Miss Julia's Marvelous Makeover

by Ann B. Ross

  “Oh,” I said, waving my hand to brush that possibility aside, “you’ll win, all right. Everybody knows you and respects you. I have no doubt you’d win.”

  He laughed again. “Thanks, but I’m not so sure. There’s an ingrained group that’s controlled this district, county, and town for years—it’s a tight network of old hands, except they’ve been careful to bring in newcomers so that the same faces don’t appear over and over. But they know what they’re doing. They pretty much stack the town council, then they take turns standing for mayor. And they do pretty much the same with state and federal offices—that’s why it’s such a blow to lose Frank Sawyer. He was the best one to take on Mooney. He almost beat him two years ago.”

  “So you’d be running against Jimmy Ray?”

  “Right, and he’ll be hard to beat with that crowd behind him.”

  As I thought this over, I realized that a lot of underhanded things must’ve been going on that I—and a lot of others—hadn’t known about.

  “That just burns me up,” I said, somewhat hotly. “Do you mean to tell me that our elections have all been rigged for years?”

  “Not rigged exactly, no,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Just that they’ve been able to preselect the candidates who run, and with this district being mostly a one-party district, voters have little choice. And they put up enough new names now and then to give the appearance of real change. They’re all alike, though, and they all have the same agenda.”

  “And what agenda is that?”

  “Knowing ahead of everybody else which industry plans to expand, where a new business or a government building will be located, what roads the DOT will widen and where new ones will be constructed—just a few minor things like that. Then they form a corporation to buy up land before any of it is made public.”

  “I don’t think that’s legal, and who are they anyway?” I demanded, riled up now at the thought that I’d been freely exercising my right to vote all these years without knowing that I’d not been so free after all.

  “Well, look who’s on the town council and on the county commission, and look at our representatives and senators—state and federal. They’re all part of it. But voters might be ready for a real change this go-round. Take Jimmy Ray, our current state senator . . .”

  “I don’t have to take him. Every time I hear his name, I feel so sorry for that daughter of his. Jimmie Mae Mooney—who in their right mind would saddle a child with a name like that? He should’ve just named her Junior and been done with it.”

  “Oh, he’s all right,” Sam said, thinking the best of people as he usually did. “In fact, they’re all decent enough. But Frank Sawyer was our best bet to take on Mooney and break that stranglehold. I’m trying to consider it an honor that the party asked me to take his place.” Sam grinned in that self-deprecatory way of his.

  “Well, I consider it an honor, as well as an indication of the party’s good sense in selecting you. But, tell me something, Sam—were you never interested in being a judge? You would be such a good one—you’re so fair-minded and you certainly know the law.”

  “I thought about it a couple of times,” Sam said, shrugging. “But I was caught up in writing my book, then I got a bee in my bonnet about a certain widow lady, and the interest faded away. Now, though, learning and doing something new is very appealing, especially if it appeals to you, too. I think we’d have a good time, Julia, doing this together and doing something good for the district, as well. But,” he said, raising a finger to emphasize his point, “I’m not going to do it without you. We’d be making a two-year commitment if I win, and that would be it. And if I do win, it’ll mean going back and forth to Raleigh when the Assembly is in session, and keeping an office open here for constituents during the off-season. But keep in mind that it’s very likely that I’ll lose, and I don’t want you to be disappointed. As for me, I can take it or leave it.”

  As I studied the matter, I realized that I, too, could take it or leave it. However it turned out, I was not so invested in a senate race that I’d be thrilled on the one hand or devastated on the other. Of course, though, it never entered my head to discourage Sam from doing anything he wanted to do, but it was clear that he wanted me to want what he wanted. In fact, it sounded as if he wouldn’t do it at all if I was the least bit hesitant about it. I’d already disappointed him by turning down a globe-trotting trip, but this I could do without having to pack a suitcase.

  So I thought about it, and the more I thought, the more appealing it seemed. I thought about those long drives to and from Raleigh—just the two of us in the car alone, the talks we could have—why, we’d have more time together than we’d ever had at home. And the thought of being the representatives of all the people in the district—working for them, improving conditions, speaking for them—I just got all patriotic and shivery at the thought. Well, of course I knew that it would be Sam who’d be their senator, but I, too, would have a small part in sacrificing for my country.

  “One question, Sam,” I finally said. “Would I have to make any speeches?”

  “Oh,” he said offhandedly, “maybe one or two. Maybe to your book club or to other small groups, that sort of thing. We’d work up a little ten-minute talk, and you’d give that over and over.” He arched one eyebrow at me. “All about how wonderful I am.”

  I laughed. “That would be no problem, except I’d probably make every woman in the district jealous.”

  “And,” Sam went on, “during the campaign we’d have to show up at every pig-pickin’, barbecue, watermelon cutting, parade, VFW meeting, and civic event around. Your job would be to stand there and gaze adoringly at me.”

  “Oh, Sam,” I said, laughing, “you make it sound like fun. And we could take Lloyd to some of the events. He could meet people and learn all about politics. But,” I went on, getting serious, “there’s one thing I want you to promise me. Please, please don’t use the word fight in your speeches or advertising or anything. It just turns me off to hear a candidate—even a sweet, grandmotherly type—say, ‘Send me to Raleigh or Washington, and I’ll fight for you,’ as if they can’t wait to get into a brawl with fisticuffs and hair pulling.”

  “Okay, I agree—no fighting. You want to do this?” He leaned over and took my hand. “Are you with me?”

  “I’m always with you, and, yes, I do want to do it, because you’re the best one for the job and,” I couldn’t help but add, “it beats floating down the Rhine any day.”

  He laughed, then said, “One thing you should be aware of—there’ll be people who’ll be working against us.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, like Thurlow Jones for one.”

  “What! Why, Sam, you are without doubt the best-qualified, the most experienced, the fairest, most honest, and best-liked man in town. How could anybody be against you? And Thurlow?” I waved my hand in dismissal. “Nobody pays any attention to him.”

  “That’s not exactly true, sweetheart,” Sam said, his voice taking on a serious tone. “Thurlow is the money behind the ones in office now. He’s the one who makes the decisions for the other party—he’ll be against us. Not many people know it, but he pretty much runs this town.”

  Well, that was a shocker if I’d ever heard one. Thurlow Jones was an unshaven, disgraceful, and disreputable excuse for a man who delighted in showing his contempt for women in general and for me in particular. If you didn’t know him but happened to see him on the street, you’d think he was a tramp down on his luck. There was no way to tell from his appearance that he could buy and sell half the town.

  And to think that he was the power behind the thrones of the county and the district—it beat all I’d ever heard. Until the mail came one sultry morning a few months later.

  Chapter 3

  “Sam?” I called, tapping on the door of his office as soon as I’d scanned the letter in my hand. Hearing his r
esponse, I walked into my former sunroom—the one Deputy Bates had rented after Wesley Lloyd Springer left me a somewhat bereaved widow and before Deputy Bates married Binkie—the sunroom that I’d made into Sam’s home office. I was loath to disturb him, because this was one of the few free days he’d had to work on his book since winning the primary the previous month. Of course, having been the party’s only candidate, winning the primary had been a foregone conclusion. “If you’re busy,” I said, though not really meaning it, “this can probably wait. We can talk later.”

  “Never too busy for you. Come on in.” Sam had risen from his creaky executive chair behind the desk and pulled a wing chair closer. “Sit down and talk to me. I’m stuck in the year 1966, trying to decide how much to reveal about Judge Alexander T. Dalton. You may remember him better as Monk Dalton.”

  “Vaguely,” I said, sitting down and trying to show a little interest in the history he was writing about the shenanigans of the local legal community. “Didn’t he have two wives at the same time?”

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, they had him on a bigamy charge until one of the women, the one he’d lived with for years, told him that if he’d make a hefty settlement on her, she’d testify that they’d never had an actual ceremony, and she’d move to Florida. He did and she did, and the charges were dropped.”

  “Oh, well then. Tell it all, Sam. That’s the kind of book people will buy. But listen, the mail just came and I need your advice.” I held up the letter—written in pencil on lined notebook paper—that I’d just received.

  “Who’s it from?”

  “Elsie Bingham. You don’t know her, but she’s my half first cousin or half cousin, first removed, or something. Her father was my father’s half brother.” I stopped and thought for a minute. “Or maybe his stepbrother, which would make her no kin at all to me. Wouldn’t that be nice.”

  Sam smiled at my sarcasm. “Not good news, then?”

  “About as far from it as you can get. Listen to this.” I began reading.

  Dear Julia,

  Haven’t heard from you in so long you might be dead as far as I know. But in case your not, guess your still living high on the hog like you always did.

  I let the letter fall to my lap in disgust. “Wouldn’t that just frost you! A nice way to start a letter to someone you haven’t had contact with in forty years.”

  “Kinda puts you off, doesn’t it?” Sam agreed.

  “I’ll say. But she was always like that. Well, listen to the rest of it.” I lifted the letter and began again to read:

  I know you remember the summer you spent with us on the farm which is gone now and good riddance I say, except we’re on another one just as bad. Or worse. Anyway your mother was sick and died from whatever she had so that’s why we had to take you and your sisters in and feed and cloth every one of you all summer long cause your daddy was to broke up to lift a hand for his own children.

  “I say, feed and clothe us! That was the worst summer of my life. And I happen to know that Papa sent money to Uncle Posey to take care of all our needs. What he actually did with it is another matter because we ate a lot of corn bread and buttermilk and you wouldn’t believe the amount of beans. And as far as clothing us is concerned, by the time we were sent home we’d outgrown everything we owned. Papa had to send Pearl downtown with us to buy school clothes. You should’ve seen what we ended up with, but Elsie’s right about one thing. Papa was out of his mind with grief and not responsible, which was when I as the oldest began to take over.”

  “And did an excellent job of it, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I mused, recalling the problems of a young girl taking charge of a motherless home. “Did the best I could, I guess, although my sisters wouldn’t think so.” I sighed and took up the letter again, reading aloud:

  Anyway, when things get binding families do what families ought to do. There is such a thing as family ties and family responsibilities and so on you know, which is the reason to remind you of what my family did for your family.

  “Can you believe this!” I demanded, waving the letter.

  Sam smiled and shook his head. “She wants something.”

  “She sure does and you won’t believe that either.”

  Anyway living out here in the sticks our Trixie don’t have a way to meet nice people and learn that a high-school dropout wont do more than pump gas the rest of his life and not even that with all the self-serving stations we got nowadays. She’s Doreen’s girl, but Troy and me had to take her and raise her long after I thought I was through with all that and I wont the best for her. So Im sending her to you for the summer so she can get spruced up and polished and learn what high living is like and meet somebody willing and able to support her like you did. I thought you’d never get married but you finally did pretty good at it.

  “The nerve of the woman!” I exclaimed. “Does she think I run a finishing school? But, listen, Sam. It gets worse.”

  So don’t tell me you cant do it because I happen to know you took in a woman no kin to you and one who had done you dirt to boot. Trixie has never done a thing to you and she wouldn’t for the world—shes real sweet and good company cause she dont talk a lot and worry you half to death. And Julia dont tell me you cant afford it. I happen to know you married above yourself with that little banty of a man that owns a whole bank by hisself so if you got the money to take in his floozie then you got the money to feed and cloth your own kin for a few months like we did you. And your sisters to. We had a good time playing under the scuppernong vine that summer.

  “Sam,” I said, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the chair. “I am simply speechless. I don’t know how she knows anything about me—she doesn’t even know that Wesley Lloyd Springer is dead, and she doesn’t know about you. But she obviously knows about Hazel Marie.”

  “Where does she live? Way off somewhere?”

  I turned the envelope over and read aloud. “Route one, Vidalia, Georgia. That’s near Savannah, I think, but too close as far as I’m concerned. But you haven’t heard the worst of it yet.” I read the next paragraph to him:

  So Im putting Trixie on the Greyhound real early Thurs. morning and she will get there about noon for you to meet her. You want have no trouble with her. Shes good as gold and likes chickens if you keep any she will look after them for you and earn her keep. Just tell her what to do and she will do it without a lot of backtalk.

  “They Lord!” I cried. “Does she think I keep chickens? The woman is crazy. What’re we going to do, Sam?”

  “Looks like we’re having a guest for the summer. She’ll be company for you while I’m out campaigning.”

  “You’re taking this entirely too complacently. Besides, I intend to campaign with you and I already have all the company I want. I won’t have time for any more.”

  “Well, maybe we can introduce her to some young people around town—keep her busy and entertained that way.”

  “I don’t know any young people, and I heartily resent the high-handed tone of this letter. She doesn’t even ask, just tells us she’s sending this Trixie!” I had to grit my teeth to calm myself down enough to read the rest of it to him:

  Anyway you can send her back at the end of the summer when I especk her to know all the ends and outs of all that la-de-dah living you do. I dont want her marrying a gas-pumper or a farmer like I did. I give you credit Julia for picking a man with money even if he don’t look like much. You cant eat looks anyway. Take care of Trixie. Shes a real good girl. Your cousin, Elsie Bingham.

  P. S. Troy says to tell you not to spruce Trixie up to much. He dont wont her coming home with her nose in the air like you always had yours. But I say if she finds herself a decent husband up there she can get as stuck up as she wonts to.

  I let the letter fall to my lap and leaned my head on my hand. “This is too much, Sam—too much to ask of
anybody. Not that she’s asking. I don’t know this girl. I never knew her mother—this Doreen—and barely remember Elsie herself. I am just not going to do it.”

  “Well, call her up and tell her it’s not convenient at this time . . .”

  “Actually at any time,” I mumbled.

  “Anyway, as Elsie is prone to say,” Sam said, “it doesn’t seem to have occurred to her that you might have plans for the summer.”

  “That’s the truth.” I stood up, folded the letter, and put it back into the envelope. “Thanks for listening, Sam. I’m glad you agree that we can’t do this. I’d better go ahead and try to get Elsie’s phone number from information—you’ll notice she didn’t give it in the letter. I’m going to tell her not to put Trixie on that bus.”

  “Julia,” Sam said as I turned to leave, “what day is it?”

  “Thursday, why?” I suddenly stopped in my tracks, snatched the letter out of the envelope, and scanned it again. “Thursday! That girl’s been on a bus all morning! And it’s almost noon when she’ll be here.” I couldn’t believe Elsie had so effectively trapped me. Because without a doubt in this world, she’d planned her letter to arrive just as it had—too late to keep Trixie at home. It was just as I remembered Elsie—sly, crafty, and determined to have her way.

  But I wasn’t yet outmaneuvered. With a glint in my eye, I said, “Sam, about that trip down the Rhine—it would pretty much take up the whole summer, wouldn’t it?”

  Chapter 4

  Well, of course it was too late to plan a summer voyage on the ocean or a river, but, believe me, I regretted having been so adamant about staying home. Now, of course, Sam would be too busy campaigning to go anywhere, but Elsie didn’t know that and neither did Trixie. I drove to the Greyhound bus station on the edge of town, still simmering at the high-handedness of them both. I’d already decided that as soon as that girl stepped off the bus, I was going to put her right back on.