Miss Julia Stands Her Ground

by Ann B. Ross

  “It’s about to do me in, Sam,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “I’ve been depending on how much Little Lloyd favors Wesley Lloyd, and now that’s gone right out the window. What are we going to do?”

  “We are going to let me handle it. Listen to me, now.” Sam pulled my hands away from my face, then he looked me in the eye. “You’re making yourself sick worrying over this, and Vernon Puckett is not worth losing one night’s sleep. I want you to let it go and trust me to take care of it.”

  He went on in like manner, assuring me that looks weren’t everything, and that he intended to leave no stone unturned until he’d undeniably proven that Little Lloyd was who Hazel Marie said he was.

  I finally let him go to sleep but, in spite of agreeing to leave it all in his hands, I could find no rest. At last I slipped out of bed, put on my slippers and a warm robe, and took myself to the living room. There, a few logs in the fireplace were down to glowing embers, so I carefully laid on another one. Drawing a chair up close, I sat in the darkened room trying to pull myself together. As the fire blazed up, throwing light into the room, I noticed several rolls of Christmas wrapping paper that Hazel Marie had left on the sofa. Christmas, I thought with a sinking heart, a time of joy and celebration. Or, at least, it should be. Not this year, though, thanks to Brother Vern and Deacon Lonnie, and because of them, maybe not for years to come.

  The pitiful irony of the current situation suddenly struck me: It had been Christmastime when I came to value what I’d been given, and here it was Christmas again as I was about to lose it.

  Since Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd had been with me, I’d come to look forward to the season and enjoy it ever so much, when once all it had done was make me sad enough to cry. I never did, of course, just girded myself with my usual stoicism and got through it the best way I could.

  Wrapping my robe close around me, I allowed my mind to wander in a way that I rarely had the inclination for these days. I didn’t often have the desire to dwell on the empty years of my first marriage, and would just as soon have put them out of my mind forever. But the past was being dug up, and here was Wesley Lloyd’s ghost hanging over my head again. And if anybody could put a crimp in a person’s enjoyment of Christmas, or any other time of the year for that matter, he was the one who could.

  With Sam by my side, and Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd under my roof, I’d had every reason to think that my waning years would be filled with peace and contentment. I leaned my head against the wing of the chair, simply overcome with the awful dread of losing what had seemed at first to be my shame, only gradually to have become my treasure. Finding a crumpled Kleenex in my pocket, I held it to my eyes as images of that precious boy and how he’d come to mean so much to me began to flicker across the back of my eyes. . . .

  Chapter 15

  Christmas had never been what you’d call a joyous time for me, since Wesley Lloyd Springer, my husband of some forty-five years, hadn’t had a joyous bone in his body. Each year we spent the holidays going to church every time the doors opened, and at that time of the year they opened every time we turned around. I declare, I got tired of it, but it wouldn’t’ve done to mention it. Wesley Lloyd’s temper grew shorter and his comments more abrupt as soon as people started hanging wreaths and stringing Christmas lights. And Christmas music? He snapped the radio off as soon as he came home every evening.

  “I get enough of that racket downtown,” he’d say. “I don’t need to hear it in my own house.”

  Lillian, who kept to the kitchen when she heard his car in the driveway, turned her radio off before he stepped into the house. I know she enjoyed the Christmas music, for I’d occasionally hear her singing along with it during the day. When I went in to visit with her, we’d sit at the table and drink coffee while we shelled pecans or chopped citron and candied cherries, and talk together. With the smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, and the sight of cake layers cooling, and Lillian herself in a red apron, I felt as if I were in some Hallmark Christmas card scene. Until, that is, Wesley Lloyd came home each evening, and I had to be the lady of the house again. He didn’t approve of consorting with the help.

  He just didn’t like Christmas. I’m not sure he even approved of it. According to him, Christmas celebrations in the form of trees, holly, gift giving, and caroling were late and deplorable English and German additions that took away from the true meaning of the season. All the so-called merriment did nothing but disrupt the routine of business, and true spirituality was all but lost in the secular, materialistic society we lived in—I’m quoting him.

  “It’s supposed to be a Christian holy day, Julia,” he’d say to me. “And just look at everybody and his brother out spending money they don’t have and buying things they don’t need. I tell you, there ought to be a law.”

  You can see how that kind of attitude would tend to take the joy out of a person. Oh, we had a Christmas tree on the table in the front window, but only because he didn’t want people passing by to think he was strange. Which, the further away from his demise I get, the more I realize he was. At the time, though, I didn’t know any different.

  We exchanged gifts, too, one apiece, because Wesley Lloyd did not approve of going overboard in any way, shape, or form. He’d been firmly against spending money on frivolous things, so we bought each other needful and useful items, things you had to have anyway. I’d gotten it in my head one year to give him something different, thinking he might get the hint that I’d prefer something other than a small kitchen appliance, which I never used anyway since Lillian did all our cooking. So I’d studied and searched and finally came up with a beautiful cashmere sweater for him, which meant that I’d had to dip into household money in order to afford it. I’ll never forget the sick look on his face when he pulled it out of the box on Christmas morning. At first I’d thought he was ashamed because his gift to me of a flannel nightgown was nowhere near the level of a cashmere sweater. But it hadn’t been that at all. As far as he was concerned, he’d followed the rules he’d set down that limited our spending on Christmas gifts, and I hadn’t.

  He let me know about it in no uncertain terms, and from then on I stuck to socks, gloves, and the occasional pair of Hanes boxer shorts.

  So I can’t say that I was expecting anything different that first Christmas I had Hazel Marie Puckett and Little Lloyd under my roof. To tell the truth, I expected it to be worse. After all, I’d had several months of serious jolts to my system, what with Wesley Lloyd’s sudden and unexpected departure from this vale of tears and the even more unexpected appearance on my front porch of his longtime mistress and their peaked and unattractive little son.

  With all that hanging heavy over me, I couldn’t get in the Christmas spirit no matter how many times I went to church. In fact, it was all I could do to make it through each day. I was still having to steel myself against the whispers and stares and head shakes of all those who disapproved of the way I’d handled the mess that Wesley Lloyd had left me. I tried not to care, and most of the time I didn’t, but then I’d catch a pitying glance thrown my way and I’d have to struggle with my anger at Wesley Lloyd and at Hazel Marie, as well as with my despair at that child who looked just like him, all over again. In the face of all the talk and the snickers behind my back, it took all the strength I could muster to hold my head high and keep up a Christian front, much less stir up any Christmas spirit.

  Some days were easier than others, for I was learning that Hazel Marie had a sweet and open disposition. Naive and gullible was what it came down to. She had to’ve been, or she wouldn’t have put up with a decade-long association with a married man. I still couldn’t understand it, but then, I’d never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from nor been burdened with an out-of-wedlock child, either. Maybe if I’d been in her shoes I’d have taken whatever crumbs that came my way, too.

  As for the child, well, at first, I could hardly stand to be near him. Nine years old, and as much like Wesley Lloyd as anybody coul
d be. Every time I looked at him, so thin and pale and wispy haired, all I could see was his father, and be reminded of what his father had to have engaged in to end up with this reproduction of himself. Add a smattering of freckles, thick glasses that slid down his nose, and a hangdog look about him, and you can see why I wasn’t exactly eager to clasp the child to my bosom.

  Besides, the boy needed a firm hand. He needed instruction on how to look people in the eye when he spoke to them, how to sit up straight, how to shake hands, and, Lord help us, how to blow his nose. I tried to bring some order and discipline to his life, and to Hazel Marie’s as well. That’s what they had been sorely missing, but, living as they had from week to week on Wesley Lloyd’s meager handouts, who could wonder at it? Wesley Lloyd had never been known as an overly generous man, a state of affairs that I was thoroughly acquainted with. He was tight as a tick, if you want to know the truth.

  Of course, I was getting my own back by this time, for all the assets he’d spent a lifetime amassing and stashing away were just sitting there waiting for me when he keeled over. I take that back. Half of all his assets came to me, since he’d left an even bigger mess with a last-minute handwritten will that made the child wealthy and me destitute. It took Sam Murdoch, Binkie Enloe, and the state of North Carolina to make sure that justice was done and I got my due.

  To my credit, when it was all straightened out, I found I had no resentment in my heart at what was put in trust for the child. I had come so close to being stripped of everything that the half I finally got looked as if it would last my lifetime. If, that is, I exercised good judgment and made careful use of it. Just knowing it was there eased my fears of an impoverished old age, and I intended to stretch it out in a prudent manner so that it wouldn’t run out before I did.

  Still and all, I felt a certain amount of buoyancy at the thought of having financial assets that were totally under my control, and nobody else’s. But you don’t immediately overcome the habits of a lifetime, especially when those habits had been constantly dinned into your head. And, as I felt some obligation to teach the child fiscal responsibility and frugality, it behooved me to set an example and make sure that he and his mother didn’t let their sudden wealth go to their heads.

  And, if I’m honest, I have to admit that more of Wesley Lloyd’s attitudes and opinions had rubbed off on me than I realized. Even though I’d disagreed with him more times than not, I’d kept my mouth shut and let him rant on about whatever was exercising his mind at the time. But, without realizing it, I’d gradually absorbed some of his viewpoints, in spite of myself.

  Needless to say—but I will, anyway—I was shaken to my core when the extent of my absorption of his frame of mind was brought home to me during that first Christmas. But after my eyes were opened, I came to realize that I didn’t have to put up with Wesley Lloyd any longer. I could have opinions, viewpoints, and attitudes of my own if I wanted to. And, boys, I wanted to.

  It took me a while to get to that point, however, because I was still so wrapped up in my anger at Wesley Lloyd in spite of the fact that he’d been dead and buried some four months by the time that first Christmas rolled around. To say nothing of my bitter resentment toward Hazel Marie for her youth and beauty, even though she was bordering on forty and just this side of trashy looking. How could my husband have preferred her to me, who had led an exemplary life conforming to every dictate that issued from his mouth?

  And that child! I can’t tell you how it ripped out my heart every time I looked at him. He was a pitifully poor substitute for the children I never had, but I intended to do my duty by him if for no other reason than the fact that I knew no other woman in the world would’ve opened her heart and home to her husband’s bastard son.

  Besides, it was the Christian thing to do, as anyone would tell you if they didn’t have to do it themselves.

  From the distance of a few years now, I could look back and see how wrong I was to project forty-something years of bitterness onto Hazel Marie and that innocent boy. Yet I still can’t see how, given my temperament and my husband’s betrayal of his marital vows, I could have done it differently. We all have to learn, you know, and that first Christmas with both of Wesley Lloyd’s families—licit and illicit—under one roof was a learning experience from which I have yet to recover. Thank goodness.

  Chapter 16

  When the first of December rolled around and Hazel Marie received the first check from the child’s trust account, she couldn’t believe it.

  “It just showed up,” she marveled, looking intently at the check. “Just like that, it just came in the mail.”

  “That means Sam has the trust fund up and running,” I said. “From now on, he’ll see that you and the boy have enough to live on.”

  “Enough to live on?” She looked at me with those luminous eyes and said, “I’ve never seen so much money in my life. If all this keeps coming every month, I don’t know what I’ll do with it.”

  “I expect you’ll find a use for it. Now, Hazel Marie,” I said, using the subject to launch into a lecture on financial responsibility. “You should set up a budget and live within it. Open a checking account and start a savings account, if for no other reason than to teach your son how important it is to put aside something for a rainy day. Money requires careful and prudent management, and you need to exercise discretion in handling it. Don’t go spending it here, there, and everywhere.”

  For a minute, an echo of Wesley Lloyd’s words sounded in my head, but I brushed it aside. I had a responsibility here to give her sound advice, and if she had any common sense at all, she would pay attention to it.

  “Well,” she said, “the first thing I’m going to do is pay you room and board. Now that I can pay our way, I should do it and not expect to live off your generosity.”

  Well, my generosity had nothing to do with it. I wanted them in my house for the simple reason that having them defied the town gossips. It showed the town that I could do as I pleased, in spite of what was said about me, my dead churchgoing husband, and his clandestine activities. I wasn’t about to hide my head in shame by pretending his mistress and his son didn’t exist. Besides, everybody knew about them anyway—had, in fact, known about them long before I did. What good would it have done to pretend they didn’t exist?

  Hazel Marie didn’t understand any of that, and I didn’t intend to enlighten her. She thought that I was the kindest, most generous, and wonderful person she’d ever known, and she constantly told me so. I don’t mind saying that it pleased me to hear it, even if I knew in my heart that I possessed none of those virtues. At least, in this situation.

  “It’s my pleasure to have you here, Hazel Marie,” I said, which was nowhere near the truth, but I believe in being courteous even to the point of outright lying if the circumstances call for it. “There’s no reason in the world for me to live alone in this big house, and you’re doing me a favor by keeping me company.” Then I added, “And Little Lloyd, too. This house has never had a child in it, and as he is of a quiet and malleable nature, he is a pleasure to have around.”

  “Maybe I ought to think about getting our own place,” Hazel Marie mused as she smoothed out the check on her knee. “I mean, if this much keeps coming in, we could afford a nice apartment.”

  Right there, Hazel Marie proved how little she knew about money and how far it would go. The income from the trust would’ve afforded a good bit more than a nice apartment. So it was imperative that I not permit her ignorance to make her the prey of every gold digger and real estate agent that came along. It was up to me to instruct her in financial management in order to preserve the child’s legacy from grasping hands. Not that I knew that much about money management myself, having been given so little opportunity to learn by Wesley Lloyd, but I discovered I had an aptitude for it that would’ve amazed and confounded him. Why, I’d been able to balance my household account every month since he’d been gone.

  “Hazel Marie,” I said, trying for a somew
hat pitiful tone, “I hope you won’t consider moving. I need someone around, well, in case I get sick or fall and break something. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.”

  “Oh, Miss Julia,” she cried, reaching over to put her hand on my arm, “you know I’ll look after you. Afer all you’ve done for us, being so good to us and all, I’d do anything in the world for you.”

  Not especially liking to be touched, I lifted my arm and brushed back a strand of hair. “Thank you, Hazel Marie, that’s quite reassuring, but unlikely to be necessary. The truth of the matter is, I’d just like you to stay here for the company. It gets lonely, you know.”

  “Well, if you really want us to stay, I think I ought to pay something toward our upkeep.”

  Frankly, I did not want another boarder, having already accepted one at Sam’s insistence. Deputy Coleman Bates had moved into my upstairs guest room that opened off the back sunporch not long after I’d buried Wesley Lloyd. “So I won’t worry about you being alone, Julia,” Sam had said, as if he ever had.

  But somebody else paying rent? No, thank you, I was not running a boardinghouse. Still, I appreciated Hazel Marie’s concern that she not camp on my doorstep, expecting to be taken care of. And it occurred to me that she’d be exhibiting an admirable sense of responsibility if she paid her own way.

  “One hundred dollars a month,” I said. “If you feel that strongly about it.”

  “But that’s not nearly enough. I think it should be more, since more groceries have to be bought, and we use hot water, and I don’t know what all.”

  “No, that’s plenty,” I said, and resolved in my mind that the extra money would go to Lillian who, when you came down to it, was the one who’d have more work to do. “I want you here as guests, and company for me.” Besides, I suddenly realized, if Hazel Marie paid the going rate for room and board, she might take it in her head to go and come as she pleased, whether I approved or not. And that wasn’t what I wanted.