Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle

by Ann B. Ross

  “They’re not likely to speak of a teacher’s boyfriend in the principal’s office, so I doubt your friend would know anything.”

  “You’d be surprised, Miss Julia. Joyce knows lots of things, or pretends she does, one.”

  “Well, don’t ask her. That’s the way rumors get started. Someone asks a simple question out of real concern for another person, and next thing you know, it becomes a statement of fact. No, Lloyd,” I said, speaking to myself as much as to him, “let’s not ask any questions or volunteer any information we might have. In that way, we won’t be responsible for starting something that might not be true. Just let little Miss Joyce McIntyre alone.”

  He nodded gravely in agreement. “I know what you mean. You should’ve heard what she said about Mr. Dement one time, and I know that wasn’t true. But a lot of kids still believe he cuts his grass in his boxers.”

  Hearing a car turn into the driveway, I said, “That must be Lillian. Run help her bring in the groceries, Lloyd, and I’ll be there in a minute to help put them away.”

  He immediately stood up, ready to go. “Can I tell her about him being rich and how he used to live here? She might know who it was.”

  “Yes, you can tell her.” I stood too and reached for the poker to shift the logs on the fire. But what I really needed was a minute or two to think. For one thing, my nerves were still frayed from my run-in with the Abbot County Sheriff’s Department, and they’d stay that way until I could prove I was a victim, not a perpetrator.

  And now, after cautioning Lloyd about how easily a person could start a rumor, sometimes by throwing out only a suggestion that quickly became accepted as settled fact, it occurred to me that I might have become a victim again in a different case.

  I thought back to my conversation with Thurlow Jones. His professed reason for calling was concern for what people were saying about Miss Petty. But what if his real purpose was to plant the image in my mind of her having questionable visitors? And if so, he’d certainly succeeded because I had immediately asked Lloyd about her friends.

  I was ashamed to realize that behind my question had been an attempt to find out who her friends were, specifically her male friends, in case the body in the toolshed turned out to be one of them.

  I thought I’d been subtle enough not to plant any images in the boy’s mind, but I couldn’t be sure. Thurlow had certainly managed to pique my imagination easily enough—it made my blood boil to recall how easily he’d snagged me. “Visitors? ” I’d asked, immediately thinking of men slipping in and out of her house at all hours of the day and night, with not one iota of proof, fact, or evidence of any such thing occurring.

  Oh, that devious old fox! He was trying to use me—me, the least likely person in town to spread gossip—to besmirch Miss Petty’s reputation and put suspicion on her.

  Well, we’d just see about that, I thought, giving the bottom log a vicious poke.

  Except, why would he do that? Leaning against the mantel and gazing into the fire, I tried to figure out why Thurlow would want to make Miss Petty the subject of talk. His stated aim had been to deflect gossip from her, but plainly he had done the opposite.

  Or was I the one at fault? Had Thurlow chosen to call me because he’d known that I would let one little word—visitors—expand into an entire mental scene of shadowy figures in a teacher’s secret life? What if he’d called LuAnne Conover instead? What would she have made of that word?

  Well, I didn’t need to ask. LuAnne would’ve immediately thought the same as I had. The only difference would’ve been that she’d begin phoning around to pass the word that Miss Petty had secret admirers calling after dark. In other words, it would’ve not only spread, it would’ve grown.

  Not with me, though. I determined to say nothing more about Miss Petty’s visitors, if there’d even been any. So if Thurlow had some hidden agenda to damage Miss Petty’s reputation, I intended to stop it in its tracks. His crafty plan to use me to spread gossip had just come to a screeching halt.

  As I headed toward the kitchen to help Lillian, I heard Hazel Marie’s phone ring. Just as she answered it, my phone rang with Sam on the line.

  “Hey, honey,” he said. “We’re here safe and sound, all checked in and about to go out to eat. How’re things there?”

  “Oh, Sam, I’m so glad to hear from you.” I gripped the phone tightly, wanting to plead for him to come home and get me out of the mess I was in. But I refrained, assuring myself that the bank would surely admit its mistake eventually, at which time I intended to move my business. So not wanting to disrupt Sam’s trip, I fell back on an inane question. “How’s the weather in Raleigh? ”

  “Cloudy and threatening, but the weather reports say it’ll pass south of us. How’s Hazel Marie? Pickens is in his room calling her now.”

  “Well, that’s the question, Sam. She says she’s fine, but I’m worried about the roads if it snows. I’d like to get her in the hospital where people who know what they’re doing can make the decisions. I wish you both were back here.”

  He laughed. “We might be back before you know it. If Pickens doesn’t like the way she sounds, I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t make a return trip tonight.”

  We chatted a few more minutes with Sam reassuring me that any snow we were likely to get would soon melt. “But don’t you be driving in it,” he cautioned. “If you have to get out, call an ambulance or the emergency crews. But it’s unlikely, Julia. Remember, Hazel Marie just saw the doctor and he said she has a couple more weeks, and she’ll have to be induced even then.”

  That was true and his reminder relieved me. After a few minutes of a little more intimate talk, I hung up to proceed to the kitchen, my spirits low and my feet dragging with the heavy load I was bearing.

  Chapter 10

  “Goodness, Lillian, you must’ve bought out the store,” I said as I entered the kitchen and saw the array of sacks and bags on the counter.

  “Have to get it while the gettin’s good,” she said, beginning to unload the sacks. “Ev’rybody an’ his brother was in there, pushin’ them carts all around an’ just about runnin’ over people.”

  Latisha came in carrying a bag of oranges, her little pink book bag on her shoulder and the earflaps of her stocking hat dangling around her face. “Hey, Miss Lady,” she said in her high piercing voice, “Great-Granny got me an’ Lloyd workin’ up a sweat, ’cept it too cold to do much sweatin’. Where you want me to put these oranges?”

  Lillian pointed to the table. “Take ’em out of the bag an’ put’em in that bowl over there. An’ don’t fall climbin’ up on a chair.”

  Lloyd came in then with two sacks of groceries, closing the door behind him. “That’s it,” he said, making room for them on the counter. “Boy, it’s cold out there.”

  “It shore is,” Latisha said, as she carefully arranged oranges in the bowl. “Why, not too long ago I saw some of them little sparkly specks dancin’ in the air. That means it’s real bad out there.”

  Lloyd grinned at her. “They were ice crystals, Latisha—little drops that froze before hitting the ground.”

  “Well, I tell you one thing,” Lillian announced, “they keep on dancin’ out there an’ some of ’em gonna pile up on the ground. They’s big black clouds halfway ’cross the sky, an’ that mean bad weather a-comin’, I don’t care what that weatherman say. All you got to do is look at the empty shelves in the grocery store to know people’s stockin’ up.”

  “I done fixed these oranges, Great-Granny,” Latisha said. “What’s next?”

  “I know,” Lloyd said. “We didn’t bring in your overnight bags. Let’s go get ’em.”

  “All I got’s a grocery sack with my gown an’ toothbrush in it,” Latisha said, following him out the door. “But Great-Granny’s got a suit satchel ’cause her clothes is bigger than mine.”

  “Lloyd,” I called, hurrying to the door after him. “Would you get a few armloads of wood from the woodpile and put them here on the porch? J
ust in case?”

  I turned back to the counter to begin unloading a bag filled with canned fruits and vegetables. “We can’t let them stay out too long, Lillian.”

  But the children didn’t linger. Shivering with the cold, they hurried in with Latisha’s grocery sack and Lillian’s suit satchel.

  “All done,” Lloyd said, removing his gloves. “I hate to tell y’all this, but it’s sleeting out there. Latisha nearly slid off the steps.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I said, looking out the window to confirm his announcement. “Lillian, just listen to it. And look, there’s already a glaze on the bushes. It’s really coming down. It’ll be power lines next.” Turning around, I went on, “Lloyd, you and Latisha look around the house and find as many flashlights as you can. There’re a couple in the pantry, but be sure to check the batteries. There’s one in your room and one in Sam’s bedside table, but leave that one in case I need it. Oh, and candles. Bring all the candlesticks you see and put them here on the counter where we can find them.”

  Lillian said, “Y’all can put one of them flashlights by my bed so I don’t fall down no stairs if I have to get up.”

  “Come on, Latisha,” Lloyd said. “It’ll be like pioneer days, except,” he paused and grinned at me, “except it’ll probably be sixty degrees tomorrow. When we get through, I’ll help you with your homework, then we’ll play a video game.”

  “I don’t need to do no homework,” Latisha said, following him out of the kitchen. “It gonna ice up all over the place an’ they won’t be no school tomorrow.”

  As the door closed behind them, I turned to Lillian. “What do you think? Is it going to get bad?”

  “Law, I don’t know, Miss Julia,” she said, but she looked plenty worried about it. “I listen to the weatherman in the car, an’ he still sayin’ it gonna miss us. But the signs is all out there, an’ ’sides that, I been smellin’ snow all day.”

  “You smelled it?”

  “Yes’m, plain as day.” She nodded wisely. “It in the air, an’ it might miss us like they say, but it gonna be a close miss.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to do. If Hazel Marie goes into labor and we’re iced or snowed in, we’d be in real trouble. Maybe we ought to just take her on to the hospital.”

  Lillian cocked her head to the side, her eyes roaming around the room as she considered the situation. “Well, first off,” she said as if she’d come to a conclusion, “Miss Hazel Marie don’t wanta go, though I guess if you tell her to get in the car, she would—but she not be happy about it. An’ second off, even if we do get snow, it might not be more’n a inch or two, an’ they scrape the roads pretty quick. We wouldn’t be snowed in long. An’ third off, if she was to have to go, you could call Coleman an’ he get all his deputy friends an’ highway patrolmans to get us to the hospital.” She stopped to do a little more considering. “An’ fourth off, why don’t you call Miss Etta Mae an’ let her do the decidin’?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking! I’ll ask her to come spend the night, then we’ll see what the morning brings.”

  I reached Etta Mae on her cell phone and learned that not only was she in her car, she was on the outskirts of Abbotsville.

  “I’m glad you called, Miss Julia,” she said. “It’s getting pretty slick out here, and I was just wondering if I could make it to Delmont. You’re nearer than my single-wide, so I’ll head your way. How’s Hazel Marie?”

  “She’s fine, but I’m not. This weather’s making me antsy, and I’d feel a whole lot better if you were here with us. But be careful, Etta Mae, don’t have a wreck on those slippery streets.”

  “I’ve got snow tires, so I’ll be all right,” she said and went on to assure me that she was accustomed to driving on county roads covered with ice and snow. “Of course,” she added with a nervous giggle, “when it’s bad, I get to take the boss’s 4Runner. That’s the only time Lurline let’s anybody touch it.”

  After hanging up the phone, I looked up to see Hazel Marie wandering into the kitchen.

  “Has anybody looked out the window?” she asked, a dreamy smile on her face. “It is just beautiful out there. It looks like a Christmas card with the sleet falling in the light of the streetlamps and covering the bushes.”

  A gust of wind rattled the windows and we heard the ping of sleet hitting the panes. “Just listen to that,” she said. “I’m glad J.D. and Sam are safely in Raleigh.”

  “I am too,” I said. “Nobody should be driving on a night like this.” Except, I added to myself, Etta Mae, who I hoped would make it.

  And it wasn’t long before she did, running in along with a blast of cold air, laughing and holding on to the door frame to keep from falling.

  “Etta Mae!” Hazel Marie cried. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Looking for a safe harbor in the storm,” Etta Mae said, as she set the black valise that held the tools of her trade on the floor and began pulling off gloves and coat. “Hey, Miss Julia, Lillian. Boy, I almost didn’t make it, and if I’d tried to get to Delmont I’d probably be sitting in a ditch right about now. And, uh, Miss Julia, I’m real sorry, but I sideswiped one of your boxwoods when I turned into the driveway. The back end of the car just slid right into it. I’ll pay for it, though.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” I said, taking the heavy coat she was about to hang over a chair. “You’re doing us a great favor by being here. If we lose power, we can all huddle up and keep warm.”

  “It’s not going to get that bad,” Hazel Marie said with unnerving confidence. “J.D. said it’s clear as a bell in Raleigh, so this will soon blow over.”

  I glanced sharply at her, but held my peace even though that hadn’t been what Sam had told me. But of course Mr. Pickens hadn’t wanted to worry her, so I didn’t correct the weather report he’d given.

  After a body-warming meal of corn bread and beef stew with every vegetable known to man in it, we sat around the fireplace in the living room and talked about everything except what was heavy on our minds: Hazel Marie’s condition and the weather.

  As for me, I mostly listened, having even more on my mind, what with being burdened by Thurlow’s selecting me as the town gossip, to say nothing of having an arrest record and a court date hanging over my head, none of which I wanted to talk about.

  Hazel Marie, however, seemed lighthearted and content, laughing as she played Old Maid with Etta Mae, Lloyd, and Latisha. Occasionally, though, I saw her hand rub the small of her back as if it bothered her.

  Later in the night, after I’d banked the fire and been asleep for some time, I heard the shrill whisper of a voice right in my face. My eyes sprang open, then just as quickly closed in the glare of a bright light. Latisha was standing by my bed, her head practically in my face as she aimed a flashlight at me.

  “Miss Lady,” she whispered, “that sleet’s not comin’ down no more.”

  “What? Oh, Latisha, well, honey, that’s good, but move that flashlight out of my eyes. Thank you for the report, but you better run on back to bed.”

  “Yes’m, but I looked out an’ that snow’s a-comin’ down like sixty.”

  “What?” I said again and began to get out of bed. Reaching over to turn on the lamp, I felt a heavy cold seep inside my flannel gown. It got even colder when the lamp didn’t come on.

  “Oh my goodness, the power’s off.” I grabbed my robe and stuck my feet in bedroom shoes, worried immediately about Hazel Marie.

  “Yes’m,” Latisha said. “I ’spect it is, but it’s real light, anyway.”

  And it was, as soon as I opened the draperies. The snow that was falling and had already fallen lit up the inside of the house, and we had no trouble going down the stairs. Even so, I was glad to have Sam’s flashlight in hand.

  “Let’s go build up the fire, Latisha,” I said, “and get you wrapped up. We’ll let the others sleep as long as they can. At least they’ll be warm in bed.”

  We crept into the living room, where I was thankfu
l to see a few embers still glowing in the fireplace. I piled on the wood, then began lighting candles, putting them safely away from the edge of tables or curtains. Latisha curled up on the sofa with a throw wrapped around her.

  I sat in my Victorian chair as close to the fireplace as I could get, listening with apprehension to the wind buffeting the house and rattling the windows. The house was rapidly chilling down, and I wished to my soul that we had taken Hazel Marie to the hospital. At least there’d be generators there.

  “Why’d you wake up, Latisha?” I asked.

  “I had to go to the bathroom, but it was so dark I almost didn’t make it.”

  I smiled, then with a jerk, I came straight up out of my chair as a bone-chilling wail emanated from the back of the house. “Hazel Marie!”

  I nearly broke my neck getting to her room, the beam from the flashlight in my hand jumping from wall to floor and back again until I finally reached her door and aimed it at Hazel Marie. She was standing in the middle of the room, the hem of her nightgown clutched in her hands and a look of distress on her face.

  “Oh, Miss Julia,” she moaned, “I think I’ve ruined your rug.”

  In the beam of the flashlight, I saw her bare feet standing in a large wet spot that had darkened the colors of my Oriental.

  Chapter 11

  “Oh, Lord, don’t worry about that,” I cried, running to her. “Get in the bed, Hazel Marie. Lie down. Are you in labor? I’ll call somebody.” Grabbing her by the shoulders, I led her back to the bed. “Lie down and be real still.”

  “I, uh, don’t think I can,” she said. “So much pressure.” She lowered herself gingerly on the side of the bed, groaning with each breath.

  “Is them babies comin’?” Latisha asked. I swung the flashlight around to see her, wrapped in the throw and standing in the doorway taking it all in. Her eyes shone in the light.

  “Latisha,” I said, trying to steady my voice, “get your flashlight and run upstairs. Wake up your great-granny and Miss Etta Mae. Tell them I need them down here, but don’t wake up Lloyd. Then I want you to get back in bed and stay there.”