Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle

by Ann B. Ross

  “Why don’t we do this,” I said. “Let’s talk to Etta Mae, and if she thinks Hazel Marie will last five more days, then you go on and do your job. I think having her look in on Hazel Marie would ease your mind. And think of this: you can be home from Raleigh in five hours.”

  “If she goes into labor,” he said with the hint of a rueful smile, “four.”

  We all sat around the table after finishing the meal that Lillian had left. Lloyd and Mr. Pickens kept glancing toward the bedroom, apparently expecting something to happen any minute. But I had earlier tiptoed back there as they began to clear the table, and Hazel Marie was sound asleep, magazines spread out across the bed. I was fairly confident that we’d have no labor alarms any time soon.

  “Miss Julia,” Lloyd said as he ate the last bite of apple pie, “I can’t believe that Mr. Jones didn’t tell you anything. I bet he knows all about it.”

  “Lloyd,” I said, and quite firmly too, “I didn’t ask him because I don’t want to get mixed up in other people’s problems. It’s so much like meddling, don’t you think? Besides, it’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”

  Sam smiled at him, understanding the boy’s fascination. “I don’t think Thurlow knows any more than anybody else, Lloyd. He pretends he does, but his backyard and Miss Petty’s backyard are both large. I doubt he saw or heard anything until the sheriff ’s deputies showed up.”

  “Well, then,” I said, suddenly struck with a basic question, “just who found that body? Deputies don’t normally do routine checks of garages and toolsheds, do they? And we know it wasn’t Miss Petty herself, who was the only person with reason to go into her own shed, because they had to get her out of school to tell her about it.”

  “Good question,” Mr. Pickens said. “And here’s the answer straight from one of the deputies. Seems a water line broke sometime over the weekend and water spewed out on the street, freezing as it went. It was making pretty much of a skating rink out there. Anyway, that line connected to one that goes to the Petty house and a crew from the water department went out early this morning to fix it. They were working in the yard and one of the crew went in the shed to get out of the wind to have a smoke and found more than he bargained for. Of course, though,” he glanced at me from under those black brows, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’m with Miss Julia. I don’t meddle in other people’s business either.”

  “And rightly so,” I said with a firm nod of my head, and wondering who I knew at the water department. “Although you’d get paid for it if you did. Still, it’s natural to be a little curious. After all, it’s happening to a neighbor, and we’re supposed to love our neighbors as ourselves and do for them as we would have them do for us. In fact, I’ll ask Lillian to make a casserole for Miss Petty tomorrow and take it to her. That’s not meddling. That’s being neighborly.”

  “And,” Mr. Pickens said, those black eyes sparkling, “if she just happens to want to talk about it, you’ll be right there to listen.”

  “Yes, and we’re supposed to bear one another’s burdens, so of course I’ll listen. Drink your milk, Lloyd.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, picking up his glass. “But I think I better not go to school tomorrow so I can go with you. Miss Petty might need some yard work or something, and we’re supposed to help the needy.”

  Sam laughed. “Nice try, Lloyd, but I expect you’ll find out more in school than picking up limbs in Miss Petty’s yard.”

  “And,” I said, “I want you to come straight home from school tomorrow. No standing around listening to rumors, and certainly no going over to Miss Petty’s house or to Thurlow’s.”

  “No, ma’am, I won’t. I mean, I’ll come straight home, and I won’t go anywhere else. But I bet Miss Petty won’t be at school, and that means we’ll have a substitute.” Lloyd rolled his eyes in mock despair. “I might as well stay home for all the learning I’ll get.”

  “Another good one,” Sam said, amusement in his voice. “But you go on to school, then hurry home to tell us everything you’ve heard. I have a feeling that you’re going to be the one to keep us up to date.”

  “Don’t encourage him, Sam,” I said. “He doesn’t need to have dead bodies on his mind. He’ll end up having nightmares. Besides, Lloyd,” I went on, turning to him, “you’ll be better off putting your mind on the Little Bighorn, as Miss Petty wants you to.”

  “Well,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “looks like that’d give me nightmares too, ’cause that place was just about covered with dead bodies.”

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, right after breakfast, I realized that Sam was dithering around the bedroom instead of immediately heading out for the office at his house, as he usually did.

  “What’s bothering you, Sam?” I asked. “You keep going downstairs and coming back up again.”

  “I’m trying to decide whether I want to go to Raleigh with Pickens.”

  “Why in the world would you want to?”

  “Well, the family of a deceased judge just released his personal papers, and those papers throw a different light on a number of cases that I’ve already written about. I may have to rewrite a few chapters, but before I do, I want to go through the archives in Raleigh to make sure.”

  “Oh, Sam,” I said, already thinking of how empty the house would be without him. “Five days are an awfully long time to be gone. I’ll miss you, but on the other hand, it would save you from making the trip later on by yourself. You might as well go now if you’re going to have to go sometime. At least you won’t be doing all the driving.”

  “I guess I will, then,” Sam said, pulling out some shirts to pack. “I’ll get a rental car once I’m down there so Pickens can do his business and I can do mine—if it suits him for me to go with him.”

  It suited Mr. Pickens fine to have a companion on his road trip, although Sam almost backed out when he learned that Mr. Pickens planned to stay at a Motel 6.

  By the time the travel plans were made, Hazel Marie had eaten a huge breakfast and was humming around the kitchen helping Lillian clean up with no indication of an early delivery. Mr. Pickens had already called Etta Mae, and had done it so early that she’d still been in bed. From the sound of his end of the conversation, she woke up fast. She promised to drop by later in the day to see if she should move in with us. Acting on her reassurances and Hazel Marie’s contented state, he began to pack for his Raleigh trip, although he kept stopping to wonder if he’d made the right decision.

  Lillian reassured him too. “She don’t look like she in labor to me, Mr. Pickens. I can always tell when it’s comin’ on, and I don’t see it comin’ any time soon. ’Sides, she worryin’ more ’bout her toenails than anything else.”

  With that, Sam and Mr. Pickens finally got in the car and left. I think by that time they were glad to be on their way because they were probably tired of hearing me tell them to be careful.

  Hazel Marie had come to the table that morning looking happy and unconcerned with intimations of an impending confinement. She had her mind set on those babies’ making their appearance two weeks later, one way or another.

  Lloyd had left for school, eager to catch up with the latest news, promising to call me at lunchtime if he heard anything interesting. Because we’d learned nothing we didn’t already know from the paper or the television news, I figured the authorities knew no more than we did. If the body had been that of a vagrant, it could be days or weeks before it would be identified.

  But just as I folded the paper and put it aside, the pastor’s wife, Emma Sue Ledbetter, called. She was having one of her do-good spasms, which always meant roping in everybody else to help her.

  “Julia,” she began, “we really have to do something about the homeless in this town. That poor person died all alone in the cold and the dark, and that should shame every one of us. I’ve talked with a number of people this morning, and we’ve decided to do it right away, maybe next week, just as soon as we can get the word out. Now, I know you�
�ll want to join us, so be thinking who you can get to sponsor you.”

  “Sponsor me for what?”

  “Why, for the Homeless Walk, Julia. You get people to pledge so much for however long or far you plan to walk.”

  “Emma Sue,” I said, just done in by another one of her enthusiasms, “I don’t plan to do any walking. It’s winter out there if you haven’t noticed, and I’m not about to walk around in it.”

  “But, Julia, think of all those poor people who don’t have a warm house like you have. We have to do something to help them, and walking a mile or two would be easy enough to do. I thought we could walk up one side of Main Street and down the other, then round and round as long as anybody wants to. I know the Abbotsville Times will publicize it for us. We can gather on Main Street to start our walk, and our picture will be in the paper.”

  “Listen, Emma Sue, I appreciate your thinking that I have the strength and stamina to go on a sidewalk merry-go-round, but I don’t. And here’s another thing: we don’t need another cause to expect people to support. I mean, have you noticed the economic news lately? It’d just be another bright idea that sooner or later would be turned over to the taxpayers.” I took a deep breath and went right on, knowing that my hardened heart would bring her to tears at any minute. “And think of this, there are plenty of homeless shelters in town already, and the last I heard, all of them need help. There’s the Salvation Army with that huge building full of beds on Pine Street, and the Interfaith Mission and the Community Action thing, and a rescue mission down by the bus station. And every church in the county has an emergency fund for needy people, and some of them serve meals and provide beds for whoever needs them. I’d much rather donate to one of them than start something new that would have to depend on how long my feet hold out.”

  “Oh, Julia,” Emma Sue said with a catch in her voice, “you sound so coldhearted and I know you’re not. If you’d just think of that poor soul who froze to death practically next door to you, I know you’d feel the need to do something.”

  “Who said he froze to death? It’s been cold but not frigid. And how do you know it was a he?”

  “Well, I just assumed it was a man, and the weather has been bad. How else would he have died?”

  “A lot of ways. For all we know, he—if it was a he—could’ve been inebriated and thought he was in his own bed. I think the least you should do, Emma Sue, is wait till we know more about what actually happened. We’d look awfully foolish organizing a homeless walk for somebody who had a home just as warm as yours and mine, and just hadn’t been able to find it. Besides, we’re due for snow this time of year, do you really want a bunch of women floundering around in it? Think about broken limbs and hips and chapped lips and I -don’t-know-what- all.”

  “But, Julia, we should strike while the iron is hot. You know, while it’s on everybody’s mind—that’s when people are most willing to give from the heart. Every fund-raiser knows that, and besides, the weatherman says no snow any time soon.”

  “Well, that’s something you can really count on,” I said with a touch of sarcasm I didn’t think she’d catch.

  “Well,” Emma Sue said right back at me, “all I can say is you ought to be glad I’m not organizing a run. I just don’t understand why you don’t want to support such a wonderful cause.”

  “I’ve told you why, Emma Sue,” I said, becoming exasperated because she wouldn’t turn it loose. “But let me put it this way: if you’re determined to go through with this, I will make a donation, but I will not walk and I will not sponsor anybody to walk for me. If they want to get out in the cold and stroll around, more power to them, but I’m not going to pay them to do it.”

  “Oh, Julia, you don’t understand the whole concept.” Emma Sue was crying by this time, but it wasn’t dampening her commitment to the cause. “If everybody felt the way you do, the homeless would never have a roof over their heads.”

  “If everybody felt the way I do, they’d send a check and be done with it. So if anybody wants to walk, they can sponsor themselves.”

  I had to listen to a few more “Oh, Julia’s” and her unsuccessful attempts to stifle her sobs, but I did not relent. When I was finally able to end the call, I stood there for a minute wondering at my state of mind. I was already a fairly cheerful contributor to all kinds of requests from the church and from the community. No one, I assured myself, can contribute to every cause that can be dreamed up, and Emma Sue was a first-class dreamer of causes.

  “Lillian,” I said as I went to the kitchen for a little solace from the twinges of guilt I was feeling, “that was Emma Sue Ledbetter on the phone, wanting me to take a walk in this weather. I told her no, and now I feel bad about it.”

  “What she want you to take a walk for?”

  “To raise money, because she thinks I’m made of money. Every time I turn around, she’s after me for a donation for some cause or another.”

  “How you s’posed to raise money takin’ a walk?”

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” I sat down at the table, going over in my mind what I should’ve said to Emma Sue. “It’s complicated, Lillian, and I don’t half understand it myself. But what I should’ve told her was that I’d be happy to sponser somebody to walk around for an hour or two, but I’d have to take it out of my pledge to the church. That might’ve put a different light on it for her.”

  “Uh-huh, you talk big, but I know you gen’rous when it come down to it.”

  “Thank you, Lillian. I needed that.” I sighed, then stood up to find something to do. “Where’s Hazel Marie?”

  “She in there goin’ through all her baby things, seein’ if she missin’ anything. But, Law, Miss Julia, if she buy much else, that room won’t hold it all. Mr. Pickens ’bout be crowded out now.”

  “A good thing he went on to Raleigh then.” I laughed, thinking of how he had been torn between his job and his wife that morning. “I tell you, Lillian, he is displaying all the concern I could hope for but was afraid I wouldn’t see. It does my heart good to see him all worried and anxious about Hazel Marie. He hasn’t, in the past, shown himself to be particularly uxorious.”

  Lillian turned and frowned at me. “I don’t know ’bout that, but he bein’ a good husband. You can tell jus’ by lookin’ at Miss Hazel Marie—she happy as a lark.”

  “She certainly is. I just hope it continues. And so is Lloyd, if he can ever turn his mind off that body they found down the street. It’s not healthy, Lillian, for him to dwell on such things like he’s doing. I’m hoping Etta Mae can distract him, entertain him, keep him occupied, or whatever, when she gets here.” I started out of the room. “And that reminds me, I’m going upstairs to check on the sunroom. If she thinks she should move in now, I want to be sure it’s ready for her.”

  “I already make sure,” Lillian said. “But you go on if you need something to do.”

  I was halfway out of the kitchen when something else occurred to me. “Lillian,” I said, turning back, “tell me again about that grocery store check. I don’t understand it, because I looked in my checkbook and I haven’t written any checks to that store.”

  “No’m, I didn’t think so, ’cause you don’t buy no groc’ries.”

  “I meant to mention it to Sam and completely forgot about it. So I guess I better look into it. Did you see how much it was for? Was my name on it?”

  “No’m, I don’t see nothin’. He jus’ wave it around an’ say he gonna run it through one more time an’ he ’spectin’ funds in there to cover it. Else he have to turn it over to somebody doin’ the collectin’.”

  “Well, for goodness sakes, we’ve done enough business with that store not to be threatened with a collection agency, especially over something that’s obviously an error. I’ll call the bank and get it straightened out.” I continued my exit from the kitchen, murmuring to myself. “Just one more thing on top of everything else.”

  Chapter 7

  Having second thoughts as I cl
imbed the stairs, I decided to go to the bank in person and show them in black and white where they were wrong. I retrieved my household checkbook from the desk where I’d put it after Sam had brought it in, stuck it in my pocketbook and, after a moment’s hesitation, put in my money market checkbook as well. It wouldn’t hurt to remind whomever I spoke with that I was able to cover any amount written for a bag of groceries, as well as show how my various accounts added to the bank’s bottom line.

  I told Lillian where I was going, asked her to keep an eye on Hazel Marie, and braved the bitter cold as I drove to the bank. Taking note of the lowering clouds, I finally found a parking place, thinking also of Sam and Mr. Pickens on the highway and hoping that they were having good weather.

  Bitsy Simpson, whose first name did not inspire a great deal of confidence (nor did her long flowing hair and tight sweater), was the bank officer whose cubicle I was ushered into after I’d stated my business. She was pleasant enough, as well she should’ve been because I’d known her for most of her life. I’d barely sat down in front of her desk before she immediately confirmed my worst fears.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Murdoch,” she said with unnerving complacency. “That check to Ingles did bounce and this morning two more have gone back out due to insufficient funds.”

  “Two more! But there are sufficient funds in this account,” I said, waving the checkbook. “Just look at this and tell me why you’re bouncing checks all over town, and doing it without notifying me.”