Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind

by Ann B. Ross

  I made the introductions and the two ministers of the Gospel looked each other over like two dogs circling. Dr. Fowler might as well not have been there for all the attention they paid him. I could see that Pastor Ledbetter’s back was up, since he’d pretty well gotten Brother Vern’s number right from the start.

  “Reverend Puckett has a television program every week. Feeding the Flame, isn’t that it?” I said, considerably relieved to steer the conversation in another direction.

  “That’s it,” he said. “I preach to a congregation of some forty to fifty thousand people every week, praise God.”

  Top that, I thought, as I found myself taking a peculiar satisfaction in setting one against the other. Not that I especially enjoyed it, you understand, but at least they weren’t going after me.

  “A televangelist,” Pastor Ledbetter said, cutting his eyes at Dr. Fowler. “I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of ministry, Miss Julia.” More fuel for the flame he wanted to set under me.

  “I don’t expect the Lord is limited to eleven o’clock on Sundays,” I said.

  “No, indeed,” Brother Vern agreed. “In fact, Brother, the Lord is changing a lotta things these days. Have you switched your Sunday night services to Friday nights yet?”

  “What?” Pastor Ledbetter looked bewildered, unsure he’d heard right.

  “It’s the coming thing,” Brother Vern went on, coming into his own now that he’d discovered a way to teach a mainline preacher a thing or two. “The Lord has spoken to any number of preachers, evangelicals mostly, and pointed out to them that Sunday afternoons are family times and shouldn’t be interrupted for church services. Friday nights do just fine for a substitute, and start the weekends off right. The Lord figures it’s a good way to keep people out of bars and dance halls on Friday nights. And,” he added with a knowing grin, “country clubs, too.”

  That was a nice jab.

  Pastor Ledbetter drew himself up and said, “There’s a clear mandate to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy.”

  “You certainly know your Bible, Brother,” Brother Vern said with a sly gleam in his eye. “And our Jewish friends honor the Sabbath every Saturday that rolls around. But us evangelical Christians honor the Lord every day of the week, don’t matter to us what the calendar says.”

  “Well, but I—”

  “Mr. Puckett,” I interrupted, “was there something you wanted to see me about? Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler were just leaving.”

  Pastor Ledbetter found his voice. “Miss Julia, if you don’t mind, we haven’t finished with our concerns. Why don’t you let Mr. Puckett here state his business, and then we can pick up where we left off.”

  Pastor Ledbetter wasn’t anxious to leave me alone with a preacher who used television to raise money to stay on television. He probably thought I was one of those poor souls who believed a preacher with a Cadillac needed their Social Security checks worse than they did. I noticed Dr. Fowler pulling a little notepad from his jacket pocket.

  “Then let’s all have a seat,” I said. I didn’t know how Brother Vern could help my current situation, but he was doing a good job of distracting the other two. And I was happy to note that I wasn’t having even a twinge of interest toward him. “Now, Mr. Puckett, what can I help you with?”

  He sat across from me in the matching Victorian chair and ignored the other two on the sofa. “You heard about how my precious little great-nephew’s been kidnapped?”

  Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler exchanged surprised glances, and Dr. Fowler began jotting notes on his pad.

  “I heard,” I said. “That is, I heard that a child was missing in Spartanburg. Don’t tell me it was the same child! Why, Mr. Puckett, it couldn’t be! I mean, you took him to Raleigh! Didn’t you? That’s what you told me you were going to do.” I might’ve been overplaying it, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, now,” he said, pulling out a large white handkerchief and wiping the palms of his hands. “We was on our way, but when the Lord leads you to preach, you just have to stop and preach.”

  “But you took the child on Sunday,” I reminded him. “And according to the lieutenant who notified me, the child went missing on Tuesday night. Late Tuesday night, too late for a child of that age to be up. Sounds to me like somebody wasn’t taking care of him.”

  “That boy was gettin’ three a day and plenty of sleep,” Brother Vern said. “And I was going to take him to his mama, just as soon as I finished my telecast. We was going to drive on down to Raleigh right afterwards.” He wiped his face with the handkerchief.

  Pastor Ledbetter’s eyes bounced from one to the other of us, mentally taking note of what else I was mixed up in. Dr. Fowler was just taking notes.

  “Mrs. Springer,” Brother Vern went on, a pleading tone in his voice now. “I mightta done wrong by not taking that boy right on down to Raleigh, but my conscience is clear. I did my best by him, and can’t nobody help it when some strange black woman comes outta nowhere and snatches him away. Now I’ve come here to ask your help in gettin’ him back. The police’re doin’ all they can, and it looks like to me that what we need is to offer some reward money.” He wiped his forehead and glanced at me with those black eyes. “I’ve come to appeal to your spirit of Christian charity.”

  Pastor Ledbetter sat straight up, opening his mouth to protest. I cut him off.

  “How much?”

  “Why, whatever you find it in your heart to give. Whatever you think best, but it ought to be enough to get people’s attention. You know, so if anybody has any information, they’ll come forward. Or so that black woman will be tempted. I’ll put it out over my Feeding the Flame program, and everybody’ll be looking for that precious child.”

  “How much?”

  “Miss Julia.” Pastor Ledbetter couldn’t stand it any longer. “Think about this before you do anything. You need to pray about this. Who knows where that child is? Or who has him? Don’t get involved with this until you have more information.”

  Dr. Fowler’s eyes gleamed as his notes began to cover a second page.

  I waved off my pastor and kept my attention on Brother Vern.

  “How much?”

  “Well, I was thinking, maybe, ten thousand?” Brother Vern said.

  “Ten thousand,” I repeated.

  “Five, if that’s all you can do.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of twenty-five,” I said. “For a start.”

  Brother Vern’s face brightened and Pastor Ledbetter buried his in his hands.

  “The Lord bless you, Mrs. Springer!” Brother Vern cried. “I’ll get that boy back, the Lord be praised!”

  “Miss Julia,” Pastor Ledbetter said, “you oughtn’t do this. You’re not yourself, we know it and you know it. Don’t make any rash decisions before a guardian can be appointed. I beg you, don’t squander Mr. Springer’s estate that he worked so hard for. This is just the sort of thing Dr. Fowler and I are trying to forestall by taking care of you.”

  “Pastor, I don’t need taking care of, and Mr. Springer’s estate is as safe as it was the day he left this vale of tears.” I smiled at him, then at Dr. Fowler and Brother Vern. “If you need more, Brother Vern, just let me know.”

  “Lord bless you, Mrs. Springer!” Brother Vern leaned back in his chair and gave Pastor Ledbetter a complacent smile.

  The door from the kitchen swung open, and Lillian’s run-over heels slapped on the floor as she came toward the living room. I started from my chair, my heart pounding.

  “I brought y’all some more lemonade,” she sang out, balancing a full pitcher on a tray.

  Brother Vern sprang from his chair like he’d been shot. “That’s her!” He pointed at her, index finger quivering, as he bellowed, “She’s the one! Call the sheriff!”

  “Jesus Lord, help me!” Lillian shrieked, throwing her hands up as tray, pitcher, and three quarts of lemonade sprayed the room. She turned and ran for the kitchen.

  “Citizen’s
arrest!” Brother Vern cried, running after her. “Stop, woman, you’re under arrest!”

  “What in the world?” Pastor Ledbetter asked, standing and shaking out his trousers, soaked with Lillian’s lemonade. “Has everybody lost their minds?”

  Dr. Fowler nodded as he wet a finger and turned a page, then began scribbling even faster.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I RAN FROM the room, heading for the stairs, as Pastor Ledbetter yelled, “The man’s crazy! Call the police!”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” I yelled back, hitting the stairs as fast as I could. No time for the telephone; I had a live-in deputy upstairs.

  Brother Vern’s voice, loud with outrage and righteous indignation, echoed from the kitchen under Lillian’s screams for me to save her.

  I got to the top of the stairs, out of breath and terrified, fearing what Brother Vern could do to us all.

  “Deputy Bates! Wake up, get up, we need you!” I pounded on his door.

  “What is it?” he called, but the door stayed closed.

  I pounded harder. “Hurry, hurry! Open up, we need you right now!”

  I heard rustling sounds behind the door, almost drowned out by the commotion downstairs. Pastor Ledbetter came to the foot of the stairs, adding his bass rumble to the din.

  “Miss Julia!” he called. “If you won’t call the police, I will. This is intolerable! We can’t have this, we just can’t have it!”

  I leaned over the banister and said, “Pastor, I’m calling the police as fast as I can. Now, get in the kitchen and keep that fool away from Lillian.” A pan banged off the kitchen wall and clattered on the floor.

  I pounded at Deputy Bates’s door again, screaming, “Get up! We got to save Lillian. Deputy Coleman Bates, get outta that bed, you hear me!”

  Behind me, another door banged open and Little Lloyd ran out, eyes big and frightened, his mother right behind him.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Is there a fire? Run, Junior, we got to get everybody out!”

  “Fire! Fire!” Little Lloyd screamed, jumping around with his skinny arms flying every which way.

  “No, no!” I grabbed him and held him close, trying to calm him down. “It’s not a fire, it’s Lillian. I’ve got to get Deputy Bates up to help us.”

  Hazel Marie banged on the door along with me as the racket from the kitchen grew louder. She had on one of my dresses, looking for the first time like she might rejoin the living.

  “Deputy Bates!” we both screamed.

  The door opened a crack, revealing one of Deputy Bates’s eyes, glinting fiercely, and a shock of hair.

  “What is it?” He didn’t sound pleased at being summoned to duty.

  “It’s Lillian! And Brother Vern!” I felt Hazel Marie’s shock at hearing the name, and thought for a minute that she was going to turn and run. “Get out here and arrest him! I want him in jail before he hurts Lillian!”

  Deputy Bates reached down and zipped up his dark blue uniform pants. Then he grabbed a white undershirt and pulled it over his head. “Is he attacking her?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! He’s attacking her and right here in my own house!”

  “Deputy Bates,” Little Lloyd cried, “don’t let him hurt Miss Lillian!”

  “Where’d you come from, Bud?” Deputy Bates stopped, clearly surprised to see Little Lloyd, then he got a good look at Hazel Marie. Her face had healed considerably, but it could still pretty much stop a truck if you weren’t prepared for it. Which he wasn’t.

  “See there,” I said, pointing at her. “There’s an example of what that man is capable of. He did that, or let it be done. And had my house ransacked, too. Now he’s trying to take Little Lloyd away from his mother!” Then I remembered that he didn’t know her. “And this is his mother.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, nodding at her. He may have been having trouble absorbing the situation.

  A piercing scream from Lillian and men’s voices yelling at her or at each other shook the rafters.

  “He’s killing Miss Lillian!” Little Lloyd screamed, his skinny little legs dancing up and down, his arms flailing like a windmill. “We got to help her!”

  “Well, goddamn, I believe it!” Deputy Bates left the door open and ran barefooted to the closet. He reached up and brought down from a shelf his black-holstered police weapon. “Y’all stay up here outta the way.”

  He swung the door wide as he brushed past us, pulling the gun out and tossing the holster aside as he ran. I had no intention of staying upstairs, but the spectacle in his room stopped me cold.

  “Binkie?” I asked, staring at her. I couldn’t figure out what she was doing in my upstairs back guest room, rented now to a paying boarder. “Oh,” I said, the light dawning as she hurriedly buttoned her blouse.

  “Hi, Miss Julia,” she said, two spots of red in her cheeks. “Nice to see you again.”

  She stepped into her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. It needed a comb and a brush.

  Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd stood beside me, unsure of what to do or where to go. I got myself together and made the introductions.

  “Pleased, I’m sure,” Hazel Marie said with a quick, knowing smile.

  There was a sudden break in the action downstairs, and in the quiet of the cease-fire, we heard Deputy Bates say, “Everybody just calm down now, and let’s get this straightened out.”

  It’s amazing what the appearance of a man in uniform, even half a uniform, can accomplish, to say nothing of a man with a gun in his hand.

  “Well, Binkie,” I said, pulling myself together. “It’s a good thing you’re here. I expect several of us’re going to need a lawyer in the next few minutes. We better get on downstairs.”

  Not too long before, I would’ve been outraged at the thought of something illegal, illicit, and immoral taking place in one of my bedrooms. However. I had too many other worries to get bent out of shape over Binkie and Deputy Bates jumping the gun, so to speak. Wesley Lloyd would’ve had a different view, but so would every other hypocrite.

  It crossed my mind that Binkie might have a touch of the problem that Pastor Ledbetter accused me of having. But if she did, Deputy Bates didn’t seem to mind it very much.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  DEPUTY BATES HAD Pastor Ledbetter, Dr. Fowler, Brother Vern, and Lillian all in the living room, seated and separated, by the time the four of us joined them. Deputy Bates stood in front of the fireplace, holding his gun down by his side, looking fully in control of the situation in spite of his state of dress, his bare feet, and what he’d been doing when I interrupted him.

  “Oh, Miss Julia,” Lillian cried, lifting her face out of her apron. “Don’t let ’em put me in jail! You know I didn’t go to kidnap that baby!”

  Little Lloyd ran to her and put his arms around her. Hazel Marie stood beside her, patting her shoulder. I said, “You’re not going to jail, Lillian. Binkie, do something.”

  “What’s the charge, Deputy?” Binkie asked, all business in spite of her blouse being misbuttoned.

  “No charges yet on anybody,” he said, giving her a quick smile. “Still trying to find out who’s done what.”

  “I can tell you that,” I said. But everybody else started talking at the same time.

  “That woman,” Brother Vern said, pointing at Lillian and drowning out the rest of us, “kidnapped that child.” He pointed at Little Lloyd. “And that one,” he bellowed, aiming a finger at Hazel Marie, “is a woman totally without morals and unfit for motherhood.”

  “Miss Julia.” Pastor Ledbetter started to rise, the better to pontificate, but Deputy Bates held up his hand. The pastor took his seat again. “Miss Julia, I have to protest. Just what is going on here? Who is that woman? Who is this man, and why are Dr. Fowler and I being held against our will?” He looked from Hazel Marie to Brother Vern, then raised his eyes to the ceiling. Dr. Fowler had filled his notebook and was now searching his pockets for scrap paper so he could keep writing.
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  “You’re not being held—” Deputy Bates started, but Brother Vern popped up out of his chair.

  “I demand you arrest that woman for kidnapping! And if you won’t do it, I’ll make a citizen’s arrest right here and now!”

  “Just try it, buster,” Binkie said, getting right in his face.

  “Now, folks,” Deputy Bates said. “Let’s all calm down.”

  “I can’t calm down,” Lillian sobbed. “They gonna put me in jail!”

  “No they’re not, Miss Lillian!” Little Lloyd cried, throwing his arms around her. “I won’t let them put you in jail.”

  “Stay out of this, boy,” Brother Vern said, giving him a cold look. “You’ll be in a foster home or juvenile hall. I’ve had all the trouble outta you I’m gonna take.”

  “You just shut your trap, Vernon Puckett,” Hazel Marie said, pulling Little Lloyd to her and standing closer to Lillian. “We’ve all had all we’re gonna take from you. I’ve been beat to within an inch of my life on your say-so, and you took my boy from me, and I’m gonna swear out a warrant on you!”

  “Listen, listen,” Pastor Ledbetter said, unaccustomed to having to struggle to be heard, “this has got to stop. I don’t know what’s been going on here, but it’s evident that somebody’s taken leave of their senses.” He looked at me. “And no telling what’s been allowed to take place upstairs in this very house, what with both these young women up there with this law officer. Looks to me like you’ve been keeping a disorderly house, Miss Julia, among the other things I know about. Somebody’s got to step in and do something.”

  That was a clear threat if I’d ever heard one, and I shriveled up inside at the thought of him being led to tell everything he knew, or thought he knew. Even if his diagnosis was wrong, even if Dr. Fowler hadn’t made a point of his own, so to speak, I didn’t want to stand there and be shamed in front of them all.