Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel

by Ann B. Ross

“I expect you could,” I said offhandedly. I wasn’t interested in the finer points of preaching on television. Or preaching anywhere, for that matter. “But you do need to turn it off and get some clothes on.”

  About that time, both babies started crying their lungs out. Although the wails were loud enough to reverberate from upstairs, I was already familiar enough with the sound to know that they were not hurt, just unhappy about being washed and dressed.

  Brother Vern, however, frowned and pinched up his mouth. Turning off the television, which had been about drowned out, he said, “Hazel Marie needs to git them young’uns under control. Spare the rod and spoil the child, I always say.”

  “Mr. Puckett!” I said, shocked. “Those babies aren’t even a year old. If anybody picks up a rod around here, it’ll be taken to an adult, not an infant.”

  “Well, I’m just sayin’.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but their daddy better not.” And I turned around and walked out, fuming. Why is it that people who’ve never raised a child can tell you how it should be done? You’d never catch me being so presumptuous.

  Just as I crossed the hall, LuAnne, loaded down with bags of groceries, rang the doorbell. I let her in and relieved her of half the burden. We headed for the kitchen, LuAnne talking a mile a minute, excited about giving a cooking lesson.

  Mr. Pickens was quick to abandon the kitchen to us as he headed upstairs to say good-bye to his wife and children. While we were unpacking grocery sacks, I heard him leave for his office, most likely relieved to be doing so. I glanced out the window and saw him walk purposefully toward his sleek black sports car, slipping on his dark aviator glasses against the glare as he went. And probably also to keep his gaze from burning up whatever it landed on. I shuddered and determined to stay out of his way.

  While LuAnne and I sat at the table to await Hazel Marie, I leaned over and whispered, “I thought I’d never see the day when Mr. J. D. Pickens, PI, would be washing dishes.”

  “I expect,” LuAnne whispered back, “he didn’t, either.”

  Hazel Marie walked in, pushing her hair off her face and looking as if she’d been up half the night. “Well, they’re down, but I don’t know for how long. Morning, LuAnne, how are you? I’m really looking forward to this and I thank you so much for doing it.”

  LuAnne jumped up and began bustling around, opening the packages of pork chops, arranging ingredients, and making a great show in general of preparing to prepare a meal.

  “Now, Hazel Marie,” she said, “you just watch what I do. It’s so easy, you’ll be amazed. First I’m going to put the chops in this Pyrex dish and put a slice of onion on each chop. If you slice the onion under running water, it won’t make you cry. Some people hold a match in their mouth, but that doesn’t work for me. Now I’ll mix the barbecue sauce. See how I do it? Then you pour the sauce over the chops, onion, and all—like this—then you cover the dish with tinfoil. Tear me off a piece of tinfoil, will you?”

  And that was the extent of Hazel Marie’s contribution—tearing off a length of tinfoil and handing it to her. Thinking back to Ida Lee’s hands-on teaching method, I wondered how much Hazel Marie had learned by being a mere observer.

  “Now,” LuAnne said, “let’s put this in the refrigerator. What time do you eat supper? About six? Okay, take it out about four o’clock and put it in a 350-degree oven. Oh, you better take it out earlier than that—let it come to room temperature before putting it in a hot oven.”

  “Why?” Hazel Marie asked.

  “Because the glass dish might break, that’s why.” Hardly stopping to explain reactions to sudden temperature changes, LuAnne went right on. “You can put your potatoes in to bake at the same time, get your salad made, and you’ll be through. Now let’s do your cake. You’ll love this, Hazel Marie. Watch me while I put everything in one bowl and mix it together. Well, everything but the glaze. That goes on when the cake is done.”

  I sat at the table watching as LuAnne combined the ingredients for the cake. Hazel Marie leaned against the counter watching along with me. LuAnne didn’t let her crack an egg even.

  When LuAnne put the tube pan filled with cake batter into the oven, she washed her hands and said, “Whew, what a morning. I’m about tired. How about you, Hazel Marie?”

  “I could sit for a while,” Hazel Marie said, as I remembered that she’d been up half the night, and leaning over a counter with nothing to do hadn’t been very restful. “I’ll pour us some coffee.”

  I’d hardly had two sips of mine when the doorbell rang. Hazel Marie jumped up and hurried out, wondering who could be wanting something now.

  While she was gone, LuAnne whispered to me, “Where’s her uncle? I heard how he goes around half naked and I wanted to see him.”

  “Did Mildred tell you that?” I demanded. “I’m surprised she’d repeat such a thing. Mr. Puckett didn’t know we had company. He’s not well, you know, and has to spend a lot of time in bed. He was terribly embarrassed, so I expect you’re out of luck.”

  “Too bad.” LuAnne giggled.

  I let it go, because if I made one critical comment about Hazel Marie’s uncle, it would be spread all over town by lunchtime and it was nearly twelve already.

  We looked up as a scurry of footsteps approached. Hazel Marie said, “Look who’s here,” and in walked Granny Wiggins, her bright eyes darting around as she smiled broadly.

  She was no bigger than a minute, but there was something about her that made you think she was in constant motion. Her wrinkled face was animated and her dark eyes were alive with interest in the surroundings. She was wearing a cotton housedress and a heavy cardigan, her skinny, stockinged legs ending in huge white tennis shoes, reminding me of a big-footed bird. A bun sat on the back of her neck, her hair pulled back on her head so tightly that it was as good as a facelift. Her knuckled hands were red and rough, a testament to the years of hard work behind her.

  Hazel Marie introduced us and offered coffee, which Granny Wiggins eagerly accepted. “I like my coffee,” she said, perching on the edge of a chair as she generously sugared it. “It’s a pure pleasure to meet you ladies. ’Course I know all about you, Miz Murdoch. My Etta Mae just thinks the world of you, so any friend of hers—and so forth.”

  Before I could answer, she turned those bright black eyes on LuAnne. “But I never heard of you, which don’t mean nothing ’cause I don’t get around like I used to. You a Baptist?”

  “Uh, no,” LuAnne said, taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “I go to First Presbyterian.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all right,” Granny said. “The older I get, the more I think there’s hardly a lick of difference between ’em, just so you go somewhere. ’Course my preacher wouldn’t agree with me, and I doubt yours would, either. They all want you and your pocket purse comin’ in their doors. Well,” she went on, draining her cup, “this is nice and all, settin’ here talkin’ and visitin’, but I come to work and there’s one thing I want to know. Where’s them young’uns at?”

  Chapter 16

  “Oh, they’re sleeping,” Hazel Marie said. “They still take a morning nap, but they’ll be up soon.”

  “Well,” Granny Wiggins said, hopping up from the table and going to the sink where mixing bowls and spoons were haphazardly stacked. “I didn’t come to be comp’ny, so I’ll clean up this mess. You let dirty dishes set around long enough, you’ll be scrubbin’ on ’em all day.”

  I refrained from glancing at LuAnne, who had been the one to leave the sink full and the counters unwashed. “My goodness, look at the time,” LuAnne said, standing, “I better be on my way. Leonard will be wanting his lunch. Hazel Marie, that cake should be done in about thirty more minutes. You can test it first, and if it’s done, pour about half the glaze over it while it’s still in the pan. Let it cool a few minutes before turning it out, then drizzle the rest of the glaze over the top.”<
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  Hazel Marie got a blank look on her face, but followed LuAnne to the front door, thanking her for the lesson.

  When she came back, she said, “Wonder how you test a cake?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, a little put out that LuAnne had given such meager instructions. It’s the basics that a noncook needs to know—like, when she’s told to boil water, she also needs to be told how much, how long, in what, and what to do with it when it’s boiled. “Let’s call Lillian and ask her.”

  Granny wrung out a sponge and started scrubbing the countertop. “You wanta test a cake, take out a broom straw an’ poke it in. If it comes out with batter on it, it ain’t done.”

  Hazel Marie said, “A broom straw? From a broom?”

  “Oh, I know,” I said. “Lillian uses a toothpick. I’ve seen her do it. If you have some toothpicks, Hazel Marie, use that instead. Although,” I went on diplomatically, “a straw from the top of a broom might do as well.”

  Which was exactly what Granny Wiggins used, there not being a toothpick in the house. She showed Hazel Marie how to do it, declared the cake done, took it out of the oven, watched as Hazel Marie poured the glaze over it, then ran a knife around the edge of the tube pan and turned out the cake. It looked and smelled wonderful.

  While Hazel Marie and I were admiring the cake, Granny Wiggins whirled around. “Where’s your vacuum? Might as well get the front rooms done while I can.”

  “In the hall closet,” Hazel Marie answered. “But I try to keep things quiet while the babies are napping.”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t want to do that,” Granny said. “Get ’em used to household noises early on an’ they’ll sleep through anything.” And before Hazel Marie could suggest otherwise, off Granny took to find the vacuum cleaner, assuming, I supposed, that she’d been hired.

  So much for Hazel Marie’s interviewing skills.

  Brother Vern showed up in the kitchen looking put out, but at least he was dressed for the day. “Hazel Marie, who’s that bossy ole woman in there running the vacuum? She told me to get up and get out so she could move the recliner. And,” he said, as if Granny had exhibited the height of arrogance, “she barged in right in the middle of a rerun of the Gaither show.”

  “Well,” Hazel Marie said, stymied by having to referee another clash of egos, “she won’t be long. Maybe the Gaither show will still be on.”

  Brother Vern didn’t like that one bit. “I never seen a house run so slipshod, Hazel Marie. If it’s not one thing, it’s two more. What with James layin’ in there wantin’ to be waited on hand and foot and comp’ny comin’ in and out all day long, and you droppin’ everything to take care of caterwaulin’ babies, there’s no peace anywhere. You got to take hold an’ get things on a even keel. I need my peace an’ quiet—the doctor said so. And ever time I turn around, somebody’s interruptin’ an’ disruptin’ whatever I’m doing.”

  Under her uncle’s barrage of criticism, Hazel Marie looked ready to cry. But I didn’t. I looked—and was—ready to lay him low.

  Just as I opened my mouth to tell him off, we heard James and Granny Wiggins going at each other.

  By the time I reached the back bedroom, James, looking somewhat distressed, was sitting in a chair, watching as Granny stripped his bed.

  “Why, James,” I said, “did you manage to get up by yourself? Your ankle must be a whole lot better.”

  “No’m,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “That lady, she got me up ’fore I knowed I was up.”

  Before I could express amazement at such a feat, Granny Wiggins snapped a sheet over the bed and said, “They’s nothin’ to it. I got no use for layin’ up in bed all day long when you can be up and doin’. I’m gonna get him to the TV an’ keep that preacher man off his back for a change.”

  I’d never seen such a grateful look as the one that James gave Granny Wiggins then. I helped her walk James to the family room, marveling as we went at how well James managed under her encouragement and with the walking stick.

  Following Granny back to the kitchen—it was all I could do to keep up with her—I heard her ask Hazel Marie, “Who is that feller in yonder?”

  “That’s James,” Hazel Marie said. “He works for us, but he had a bad fall and is out of commission for a while.”

  “Well, I can’t do much for broke bones,” Granny said, “but if you got a footbath I can cure that sprained ankle. Or a deep pan’ll do. All he has to do is soak that foot in hot Epsom-salts water and it’ll be fit to walk on before you know it.”

  “I don’t know what a footbath is,” Hazel Marie said, “so I guess I don’t have one.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll bring whatever I can find and some Epsom salts tomorrow. We’ll have him right as rain in no time.” Granny stopped, cocked her head, and said, “Them babies is awake.”

  And off she took, Hazel Marie, calling, “Wait, wait!” right behind her.

  I stayed where I was, figuring that I was better off staying out of the struggle between them over baby care. I wasn’t that good at it anyway.

  While they were upstairs, Brother Vern stuck his head in the door and said, “I’ve got to go out for a while if anybody needs me. If I find a parking place on Main Street, I might take a walk. Doctor’s orders, you know.”

  “Good idea,” I said, hoping he’d take a long one. “I’ll let Hazel Marie know.”

  As he went out the front door, Hazel Marie and Granny came back, each with a fussy baby in arm.

  “Now, Miz Pickens,” Granny said as she sat at the table, holding one of the twins, “you jus’ give me what you want this young’un to eat and I’ll feed it right here.”

  “Well,” Hazel Marie said, looking slightly bulldozed, “I usually put them in the high chairs and feed them there.”

  “That’s what you have to do when there’s two of them and one of you, but since there’s two of us, it’s better to hold ’em in your lap. That way, they get the lovin’ along with the feedin’.”

  So that’s what they did, but I declare, it looked as if only half the strained food got in the babies’ mouths. The rest was spread all over the front of the feeders. The babies did not eat well, both fussing and waving their arms and carrying on. I would’ve thought that the baby who Granny held was unhappy about being in a strange lap, but the other one was just as bad and maybe worse.

  “They’re teething,” Hazel Marie said, “so they don’t feel good.”

  “What they need,” Granny said, “is a sugar tit. Get me two little squares of clean cloth, some sugar, and a little bourbon, and I’ll fix ’em up.”

  “Bourbon!” Hazel Marie was shocked. So was I.

  “It won’t be enough to hurt a fly, just enough to give ’em some relief. And if you’re worried about the sugar, you can just take a little bourbon on your finger and run it over and ’round their gums. That’ll do just as well.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Hazel Marie said with more spirit than she usually displayed, “but we don’t have any bourbon. And even if we did, I wouldn’t give it to my babies.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Granny said, not at all cowed by the rejection of her prescription. “Who knows? That little bit of spirits could start ’em off on the road to destruction. Or so the preachers say. I ’spect you can find something at the drugstore that’ll do as well or better. A teething ring wouldn’t hurt, either. Well,” she said, taking her baby to the sink to repair some of the damage, “I think this one’s through. Why don’t I take ’em both into one of them livin’ rooms you got in yonder and play with ’em for a while? That way, you can visit with Miz Murdoch.”

  Hazel Marie got Granny and the babies situated on the floor of the main living room, then arranged her chair in the kitchen so she could watch them.

  “Oh, me,” she said tiredly, “I don’t know if this is going to work or not. What do you think,
Miss Julia?”

  “I think she’s good-hearted and capable, but I doubt she can keep up this level of activity. She’s cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the entire downstairs, changed James’s bed and got him up, fed one of the babies, and she’s still going strong. But you’ll have to be firm with her, Hazel Marie, because she does seem a little headstrong.”

  “She sure does.” Hazel Marie leaned back to look across the dining room table so she could see what was going on in the room beyond. We could hear the babies laughing and cooing at whatever Granny was saying to them. “I’m not sure she’ll be much help if I have to watch her every minute. I mean, what if she hadn’t mentioned bourbon, just went ahead and gave it to them? Of course, she couldn’t have because we don’t have any, but what else could she come up with that I might not know about?”

  “I think,” I said, attempting to put her mind at ease, “you should keep a close eye on her for the first few days and see how she does. You noticed, didn’t you, how quickly she backed down when you said no to the bourbon? That says a lot about her right there. And remember this: She’s not going to do anything that you won’t know about. She talks too much for that.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Hazel Marie sighed deeply, glanced again at her babies, then said, “I’ll talk to J.D. tonight and see what he thinks.”

  “Now there’s the answer to your worries,” I said. “You have to have Granny here when he’s home. See how they get along, and let her realize that he’s watching everything she does. Hazel Marie,” I went on as I put my hand on her arm, “I am convinced that the presence of a strong father keeps children safer than anything else you could name. Nobody’s going to be careless with those babies once they’ve met Mr. Pickens.”

  She smiled as a dreamy look spread over her face. “He’s so good, isn’t he?”

  Chapter 17

  Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far in assessing Mr. Pickens’s virtues, but I took myself home more determined than ever to do what I could to settle that household down. It might mean putting a bed in my own living room for James and shaking Brother Vern until his teeth rattled, but something had to be done.