Miss Julia Raises the Roof

by Ann B. Ross

  “Oh, he’s thought of it, and it worries me to death. I love this house. I don’t ever want to move.” She looked around the room, as if appreciating anew its perfect proportions. “Somebody’s already asked if we were interested in selling.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. It was awhile back, and J.D. just laughed because this house means a lot to him.” Hazel Marie stopped, then said, “He’s not laughing now.”

  “Well, then, encourage him about the fence. I wouldn’t complain about whatever he wants to do if it’ll keep you here.”

  “You’re right. I should, and I will. Because if the fence doesn’t work, he’ll want to move. Probably ten miles out on a hundred acres so he doesn’t have to worry about what the neighbors do.”

  “Remind him that you would be out of the city school district and your girls would have to ride the bus. And that Lloyd would want to stay and graduate from the city high school, and remind him how far you’d have to drive just to go to the grocery store.”

  “And be by myself out in the woods somewhere when he’s gone on a case. I couldn’t stand that, Miss Julia.”

  “I know. I couldn’t, either, but I wouldn’t say anything to him right now. Be thinking, though, of all the reasons that moving would be a bad idea—just in case. And remember this, Binkie is still working on it. We’ve not exhausted all the legal aspects yet.”

  “That’s about the only thing that keeps me going.”

  “Well, let me get up from here,” I said, rising. “Ronnie is about due for another dose of his medicine, so we need to get home.”

  We walked out into the side yard where at first I didn’t see Ronnie, although I saw his leash lying on the ground.

  “Oh, my,” I said, thinking of having to tell Thurlow that I’d lost his dog. “Help me look for Ronnie, Hazel Marie. I might have to move out of town myself if I’ve let him get away.”

  She walked around the stack of lumber, then said, “He’s over here, Miss Julia. Come look.”

  I hurried around the pile of lumber to see Ronnie spread out full length on the grass on full alert, his eyes bright and shining as he watched every move that Mr. Pickens made. In fact, even as we watched, Ronnie inched a little closer as Mr. Pickens put another concrete block, heavily mudded, onto the post he was building.

  “Hazel Marie,” I said, “I’ve always heard that dogs are attracted to children, but that is obviously a man’s dog. I think Mr. Pickens has just taken Thurlow’s place in Ronnie’s estimation.”

  * * *

  —

  “Miss Julia? It’s Binkie.”

  The phone had rung just as I’d walked into the kitchen the next morning, stopping me on my way to the coffeepot.

  “Oh, good morning, Binkie. You’re at the office awfully early today.”

  “Just wanted you to know that the zoning board sent a letter Friday to the board of the Homes for Teens. They should get it in the mail today. They’re being notified that their request for a permit to open a residential group home in that area has been denied. Their stated purpose doesn’t meet the legal requirements for that area.”

  “Really? Oh, Binkie, that’s wonderful news! Thank you, thank you.” I was so relieved I had to sit down. “What do you think they’ll do now? I mean, can they ask for a waiver or something?”

  “Sure, they can, and if they do, it will go to the county commissioners, who’ll hold a hearing. The neighbors will be notified by letter when the hearing will be held, and they can publicly register their opposition.”

  “I want you to speak for me, Binkie, so if we get a letter about a hearing, you be ready. The zoning board’s feet should be held to the fire—I want them to stick to their original ruling.”

  “I’ll stay on it,” she promised, and I hung up with joy in my heart—those people would move their homeless home and Hazel Marie and her family would not move anywhere.

  * * *

  —

  It was later that same day that the phone rang again. Pastor Rucker wanted to know if I could meet with him and Madge that evening.

  “I would be delighted to meet with you both,” I told him. The fact of the matter was that I couldn’t wait to hear Madge admit that the Homes for Teens board of directors had not done their homework. They had spent donated money on a house that did not and would not qualify for their planned use.

  Actually, to tell the truth, I wanted to see Madge taken down several pegs, and I wanted an apology for being called immoral in the newspaper simply because I thought the zoning ordinances ought to be upheld. I knew I’d probably get neither, but I wasn’t above wanting a little recognition for being right. The town should thank me—who knew when another residential area would be invaded?

  With that perfectly understandable feeling of justification, I set out to walk to the church after supper even though, this late in October, it was already dark. Lloyd had offered to walk over with me, but I knew he’d have to sit around and wait in Norma’s office.

  “No, honey,” I’d said, “you have homework, and I’ll be all right. All the streetlights are on, and I’ll leave the porch light on.”

  “Then take your cell phone,” he said, “and call me when you leave the church. I’ll wait on the porch and watch out for you.”

  So I hurried across the street and into the church, eager to have it out with Madge and her sidekick, the pastor. I knocked lightly on the pastor’s office door, then turned the handle. Madge was already there, and it seemed to me that she had been there for some while. The room had the feel of a lot of talk between the two of them, which wouldn’t have surprised me one bit. That Homes for Teens group had been involved in underhanded activity from the very beginning.

  “Ah, come in, Miss Julia.” Pastor Rucker stood and motioned me to the chair in front of his desk. Madge sat in a chair drawn up close to his, so that they were both facing me—like a board of inquisition. “We were just discussing this discouraging letter from the zoning board. Have you heard about it?”

  “Yes, my attorney notified me today.”

  “Oh, Julia,” Madge said, her voice dripping with false sympathy, “I’m so sorry you felt that you had to pay an attorney. We could’ve worked this out together.”

  I put a steady gaze on Madge, letting her know that I was not intimidated by her overbearing reputation. She was a firmly packed woman—slightly pudgy, but not too much so—with a short, easily kept hairdo in need of color and wearing no-nonsense clothes, as if she were too burdened by the needs of others to see to herself.

  What ran me up a wall, though, was the air of overweening confidence about her—as who wouldn’t have if they knew they were never wrong? But the woman was known to have flights of fancy about what should be done—usually by others. If it were up to her, there would be nonprofit organizations, fully staffed by sensitive progressive thinkers holding forth in focus groups on every street corner in town.

  “Possibly,” I said, acknowledging the partial truth of her words, “but only if you had let us know what you were doing before you went ahead and did it.”

  “Well,” she said with a great sigh, “it’s so disappointing. So many young boys are in such need, and they’re at just the age to go down the wrong trail.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what the neighbors are concerned about. But, Madge, surely you can find a more suitable place to have your group home. I mean, just because it won’t work on Jackson Street doesn’t mean that you have to give up entirely. I’m sorry that you’ll have to move from the house you have and look for another place, but better that than just giving up.”

  “Oh, we aren’t giving up, I assure you. We are fully committed and feel sure that the Lord wants us to continue on.”

  “Well,” I said, sitting back complacently, “with His leading, I’m sure you’ll find the perfect place. But, Madge, you really should look into the zonin
g ordinances and all the other requirements before you sink money into something else. It doesn’t speak well of the leadership of your board to have made a mistake of this magnitude.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Madge said with a pleasant smile on her face as she glanced at the pastor, who also was smiling. “We are, even now, in the process of regrouping. The house on Jackson Street isn’t zoned for a residential group home, but that’s not what we are. No, we are now rewording our mission statement to reflect our intent to be a foster care home instead. And we’re assured that a foster care home needs no permit at all.”

  With a lurch, I felt as if the bottom had just fallen out. No wonder they were smiling! They were busily working around the regulations and getting what they wanted by a sleight of hand in what they called themselves. Lord help us all from self-righteous and determined do-gooders.

  Chapter 14

  Feeling thoroughly defeated and victoriously crowed over, I hurried home along the dark sidewalk, completely forgetting to call Lloyd. It didn’t even occur to me—a lone woman at night—to fear being accosted, grabbed, or mugged. In fact, I would’ve welcomed a physical confrontation in which I could let loose my frustration by way of my heavily laden pocketbook. Just try it, I thought, I’ll smack you to kingdom come.

  All of which was ridiculous. Abbotsville was a safe town and my well-lit house was only a few steps away. Nevertheless, I hurried inside, locked the door behind me, and turned off the porch light. Calling upstairs to Lloyd to let him know I was safely home, I went to the library and called Binkie.

  “Binkie,” I said, trying to catch my breath, “Binkie, you won’t believe what they’re doing now. Oh, forgive me, I know you’re busy with Little Gracie, and I should’ve waited until tomorrow when you’re in the office. But, Binkie, they’ve made an end run on us and they’re still in business.”

  “Who, Miss Julia? What’re you talking about?”

  “Those Homes for Teens people! The bane of my existence. Binkie, if we don’t do something about them, they’re going to run Hazel Marie and her family completely out of town, and I can’t stand the thought of that.”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down and tell me what they’re doing.”

  “Well,” I said with a great sigh. “It seems they’re changing their stated purpose, but they’re not changing what they’re doing. Not one iota. Instead of being a residential group home, which Madge Taylor admits is not permitted, they are now going to be a foster care home. It’s nothing but semantics, Binkie—calling the same thing by another name in order to get around the law—and I am so angry I don’t know what to do.”

  “A foster care home?” Binkie said softly, as if thinking it through. “I’ll double-check in the morning, but I don’t think a foster care home would qualify either—not with one or two so-called parents and a half dozen foster children. I’ll look into it and let you know.”

  So I had to be satisfied with that, but I was not comforted by it. Wait, and I’ll let you know. Wait, and we’ll see. Wait, and it’ll work out. I was to sit and wait while those arrogant scofflaws breezed on doing whatever they wanted to do. What arrogance! And all in the name of doing good, and all who disagreed with them were void of Christian compassion.

  It was more than I could cope with, yet that’s what I had to do. First thing, though, was not to tell Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens, at least until the changed designation was made known publicly. They would know soon enough that the work on the Cochran house was ongoing.

  “Miss Julia?”

  I looked around to see Lloyd coming into the library, and it unsettled me to realize I’d been so caught up in my own thoughts that I’d not heard him.

  “Oh, Lloyd. Sorry, honey, I was a million miles away. Did you finish your homework?”

  “Yes’m, but I wanted to tell you that Mr. Sam called. He’s in France, and he said to tell you that he’s fine and he’ll call back maybe tomorrow.”

  “Oh, my goodness, and I missed him. Did you tell him where I was?”

  “Just that you had a meeting at the church.”

  “Well, good. I’d as soon not worry him with what we’re contending with here. Oh, my, I hate that I missed him tonight. I’ll probably sit by the phone all day tomorrow.”

  Soon after dosing Ronnie’s infected ears—which were looking and smelling much better—at ten o’clock, I went to bed, knowing that my roiling mind would keep sleep far at bay.

  * * *

  —

  Actually it didn’t, and I woke the following morning having slept fairly well. Uncharacteristically lingering there in my lonely bed, I ran over in my mind all that was facing me in the coming day.

  First and foremost was to think of a way to foil Madge Taylor’s intent to avoid the zoning laws. A letter to the editor? No, that would instigate a spate of letters pointing out my lack of pity for homeless children—if the paper would print mine in the first place. They reserved the right to refuse letters that didn’t suit the editor’s stance.

  Maybe I could strengthen the resolve of the neighbors by having a meeting and facing down the board of the Homes for Teens with a board of our own.

  Or maybe I should suggest that Hazel Marie begin to look for another house—one in town with a large yard that would suit Mr. Pickens. But, Lord, I hated to do that. It would be just giving up and letting Madge have her way—giving everybody a lesson in how to successfully avoid obeying the law.

  And there was an idea! Maybe I could report Madge to the Internal Revenue Service. If she flouted the law in one area, maybe she did in others as well. But, of course, I wouldn’t do that. No need to draw the attention of the IRS to either a reportee or a reporter, namely, me.

  Mildred Allen, my friend and next-door neighbor! I should’ve already thought of her. When Mildred spoke, people generally listened, especially because, unlike me, she rarely threw her weight around. So when she did, she made a great impact. Of course I wouldn’t word it exactly like that to her, as she carried a lot of weight not only in financial terms but in number of pounds as well.

  So I got up, dressed, and faced the day with a heavy heart. Madge was determined to plunge ahead, and I’d seen her reduce a city commissioner to a red-faced, cowering blob when he dared vote against renaming a local street for Mother Teresa.

  “Ronnie,” I said, meeting the huge dog as he lumbered up the stairs, “we are lined up against a steamroller of the first order.”

  “Woof,” he said, turning to follow me down.

  Lillian looked up as we entered the kitchen. “I already doctored his ears and took him outside. I figured if you wasn’t up, you needed the sleep.”

  “Thank you, Lillian. I guess I did—too much on my mind, I suppose. You haven’t heard from Helen Stroud, have you?”

  “No’m, I tell you when somebody calls.”

  “Oh, I know. It’s just that I don’t know how long she expects us to keep Ronnie. I thought she’d at least call and ask about him. Or Thurlow would.”

  “Maybe,” she said, darkly, “Mr. Thurlow can’t get to no telephone. If they don’t put one right next to him, he’ll be out of luck.”

  “Oh, Lillian, don’t put such notions in my head. I’m worried enough about him and everybody else, too.”

  Our own telephone rang then, and I’d still not had my first cup of coffee. So, unfortified, I answered it.

  “Julia?” LuAnne Conover sang out, much too perkily. “Let’s have lunch. Are you free?”

  “Oh, I’ve just been thinking of you, LuAnne,” I said, only half truthfully, although I’d given her untold amounts of thinking time in the past. Having finally gotten the gumption to strike out on her own, LuAnne had only recently set up housekeeping as a single woman. “I’m so glad you called. And, yes, let’s do have lunch and catch up with each other. Where and when?”

  “Let’s go to the tearoom. They serve light lunches,
and I’m watching my weight. Let’s aim for eleven-thirty—they fill up fast.”

  * * *

  —

  LuAnne always looked well put together. She never left home without makeup, carefully done hair, and appropriate clothing whether she was going to a garden club meeting or to the grocery store. And that day was no exception, except she looked even better than usual.

  She was already seated at a table for two by a window when I arrived right on time. The first thing I noticed was the bright, fresh look on her face, and the second thing I noticed was the wineglass in her hand. Whether one was the cause of the other I couldn’t tell, but the glass unnerved me. For as long as I’d known her—which was ever since I’d come to Abbotsville as a bride—LuAnne had been a teetotaler. Now here she was, sipping away in public.

  Seating myself across from her and slipping off my coat, I said, “LuAnne, you look marvelous. How are you doing?”

  “Thank you, Julia. I feel marvelous. I’ve just about gotten my, or rather, Helen’s, condo arranged to my liking and I’m all unpacked. And, Julia, I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t know why in the world you married a second time.”

  “Well,” I said with a surprised laugh, “because Sam came along, that’s why.”

  “He’s a good one, I agree. But once you had a taste of doing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted, with no one expecting one thing from you, it’s a wonder you were willing to give that up.”

  Uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, I said, “It sounds as if you’ve really adjusted to single life, and if so, I am glad.”

  “You should be. I’ve not only adjusted, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I should’ve left Leonard years ago. Julia, it is such a joy to get up when I want to, eat when I want to, and watch what I want to watch on television. Now, I admit that Leonard was a very quiet person—why, lots of times I hardly knew he was in the house—but it’s very different knowing that no one is there, and that I’m not going to be asked what we’re having for supper.”