by Ann B. Ross
A likely story is all I could say, especially now that he was entertaining her, sending James outside so they could have an intimate lunch. More legal advice? Another likely story because her legal problems, in the form of her crooked husband, had just been committed six feet under.
As I sat there with images of Sam and Helen flickering through my mind, the hollow place inside of me began to fill up with something hard and cold. And gradually I began to count the blessings I still had: Lloyd and Lillian and Latisha and Hazel Marie. And Etta Mae was a faithful friend, as was Mr. Pickens when you really needed him.
If Helen ended up with Sam, I could give my house to Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens, while I moved to a condominium. Wouldn’t that be a pretty come-off? Me, changing places with Helen.
No, I said aloud and stood up. I was not going to let my imagination run wild, dreaming up unlikely events that only made the pain worse.
I went downstairs determined to rise above it all and hold my head up high. “Lillian, I’ve changed my mind. I believe I would like a snack. Just a small one because it’s late.”
“They’s some cheese and fruit in the ’frigerator,” she said, on her way out of the kitchen. “I got to help get them babies ready for the doctor.”
I stopped cold, my own problems sinking to the bottom. “What’s wrong? Are they sick?”
“No’m, they goin’ for they first checkup, an’ every time we get one ready, the other’n need changin’. I bring the clean one out here to you while they mamas get ready.”
And she did, putting little Julie, snugly wrapped in a blanket, in my arms. I sat at the table, holding the baby close, and marveled at the perfection of her tiny features. I smoothed the soft hair on her head, and suddenly two dark eyes blinked open and looked right at me.
I didn’t know if she could see anything. She was, after all, barely a week old, but in that moment, as we gazed at each other eye to eye, I realized how rich and full my life could be, even if it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to.
Chapter 36
The “mamas,” as Lillian called both Hazel Marie and Etta Mae, had finally gotten the babies cleaned, dressed, and bundled up for the trip to the doctor’s office. Hazel Marie was beside herself because the hair ribbons kept sliding out, especially after Etta Mae put caps on the babies’ heads. Then they had a difficult time getting them strapped into the car seats, Etta Mae leaning into the backseat from one side and Hazel Marie from the other. Etta Mae couldn’t get the strap buckled and Lillian tried to help her but the two of them wouldn’t fit through the door. Then Hazel Marie bumped her head on the car frame when she straightened up too soon.
“Dang it!” she said, wincing and holding her head. “If J.D. doesn’t soon get back here, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Etta Mae started laughing because she and Lillian got wedged into the door, and the baby they were trying to buckle in suddenly spit up, soiling the beautiful little outfit that Hazel Marie wanted the doctor to see.
“Well, I kinda want him to get back too,” Etta Mae said. “But I don’t think you can blame hitting your head on him. On second thought, though,” she went on as she got behind the wheel, “buckling in squirming babies is a daddy job and he can take it over from now on.”
They waved to Lillian and me, as we turned back to the house.
“I hope they get a good report from the doctor,” I said as we went inside.
“Yes’m, me too. But I ’spect they will. Them babies is puttin’ on weight an’ sleepin’ good for they age.” She opened the refrigerator door. “You ever get that snack you wanted?”
“No, but it’s so close to dinner, I think I’ll wait. Lloyd and Latisha will be home pretty soon, so maybe I’ll have something with them.”
“You still feelin’ poorly?”
“No, just a little under the weather. Probably just tired, so I think I’ll go to the living room and look at the paper for a while.”
It was a sign of how done in I was over seeing Helen’s car at Sam’s that I didn’t unload part of the pain onto Lillian. But I couldn’t talk about it—I was still too shocked and, yes, too mortified after learning that the husband I thought so sweet and loving and faithful could so quickly begin to trifle with another woman.
I had barely gotten settled good—hadn’t even opened the newspaper, although I didn’t want to read it, just hide my face behind it—before the front doorbell rang, and LuAnne Conover came barreling in.
“Julia,” she said, shedding her coat, gloves, and scarf on her way to the living room sofa, “if you’re busy, just say so. But I had to be down this way and thought I’d stop in and see what you thought of Preacher Poppy.”
“I think she prefers Pastor Poppy, or maybe just Poppy in a social setting. But she seemed nice enough, pleasant and friendly. Why? What did you think?”
Frankly, I didn’t care what LuAnne or anybody else thought about the new lady minister. My heart was so heavy that I just wanted to curl up somewhere in the dark. But I rallied what few resources I had left to visit with LuAnne, while hiding the misery I was feeling.
“Oh, I thought she was nice enough,” LuAnne said, settling in for a long chat. “But have you ever noticed how many women preachers the Methodists have?”
“Well, no, I haven’t. Never even thought about it.”
“Then think about it, Julia. I’ve heard of two in Asheville and there’s one I know of in Greenville and now one here.”
“That’s not so many.”
“It’s more than we have,” LuAnne said, and right tartly too. “Wonder why that is.”
“I expect it’s because Methodist ministers are sent. Their bishops assign them to churches, then rotate them around. As far as I know, the local churches have no say in who fills their pulpits. They take what they’re sent. We Presbyterians, on the other hand, go through a long rigamarole of interviews, trial sermons, and voting on whom we want to call. How many female candidates do you think would survive such a process in a church like ours?”
LuAnne giggled. “Not many. Can you imagine Leonard voting to call one? Or old Mr. Leland or, my goodness, any of the session? And come to think of it, I doubt many of the women would want a woman preacher, especially one as luscious looking as Pastor Poppy.”
“She is nice looking, and she seems very sweet. I declare, though, she looks like a well-to-do postdeb just dabbling in a ministerial career until the right man comes along. But who knows? She might do some good, although she’s certainly not your typical pious recent seminary graduate.”
“Oh, don’t mention pious seminarians! You remember that young assistant Pastor Ledbetter had for a while? Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, he was so above it all. Miss Mattie Freeman said his shorts were too tight.” LuAnne laughed and I smiled at the memory. “Anyway,” she went on, “I like a preacher who looks like a preacher, which a woman doesn’t, and I’m so pleased that Pastor Ledbetter has taken to wearing a black robe in the pulpit. It gives him so much more authority, don’t you think?”
I rolled my eyes the least little bit, because Pastor Ledbetter didn’t need to assume any more authority than he already had. “Let’s just say that the robes are easier on the eyes than some of his ties. But I’ll tell you this, LuAnne, if he starts wearing those clerical collars, I’m going to move my letter to the Episcopal church.”
“Oh, you’re always saying that. Besides, that’s what their preachers or priests or rectors or whatever they’re called wear all the time. You never see one without a white turned-around collar and a black whatever-it-is attached to it.”
“It’s a dickey, I think, although a dickey is something women wear under a low-cut dress, except most of them don’t these days. Poppy had one on at Mildred’s, but it wouldn’t qualify as anything clerical, being lace and all. Anyway, I could put up with it at the Episcopal church because they’ve always done it. It’s just when Presbyterian ministers start adding things they’ve never done before that I draw the line.”
“You wouldn’t be happy in the Episcopal church, Julia, and I wish you’d quit threatening to move your letter. Besides, they’re getting as bad as the Methodists with all their women priests.” LuAnne stopped and thought for a minute. “Wonder if they are priests? Wouldn’t they be priestesses? Although that has a pagan sound to me.”
“I tell you, LuAnne, good solid churches are getting hard to find these days. So many changes, so many so-called megachurches and television churches—just sit in your living room and send in your money—online even. I don’t know what the world is coming to. I used to look down on people who said they could worship just as well on a golf course as in a church, but I’m about ready to take a few golf lessons. At least there wouldn’t be any deviations from the rules of the game.”
“Oh, Julia, you’re just talking. You wouldn’t ever leave First Presby, and I can just see you out swinging a golf club.” Then LuAnne looked around and asked, “Are the babies asleep? I’d love to see them.”
“They’ve gone for their first visit to the doctor. I hope he can do something about their colic—they cry for about two hours every evening. Oh, and, LuAnne, that twin stroller is just wonderful. Hazel Marie just cried when she saw it. You were very generous, and I know she’s going to get a lot of use out of it.”
“Well, you know Emma Sue wanted to give her another baby shower, but the babies came so fast, and in a snowstorm too, that she hasn’t been able to get her ducks in a row. Besides,” LuAnne sniffed, “I think the one I gave her is more than sufficient, even for twins. Hazel Marie got some nice things.”
“She certainly did, and you’re right. One shower is enough for anybody. We’ve been so consumed by all the care that two infants require that we wouldn’t have time for another party anyway. I hope Emma Sue will let it slide.”
“Well, good,” she said, and with that, I knew she hadn’t been paying attention to half I’d said. It was confirmed when she went on: “What does Sam think about woman preachers? Of course I expect every man in town will be all for them, once they get a look at Pastor Poppy.”
Not wanting to get her on the subject of Sam, I delicately changed tacks. “Sam is the most tolerant of men, so he wouldn’t have a problem. But let me tell you who does.” And I went on to tell her what Pastor Poppy had told me about Thurlow Jones walking out of First Methodist in a huff.
“No! ” LuAnne said with a wide smile. “Did he, really? Oh, I’d loved to have been there to see that. I expect every church member everywhere has wanted to do the same thing at one time or another and just didn’t have the nerve. But I didn’t know he even went to church. When did that start?”
“Poppy said in the last few weeks or so—fairly recently. And it surprised me too. Anyway, she asked me to intercede for her, as if I knew him well enough to talk him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do.” I frowned at the thought. “I plan to stay as far away from Thurlow as I can.”
“Oh, Julia, I think you should try to get those two together. Why, you might be able to bring him into the fold for good. Only,” she stopped and giggled again, “be sure to aim him toward the Methodists, not us.”
The back door slammed open and a burst of talk erupted in the kitchen, Latisha’s piercing voice overriding the others.
“That’s Lloyd and Latisha home from school,” I said. “Lillian will be making hot chocolate or something. Would you like a cup?”
“No, thanks, I have to be going. I just dropped by to see what you thought about Poppy. It’s a nice change to have somebody new to talk about.”
I smiled in response and said, “She seems very sincere and truly concerned about upsetting Thurlow. But I give her credit: She’s the only person I know who’s managed to offend him. It’s usually the other way around.”
Chapter 37
After seeing LuAnne out, I went back to the chair in the living room and waited for the blackness to descend again. But before it could fully engulf me, Lloyd pushed through the swinging door and came over to my chair. Instead of hanging on the arm of the chair as he used to do, he sat on the ottoman and stretched out his legs. The boy was getting tall, I noticed. Well, not exactly tall, because I doubted he’d ever be that, but taller.
“Miss Julia,” he said in his usual serious manner, “Miss Petty gave us a real talking-to today. You won’t believe what all she told us.”
“What did she say?”
“She told us that somebody has been messing around her toolshed—you know, since that body was found, and she was real serious about it too. She said it happened either while she was at school in the daytime or most likely at night, and she’s not going to put up with it.” Lloyd frowned, squinching up his eyes. “Who in the world would plunder around at night where somebody had died?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said, trying to keep my voice on an even keel. “Does she have any idea who it was?”
“No’m. She said she called the deputies and showed them where a bucket had been moved and the crime-scene tape had been pulled off, and maybe a few more footprints, but they didn’t give her much satisfaction. Said it was probably kids wanting to scare themselves. Or something.”
“That’s probably who it was.”
“Well, I don’t know. I sure wouldn’t be hanging around that place, especially at night. Anyway, she said if we knew anybody who’d done it or who wanted to do it, we better tell them that she was on the lookout. And she said she’s making arrangements to catch whoever it was if they come back. And then she said, ‘You have been warned!’ Like she just knew it was some of us. I tell you, it gave me the shivers, and I haven’t been anywhere near that place.”
“You can’t blame her for being concerned, I suppose,” I said, trying to downplay what he was telling me. “I wouldn’t be too happy if somebody was fiddling around in our yard either. Especially at night.”
“No’m, me either. But what worries me is who it could be that was doing it. Miss Petty and the cops, too, are wrong if they think it was kids. We’d be too scared. So I’m thinking it was somebody else, somebody with a reason to be there. Maybe for the same reason Mr. Stroud had.”
I’d always known that Lloyd was smart, but this just iced the cake. Of course he was correct—that’s exactly what Lillian and I had been doing—not that we’d known Richard Stroud’s reason, but to discover what it had been.
“Lloyd!” Latisha yelled. “You better get on in here if you want a brownie. I’m about to eat ’em all up.”
Lloyd grinned and got up from the ottoman. “She means it too. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know that something’s still going on at that toolshed.”
“It’s a mystery, though, isn’t it?” I said, dismissively, and picked up the newspaper as if I had some interest in it. But underneath I was squirming at the thought that we’d left a trail at the toolshed. It was comforting to know, though, that no one seemed to be following it to the real culprits.
Hearing more commotion in the kitchen than the usual, I threw aside the paper and went to see what was causing it.
“Why, Mr. Pickens,” I said, surprised to see him standing there with a pleased smile on his face and his suitcase at his feet. Lillian was delighted to see him, as always, and Lloyd had just released himself from a big hug, while Latisha stood back, eyeing the new arrival with curiosity.
“I’m home!” he said, spreading his arms as if he expected us to cheer. “Where’s Hazel Marie? Where’re my babies?”
It took a while to explain the visit to the doctor and to assure him that it was a routine visit and that all was well.
“’Cept they got the colic,” Lillian said. “So you better get ready to do some floor walkin’.”
“I can do that,” Mr. Pickens said, somewhat smugly, although I doubted he knew what he was talking about. He’d had plenty of experience with wives, but none that I knew of with infants.
“J.D., guess what! ” Lloyd said, excitement catching in his voice. “Something’s still going on at Miss Pe
tty’s toolshed. She told us somebody has been messing around in it, probably at night, and I think she’s scared to death. She didn’t say she was, but she called the deputies about it because she says she’s not going to put up with it. Can you believe that?”
“Whoa, slow down,” Mr. Pickens said. “Come help me unpack and tell me all about it.”
As they headed for the bedroom, Latisha tagging along behind, Lillian looked at me, her eyes big with concern.
“What we gonna do, Miss Julia?” she whispered, her voice quavering.
“They don’t have a thing on us, Lillian. They think it was children, and they’ll go on thinking that. Nobody saw us, well, except Ronnie and he’s not talking. We don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I hope you right.” Lillian turned back to the stove and stirred something in a pot. Then abruptly she stopped and said, “What if somebody else ’sides us been in there? What if they lookin’ for the same thing we was lookin’ for? What if that somebody else saw us there an’ was hidin’ in a bush, watchin’ everything we did?”
“Lillian, Lillian,” I soothed, “you’re just thinking up things to worry about. There was nobody else there when we were, and there won’t be if we have to go back.”
“No, ma’am, uh-uh. You not gonna catch me goin’ back there. I already have my fill of it.”
“Well, I’m not planning a return trip, believe me. I’m just saying that we have nothing to be concerned about.”
Just then Hazel Marie and Etta Mae, each carrying a baby, rushed in, along with a gust of cold air.
“Where is he?” Hazel Marie asked, her eyes shining. “His car’s outside, so I know he’s home.”
“Right in yonder,” I said, pointing toward the bedroom. “He’s unpacking.”
