleading with him and trying to stop his infernal fanning. “Especially Norma Cantrell. She’ll blab it everywhere.”

  “Listen to me now,” Pastor Ledbetter said as he pulled a large handkerchief from his hip pocket and gave it to me. “I’m not going to tell a soul. But you must promise me to get some help, and I firmly believe you can be helped. With prayer and obedience to the Word of God and Christian counseling, this problem can be overcome. But, Miss Julia, you must have someone trustworthy look after your affairs while you’re so incapacitated.”

  “Binkie’s doing that,” I said, trying to blow my nose from a prone position.

  “Miss Enloe’s not a member of our church, and I think your guardian should be someone with the same values that you have.”

  “Guardian?” I said, struggling against the velvet to sit up. “You think I need a guardian?”

  “It’s the usual procedure in cases of this kind, all perfectly legal and aboveboard. A guardian would be appointed to protect your interests, and it would be for your own good, Miss Julia. I don’t want to see you put away by court order, which could happen if you do this again and it becomes public.”

  “Public,” I repeated. I swung my feet to the floor, testing my balance and the floor’s stability. “Pastor, I’ll do anything to keep this from becoming the talk of the town. And don’t worry about it happening again. I’m staying away from red-headed men, for one thing. So as far as therapy and a guardian are concerned, I’ve got to give that some thought.”

  “Don’t take too long, I beg you,” he said, sitting back in his chair and observing me. “It would be better for all concerned if you did this voluntarily. If it comes to a hearing, your condition will become public knowledge. As an ordained minister of the Word, I can’t continue to ignore a sin committed before my very eyes. You need to know that the Lord has already burdened my heart about you and some of the decisions you’ve made long before today.”

  Mercy, I thought, as my eyes rolled back in my head. When you’re threatened with the leading of the Lord, you’re in real trouble.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d call Lillian to come get me,” I finally managed to say.

  “I’ll walk you home, or maybe I’d better drive you across the street.”

  “No. Thank you, anyway.” It was all too much for me. I started crying again, wanting only to curl up in a corner of my house with a sack over my head. “Call Lillian for me. Please, I just want Lillian.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  AS SOON AS Lillian showed up, Pastor Ledbetter told her I’d had a weak spell and needed to be watched carefully. She took one look at me and got me out of the church. She walked me across the street and into the house and, before I knew it, I was in bed with a cold cloth on my forehead and a lunch tray on my lap. And she did it without any questions or fussing or mumbling under her breath, much less any eye rolling. She was a tower of strength, which I badly needed.

  “You can take the tray, Lillian. I can’t eat.”

  “You better eat something,” she said. “What happened to you, anyway?”

  “Oh, Lillian, it was awful.” I reached up and pulled the cloth over my eyes. I didn’t know how I could ever face anybody again after mortifying myself the way I’d done.

  “A weak spell can’t be that bad, ’less you fall and show more’n you want to,” she said as she stood with her hands on her hips. “What you need is a doctor and you better see one fast.”

  “I know, and I will. Just as soon as I get my strength back.”

  “Well, then, you can start with this soup. Liquids is what you need.” That was Lillian’s remedy for everything. She held out a spoon, and when I didn’t take it she said, “You want me to feed you?”

  “I do not.” I pressed the cloth tighter to sop up the overflow. “Just let me rest a little, then I’ll eat.”

  When she left for the kitchen, pictures of what I’d done during the past hour tormented my mind until I thought I’d throw up with the shame of it all. Worst of all, Pastor Ledbetter and that awful Dr. Fowler knew how I’d acted up, and they were going to make me go tell somebody else about it. How could I go into some doctor’s office and say, “Sorry to bother you, but I’m a nymphomaniac”?

  I ran through my mind all the doctors in town. As far as I knew, none of them specialized in sudden and uncontrollable fits of physical appetite. And they were all men, and what if I had an attack of it while I was being examined?

  I moaned aloud.

  And if they wrote me a prescription for the condition, would Buck Tatum fill it and know what I was being treated for?

  I writhed with mortification. And sloshed soup all over the tray.

  What I needed was an expert, a confidential expert who wouldn’t blab all over the place.

  An expert, I thought, and snatched the cloth off my eyes. Lord, there was an expert right across the hall, if I could only ask her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t confide in anybody. Not Hazel Marie, not Lillian, not Binkie nor Sam. No one could know, and I determined to do whatever it took to keep my affliction a secret.

  My head swam as I tried to think through this sudden change of life. Pastor Ledbetter’d said I needed a guardian, but what did that mean? Just someone to manage my money, or someone who’d follow me around all day to keep me from attacking every man I met? And he’d implied, or maybe he’d said, that if I didn’t appoint one myself he was going to take steps. Public ones, too.

  Lord, I’d thought that child showing up on my doorstep was as bad as things could get. I was wrong. What in the world was I going to do?

  My head snapped up as the answer suddenly came to me. I’d heard Pastor Ledbetter say a million times that prayer could move mountains, and here was the perfect test. I’d pray like I’d never prayed before and depend on the Lord to cure me so I wouldn’t need a guardian.

  Then I remembered what the pastor had said about it being a matter of will, which, coming from a Calvinist, didn’t make sense. How could you exercise free will and, at the same time, have your life planned, plotted, and predestinated?

  If I wasn’t careful, I’d give myself a headache with such theological problems. I had to keep it simple. I’d pray my heart out, and I’d steer clear of men, all shapes and sizes of them. Yes, I’d pray for a cure and, while I was at it, I’d pray that the Lord would keep the mouths of those two shut. And if that didn’t work, I’d deny it till my dying day.

  “NOW, WHAT WAS that about, I wonder?” I hung up the phone with hands shaking so bad I had to hide them from Lillian. In an effort to appear normal, I’d made myself come down to the kitchen. I didn’t want to alarm Lillian by hiding in bed all day.

  Little Lloyd was standing on a stool at the sink while Lillian showed him how to shuck corn for supper. I’d just assured her that I was fully recovered from my weak spell when the phone interrupted us.

  “What?” she asked. “That wadn’t that Brother Vern, was it?”

  “No, not him,” I said, frowning with concern. “It was LuAnne Conover, wanting to know how I’m feeling.”

  “What you troubled ’bout that for?”

  “Because she was calling to ask the state of my health, that’s why. She usually has a dozen things to talk about, not how I’m feeling. You want a glass of tea, Lillian? Little Lloyd? I declare, before another summer gets here, I’m going to air-condition this house.”

  “The whole thi
ng?”

  “The whole thing.”

  “I been meaning to ast you ’bout one of them little units for the kitchen,” she said. “But the whole house’d be better. Sometime it get so hot, I have to open the Frigidaire and stand in front of it.”

  My land, I thought, no wonder the electric bill’s so high.

  I put my tea on the table and sat down, listening to Lillian tell Little Lloyd how to get the silk off the ears. Then, still frowning, I propped my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my hand. Unbidden images of the fool I’d made of myself flooded my mind, so that I had to hold on to the table to keep from crawling under it. Gradually, my thoughts centered less on my shameful actions and more on Dr. Fowler’s responses to them. Mercy, I thought as I suddenly sat up straight, I couldn’t have mistaken that. It’d been a long time since I’d been in a face-to-face situation with a man, but you certainly don’t mistake a thing like that.

  Anger flashed through me like one of Troy Beckworth’s sea surges. They’d blamed it all on me, said I was crazy, called me a…well, a you-know-what, and all the while that man had been as interested as I’d been. And then denied it, and said I needed a guardian. And therapy, of all things.

  I squinched my eyes together, recalling Pastor Ledbetter’s opportune arrival. My Lord, could they have planned it all?

  I couldn’t believe such a thing of my pastor, but then, a good many men had been doing things I couldn’t believe. I wasn’t a nymphomaniac, couldn’t possibly be. Not and crawl into a lonely bed every night, even when Wesley Lloyd had been in it.

  Those two had been playing with my mind, and they’d done a pretty good job of it. Well, I’d show them a thing or two. Sam still had control of Wesley Lloyd’s estate and it would take months to get that settled. Until then, no one else could lay a hand on it. And as far as a guardian for me, I’d go them one better and appoint two. Between Binkie and Lillian, I ought to be well looked after, even if I didn’t tell them why they needed to watch me. And, just to be on the safe side, I’d watch myself whenever a man came around.