Miss Julia Hits the Road

by Ann B. Ross

  “For goodness sakes, Hazel Marie,” I said. “If you listen to what Emma Sue says, you’d think she has a face-to-face conversation with the Lord every day. With coffee and doughnuts. The one thing I know for sure is that the only word I got about getting on a motorcycle came in the form of a check from Thurlow Jones, who is as far from being a conduit from heaven as anybody I know.” I reached for my coat and began putting it on. “Now, I’m going over to Willow Lane and try to catch Lillian and Little Lloyd before they have to walk all the way home.”

  I closed the door behind me and got into my car, and didn’t get five blocks from the house before I met Little Lloyd and Lillian walking home.

  I leaned over and opened the passenger door. “I came to give you a ride.”

  They piled in, bringing cool air with them. “That take my breath away, Miss Julia,” Lillian said. “Seein’ how lonesome it look.”

  “I know, Lillian. But just think how much easier they’ll be to repair with everybody moved out.”

  “Yessum, all us Willow Lane folks been prayin’, hopin’ we get to go back.”

  “You will, Miss Lillian,” Little Lloyd said, patting her shoulder. “Mama said that since Miss Julia and all the other ladies’re riding in the Poker Run, donations’re coming in faster than she can count.”

  Well, let us hope and pray, I thought as I pulled into the driveway. I took a long, sorrowful look at my house, thinking what a shame it would be if it went the way of Lillian’s house, and Clarence Gibbs put up another monstrosity like the Family Life Center across the street.

  The next morning, being Sunday, Little Lloyd, Hazel Marie, and I walked across to the church for morning services. I was pleased that Hazel Marie had joined us, since she’d been avoiding church during her time of cohabitation with Mr. Pickens. I’d not said anything to her about it. It’d been my experience that the more you told somebody that they ought to go to church, the less likely they were to show up. Better to wait and let their own conscience do its work.

  I was proven right by the fact that, without a word from me, she’d arisen, readied herself, and followed us into my usual pew, four rows from the front on the aisle.

  But after commending myself for handling Hazel Marie in such a way as to bring her back into the fold, I soon wondered why I was there myself. Pastor Larry Ledbetter, in his black robe, cut loose on us with a sermon the likes of which I’d not heard in a month of Sundays. He took as his text half of a verse from Proverbs: A prudent wife is from the Lord.

  “Prudence,” he declaimed, lifting up a finger at each point he made, “means having discretion in all things.” One finger went up and pointed at us. “It also entails exercising good judgment when it comes to making decisions.” Another finger sprang up. “And common sense when it comes to practical matters.” A third finger went up, and he leaned over the podium to make sure he had our attention, putting power behind his final point. “And circumspection when it comes to one’s public behavior!”

  As I reared back in the pew from that last onslaught, it came through to me that he was highly exercised over the plans of certain wives in the congregation to cling to strange men and ride behind them on Harley-Davidson Road Kings and Softails.

  “It is incumbent,” he said, using one of his favorite words, “upon Christian wives to conduct themselves in such a way as to give no offense, shame, or humiliation to their husbands or to those who look to them as examples and models of Christian behavior.” He took a deep breath, leaned on the podium, and lowered his voice. “I say to you wives, nay, even to all women, you are commanded to be under obedience, as the law saith.”

  I looked around to see how Emma Sue was taking such a public dressing down, but she was nowhere to be seen. I poked Hazel Marie and nodded toward Emma Sue’s empty place. Even though Emma Sue was not one of my favorite people, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. If her husband could speak so forcefully about her behavior to the congregation, and I expect everyone there knew who he was talking about, then there was no telling what he’d said to her in private. I sat back, satisfied and content that I no longer had a husband to berate me when I didn’t follow his directions.

  Then Pastor Ledbetter switched from wives to widows, and I took immediate offense. If he wanted to preach about his own wife’s shortcomings, that was one thing—unattractive though it was—but now he’d gone to meddling. I sat there, getting stiffer and stiffer, as he took off on something that wasn’t one bit of his business.

  “Widows,” he exhorted with authoritative power, “are to occupy themselves with their own homes and the Lord’s work, taking care to refrain from idleness.”

  Well, I couldn’t disagree with that, even though I could think of any number of worthwhile occupations for widows besides house and church work. But then he started going far afield. “There are those widows,” he thundered, “who have nothing to do but be busybodies. They wander from house to house, stirring up discontent and speaking things they ought not.

  “Paul writes,” the pastor went on, quoting his favorite writer, “that they ought to be teachers of good things to the younger women—good things like being discreet, chaste, keepers of the home, and obedient to their husbands. This is what widows and aged women ought to be occupied with, instead of,” he paused, then lowered his voice again for effect, “instead of running around enticing others onto the highways and byways of evildoers.”

  My word, I thought, hoping to goodness there were no visiting bikers who’d take offense at being publically named as evildoers on the highways. For all I knew, they’d be enraged enough to call out the pastor, after which we’d have to form a search committee to find another preacher.

  But I was so mad by that time that I didn’t much care what happened to the pastor. I didn’t know where he’d gotten his information, but I certainly had not gone from house to house stirring up anything. They’d all come to my house, and it had been Mr. Pickens who’d done the enticing, not me. Furthermore, there was not one soul who could accuse me of being a busybody. Of all the people who minded their own business, it was me. I wanted to stand right up and tell him so, but then he’d have grounds for another sermon, about women keeping silence in the church.

  It was all I could do not to get up and leave. Hazel Marie put her hand on my arm to calm me down, and Little Lloyd kept glancing up at me as I became more and more insulted at the pastor’s effrontery. How dare he blame me for his own wife’s conduct! Then, having a flash of insight, I realized I was not only personally insulted, I was insulted for Emma Sue’s sake.

  That was a change in my viewpoint, but as we rose to follow the choir in its recessional, I determined to do everything in my power to make sure Emma Sue crawled on that motorcycle and had the time of her life doing it. And Pastor Ledbetter could either like it or lump it, I didn’t care which.

  Chapter 27

  Well, of course we had the pastor for dinner, and I don’t mean we invited him to dine with us. Hazel Marie and I, with Little Lloyd and Lillian listening with wide eyes and open mouths, discussed him up one side and down the other. I was still so mad that it was hard to swallow either his sermon or my food.

  “Lillian,” I said, “what did the Reverend Abernathy preach on this morning?” I had driven Lillian to the AME Zion church earlier, and had picked her up after we returned from our services. The reverend always went longer than Pastor Ledbetter, although the pastor went plenty long enough. And, for my money, he’d’ve done better that morning to’ve quit before he started.

  “The reverend,” Lillian answered, “he preach on our home in heaven, that we not to worry what man do to us down here, we got us a heavenly home jus’ settin’ up there waitin’.”

  “That’s beautiful, Lillian,” Hazel Marie said. “And so true.”

  I agreed, thinking that I’d much rather have heard that sermon than the one I’d been subjected to, although if, like Lillian, I didn’t have a roof over my head to call my own, I’d’ve found it cold comfort.<
br />
  “What’re we going to do, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie asked, “if Pastor Ledbetter’s sermon makes Emma Sue and the other women in the church pull out of the Poker Run? We’ve already got lots of donations for them, so if they don’t ride, we might lose every penny of it.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding wearily. I was tired to my bones of the pastor poking his nose in my business every time I turned around. “But I just don’t see how they could pull out now. I mean, it would be a public embarrassment for them to say they’d changed their minds.”

  “If I understood what the pastor said this morning,” Little Lloyd chimed in, “they’ve already been publicly embarrassed.”

  “You’re right, Little Lloyd,” I said. “That whole sermon was humiliating, to say the least, and I don’t intend to sit still for it. The very idea,” I went on, as the words of that sermon rolled over me again, “referring to me as a busybody, telling me I ought to stay home and not lead younger women astray. Besides, Emma Sue’s not that much younger than I am.”

  “But Miss Julia,” Little Lloyd said, frowning, “I didn’t hear him say anything about you.”

  “He didn’t have to, honey,” I said. “That’s his way. He makes sure everybody knows who he’s talking about without naming names. Then he can deny it if somebody calls him on it. Typical preacher, is what I say.”

  “But not all preachers are like that,” Hazel Marie said, and I appreciated the correction. Like her, I didn’t want to overly influence the child against preachers in general. Most of them did enough of that on their own.

  “Still,” I said, “we need to do something. The whole thing’s going to be a flop if Emma Sue and LuAnne and Norma pull out. But it’s Emma Sue we ought to concentrate on. The others will follow her lead. Let’s invite her over and see if we can undo some of the damage Pastor Ledbetter did this morning.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “But the pastor’ll be home this afternoon, so Emma Sue wouldn’t dare come over here.”

  “He probably wouldn’t let her,” I said, with some disgust. Remembering with even more disgust my own submission to Wesley Lloyd’s authority, I didn’t think Emma Sue would defy her husband and walk out. She’d not come as far as I had. But then, her husband was still alive. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” I said, wondering if I could wait that long to counteract the pastor’s attack on us. “But if any of the others call to say they’re dropping out, just refuse to discuss the matter. Say we have to get together before anybody makes a decision about anything.”

  She nodded, her face a study in worry and concern.

  The pastor showed up at the church bright and early Monday morning, which I knew because I’d watched for his car from my upstairs window. Then I’d hardly completed my toilette before Emma Sue was knocking at the kitchen door. Lillian let her in and, when I came downstairs, she was at the table nursing a cup of coffee.

  “Why, Emma Sue,” I said, “I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

  “I parked around on the side, Julia,” she said, her eyes darting to the window as if she expected to see someone looking in. “I thought it’d be best if Larry didn’t know I was here. Now, Julia,” she went on, beginning to get teary-eyed, as she was wont to do, “I hate to let everybody down, but I won’t be able to participate in the Poker Run, the very name of which sets Larry off like you wouldn’t believe.”

  I pulled out a chair, sat down across from her, and propped my elbows on the table. Lillian edged toward the back staircase, aiming to leave us to talk alone. But I wanted Emma Sue to know who she was jeopardizing. “Lillian,” I said, “I need you to stay here in the kitchen, if you will. Now, Emma Sue, just why are you backing out at this late date?”

  Emma Sue began to raise and lower her eyebrows and squinch up her eyes, nodding her head toward Lillian, who was now busying herself at the sink. Emma Sue whispered, “Let’s go in the living room.”

  “We’re fine right here. Besides, Lillian’s interested in why you’ve decided not to do what you promised to do, as will be all the Willow Lane folks. Emma Sue, you gave your word and put your name on the list, and it’s been published in the newspaper for all to see. And I’ll tell you something else, you have brought in more pledges from sponsors than anybody else, except me. And I’m ahead of you only because of a fluke of nature, namely Thurlow Jones, who may be a freak of nature by now, if all I’ve heard is true. There’re going to be a lot of disappointed people if you drop out. And remember what Mr. Pickens said. He said that you’re a leader, so if you don’t ride, what do you think LuAnne and Norma and two or three others from the church are going to do? You’d ruin the whole thing.”

  While she dabbed at her leaking eyes, I had a sudden vision of a wholesale dropout by not only the women from our church, but also by the Baptist and Methodist women. Once they heard that the Presbyterian minister’s wife had decided not to ride, on the grounds of its unbecoming nature, there might be no one left on a motorcycle but yours truly.

  I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Emma Sue,” I said, determined to talk her into staying the course, “do you let your husband tell you what to do? Don’t you have a mind of your own?”

  “The Bible tells wives to submit themselves to their husbands,” she said, “and that’s what I try to do.”

  “Very commendable, I’m sure,” I said. “But what if a husband is wrong?”

  “Oh, Julia, I don’t know,” she wailed, laying her head on the table as the tears gushed out. “I have wrestled with that problem . . . oh, you just don’t know.” She raised her head as Lillian set a box of Kleenex beside her. Grabbing a handful, she mopped at her face. It was a good thing that Emma Sue didn’t believe in makeup, else it would’ve been smeared from here to yonder. “Because . . . because sometimes he is wrong.”

  “Well, of course he is. He’s human, after all,” I said. “And a man.” I took the wet wad of tissues from her hand and gave her some dry ones. “Now listen, let’s look at this and see if we can figure out why he’s so upset. Because remember, Emma Sue, he wasn’t just talking about you, but all of us. Are you listening?” She nodded. “The whole purpose of the Poker Run is to help others, isn’t it?”

  She sniffed and nodded. I went on, “And helping others is the Christian thing to do, isn’t it?” She shredded the wad of Kleenex and nodded again. “And you wouldn’t be doing it for your own pleasure, would you?” She shook her head. “So what is his problem?”

  “He said,” she said, sniffing wetly, “he said it would be unbecoming for a minister’s wife. And embarrassing to him.”

  “See!” I said. “It’s himself he’s concerned about. How it would look for his wife to do something he disapproved of.”

  “But, Julia, he’s supposed to have the authority over me. Paul said that, you know.”

  I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Paul said a lot of things, and a lot of them, by his own admission, were his own opinions. Who’s to say that that wasn’t one of them?” I leaned toward her, wondering if I was indeed leading her astray. Still, every time I thought of myself being the only woman to climb on a Harley come Motorcycle Saturday, I felt a renewed urgency to talk her into climbing on one, too. “Look, Emma Sue, use the common sense that God gave you and expects you to use. If you think there’s nothing wrong with participating in a fund-raising ride, if you know it would mean the world to a lot of homeless people, if you believe in your heart that it would be a Christian act, then just do it.”

  “But what would Larry say?” she cried, as tears ran down her cheeks again. “Oh, Julia, you don’t know what he said when he saw me making a pair of pants.”

  Emma Sue prided herself on being a seamstress, making all her clothes and occasionally a few blouses, scarves, and embroidered handkerchiefs for gifts. I happened to know that she’d once made a leisure suit for the pastor, which he’d never been known to wear.

  “Well, it seems to me,” I t
old her, “that he’s already said everything he has to say. And if you’re worried about what he’ll do, he doesn’t believe in divorce, so he’s lost that foot-hold. Think about it, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  She covered her face and mumbled, “He could just stay mad and not talk to me forever.”

  “Uh-huh,” I nodded, remembering one of Wesley Lloyd’s favorite ways of showing disapproval. “So let him sulk while you bask in the approval of the whole town, and in the knowledge that you’ve extended a helping hand to those who need it.”

  “But Julia, a motorcycle?” she said. “Maybe Larry is right. It’s not exactly the sort of thing a woman in my position ought to be riding on. And I know that you’re not too thrilled about it, either.”

  “No, I’m not. But I’ve set my eyes on the prize that lies ahead, not on what it takes to get it. Emma Sue, think about this: Jonah rode in the belly of a whale, Elijah rode in a chariot of fire, Paul rode on a ship that sunk, and Jesus rode on a donkey.” Actually, it was an ass, but that’s a word I rarely use. “Don’t you think if a Harley-Davidson had been around in those days that at least one of them would’ve ridden it?”

  She frowned, studying the problem. “Well, I can see that Paul might’ve. He traveled so much, you know.” She shredded another handful of Kleenex. “Oh, Julia, I’ve never out-and-out defied Larry before. I don’t know if I have the courage to do it.”

  “You forget that I’ve seen you in action,” I said, remembering the many times that Emma Sue had ridden roughshod over whoever stood in her way. “You’re a woman who does what she knows is right, regardless of what others think.”

  “But what would I tell Larry?” she asked, and I knew I’d turned the tide. But it didn’t feel so good. Who was I to encourage a woman to defy her husband, and him an ordained minister of the Presbyterian persuasion?

  Well, I thought, I was doing it for Lillian, and she was a good cause if I’d ever seen one.