by Ann B. Ross
Sam laughed and shook his head. He put his napkin beside his plate, raised his eyebrows to be sure I was ready, and stood. As he moved my chair, he said, “I expect they can handle the situation. We can sit this one out.”
Well, we’ll see, I thought as we walked toward the lobby.
None of the Pickens family was in church the next morning, not even Lloyd, and I missed having him beside me. I occupied myself during the service—except when interrupted by having to stand and mouth a hymn—by imagining the turmoil in that household with James and two babies needing immediate attention and Mr. Pickens and Lloyd trying to cook breakfast and Brother Vern either listening to a Sunday sermon on the radio or trying to preach one himself to anybody who’d listen. With that picture running in the background of my mind, I realized that Pastor Ledbetter was preaching a fairly satisfactory sermon himself for a change. For weeks we had been subjected to hearing all the details of the tour to the Holy Land that a church group had taken back in the summer. I was tired of hearing about it, and so was Sam, since he’d experienced the tour firsthand. It was almost a relief to hear a biblical expository sermon, even though his subject concerned the need to dig down deep to keep the church solvent, which, according to him, was merely our reasonable sacrifice.
Just as we’d settled ourselves in the new library with the Sunday papers, anticipating a leisurely afternoon, the phone rang for Sam.
After hanging up, he turned to me. “Pickens found that old walking cane and wants to see if James can get around with it. Old man Puckett says he’s too weak to help, so Pickens wants me to come over. Want to go?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you, although to tell the truth, I may be better off not knowing what’s going on over there. I must say, though, that out of sight, out of mind is not working real well.”
We walked the four blocks, even though I regretted every step. October was beginning to show its colors in more ways than one, and we were thoroughly chilled by the time we got there. Mr. Pickens answered our knock, greeting us with a tight look on his face.
“Come in,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand. “Glad to see you,” And to me, “Hazel Marie’s in the kitchen making coffee.” Which I took to mean she probably needed help.
I walked back through the hall, glancing into the living room as I passed. Brother Vern was stretched out in Mr. Pickens’s favorite chair, his feet crossed on an ottoman, while Lloyd, who waved at me, was on the floor with the babies. They were rolling around on a quilt with all kinds of rattles and spinning toys spread around them.
“Hazel Marie?” I said as I entered the kitchen. “Can I help?”
“Oh, Miss Julia,” she said, relief in her voice as if I were a lifeboat in a storm. “I’m so glad to see you, but I don’t think anybody can help. Things’re going from bad to worse. Uncle Vern expects so much from all of us, and J.D. is holding his temper but it’s an awful strain on him, and the babies aren’t sleeping because they’re teething, and James and Uncle Vern are at each other’s throats. I don’t know how we’re going to get through it all.”
“Well, first things first,” I said, guiding her to a chair at the kitchen table. “Do you have the coffee on?”
She nodded and I sat down beside her. “How did your dinner go last night?”
Her face immediately brightened. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe how good it was! It all came out just like Ida Lee said it would, except the noodles got all mushed together. I think I cooked them too long, but they tasted all right. I’m going to send Ida Lee some flowers in the morning. J.D. was amazed—he loved it. All the men had two helpings and Uncle Vern would’ve had three if there’d been enough. Even James said he had to hurry and get well or he’d lose his job in the kitchen.” Then she sighed. “I just hope I can do as well the next time.”
“You will, but see, that was one thing that went fine, so don’t let yourself get down. If Sam and your husband can get James walking on his own, why then everything will start looking up.”
“I don’t know, Miss Julia.” She sighed again and began twisting a napkin around and around. “Uncle Vern keeps at me to move James out. He’ll ask whether James has any family we could send him to, or he’ll say that James is taking advantage of me and he’s really not that bad off. He told me this morning that he has a few things in storage—some books and copies of his sermons that he needs to get out. He drove over this morning to check on them and came back hinting that the room where James is would be perfect for him.”
“Why, that sounds like he intends to move in for the duration.”
She nodded. “He does, but for the duration of what, I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll tell you for what. For as long as your husband will put up with him. You have to let Mr. Pickens handle him, Hazel Marie. With your sweet nature, Brother Vern will run all over you. You must just stay out of it so that when Mr. Pickens has had enough, you don’t start feeling sorry for your uncle. Your responsibility lies with your husband and children. They should be first and foremost, regardless of what Brother Vern wants.”
“I know,” she agreed, wiping her eyes. “But I do feel sorry for him.” She sniffed. “Occasionally, I mean. Not all the time.”
Chapter 14
I carried a tray laden with cups, saucers, and the coffeepot to the living room, making a wide detour around the edge of the room to avoid stepping over or on a baby. Setting it on the coffee table, I directed a hard look at Brother Vern, who had not moved a muscle to offer any help. He just lolled in that easy chair and watched, a pair of bedroom scuffs dangling from his sockless feet.
Hazel Marie followed me with a plate of cookies—Pepperidge Farm Milanos. She poured coffee for Brother Vern and took the cup to him. Instead of taking it from her, he pointed to the table beside him and she set it down.
“I take two sugars and a dab of cream,” he said.
And I guess you want it stirred, too, I thought, which Hazel Marie ended up doing. My mouth tightened into a thin line as she waited on him.
My attention was taken by a commotion in the hall and I walked out to watch the rehabilitation therapy of James. Mr. Pickens was on one side and Sam on the other, with James teetering on one foot between them, holding onto a wobbling cane with his left hand. The cast on his right hand had been rigged up into a sling and was of no use to him. His left hand wasn’t much better, nor was the still-bound left ankle, which he barely let touch the floor.
“It don’t feel right,” James said, a look of stress on his face. “I never been much of a left-handed man. I do ever’thing right-handed, an’ I don’t think this ole walkin’ stick gonna hol’ me up.”
“We’re right here, James,” Sam said. “We’ll catch you if you start to fall.”
Mr. Pickens said, “Just think how much better you’ll feel if you can get around on your own. Besides, the Panthers are playing today. You want to watch the game, don’t you?”
“Le’s keep on, then,” James said, as he set his sights on the family room where the television set was.
I shook my head and turned back in to the living room. It was going to be a while before James would be able to trust his own two feet. When Sam and Mr. Pickens got James settled in front of the television set, they came back into the living room. Hazel Marie handed out coffee cups and offered around the plate of cookies, from which Brother Vern took two more.
“I got the high blood and the high sugar,” he announced, “but these’re too little to do much damage.”
My eyes rolled just a tiny bit, but I didn’t say anything. Hazel Marie sidled up to me and whispered, “I’m so glad you and Mr. Sam came over. I hope you can stay all afternoon. It gets kinda tense when J.D. has to talk to Uncle Vern by himself.”
So we continued our Sunday afternoon visitation, chatting comfortably while Lloyd played on the floor with his sisters. They seemed to love him, pulling themselves along to climb up on him, la
ughing and gurgling, reaching for his glasses, and examining his hair.
Mr. Pickens sat and watched, his face a picture of contentment. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was ever jolted by the way his life had changed. When we first met him, he was an unsettled man, bouncing from one woman to another, stopping now and then to marry a few, then pulling free and taking off again. Of course, Hazel Marie had caught his eye as soon as he saw her picture, and when he saw her in the flesh, well, I thought his bouncing days were over. It hadn’t been that simple, though, because they’d had their ups and downs and, I’ll tell you the truth, I had begun to think that she would be better off without him.
Then the babies came, or rather, they made known their imminent arrival, and Mr. Pickens decided it was high time to settle down for good.
I just hoped it would last.
Sam and Mr. Pickens began discussing the repair of the roof, necessitated by a fallen tree back in the summer, while Hazel Marie took coffee and cookies to James in the room across the hall.
Brother Vern, who was finding it hard to stay awake, suddenly roused himself. “Hazel Marie, I need some more coffee over here.”
She quickly veered over to him and refilled his cup.
“That’ll do,” he said. “Now, folks, settin’ around visitin’ is all well and good, but it being a Sunday, I think a Bible lesson might suit better. Lloyd, run up and fetch my Bible.”
Lloyd sat up, holding a baby and sending a questioning glance toward his mother, then toward Mr. Pickens.
I smiled and intervened. “We looked for you in church this morning, Mr. Puckett, which was when we had our Bible lesson. But I guess you decided to sleep in. Lloyd,” I went on, “hand Julie to me, then you come sit beside me with Lily Mae.”
He quickly complied, laughing as he said, “I’m not sure which is which. Mama needs to put different colors on them so I can tell them apart.”
Brother Vern didn’t pursue his Bible lesson suggestion, watching as we played with the babies. But he wasn’t through by a long shot.
Mr. Pickens seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on him, but staying silent even when Hazel Marie was given orders. From the look on Mr. Pickens’s face, though, he was keeping a mental list of demerits against Brother Vern, and I wondered when he would reach the end of his tether. The problem, as I saw it, was whether he’d send Brother Vern packing or start packing himself. Mr. Pickens had never been much of a family man to begin with.
But he was making an effort to keep the peace—something he rarely bothered to do. Watching Lloyd and me with the babies, he said, “I think those little girls take after you, Miss Julia. They both have minds of their own.”
We laughed, but it pleased me to think that I might have some influence on their little lives, even though they weren’t a lick of kin to me.
Then Brother Vern, not knowing when to leave well enough alone, decided to make another pronouncement. “They’re fine-lookin’ babies, all right, but it’s too bad one of ’em couldn’t of been a boy. Every man wants a son.”
Lloyd stopped bouncing Lily Mae on his lap and Hazel Marie’s eyes suddenly filled. I gaped at Brother Vern, astounded at what had come out of his mouth. Here he was, making a critical statement like that when, as far as I knew, he’d never had a child, regardless of gender, of his own.
Mr. Pickens aimed a hard look at him and held it there. His face tightened as he strained to hold his tongue. “Why,” he asked—and it wasn’t a rhetorical question—“would I want a son when I already have one?”
He aimed a tight smile at Lloyd, as I felt the boy relax beside me.
“Well,” Brother Vern said with an ingratiating grin, “you know.”
“No, I don’t,” Mr. Pickens said, his voice hardening as those black eyes swiveled toward Brother Vern again. “In fact, it’s a good thing we didn’t have a boy. He’d never be able to measure up to the one we have.”
Lloyd’s face was glowing by this time, a little red, too, as Mr. Pickens praised him.
Hazel Marie jumped up. “More coffee? I can put some more on if anyone wants it.”
Sam said, “No, don’t do that, Hazel Marie. We’ve got to go and let you folks have supper. Unless,” he paused for effect, “you want to sample my world-famous pancakes. Why don’t I cook up a batch for us all?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Lloyd said, putting the baby on the floor, where she started crawling toward her daddy. “I’ll help you, Mr. Sam.”
“Pancakes is not on my diet,” Brother Vern announced, as I wondered if half a dozen cookies were. “All that syrup’ll send my sugar sky-high.”
I stood up to help in the kitchen. “That’s all right, Mr. Puckett. We’ll fix you a salad. Hazel Marie, let’s set the table.”
I declare, it’s too bad when a good idea—even one from Sam—turns out to be not so good. Which is what happened to that one. First of all, Hazel Marie was out of eggs, so Mr. Pickens had to go to the store, taking a list of a few other things she was out of—bacon, syrup, milk, and pancake mix. While we waited for him to return, the babies got fussy, so they had to be fed, their two high chairs taking up half the kitchen. Then James got restless, so as soon as Mr. Pickens returned, he and Sam helped him to the kitchen table, where he proceeded to critique Sam as he made pancakes.
And Hazel Marie didn’t have a griddle, so Sam used two frying pans, neither of which worked too well, not having been properly cured. As it always turns out with pancakes, we had to eat in shifts, James being served first, then Lloyd and Mr. Pickens. When Hazel Marie finished with the babies, Sam handed her a plate, then one to me. He ate last, after making another batch for all the second helpings.
I took a salad into the living room to Brother Vern, who still had not bestirred himself, not even to get to the table. He didn’t like the looks of the salad, telling me he was accustomed to a big supper and he didn’t know if a bowl of greens would last him through the night.
“I’ll bring you a glass of milk,” I said. “That should hold you.”
When we’d all eaten, Hazel Marie and I were left to rinse the sticky plates and load the dishwasher. I was glad to have her alone for a few minutes.
“Hazel Marie, have you heard from Etta Mae?”
“She called this morning and told me about her granny. She’s coming in the morning just to try it out. Did Etta Mae talk to you?”
“Yes, and I don’t know what I think about it. I tried to hint around that her granny might be a little old to take on two babies, but she insisted that wouldn’t be a problem. But, Hazel Marie, if you aren’t comfortable with it, just have Mr. Pickens tell her it’s not working out.”
“Well,” Hazel Marie said, stopping with a plate in her hands as she thought about it, “I might as well talk to her, kinda feel her out to see how she’d do, but you know how I am about babysitters.”
“I know, but as you interview her, you should get a feeling for how she’d work out. And, remember, you don’t have to hire her.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt Etta Mae’s feelings, and it wouldn’t be like I’d be leaving them with her—I mean, I’ll be right here in the house—so maybe her granny could entertain them while I cook. LuAnne is coming tomorrow, isn’t she?”
“Oh, she’ll be here, all right. She’s looking forward to it.”
“And you, too?”
“Yes, if you want me. And, while you’re mixing and stirring, I’ll keep an eye on Granny and see how she does with the babies.”
Hazel Marie smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Chapter 15
Lloyd came home with us that evening because, as he said, our house was four blocks closer to school—four blocks he wouldn’t have to walk. And, of course, Brother Vern was still ensconced in Lloyd’s room at his mother’s house—another reason to spend the night with us.
I had a fitful night—whether because
I had too much on my mind or too many of Sam’s pancakes in my stomach, I couldn’t tell. Whichever it was, I was anxious the next morning to get to Hazel Marie’s, arriving about nine o’clock to a house in turmoil. Nothing unusual was going on, just the normal run-of-the-mill activities of too many people wanting too many things at the same time. Hazel Marie was upstairs dressing the babies, James was still in bed but wanting help to get up, Mr. Pickens was putting breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, a tight look on his face, and Brother Vern, still in his robe—but belted this time—was watching a televangelist on the television set.
I decided that the better part of valor was to stay clear of the kitchen while Mr. Pickens was there and, after speaking to him—and getting a short reply—quickly left him to it. He was in no mood for friendly banter, so I went on into the family room to see what Brother Vern was up to.
“Good morning, Mr. Puckett,” I said decisively. “We’re having company this morning, so perhaps you should get dressed.”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Again?”
“Yes. Two ladies, perhaps three, will be here any minute. Anyway, I thought you disapproved of watching television, so I’m surprised to see you doing it.”
“It depends on what’s on. Now this preacher here,” he said, pointing to the screen, where a young man with a mustache on his face and a Bible flopping over his hand was holding forth, “he’s got a fairly good presentation. Watch him—see how he walks back and forth? That keeps the congregation’s attention so nobody goes to sleep on him. And see how he whirls around when he gets to the meat of his message? That’s pretty good pulpiteering.”
“Well, I declare. I didn’t know there was so much to it.”
“Oh, there’s lots to learn, an’ I’ve taught a many of ’em. I could give this one some pointers he don’t know, too.”
