Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle

by Ann B. Ross

  Thurlow plopped back in the chair, seemingly outdone by her claim. “Arrogance!” he yelled, disturbing Ronnie so that he stood up and shook himself. “Scriptural arrogance, that’s what it is. That’s what happens when women get above themselves. Madam Murdoch, why’re you just sitting there without saying a word? What do you think of women getting too big for their britches and climbing up in a pulpit? Let’s hear from you for a change.”

  “I think,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “that I wouldn’t want to get between God and whomever he’s called to preach, regardless of what kind of britches they wear.”

  Thurlow’s eyes bugged out at me, while Poppy threw back her head and laughed. “She’s got you there, Mr. Jones. Now listen, we could go round and round about this and never come to a meeting of the minds. I think you’re just a big ole teddy bear that just likes to argue and get the best of whomever you’re arguing with. And I expect, deep down, you don’t really care who’s in the pulpit and that half the time you don’t even pay attention to what they say. Well, I want to change that. I want you to give me another chance and come back to church. You can walk out again if you want to and I’ll come visit you again, and next time, you can bet I’ll bring my Bible.” Then she laughed her merry laugh. “I know where mine is.”

  I had never in my life seen Thurlow without a word to say. He stared at her, his mouth half open, then he stared some more. It seemed a good time to absent myself, so I stood up.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Thurlow. “I’d like a glass of water. Do you mind if I go to the kitchen?”

  He flapped his hand at me. “Go, go.” Then to Poppy, “Now you listen to me, young lady.”

  “Don’t you ‘young lady’ me,” Poppy said, giggling, “you ole sweet thing, you.”

  Lord, help us, I thought, as I hightailed it through the dining room and into Thurlow’s kitchen. Never in my life had I witnessed such a pastoral visit as this one had turned out to be. What were they teaching seminary students at Duke? Or maybe at any seminary?

  Well, whatever it was, Poppy, with her smiles and giggles and laughs, along with her refusal to let Thurlow outtalk her, was more than holding her own.

  I hurried to the window over the sink, the one that looked out over the backyard and the one, I quickly confirmed, that was in a direct line with Miss Petty’s toolshed. I couldn’t see the knothole, of course—it was too far away and there were too many tree limbs in between—but I knew where it was, and I came to the firm conclusion then and there that it had been the back of Thurlow’s house—which meant Thurlow himself—that Richard Stroud had been watching.

  Leaning over the sink to scan the yard, I saw a dilapidated building that might once have been a stable and was now a remodeled garage. To assure myself that Richard would have had a wide-angle view, I leaned farther over the sink, then almost levitated to the ceiling when I felt a nudge in a most sensitive area.

  “Ronnie! ” I said in a harsh whisper as I whipped around. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  I swished past him, trying to pull myself together after such a fright. Just because we’d shared a bed didn’t mean he was free to take liberties.

  Breathing rapidly, I hurried out into the hall, where I found Poppy and Thurlow. She was buttoning her coat, readying herself to leave, but the two of them were still going at it.

  “Well, you can’t just sit at home and criticize,” Poppy was saying. “For all you know, there’d be some of the finest preaching around, and you’d miss it all.”

  “Ha! I’d like to hear some of that fine preaching,” Thurlow said, his eyes glittering at her. “Lord knows I’ve not heard any lately.”

  “You can’t hear it if you’re not there.”

  “I’ll be there,” Thurlow said, leering at her in open challenge. “You can bet your sweet patootie I’ll be there.”

  With Poppy laughing her head off, I murmured our farewells, and pushed her out the door before Thurlow could close it on us.

  We were halfway down the walk when he opened the door and stuck his head out. “Yeah, and I’ll be taking notes too!”

  Chapter 40

  “And probably kickin’ you-know-what too,” Poppy said, laughing as she turned on the ignition.

  I latched on to the armrest as she took off. “I’ll tell you,” I said, as I caught my breath, “I have never in my life witnessed a pastoral visitation like that one. How did you know to stand up to him like that?”

  “Oh, my daddy’s pretty much like him,” Poppy said, as if handling Thurlow had been all in a day’s work. “I did like Mr. Jones’s house, though. Except, funny thing, it didn’t seem to go with him. Or he with it.”

  “I noticed that too. But it’s his house that’s different, not him, because it used to be as unkempt as he is. Why, the last time I was in it, which has been some while ago, it was dark and dusty and cluttered. I could hardly believe what I saw today. Maybe,” I mused, “he finally broke down and hired some household help.”

  “Well,” Poppy said, “he needs to hire a personal trainer or valet or something too. I have to tell you, I kept picking up a rank, musty odor.”

  “That was Ronnie, but,” I corrected myself, “it could’ve been either or both.”

  As we parked in front of my house, I invited Poppy to come in and meet Hazel Marie and Etta Mae. “You can see the babies too.”

  “I’d love to,” she said, “but I have a bunch of teenagers meeting at the church at four. I better come back another time.”

  “Drop by tomorrow afternoon,” I said, my hand on the door handle. “I think Hazel Marie’s planning to have the babies on display. We’d love to have you. And, Poppy, I have to tell you that I am in awe at what you accomplished with Thurlow. I think you should have a seminar or something for preachers in this town to teach them how to conduct pastoral calls.”

  She laughed. “Well, we Methodists have to deal with backsliders all the time, so we have a number of tricks up our sleeves.”

  Actually, I didn’t know that Thurlow had ever been anywhere to backslide from, but I wasn’t in the mood for theological quibbling. I had something else on my mind, so taking my leave, I walked toward the house thinking of the transformation in Thurlow’s house. Why, even the draperies had been cleaned and freshened. Some even, I suddenly realized, replaced. Who in the world could’ve done that—not him, that was certain. Yet I couldn’t imagine Thurlow engaging an interior designer. For one thing, he wouldn’t want to spend the money, and for another, he’d never before cared what his house looked like.

  Some kind of change had come over him, although it hadn’t quite made it to his personal grooming. And going to church! That was the most amazing thing of all. As long as I’d known him, or rather, known of him, which had been years, he had not been a churchgoing man. Oh, every once in a while I’d heard of some preacher of one persuasion or another going to visit him, hoping to entice him into the fold. They’d all been run off either by his nasty disposition or by his open contempt for what he perceived as unctuous moneygrubbing.

  Someone had said that years ago, a Pentecostal Holiness pastor told Thurlow how welcome he’d be in his church. Thurlow had said, “Yeah, and the next thing, you’d be wanting me to tithe. Well, I’ll give you a tenth—a tenth of nothing, and we’ll see how welcome I’d be then.”

  I walked up onto the porch, still marveling at Pastor Poppy’s skill with the crankiest man in town. Just as I pulled my keys from my pocketbook to open the door, a sudden thought stopped me. I had a fairly cranky man on my hands too.

  Could I take a lesson from Poppy’s handling of Thurlow? Maybe I could, except Sam was nothing at all like Thurlow, being sane, for one thing. Still, they were both men, and men respond to laughter and teasing, with a little flirting thrown in for good measure.

  I stood there, jiggling the keys in my hand, wondering if I could manage a little flirting. I was out of practice, you know, having done so little of it in my life. I simply wasn’t the flirty type, bu
t Poppy had shown me how to do it. She’d even done it during a theological discussion with Thurlow of all people, and she wasn’t even married to him. How much easier it should be for me to do the same, and more, in another kind of discussion with a man I was married to.

  I turned on my heel, went down the steps, and crossed the front yard to the car before I could talk myself out of it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say, and if James tried to keep me out, I venture to say he would regret it.

  As it happened, James was nowhere to be seen when I arrived at Sam’s house. Hesitant to just barge in, although it just killed me to behave like a visitor to my own husband’s house, I rang the doorbell.

  “Why, Julia,” Sam said as he opened the door. “Come in.”

  I plastered what I hoped was a beguiling smile on my face. “Are you very busy this afternoon? I don’t want to disturb you if you’re working.”

  “Not at all. Come on in and sit down. I’m glad to see you.” He was saying all the right things as he led me into his office but no more than what he’d say to any visitor.

  Instead of taking a seat on the leather sofa where we’d often sat together, I went to one of the chairs facing it. Books and papers were piled on his desk behind the sofa, so I knew I’d interrupted his work. But, I comforted myself, it was late in the day and time for him to stop.

  He hadn’t taken my coat, which gave me a hint that my welcome would soon be worn out. So following Poppy’s lead, I shrugged my coat back, then crossed my legs, leaving a gap of a few inches from the hem of my skirt to the top of my Naturalizer pumps—providing not quite the same view as Poppy had, but I could only work with what I had.

  I cocked my head at Sam and smiled. “How’re you doing, you ole sweet thing, you?”

  His head snapped around and his eyes bugged out. “What?”

  I laughed, trying for bubbly but not quite making it. “I’m just letting you know that I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

  He came over and sat in the chair next to me. “I didn’t think you’d mind that at all.”

  Batting my eyelashes, I reached over and gave him a light tap on the arm with the back of my hand. “Where did you get that idea? I keep dreaming of you and searching for you in my sleep. I think you ought to come back home and get some lovin’.”

  He started laughing, almost putting me off, and said, “Are you feeling all right? What is this?”

  “It’s your lonely wife, sweetheart, here to tell you that I can’t go on like this.” Then, fearing that I’d gotten too serious too quickly, I ran my hand down his arm and said, “You always smell so good, and you’re so big and strong, you just make me weak in the knees.”

  Well, that put a twinkle in his eyes, so I lowered my voice to a husky whisper and asked, “Where’s James?”

  His voice was even huskier. “At the store, but who cares?”

  As I reached for him, he suddenly stood up. “Wait, Julia, there’re too many things that need to be worked out.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” I said, coming to myself. And I went on and confessed everything I’d ever done that he hadn’t known about, from investing with Richard Stroud to throwing away his old fishing hat. “And on top of that,” I went on, “I went with Pastor Poppy Patterson, the new woman minister at First Methodist, to call on Thurlow Jones. Now, I assure you, it was not a personal visit so don’t jump to any conclusions. I simply accompanied her because she asked me to and, Sam, I watched as she led that crabby old man back to the church.” I lifted my head and closed my eyes. “It was the Lord’s work, if I’ve ever seen it.”

  Sam walked a few paces, then turned to me. “Is that everything?”

  I nodded, then cringed. “Except, maybe you don’t know that Lillian and I visited Miss Petty’s toolshed.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “The other evening,” I said, dismissively. “Long after the deputies were through with it. And we went to see if we could find out why Richard had been in it, so I could show you I had nothing to do with his being in town.” Then I added, “Lillian thought we should.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while, then he said, “Lillian, huh? ”

  “Well, maybe it was my idea first, but, Sam, all I had in mind was to prove I have no interest in Richard or Thurlow. It was all for you, and, well, I miss you so much.” I started crying then, which tore my flirting plan all to pieces. “And I love you, and I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world.”

  He came over and pulled me to my feet, but not to him. “Julia, listen to me. I love you and I miss you too, but you keep too much to yourself. It’s as if I’m not part of your life, and that hurts. I sometimes feel that Lillian knows more about you than I do. You leave me out of what you’re doing, as if I’m not important enough to be a part of it.”

  “Oh, Sam,” I said, leaning my head against him in despair. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I know I’m inclined to go my own way, but it’s not because I want to keep things from you.” I wiped my eyes against his sweater. “Well, maybe I do, but it’s because I’m afraid you’ll think the less of me if you know what I’m doing.”

  “It’s for my own good, huh?”

  “Well, yes, but now I see I was wrong. I promise, from now on I’ll tell you everything, everything, everything. You’ll get so tired of hearing me that you’ll be pulling your hair out. Or mine, one.”

  I felt him laugh deep in his chest. “If you’ll call me ole sweet thing again, I promise there’ll be no hair pulling.”

  So I did, and did again, until the back door crashed open and James called, “It’s me, Mr. Sam. I’m back with the groceries.”

  Chapter 41

  We quickly separated as we heard James coming down the hall, telling Sam he’d found the Granny Smith apples he wanted.

  “An’ I got a ham an’ some catfish an’ . . .” He stopped dead in the middle of the hall as Sam and I walked out and he saw me. “Why, Miss Julia, how you doin’? I didn’t know we had comp’ny.”

  “Hardly company, James,” I said, pulling on my gloves. “We were just speaking of you. I expect you should run on and get those groceries put up, don’t you?”

  He gave me a shaky grin and fled to the kitchen.

  “Sam,” I said, “we really haven’t resolved anything, have we?” Meaning, of course, when are you coming home?

  “Oh, I think we have. It’s just a matter of timing now. With Pickens back, I’ll talk to him tomorrow and see when they’ll be able to move in here. In the meanwhile, I’ll get my notes and things packed up to take over to your house—our house. I’ll do my writing over there from now on.”

  “That would be wonderful. We can move back into the big room downstairs where they are now and fix up Hazel Marie’s old room as an office for you. That way you’ll be where it’s quiet and away from household noise.” I smiled at him. “How do you feel about a pink office?”

  He laughed, gave me a very nice kiss, and walked out onto the porch with me. After a few more comments from him, I went on my way, feeling immeasurably better. His last words were, “I’ll see you in church tomorrow,” and I knew we’d be sitting together like always.

  Getting in the car and driving back to the house, I came to the conclusion that I had overlooked, or perhaps, never realized, the fact that my husband had tender feelings—feelings that were near the surface and easily bruised. All of this, I thought, because I had done a few trivial things without sharing them with him!

  And what were they? Like anybody with sensitive feelings, Sam had built up a stack of them, not saying anything at the time but allowing them to pile up. But how could I have consulted him about going to Florida on the track of jewel thieves with Lloyd and Etta Mae when he was in Russia at the time? And had he wanted me to wake him up that stormy night when Poochie Dunn took Etta Mae and me up on the courthouse dome and we got shot at? And what about the time that Lillian and I, well, we weren’t even married then, so that wouldn’t count.

 
Still, I’d learned that I’d better start asking him to accompany me whenever I needed to get something done. The only problem with that, and the reason I’d not shared any of my plans with him before this, is he’d try to talk me out of them or put his foot down.

  Well, at least Lillian and Etta Mae would be relieved not to be aiding and abetting anymore.

  Then I realized something else. Right before I left, Sam had mentioned that he’d spoken to James about staying on to cook for the Pickens family and James had agreed.

  I pulled into the driveway at home so fast that I almost crashed into the garage. Slamming on the brakes, the car jerked to a stop, my head wobbling back and forth in the momentum. That Sam! He had already been planning to come home even before I made a flirting fool of myself.

  I sat for a minute, thinking it over. Was I mad at him for tricking me? Well, no, I was too happy about being back in his good graces. Actually, I kind of admired him for giving me a taste of my own medicine. And, the thought suddenly occurred to me, his trickery could make null and void my promise to consult him about every little thing I did.

  Feeling even better than I had when I left Sam’s house, I waltzed into my own, only to find utter chaos. Both babies were screaming, Hazel Marie was jouncing one in her arms as tears streamed down her face, Etta Mae was hurriedly placing the takeout barbecue on the table, and Mr. Pickens, walking the other baby, looked as if he’d been wrung through the wringer.

  “Here, Etta Mae,” I said, taking off my coat, “let me do that while you help with the babies.”

  She gave me a grateful glance and handed me a styrofoam container of cole slaw. “Lillian’s right about the colic. Every evening about this time, they cut loose.”

  Etta Mae took the baby from Mr. Pickens, telling him to go ahead and eat while he could. Instead of sitting at the table, he leaned against a counter, his head bowed, as if he were worn to the bone.