Miss Julia Hits the Road

by Ann B. Ross

  A few rueful grins and head shakes agreed with him.

  It was at that point that I realized that Sam was dressed in his normal retirement clothing—khaki trousers, a flannel shirt, and a barn jacket that’d seen better days—with not a stitch of leather on him. It struck me at the same time that he also seemed his old self again—calm and in control. I just hoped it would last, for every person in the sanctuary, including me, was looking to him to tell us what to do.

  “What you reckon them ’dozers gonna do, Mr. Sam?” the quavery-voiced man called out.

  “I’m afraid they’re going to push down all the houses, Mr. Wills. Then they’ll load up what’s left and clear the land.”

  “Can’t we save anything?” That was from Sister Flora, I think. “I mean, what we put in the houses ourselves? I put in a new water heater las’ year, an’ it not near paid for yet.”

  “That somethin’ Mr. Gibbs oughtta’ve done,” a man’s loud voice called out. “He leave everything up to us, then snatch it out from under us. I tell you, anything be better’n what we been livin’ with.”

  I had my arm around Lillian, feeling her tremble next to me, and Little Lloyd had come to sit on her other side. Hazel Marie was dabbing at her face as she mumbled to herself, “This has just been a terrible day. First, J. D., and now this.”

  “We’ll get the water heater out for you,” Sam said to Sister Flora as he walked closer to the pews to answer the question. “I called several people before I came tonight, and we’re going to meet over there first thing tomorrow. We’ll have some trucks, and we’ll help you load up. The big problem is where we’re going to store your things.” He stopped for a minute, then went on as if it hurt him to say what had to be said. “I want you all to know that there’re a lot of people in this town who want to help.”

  “Mr. Sam?” a white-headed man asked as he raised his hand. “What about that graveyard up a ways by the spring?”

  Before Sam could answer, another voice chimed in. “Oh, Law, we ’bout to forget about that. I got a great-great-granddaddy buried up there. What I gonna do with him?”

  Sam studied the matter for a minute. “I know where that is. There’s, what? Some eight or ten graves? Got a fence around them, I believe.”

  “Splinters an’ scraps!” a woman suddenly called out, a sob in her voice. “Mr. Gibbs jus’ makin’ kindlin’ outta our houses an’ diggin’ up our bones!”

  Then she got up and began pushing her way toward the aisle.

  That started a rush of hysteria as another woman threw her arms out wide and collapsed in the aisle with an unnerving scream. The reverend hurried back in as the commotion began to get out of hand.

  Several of the calmer ones went to the women, trying to settle them down. They helped the one on the floor back to her seat, then stood around patting and fanning her.

  “Now, sister,” Reverend Abernathy said, ushering the first woman back into a pew, “this is not helpin’ anything. Jus’ take your seats, everybody, and work with us here. Le’s us thank the Lord for his goodness toward us, an’ le’s us think about what we can do to take care of each an’ every one of you in this time of need.”

  The woman crumpled up, crying her heart out, as they finally got her and the wild-eyed man seated again. I began to tear up myself at the thought of what these people were losing.

  I searched in my pocketbook for the Kleenex I always kept handy and passed some to Lillian and Hazel Marie. Then I dabbed at my own eyes.

  “Listen, folks,” Sam said, holding up his hands to try to bring some order to the proceedings. “There’re laws that protect cemeteries, especially old ones. Gibbs can’t do a thing to those graves, unless he digs them up and reburies them in a designated site. And if he does, it has to be done in a respectful way. Those graves will not be desecrated, I promise you that.”

  Sam’s promise seemed to have a calming effect, but I could feel Lillian still trembling as I slipped my arm around her shoulders.

  “Lillian,” I whispered to her. “I know it’s bad now, but we’ll work something out.”

  She shook her head, as tears welled up in her eyes. “I didn’t think it come to this, Miss Julia. I been wantin’ to move, but I ought not be pushed out by them bulldozers.”

  “I know, but we’re not going to be sitting on our hands,” I said, trying to encourage her. “You’ll have a home, Lillian, and in the meantime, I intend to see what can be done about this travesty.”

  She squeezed my hand in response, as Hazel Marie leaned across me and said, “You’re coming home with us tonight, Lillian. Isn’t she, Miss Julia?”

  “Of course she is. She doesn’t need to be by herself.” I was about to continue, but Sam began talking again.

  “Now, folks,” he said, “a whole bunch of people’re going to show up in the morning to move you out, so be sure you label all your boxes and furniture, whatever you have, so it won’t get misplaced.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Lillian whispered. “It gonna be like startin’ all over again. All my flowers be gone, an’ my porch, an’ my neighbors.”

  I tightened my arm around her shoulders and whispered to Hazel Marie, “Let’s get her out of here. Little Lloyd, slip up there and tell Sam we’re going home, and for him to come on over if he can.”

  As the child tiptoed up the aisle to give my message to Sam, Hazel Marie and I stepped to either side of Lillian and walked toward the door. Lillian stared straight ahead with a blank expression on her face.

  As I marched down the aisle, I determined to turn the tables on Clarence Gibbs, just as he’d threatened to turn these people out of their homes and turn long-dead bones out of their resting places. And for a water-bottling plant, of all things. It perturbed me so bad I almost stumbled going out the door.

  The three of us walked out onto the steps of the church as Little Lloyd slipped out beside us, closing the door behind him. Gusts of wind whipped at our coats and hair, and I thought, what a terrible time of the year to be homeless.

  I thought of Clarence Gibbs, who was probably tucked up in a warm bed in a mortgage-free house without a worry to his name. I wanted to snatch him out of bed and shake him till his teeth rattled for what he was doing to these people.

  By the time we got in the car, I was so unsettled that it took me three tries to get the thing turned around and headed away from the church and toward my house.

  Chapter 8

  “Let’s take her to the living room,” I said to Hazel Marie when we got in the house. Little Lloyd held the door open for us, then ran ahead to turn on the lights. Lillian, still with that blank stare on her face, had not said a word all the way home. She’d just sat in the passenger seat, which Hazel Marie’d insisted she take, and looked straight ahead.

  I figured she was in shock, which is where I’d be in her situation. We sat her in the Victorian chair beside the fireplace, and I turned on the gas logs to warm the room.

  “Her hands’re freezing,” Hazel Marie said. “Lloyd, honey, run get that blanket off the foot of my bed.”

  “Just sit back, Lillian,” I said. “You’ve had a shock and you need to rest.” I took one end of the blanket that Little Lloyd brought and, together, we draped it around her shoulders and tucked it in tight.

  Hazel Marie took off her own coat and laid it across Lillian’s lap and legs. Then she straightened up and said, “I’ve got to call J. D. and tell him about this. He loves Lillian to death, you know.”

  I glanced at Little Lloyd and, as our eyes met, we exchanged knowing smiles. Hazel Marie didn’t notice, which was just as well.

  “And she needs something hot to drink,” Hazel Marie went on as she headed for the kitchen. “I’ll put on some hot chocolate while I’m calling.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said, smoothing my hand over Lillian’s blanket-covered arm. “We could all use some, I expect.”

  “Here, Miss Lillian,” Little Lloyd said, sliding a footstool near her chair. “Put your feet on this.” When she didn’t
move, he lifted one foot at a time and placed them on the stool. Then he pulled one end of his mother’s coat down over her feet.

  Hazel Marie returned with a tray loaded with mugs of hot chocolate. Putting down the tray, she took one of the mugs to Lillian and held it to her mouth. “Drink this, Lillian,” she said. “It’ll make you feel better. J. D.’s on his way, and he said for you to sit tight and not worry about a thing.”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the arrogance of the man, but I didn’t say anything. Besides, we could use all the help we could get, even if Mr. Pickens’s help was unlikely to live up to its billing.

  The three of us hovered over Lillian, patting and tucking and mumbling comforting words as she sipped the hot chocolate that Hazel Marie kept holding to her mouth.

  “Now, Lillian,” Hazel Marie crooned, “You’re going to have all the help you need to finish packing. I’ve moved enough to know what a job it is. J. D. will be there if he can, and Sam, and Coleman, and whoever else they can get. We’ll have you settled in here before you know it, won’t we, Miss Julia?”

  “We certainly will,” I said, leaning over and peering closely at Lillian to see if she was looking any better. “Just don’t worry about a thing tonight, and in the morning we’ll go over to Willow Lane and move you out.”

  “You think she ought to go back?” Hazel Marie asked, poking the mug at Lillian’s mouth again. “I mean, it might be too much for her, to see the actual moving. Especially with those big machines coming in to tear everything down.”

  “We’ll see how she feels in the morning,” I said. “Little Lloyd, are her feet warm? Maybe we ought to scoot the chair closer to the fire.”

  Lillian began squirming in the chair, and then, freeing one hand, she threw the blanket back and turned her head away from the mug. “Y’all keep talkin’ ’bout me like I ain’t even here an’ treatin’ me like I’m sick or something,” she said, trying to shrug the blanket from her shoulders. “Jus’ gimme some room so I can get outta this blanket. It about to strangle me to death.”

  We stepped back and watched as Lillian untangled herself and pushed the footstool away. As she straightened up, I think we all breathed easier, for her face was taking on some life and she was looking like her old self again.

  “Well,” she said with a heavy sigh as she leaned her elbows on her knees, “not no use cryin’ over spilt milk. If I knowed some place to live, I jus’ soon be shed of that ole shack, anyway. Though I don’t know where any of us gonna go.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Lillian,” I said with a lot more assurance than I felt. “Everybody has a place to stay for the next few days at least. Then we’ll have to regroup and see what can be done. Hazel Marie,” I went on, turning to her, “we need to get one of the banks to open a special account so people can send in contributions. That’s the way this sort of thing is done, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they do that all the time. The television sta tions are forever announcing one fund or another to benefit people who’ve had some tragedy, like a fire or a sickness of some kind. And I think turning people out of the homes they’ve lived in for years would certainly qualify as a tragedy.”

  “So do I. And if anybody disagrees, send them to me. I’ll get that started in the morning and make sure the radio and television people know about it.”

  Lillian raised her head and looked at me. “I don’t know as I like bein’ talked about on the radio and the TV. Sound like I be askin’ for charity.”

  “Now, Lillian,” I said firmly, “they certainly won’t mention any names. Besides, it would be for everybody who lives on Willow Lane because they’re going to need a lot of help. So just put aside any prideful thoughts about charity, and let’s start thinking of ways to raise money to house the homeless.”

  “I know one way,” Little Lloyd said. “The young people’s group at church can have a car wash. We raised fifty dollars the last time we had one.”

  “Oh, honey,” Hazel Marie said, “that’s a wonderful idea. Everybody needs to pitch in, and a car wash would be just the thing to get a fund started.”

  I smiled at Little Lloyd, gratified that he wanted to help, but I knew fifty dollars wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket.

  “Lillian,” I said. “We ought to call your daughters and let them know what’s going on. They’ll be worried if they can’t get you on the phone.” I stopped and thought for a minute. “They may well want you to come live with them.” Although that was the last thing I wanted her to do, and I don’t think it was for purely selfish reasons. I’d miss her something awful if she went to live up North.

  “Yessum, I call ’em tomorrow an’ tell ’em. But I can’t live up in that cold country, an’ anyway they got all they can do to take care of they chil’ren an’ they ownselves.”

  Then she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She pulled the blanket back up around her shoulders, and I got worried about her all over again.

  “Are you cold?” I asked.

  “Yessum, I guess I am,” she said without opening her eyes. “This whole thing jus’ fly all over me again. It make me glad to move, but scared ’bout where I move to.”

  Turning to Hazel Marie, I said, “We need to get her to bed. I wish I had something to help her sleep because this is going to be running through her head all night long.”

  “I wish . . . ,” Hazel Marie started, but stopped as we heard footsteps on the front porch. “Oh, maybe that’s J. D.” She hurried to the door, her face lit with expectancy.

  Well, yes, it was, and he came in, windblown and frowning with concern. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said to Hazel Marie, with what I thought was a little hesitancy, as if he weren’t sure if she was still his sweetheart or not. He reached out a hand to her, but she stepped back from him.

  “J. D.,” Hazel Marie said—in a somewhat stand-offish tone, I thought, in spite of her earlier eagerness to welcome him in. “We’re so glad you’re here. Lillian needs your help.”

  “Miss Julia,” he said, casting a worried glance at me with those black eyes of his and nodding as he walked over to Lillian. Lord, I couldn’t help but look at him with narrowed eyes. All those women, I thought to myself, and he doesn’t look a bit different.

  Mr. Pickens brushed Little Lloyd’s shoulder with his hand as he went past him. “Miss Lillian,” he said, kneeling by her chair and taking her hand in his. “I’m so sorry to hear about your trouble, but you know what they say.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Everybody ought to move about every five years, just to clear out the junk.”

  I frowned and opened my mouth to rebuke him, since she didn’t need to hear such nonsense at a time like this. But I restrained myself as Lillian smiled at him and patted his hand.

  Then, just as unexpectedly, she covered her eyes with her hand and moaned, “Oh, Jesus, what I done to deserve this?”

  “Not one thing, Lillian,” I said. “It’s all Clarence Gibbs’s fault, which he is certainly going to hear about from me and everybody else in town. Now, Mr. Pickens, we think she needs to be in bed, if you’ll excuse us.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, getting to his feet, “but she needs a little something else first. Don’t want her lying awake all night worrying herself to death.”

  “That’s what we were just saying,” Hazel Marie said. “Did you . . . ?”

  “I did,” Mr. Pickens said, and drew a small flat bottle of brownish liquid from the pocket of his coat. “Now, Miss Julia, before you get on your high horse, this is for medicinal purposes only, and I happen to know that the Bible recommends it.”

  I opened my mouth again to refute him but, on second thought, decided against it since I was well acquainted with Paul’s advice to Timothy concerning his stomach problems. I was also well aware of the dangers in taking verses out of context, which untold numbers of people are inclined to do when they want something they oughtn’t have.

  But this didn’t seem to fall in that category, so I said, “Well, Mr. Pickens, you mig
ht be surprised to learn that I am not averse to the proper and cautious use of alcoholic mixtures. I think a teaspoon or two in some sweetened hot water is certainly called for in this case.”

  “I agree, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, taking the bottle from Mr. Pickens. “I can mix a hot toddy that’ll make anybody sleep like a baby.” She patted Lillian’s shoulder, as I wondered where she’d learned so much about the properties of alcohol. “Lillian, this is going to fix you up.”

  She headed for the kitchen, bottle in hand, with Mr. Pickens right behind her. To be sure she fixed it right, I expect.

  “Little Lloyd,” I said, concerned at what lesson he was learning about the use of strong spirits, “when the ox is in the ditch, it takes unusual measures to get it out.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Never mind,” I said, not exactly sure of what I’d said, myself.

  Chapter 9

  Sam never came by, in spite of the fact that I waited up for him until almost midnight, long after the others had gone to bed. On the other hand, I’d thought we’d never get rid of Mr. Pickens. He’d lingered, trying to sweet-talk Hazel Marie, but she was having none of it. She kept slipping away from him, pretending not to notice his efforts, and finally telling him that he needed to be on his way.

  She was playing hard-to-get, which I’d always heard was the way to keep a man’s interest. But, considering the fact that she’d just left his bed and board, it seemed a little late for that tactic.

  But Hazel Marie’s ill-considered living conditions seemed a minor worry in the face of Lillian’s problem. I sat by the fire in the quiet house, turning the possibilities over in my mind and trying to tell myself that something could still be done. I just didn’t know what. That was the sort of thing I’d ordinarily depend on Sam for, but where was he when I needed him? Nowhere to be found, that’s where.

  I settled back in my chair with a sigh, knowing that it was all up to me. I knew I’d see to a new home for Lillian, but that wouldn’t ease her pain at losing what she had, even if she knew it wasn’t worth wanting.