Miss Julia Stands Her Ground

by Ann B. Ross

  But I had changed and so had she. Yet, here I was, reliving those early days again. . . .

  Chapter 18

  Late the following afternoon, as I was studying some figures that Binkie had given me, I heard cars pull up in the driveway and doors slamming. The sound of voices and the child’s laughter disrupted my concentration.

  Christmas, I thought, as my spirits dropped. Something to be endured if I could stand it. Closing the folder, I sighed and resolved to put on as good a face as I could. No need to let everybody and his brother know the pain and anger that kept my chest so tight I could hardly breathe.

  The commotion grew louder as Lillian, Hazel Marie, and Little Lloyd and, I then determined, Deputy Coleman Bates entered the house with a great deal of talking, laughing, and what I can only describe as high and boisterous spirits. It made me tired just to hear them.

  “Miss Julia!” Deputy Bates called with great exuberance as he came into the living room, bringing with him a blast of wintry air. I declare, the young man always overwhelmed me with his good nature and good looks, augmented by his dark navy uniform and the law enforcement odds and ends strapped around him.

  “Man, it’s lucky I happened to see everybody at the nursery,” he said, with a wide grin. “I was on my way home when I saw them. Can you believe they’d picked out the tiniest tree on the lot? But I fixed that. We got a tree you’re going to love. Lillian said she didn’t think you had a stand big enough for it, so I got us one. Where do you want it?”

  I was taken aback by this rush to judgment, but I managed to indicate the front window. Before I knew it, Lillian had removed the lamp and the other accessories on the table, all the while avoiding my eyes. Deputy Bates picked up the table and carried it out of the room, then he rearranged the chairs that had been on either side of it. All this while Hazel Marie and the child were bringing in armloads of sacks and bags from the car. Then they sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor and commenced removing and unwrapping one ornament after another, along with strings of lights and ropes of tinsel.

  “Lillian,” I said, “where did all this stuff come from?”

  “Uh, well, ma’am, when Deputy Bates say he gonna get us a decent-size tree, I knowed we needed more’n that box you got in the basement.”

  “It’s all right, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said. “I bought them. It’s a good investment, you know, because we can use them year after year.”

  The child held up a multicolored ornament. “Look, Mama, it’s a little tiny sled.” And he began digging into the sacks again.

  I held my peace, but I was dismayed at the needless expenditure. I arranged myself in one of the Victorian chairs by the fireplace, settling in to watch but not to participate. Sometimes you just have to tolerate what’s going on.

  Pulling my cardigan closer as Deputy Bates told the child to hold the front door open, I watched with amazement the entrance of the largest Frazier fir I’d ever seen.

  “Hope we don’t have to cut this off,” Deputy Bates said, his face red with exertion and cold. He manhandled the huge thing into the living room, leaving needles all over my Oriental, and stood it upright in the front window. It reached all the way to the ceiling.

  Ten feet tall, I thought to myself, and costing a fortune for every foot. I rested my forehead on my hand and tried to think pleasant thoughts.

  “Oh, no,” the child cried, “there’s no room for the angel on top.”

  “Sure there is,” Deputy Bates said. “I’ll snip a little off the top, and she’ll sit up there as pretty as you please.”

  In their excitement, they had forgotten that I was not in the habit of heating the outdoors. “Close the door, please, Little Lloyd.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  “Tell you what,” Deputy Bates said, as he headed toward the open door. “There’s a pile of wood behind the garage. I’ll bring some in and start a fire.”

  “Oh, yes,” Hazel Marie said, still sitting on the floor while she tested the strings of lights. “A fire in the fireplace will make it all the more like Christmas.”

  I sat up straight, preparing to voice my disapproval, but Lillian caught my eye with a fierce glare, and I subsided. After that look I decided that the mess an open fire would make couldn’t be much worse than the one they’d already made.

  As Deputy Bates brought in logs and kindling and set himself to laying a fire, Lillian and Hazel Marie began putting the lights on the tree.

  “As soon as we finish with this,” Hazel Marie said to the child, “you can help us put the ornaments on. Won’t that be fun?”

  The child laughed as the colored lights illuminated his face. I sighed, thinking that too much excitement surely could not be good for him. I drew myself closer to the fire, grateful for the warmth it was beginning to put out, but wondering how I’d let my neat, quiet house get so far out of hand.

  “Look,” Lillian sang out, as she glanced out of the window. “Here come Miss Binkie.”

  She hurried to the door and opened it to receive Binkie Enloe. Her arms were filled with packages wrapped in shiny paper and adorned with bows and holly.

  “Merry Christmas, everybody!” she said.

  “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” Little Lloyd was beside himself, almost dancing up and down. “Did you bring presents? For us?”

  “They sure are,” Binkie said, stacking them on the floor and adding to the disorder in the room. “Coleman called me from his car and told me you needed something under your tree. So here I am!”

  “You can go under my tree anytime,” Deputy Bates said, taking her coat and looking at her with admiring eyes.

  I rolled mine, disapproving of such blatant displays of affection.

  “Come help us, Binkie,” Hazel Marie said, climbing up the stepladder that Lillian had brought from the kitchen. “We have so many ornaments, it’ll take all night to get them on.”

  “I’m helping,” Little Lloyd said. “Everybody’s helping, except Miss Julia, and she’s watching.”

  They all turned to look at me. “Yes,” I said, putting on a good face for their sakes. It was not my habit to throw cold water on the pleasure of others. “And I’m enjoying it ever so much.”

  Lillian hung an ornament, then said, “I got some soup I’m gonna heat up. I think I bring it in here so you can eat it by the fire.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. Food in the living room? Wesley Lloyd would’ve been outraged, the thought of which closed my mouth.

  “By the fire! By the fire!” Little Lloyd said, as he jiggled around with excitement. “Oh, Mama, this is shaping up to be the best Christmas we ever had.”

  His mother looked at the child with loving eyes, and Deputy Bates put his arm around Binkie. “It sure is,” he said.

  I turned my head and gazed at the fire. The best Christmas ever? Maybe for some, but, for me, Christmas was just another lonely time to get through, as it had been for an untold number of years.

  Chapter 19

  Mildred Allen’s Christmas tea was a staple of Abbotsville’s social calendar, as mine had been up until that year. But I had no heart to do any entertaining, even if it had been acceptable as, clearly, it was not, with Wesley Lloyd barely cold in his grave.

  In fact, I’d had some qualms about the propriety of accepting Mildred’s invitation, and had half a mind to stay home. I would’ve been well within my rights as a grieving widow to send my regrets. And there was another reason I almost stayed home. I was vexed to my soul that Hazel Marie had been left off the guest list. The invitation had been addressed only to me, even though Mildred was obviously aware, as was everybody in town, of the fact that I had a houseguest. The lack of an invitation to Hazel Marie was a clear snub, although I didn’t for a minute think that Hazel Marie recognized it as such. I expect she would’ve been astounded, as well as thrilled, if she had received one.

  But I decided to go for two reasons. One, they would talk about me even more if I wasn’t there, and, two, I di
dn’t want them to think I was prostrated with grief over the loss of a man who didn’t deserve one restless night, much less a whole year of honoring his memory.

  “Hazel Marie,” I said, as I readied myself for a public outing, “I don’t know what to wear. This fall has been so busy that I’ve not done my usual seasonal shopping.”

  She was sitting in the easy chair in my bedroom, watching as I searched through the hanging clothes in my closet. I’d invited her in to use my address book for the Christmas cards she wanted to send. I, myself, was sending none.

  “Well,” she said, tapping a ballpoint pen against her cheek. “It’s a Christmas party, so something red would be pretty.”

  “But not at all appropriate,” I said, somewhat testily. “I am in mourning, you know.” Then I could’ve bitten my tongue off, for I almost said, “as you should be, too.”

  The subject of Wesley Lloyd’s relationship to each of us was something that we both steered clear of. It was easy most of the time, for Hazel Marie had such an innocence about her that it took an effort on my part to think of the two of them having physical congress. Until I looked at that child, that is, which I tried to do as infrequently as possible.

  “Oh, yes, you’re right,” she said, immediately contrite. “I guess black would be appropriate, then.”

  “Well, not that much in mourning,” I replied, thinking that if black was the color of mourning, what would be the color of anger. “It is a party, after all. Maybe gray?” I laid a gray woolen on the bed and studied it.

  “That’s nice,” Hazel Marie said with little conviction.

  “What about this?” I pulled out a beige crepe and spread it beside the gray dress.

  “Um, I don’t know. That beige won’t do much for you. You know, with your coloring.”

  I stared at her, wondering what kind of coloring I had and what she knew about such things.

  “May I look?” Hazel Marie approached my closet as I stood aside. Then she pulled out an emerald green wool dress that I’d worn once two years before, then decided the color was too vivid for my taste. “This is it,” she said.

  “Much too bright,” I said, although it did look better than I remembered.

  “Come look in the mirror,” she said, holding it up in front of me. “It’s perfect for you, and it’s a Christmas color without being red. Besides, it makes a statement.”

  I didn’t know what kind of statement she had in mind, but she was right when it came to the one I wanted to make. Let them talk, I decided. I’d wear the green and defy any of them to say one word about it.

  I parked down the block behind the other cars, then walked up the wide brick walkway, lined with miniature boxwoods and winter pansies, to Mildred Allen’s Federal-style house. The afternoon was gray with lowering clouds, and the Christmas lights on the tree in the window and on the garland over the door looked especially welcoming. I made an effort to gather myself before facing the nicest ladies and the biggest rumormongers in town.

  “Oh, Julia,” Mildred said as she stood in the door greeting her guests, “I’m so glad you came. I was afraid you wouldn’t, you know.” I declare, the woman was getting wider by the day. She had always been heavy-set—big boned, she called it—but in the long, bright red dress she was wearing she looked monumental.

  “Why wouldn’t I come? I always have,” I said as I handed my coat to her maid.

  “Well, but you know,” Mildred whispered, engulfing me with the scent of Shalimar. “That child and that woman. Everybody’s so interested, and you might not be ready to talk about them.” She laughed. “I know I wouldn’t be.”

  “You might,” I responded, “if you got to know that woman.As soon as people begin to remember their manners and invite her to places, they’ll know how sweet and kind she is.”

  My intention was to rub her face and everybody else’s in my shame so I wouldn’t have to endure it alone, but it went right over Mildred’s head.

  “I tell you, Julia, you are the most forgiving woman I know. I admire you ever so much. Now, go on in and have some tea. Emma Sue is pouring—I had to ask her, you know, or her feelings would’ve been hurt. Oh,” she said, turning away from me, “here comes Helen Stroud. Can you believe what she’s wearing?”

  I wandered through the hall, glancing into the spacious living room where a fire glowed on the hearth, and continued across to the table in the dining room. As with everything in Mildred’s house, it was perfectly appointed. A silver service was at one end, while candelabra and a spectacular Christmas centerpiece in her silver epergne were in the middle. People—my friends and long-time acquaintances—spoke to me, then quickly huddled with their heads together as I passed on.

  With tight lips and straight shoulders, I walked to the head of the table where Emma Sue Ledbetter was ensconced behind the teapot.

  “Hello, Emma Sue,” I said. “Are you ready for Christmas yet?”

  “Oh, Julia,” she said, her eyes widening as she looked up at me. The lemon slice she held on a fork fell into a cup of tea, splashing the tray. “I didn’t think you’d be here. I mean, I didn’t think you’d feel like coming.” She reached up and grasped my arm. “I’ve been praying for you and, well, your whole situation. But the thing is, Julia, I need more information so I can pray specifically for your needs. Would you like some of us to come over and have a prayer session with you?”

  “I think not, Emma Sue. I’m doing what we’re told to do and going into my closet to pray. And there’s not enough room for anybody else. I’ll have tea, please, with lemon and two lumps of sugar.”

  “I’m just trying to help, Julia,” she said, her lower lip trembling, the presage of a spurt of tears.

  “I know, Emma Sue, and I appreciate it. But I’d really prefer not to be the subject of either group prayer or gossip, no matter how beneficial the one might be.”

  “Julia!” LuAnne Conover interrupted us, which was a mercy, for Emma Sue had made me feel so uncharitable I might’ve backslid all the way out of the church. LuAnne came bustling up and hugged me, in spite of the fact that she knew good and well that I was not the hugging kind of friend. I almost spilled the cup of tea Emma Sue had handed me.

  “Careful, LuAnne,” I said, cringing at the thought of a tea stain on the winter white suit with gold buttons she was wearing.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” LuAnne said. “I would’ve picked you up and we could’ve come together. Oh, I should’ve called you. I just assumed you wouldn’t want to come.”

  “You look lovely, LuAnne,” I said, ignoring the reason behind her assumption. “You’ve had your hair done, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, do you like it?” And, before I could say I did, she went on. “And how about this suit? It’s a knockout, isn’t it? I got it at Marilee’s. You ought to go in there, Julia, she’s got the cutest things. Come on,” she said, taking my arm, “let’s go mingle. You’ve been holed up too long, what with all that’s happened. I know everybody’ll want to talk with you.”

  LuAnne drifted from group to group, with me in tow, talking and laughing and socializing as only she could do. She was good at it, and I began to feel more comfortable just by being with her. No one said a word about my situation, although there were a lot of comments about how they’d been thinking of me, how glad they were to see me out and about, and how they’d been intending to drop by but hadn’t gotten around to it.

  A little before our designated hour was drawing to a close, I wandered away from LuAnne, who was engaged in a brisk conversation with Helen Stroud about the best way to winter over African violets. Knowing that Mildred had staggered her guest list so that another group would soon be arriving, I edged my way to the stairs to retrieve my coat from her bedroom.

  As I entered the room and began searching through the pile on the bed, I heard voices through the slightly ajar door of the bathroom. Intent on finding my coat, I paid little attention to the conversation until I heard my name mentioned. Unable to help myself, I perked up.


  “Did you see Julia Springer?”

  I immediately recognized the voice of Kathleen Williams, a young woman who was active in community benefits and fundraising, and who was a member of every do-gooder organization in town.

  I pulled out my coat and turned to leave, but the voice of Miriam Hargrove, the doctor’s wife, stopped me. “Yes, I did, bless her heart. I feel so sorry for her. Can you imagine what she’s going through?”

  “Oh, I know,” Kathleen said. “It’s just pathetic. Let me borrow your brush a minute.”

  Feeling my face burn with mortification, I draped my coat over my arm and started to tiptoe out. But then Kathleen went on.

  “You know, if you think about it, it’s funny, too. I mean, think about having somebody living with you who’s slept with your husband. Wonder if they sit around and discuss his bedroom techniques.”

  As their laughter bubbled up, I turned around, furious at being the subject of gossip. My first thought was to sling open the door and let them know I’d heard them. I knew they’d die of embarrassment, but I also knew that the confrontation would add one more juicy item to be spread throughout the town.

  So I stood for a minute, vacillating between facing them down and turning away in shame. Then, recalling a certain ledger in Binkie’s office, I made a decision.

  With coat on and purse in hand, I marched myself downstairs and toward the front door where Mildred was receiving thanks for her lovely tea from others who were leaving.

  When my turn came, I said, “Mildred, thank you for having me. Everything was beautiful, as always. But I want to tell you, and I hope you’ll pass the word to everybody else, that I will not be attending any other social activity unless Hazel Marie Puckett is invited, too.”