Miss Julia Stands Her Ground

by Ann B. Ross

  “Oh, for goodness sakes.” Brother Vern made me so tired, I had to sit down. “Did he say he wanted to talk to me?”

  Sam laughed. “No, this is my idea. I think it’s about time he faced you with his allegations. I want to see his reaction when he has to look you in the eye and say that Hazel Marie has lied to you.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Sam met me at the front door and ushered me into his study, which badly needed some organization. Books were stacked on the floor by his desk, and old newspapers and county records were piled on chairs and stuffed into bookshelves.

  “You need to let James in here to straighten up for you,” I said, as Sam helped me out of my coat.

  “I wouldn’t let James in here for love nor money. Everything’s just where I want it. Here, let me move these files.” Sam cleared a space on the leather sofa for me to sit down. As he did, the doorbell rang, and we gave each other a significant look, preparing ourselves for what was to come.

  As Sam went to the door, I couldn’t sit still. Getting to my feet to greet Hazel Marie’s uncle and tormentor, I mentally girded myself to hear him out. Then I’d know how to cut him off at the knees.

  “Ah, Mrs. Springer,” Brother Vern said as he entered the room, seemingly unsurprised to see me waiting for him. “Oh, I guess I’m behind the times. I hear it’s Mrs. Murdoch now. May I extend my heartfelt congratulations to the both of you. Marriage is a gift of God, bestowed upon us to illustrate the love of Christ for his church, and I’m sure that your marriage is like unto a perfect example of it. Remember, though, that the family that prays together, stays together.”

  Not necessarily, I thought, as he took my hand in both of his and smiled in his unctuous way. He could’ve wished us well and left it at that, but, like many preachers, he couldn’t pass up a chance to preach. Brother Vern hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d seen him, except he wasn’t wearing his white summer suit. He had on a navy pinstripe, although the pinstripes were a little wide for my taste. His red tie almost matched his face, flushed as it was from the windy day and perhaps from the weight he carried. His hair was blacker than I remembered it, bringing to mind thoughts of Grecian Formula, which I couldn’t necessarily fault him for, considering Velma’s efforts with my own head of hair. Still, it always takes me aback to see dyed hair on a man. Vanity is so unbecoming, especially when there’re no highlights to make it look natural.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Puckett,” Sam said, as he and I sat on the sofa.

  “Brother Vern,” Brother Vern said warmly. “Call me Brother Vern, for all us Christians are members of God’s family. Now, Brother Sam and Sister Murdoch, I know that I’ve brought a ton of worry down on your heads, but I couldn’t let this state of affairs continue on unabated. None of us is gettin’ any younger, and the time’s a-comin’ when the roll’s gonna be called up yonder for every one of us, and I know you don’t want to leave a mess down here behind you. But that’s exactly what you’ll do if you don’t get it straightened out now. Why, I tell you, there’ll be nothing but lawsuits and legal wranglin’s the likes of which you can’t even imagine if you let things go on as they are now.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific than that,” I said, determined to pin him down. I just was not going to let vague insinuations stand in for absolute proof, which I knew he couldn’t possibly have.

  He gave me a brief stare, his black eyes boring into mine, as if he was unaccustomed to being brought up short by a woman. But since we weren’t in church, I was under no Biblical injunction to keep silence.

  He breathed heavily and noisily, being so cramped up in the soft leather chair that he could hardly get his breath good. His thick thighs, which I tried not to look at, were spraddled out to make room for the extra pounds in his midsection.

  “Brother Sam,” he said, switching his attention to my husband, “this is weighin’ heavy on my heart, and I just can’t bring myself to discuss these, well, these licentious matters in the presence of a godly woman. If it’s all right with you, I’d ruther meet in private.” Then with a nod in my direction, he said, “No offense, ma’am.”

  I came right back at him. “Oh, but there is offense. If you have something against Hazel Marie, you’d better speak up now or forever hold your peace. I am the one who’s affected, not Sam. And it’s my decisions that you’ve questioned, so let’s hear what you have to say.”

  I think he glared at me, but he quickly pulled himself together. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sister Murdoch. I’m not used to discussing personal and, may I say, dissolute matters with the fair sex.” He shot a beseeching look at Sam but got no help from that quarter. Then, with a rasping breath, he said, “But since you insist, I’ll just tell you that, as hard as it is for me to say out loud, my niece was a loose woman in her young days. And I don’t expect she’s changed much, in spite of having the Lord’s own wealth showered down on her through your good offices. But what she’s up to now is neither here nor there. Back before that boy was born, she took up with whoever’d have her, and there was plenty who would. I praised the Lord when Mr. Wesley Lloyd Springer came in the picture, thinking he’d settle her down and keep her from jumpin’ from one bed to the other. Not that I could wink at adultery, you understand, but that girl needed a firm hand.” He paused, glancing toward me to measure the effect of his words. “Now, see, Sister Murdoch, I didn’t want to have to bring up such hurtful things in front of you, but the facts is facts.”

  “Just keep on stating them. I want to hear it all.” I didn’t, of course, but I wanted to know what we had to deal with.

  “Well, I know there was a certain man that kept showing up and turning Hazel Marie’s head, both before and after she hooked up with Mr. Springer. And I have every reason to believe that that boy of hers was conceived in a motel somewhere, completely unbeknownst to the man who was supportin’ her. And,” he went on, gathering the strength of outrage as he did, “it just frosts me good for her to fool that good man, then lie to you and profit the way she’s done from it.”

  “What would you have us do?” Sam asked benignly. I glanced at him, wondering if he was feeling the same turmoil that I was.

  “Why, brother, make her face up to her lies! You can’t let things go on like they are. She’s takin’ your good wife here for a ride! And I hate to see it.” He bowed his head and shook it, as if in sorrow. “I purely hate to see you good folk done in by the likes of her. That kid of hers is nothin’ but a by-blow, and here he’s in line for Mr. Springer’s estate that he don’t have no claim to at all.”

  Sam and I let the silence grow after that outburst. Then I pulled myself up to the edge of the sofa and said, “All that may be, Mr. Puckett, but I have two questions. Where is your proof? And, what is your interest in the matter?”

  “Ma’am, my interest is in settin’ the record straight. As a minister of the Gospel, I can’t stand by and let her get away with it. Why, I can’t even imagine the torment I’ll feel when you pass on and I have to watch her and the boy come into all that wealth, when they don’t deserve nothing but the wrath of God, because the wages of sin is death, not high and mighty livin’.”

  Envy, I thought, just pure envy. As hard as he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get his hands on Wesley Lloyd’s estate, so the thought of his own kin having it handed to them on a platter was more than he could stand.

  I stood up, indicating that I’d heard all I cared to hear. “Thank you for sharing your opinions with us. When you can produce unassailable evidence of your claims, we’ll speak again. Until that time, I’ll thank you to keep this matter to yourself. Unproven allegations bandied about town can bring down the wrath of the legal system, as I’m sure you know. But for now, I’ve heard all I want to hear, so I’ll bid you good day.” And I left the room, my head held high and my temper barely in check, to seek the peace of Sam’s old bedroom. I paced around the room, waiting for Sam to get rid of Brother Vern and come to me.

  “Julia?” Sam o
pened the door and came in. “You all right?”

  “No, I’m not all right. That man is evil, Sam, that’s all there is to it. You noticed, didn’t you, that he gave not one iota of proof. Just unjustified accusations, all to bring Hazel Marie down and punish her. It was all I could do to keep from smacking him out of that chair.”

  “I know, Julia.” Sam put his arms around me. “But you stayed calm and didn’t let him know he’d gotten to you. That may be his aim in all this, to shake your faith in Hazel Marie. I think he just can’t stand for her to do well, while he’s not and has little hope of doing any better.”

  “You may be right.” I leaned my head against his chest, then looked up at him. “Did he say anything after I left?”

  “Just that the man he claims is Lloyd’s father is a fine Christian now, with a family, and he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to bring him out in the open.” Sam patted my back and leaned his head against mine. “Somebody specific, Julia.”

  I could’ve cried, even though I didn’t believe a word out of Brother Vern’s mouth. All the same, though, he seemed determined to push this thing to its limit, destroying any and every body in his path.

  “He could get somebody to lie for him,” I said, trying to think of all the possibilities. “If that happened, it’d be a stranger’s word against Hazel Marie’s. I’d still believe her, but we’d be right back where we are now—not having enough evidence to put a stop to Brother Vern.”

  “That’s right.” Sam nodded, then breathed out. “You know what we may have to do?”

  “Yes,” I sighed. “Get out the shovels and prove him wrong.”

  Chapter 12

  It wasn’t long after our meeting with Brother Vern that I began to notice little niggles of doubt running around in my mind. I tried not to dwell on them, but they were there, rearing their ugly heads when I least expected them.

  I retired to our bedroom one afternoon a few days later, having told Lillian and Hazel Marie that I wanted to plan my annual December tea. Actually, it didn’t need much planning, since I generally had the same people and did the same thing year after year, but one must make lists when it comes to formal entertaining, and that’s what I was trying to do.

  I wasn’t getting very far because, try as I might, I couldn’t keep my mind on the task. Finally, I put down my pen and got up from the desk. Taking a seat in the armchair by the window, I forced myself to face the fearful possibility that Brother Vern knew whereof he spoke, and could back up his claims with depositions, sworn statements, and worst of all, the public unveiling of a participant in the deed that had produced Little Lloyd.

  So I allowed myself to wonder how I would feel if Little Lloyd was disproved as Wesley Lloyd’s natural son and rightful heir. I thought about that for a few minutes, and had a great sense of relief to realize that it wouldn’t change my feelings for him all that much. Maybe not at all. I recalled, with a shiver, the revulsion I’d felt toward that wretched child when he first showed up at my house. It had been all I could do to tolerate an ever-present reminder of Wesley Lloyd’s carnal knowledge of his mother.

  Of course, I’d risen above all that by this time, but my heart lightened as I realized that I might appreciate the boy even more if he had no connection whatever to the old goat. After all, he’d never been kin to me to begin with. What was between the child and me had nothing to do with whose blood ran in his veins.

  I sighed, though, thinking that the blood in his veins could have a lot to do with where his share of Wesley Lloyd’s estate ended up. Lord, if Pastor Ledbetter got wind of this, he’d start putting in his two cents worth as to where that money should go. He was still convinced that Wesley Lloyd had intended to include the church in his will.

  He hadn’t, though. And, worse than that, he hadn’t included me in his will, and I’d put up with more from him than the church ever had. Well, I thought, as I leaned back in the chair, it hadn’t mattered a hill of beans what my wandering husband had intended. What had mattered was that Little Lloyd and I had gotten what we deserved.

  Except now, if Brother Vern could prove that the boy was not Wesley Lloyd’s son, would some judge decide that when Wesley Lloyd wrote his last will and testament, he was a victim of fraud, making his wishes null and void? Would Little Lloyd’s inheritance be taken away from him? And who would get it?

  And what about Hazel Marie? I thought I could live with Little Lloyd being a stranger’s son on his father’s side, but I couldn’t come to grips with the idea of Hazel Marie as a liar with malice aforethought. I could never in this world accept that she deliberately set out to deceive Wesley Lloyd and, in turn, Sam, Binkie, and me. Nor could I accept that she could live with me on a day-by-day basis and keep up the deception.

  For one thing, she wasn’t that smart—in a manipulative sense, I mean. You could always count on Hazel Marie speaking before she thought and leaping before she looked. It was impossible for me to picture her with narrowed eyes and grim determination setting out on a lifetime of lies, as she would’ve had to’ve done when she first learned she’d been put in the family way by somebody.

  So there, Brother Vern.

  Then another thought came suddenly unbidden: Could it be that she hadn’t known who the child’s father was? Maybe she’d honestly thought Wesley Lloyd was the one responsible.

  Lord, I couldn’t imagine being in such a fix. One man was more than enough for me, and the idea of two or three at a time was unthinkable. And I couldn’t think it of Hazel Marie.

  Oh, I could understand—just barely—that an untrained and uneducated young woman could take up with anyone who would put a roof over her head. The little that Hazel Marie had told me about her family painted a dismal picture of a girl growing up unloved and unwanted, dropped off and left with one relative after another. That’s a prescription for promiscuity if ever I heard one. Young women with that kind of background end up looking for love in all the wrong places. . . .

  I think a wise man said that one time. I could find it in my heart to overlook the indiscretions of her youth, even if they were carnal in nature. So if Brother Vern thought he could bring her down in my estimation by recounting all her sins, he could think again. I knew how she’d lived her life since coming under my influence, and that’s what counted with me—her dalliance, if that’s what it was, with Mr. Pickens notwithstanding.

  I breathed some easier after facing all the possible repercussions of Brother Vern’s claims, and realizing that I could handle them all with some semblance of serenity. Well, except for a few things. I couldn’t handle the besmirchment of Little Lloyd’s paternity, because that would follow him all his life. Bad enough that he had to live with the taint of illegitimacy, even worse if he never knew for sure who his father was, which would surely change his view of his mother. And I couldn’t handle somebody else getting the child’s estate, if it came to that.

  I came out of my chair with a renewed determination to fight Vernon Puckett to a standstill. Pacing around the room, I decided that he had to be brought down before he brought us down. And the only way to do that was to prove beyond question that the child was the pure and unadulterated result of Wesley Lloyd Springer’s procreative episodes.

  Well, not exactly unadulterated, but you know what I mean. Besides, the child looked just like him. Nobody, not even Brother Vern could get around that.

  Sam tapped on the door, then stuck his head in. “You resting, Julia?”

  “How could I rest with all this turmoil going on? No, I’m trying to figure out how we can put a stop to Brother Vern.”

  Sam came in and sat on the side of the bed. “Julia, you’re going to worry yourself sick. Come sit down, and let me explain a few things to you.”

  I did, although it was always a wonder to me that people would choose to sit on a bed when there were two perfectly good chairs for the taking. “I wish you would,” I said.

  “First off, Binkie and I went through the file again to look at Wesley Lloyd’s handwritten will
. The way he wrote it was: ‘I name my only son, Wesley Lloyd Junior Puckett’—with Springer in parentheses—’heir and beneficiary of all my wordly goods.’ That says to me that, sick as he was at the time, he foresaw some difficulty. He didn’t just write ‘my son.’ He named the child, claimed him as son and heir, and specifically added his own surname, even though the boy was born out of wedlock. And another thing, Julia. We looked at Lloyd’s birth certificate, and Hazel Marie gave him both names, Puckett and Springer. And she named the father, Wesley Lloyd Springer. It’s written there, big as life, and no one’s ever questioned it.”

  “Well, it’s being questioned now. And what worries me is that it might not matter what Hazel Marie and Wesley Lloyd wrote down. Anybody can write whatever they want to. The question is: Will it hold up in a court of law?”

  “It’s not going to come to that, and if it does, a judge would rely on the intent of the testator. And we can prove by these documents that Wesley Lloyd’s intent was clear—to leave his estate to this particular child.”

  “Yes, but Brother Vern claims that if Wesley Lloyd hadn’t been deceived, he wouldn’t have left the boy a red cent. That’s the whole point, right there. According to him, Wesley Lloyd only thought Little Lloyd was his son. And if he can prove to the satisfaction of a court that what Wesley Lloyd thought was wrong, where does that leave us?”

  “Back to proving that the boy is his son. Listen, Julia, before Puckett pulls some man out of his hat who’s willing to swear that he was with Hazel Marie around the time of the boy’s conception, we need to do something. I don’t want either her or the boy to have to be faced with this.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying. But what do we do?”

  “I want you to think carefully.” Sam took my hand in both of his. “Is there anything of Wesley Lloyd’s that you’ve saved? An old hairbrush, a shirt that hasn’t been washed, anything at all that we could try to get DNA from?”