by Ann B. Ross
“Good point,” Binkie said.
“Well,” Pastor Ledbetter said, “I don’t suppose anybody will believe this, but I am truly concerned for Miss Julia. What will she do, in her condition, if this will has made her destitute? Sam, what can the church do to help?”
“Maybe the best thing,” Sam told him quietly, “is to give Julia a chance to absorb this. It comes as a shock, you know. There are a few options she can consider, so why don’t you and the good doctor, or whatever he is, give her some time. Then if she needs the church’s help, she’ll let you know.”
“Yes, that’s good advice.” He rose to his full height and came over to me. “I am so sorry about all of this, Miss Julia. Maybe I was wrong to proceed as I did, but I want you to know it was from the best of intentions.”
“I know, Pastor, and I appreciate those good intentions. And I’d appreciate it even more if you’d call off Leonard before he does some major damage.”
He nodded, murmuring something about the Lord issuing a call to a new ministry. We’re told to forgive those who trespass against us, but I declare it was a bitter pill to swallow to keep my mouth shut about his current ministry.
After Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler took their leave, Brother Vern seemed to expand to fill the space. “Let me add my deep concern to theirs for your misfortune, Miz Springer,” he said, hardly able to suppress the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Now, Hazel Marie, pull yourself together, girl, and let’s let these lawyers tell us about this child’s inheritance. Maybe we ought to decide right quick how it’ll be managed; you can’t get slack on these matters, you know.”
Hazel Marie took her tear-stained face from my shoulder and looked around. “Brother Vern, there’s no we involved in this. Deputy Bates, I want to swear out a peace warrant on this man. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll have to go to the magistrate’s office, but for now, Brother Vern, I’d advise you to keep your distance from these people. Are you understanding me?”
“Why, Hazel Marie, I’m your own kin, and your nearest male relative,” Brother Vern implored. “Nearest that’s grown, I mean. But if that don’t mean nothing to you, remember that I can have you declared an unfit mother and have myself appointed the boy’s guardian. I don’t want to do that, ’cause it’ll be a long, drawn-out mess, but I will if you push me to it.”
Sam said, “Maybe you better look this over before you make any plans to go to court.” He held the will out so Brother Vern could read it, but he didn’t let go of it.
Brother Vern took enough time to read it two or three times, his face growing longer and sadder as he read. “Hazel Marie’s not the guardian?” he finally asked.
“No,” Sam said. “I am.”
Hazel Marie’s body vibrated with tension at this new turn of events. “Does he mean,” she asked me, “that he wants to take my boy, too?”
“No, that’s not what it means,” Sam assured her. “All the will specifies is that I am the executor of the will and the boy’s financial guardian. The court will assign me to oversee the boy’s general welfare, his education, and to manage his affairs until he’s old enough to do it himself. You are his mother and primary caregiver, and it’ll be up to me to see that you both live comfortably. And,” he said firmly to Brother Vern, “having Miss Puckett declared unfit will not change my responsibility to the estate in any way and it would not benefit any other member of the boy’s family. On top of that, my opinion of Miss Puckett’s fitness will weigh heavily in any court in the land and, from what I’ve seen, she’s doing a fine job with this boy.”
Brother Vern’s face darkened as Sam laid it out for him. He didn’t linger after that, leaving with an ill grace and a show of bad manners, like letting the screen door slam behind him. You can always tell when somebody’s not been raised right.
“I still can’t believe all this,” Hazel Marie said, tears threatening again. “And I still don’t think it’s right. Miz Springer, what does all this mean for you?”
“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath and trying to accept my fate more gracefully than Brother Vern. “It means that I’m destitute. It means that Wesley Lloyd didn’t care whether I had a roof over my head or not.”
“I care, Miz Springer!” Little Lloyd cried. “You can live with us, can’t she, Mama?”
“She sure can.” Hazel Marie smiled her closed-mouth smile. I hoped the first thing she did with Wesley Lloyd’s money was to get her teeth fixed. And the second thing, a pair of glasses for his son that fit. “Why don’t you do that, Miz Springer? I’d really like you to.”
“No, it wouldn’t do at all. I can’t accept charity, though I thank you for offering. No, what I have to do is submit to the Lord’s will, or to Wesley Lloyd’s, whichever is responsible for this. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” I added, striving for a piety I was neither familiar with nor presently feeling.
“Wel-l-l,” Sam said, eyes twinkling as he smiled broadly. “He hasn’t quite taken everything away.”
Binkie laughed out loud and snuggled up against Deputy Bates, right there in my living room. Except it wasn’t mine any longer, so I didn’t care if she did snuggle.
“I don’t see a thing funny about an old woman with no place to lay her head and with nothing to eat,” I told them. “It seems to me that you two would have a little more sympathy, or at least wait to laugh at me when I’m gone.”
“Don’t you worry, Miz Springer,” Hazel Marie said. “You’ll never be without as long as I have a nickel to my name.”
Binkie and Sam couldn’t control their laughter, both of them sputtering and carrying on until my feelings were hurting so bad I wanted to bawl out loud.
“Tell her, Sam,” Binkie said, finally coming up for air.
“Julia, Julia, Julia,” Sam said. “Sorry to carry on this way, but I think we’ve put over a big one on all those who wanted to get a hand in your pocket. Fact of the matter is,” he said, coming over beside me, “in this state, a spouse always has a share in an estate. No matter what Wesley Lloyd intended, and he may well have known this, as his widow you are entitled to half of his estate. And half of the Springer estate is not to be sneezed at. We’ll have to file a dissent to the will, but that’ll be pretty cut and dried.”
I had to sit down. Then I had to get my breath back. And I didn’t want Sam too close to me, not knowing what I’d do in my weakened state. I had a powerful urge to throw my arms around him.
“That mean,” Lillian asked, “that bof’ Miss Julia and this baby gets Mr. Springer’s financials?”
“Yep,” Sam said, still grinning. “That’s what it means.”
“Thank you, Jesus!”
“And thank the state of North Carolina,” I said, giving credit where it was due. Then, squinching my eyes at both of them, I said, “Sam, did you and Binkie know this all along?”
“Sure we did,” Binkie said. “But I was afraid Dr. Fowler or somebody else might’ve known it, too.”
“Well, this beats all,” Deputy Bates said, his arm firmly around Binkie by now. He seemed almost as happy as I was beginning to feel.
“But, Julia,” Sam said, “you weren’t really concerned about anything, were you? You could always come live with me, you know.”
“I know no such thing.” And he wouldn’t offer such a thing if he’d known my suspected condition.
“Aw, you know I’d take care of you.”
“Sam Murdoch, let me tell you something right now. I don’t need you or any other man to take care of me. I can do that well enough by myself. And I can do it even better with the help of Little Lloyd and Hazel Marie, if they’re willing. I think this house is big enough for the three of us. And Deputy Bates, and Binkie, too, if she wants.”
“An’ me, too,” Lillian said.
“Yes, you, too, Miss Lillian,” Little Lloyd said, so happy I was afraid he was going to start flailing those skinny arms around again.
“Pra
ise God,” Hazel Marie said, smiling so wide that the two-toothed gap was open for viewing.
We’d have to get that fixed, along with several other things before too long. One of the first things, in case Pastor Ledbetter’d been halfway right, would have to be getting myself straightened out. Even if it meant going to Switzerland or Sweden or wherever they have those quick-change clinics. I’d make a list of all we needed to do, and Hazel Marie and I could spend some time spending Wesley Lloyd’s money. He’d always thought he’d take it with him, but it was ours now and I knew we’d put it to better use than he ever had. And enjoy it more, too.
SPENDING HIS MONEY and enjoying it is mostly what we’ve been doing for some time now. Lillian still comes by the day, and Binkie’s in and out, although Deputy Bates spends a lot of time at her place. They ought to be thinking about making it legal, and I aim to tell them so if they don’t soon come to it themselves.
We haven’t heard from Brother Vern, but he’s still feeding the flame on television. I sent him twenty dollars a few weeks ago, and got back a book he’d written about the end of the world. I couldn’t fathom it, since it was all about the Book of Daniel and Russia and Revelation and blowing hot and cold.
Pastor Ledbetter doesn’t visit much. His time’s mostly taken up with his retirement-home ministry now, and he’s over there most days ministering to the sick, the demented, and the dying, none of which applies to me. He’s very solicitous of me, though, greeting me mournfully each and every Sunday, like he understands how hard I’m having it. He’s still leery of Hazel Marie, as she is of him. Or rather of the Presbyterian way of worshiping. She’s not used to our sedate ways, but she goes with me and holds her head up high.
LuAnne Conover still can’t get over our living arrangements. She told me that she could never bring herself to be friends with a woman Leonard took up with. I thought to myself it was unlikely that any woman would ever take up with Leonard, but I didn’t say anything. She’s visiting a little more now since Hazel Marie showed her how to backcomb her hair.
I’ve adjusted to living with a house full of people better than you might think. I moved my bedroom downstairs to what used to be Wesley Lloyd’s study, and gave what used to be our bedroom to Hazel Marie. I threw out the bed I’d shared with him, and bought new ones for her and for myself. I’m cutting off as many untoward associations as I can.
This house is big enough to have privacy when we want it, and when Deputy Bates moves on we’ll fix up that area as a sitting room for Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd. With the back staircase, she can entertain privately if she wants to. So far, she’s shown no inclination toward entertaining anyone, in spite of one or two widowers in the church casting their eyes in her direction. I think she’s like me, once burned, twice shy—especially since it was a man like Wesley Lloyd Springer doing the burning.
But for now, she’s good company to me, and I’m learning a lot from her. She’s going to do my colors as soon as the scarves come.
Sam is Sam, and I like him that way, which is all I’m going to say on that subject.
On second thought, I might as well say one more thing. Sam asked me not long ago if there was anything I wanted to tell him.
“Like what?” I asked, wondering if he’d guessed or heard something about my awful secret. I thought I had my problem pretty much under control, if I had a problem at all, since with all the men I’d been around recently, not one had created any inner disturbances.
Well, to be honest, I’d felt the condition stir around a little whenever Sam smiled at me.
“Ledbetter kept hinting that something was wrong with you. Are you sick, Julia?” He put both hands on my arms and said, “If anything’s wrong, I want to know about it.”
I shook my head, feeling the tears well up at his concern. “No, you don’t,” I whispered. “It’s too awful.”
“Tell me. And let me help you with it.”
“It’s incurable, Sam, at least that’s what the pastor said.” All the secrets and shame that I’d locked up inside seemed to rush out on his shoulder as I leaned against him. “He said it’s a sin I have to guard against all the time, and I don’t know whether he was right about it or not. And, Sam, I’m so tired of praying about it, I don’t know what to do.”
“I can’t imagine you having a sin that bad, sweetheart.” He put his arms around me and pulled me close, not realizing what danger he might be in.
“You better turn me loose, Sam,” I said, unable to leave him under my own steam. “Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler said I’m suffering from”—I lowered my voice, hardly daring to say the word but wanting to protect Sam from the consequences—“nymphomania.”
“Wha-at?” He started laughing and he laughed so hard, I tried to pull away from him so I could run hide in a dark corner somewhere. “Oh, Julia, why didn’t you tell me you were suffering from this condition?” He ran a finger down the side of my face and said, “Don’t you know I’ve got the cure for that?”
And he does, and that’s really all I’m going to say on the subject.
The rest of us have been getting along fine together, too. Little Lloyd has filled out some and he’s taken on more of his mother’s looks and, Lillian tells me, some of my ways. Which will undoubtedly be of help to him in the future. Sam opened a small checking account for him, and I’m teaching him to write checks and reconcile his bank statement. I must say, he’s taken to it right smartly and does it well. You’re never too young to learn to handle your money. Or too old, either, as I’m living proof of.
I’ve learned a lot through all these ups and downs, and the greatest of these is not to live a lie. Wesley Lloyd did, and look what it got him: a heart attack brought on by the stress of it and two women who hardly ever give him a thought. I was tempted to live a lie, almost did it, and look what not doing it got me: a real, though unrelated, family and a conscience that’s as clear as a bell. I declare, that’s worth half of Wesley Lloyd’s estate any day of the week.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY THANKS TO all the Wordwrights, but especially to Elizabeth, Katie, Susan, Sally, and our fearless leader, Ted; to Boyd B. Massagee, Jr., Charles Waters, and Sharon Alexander, attorneys-at-law, all of whom proffered advice not always taken (so don’t blame them); to Marion for his forbearance; and to Marian, Claudia, and John for never failing in their encouragement and support. My thanks also to the friend whose name I confiscated and, most especially, to Jennifer Robinson, Delin Cormeny, and Katharine Cluverius.
About the Author
ANN B. ROSS is the author of three previous novels, including The Pilgrimage. She lives in Hendersonville, North Carolina.
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Copyright
A cautionary note: This is a work of fiction. Abbotsville does not exist: Miss Julia lives only in the author’s imagination, and the events depicted herein should not be assumed to have actually occurred—though they could have.
MISS JULIA SPEAKS HER MIND. Copyright © 1999 by Ann B. Ross. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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