Miss Julia Raises the Roof

by Ann B. Ross

  Then, after he’d washed his hands and pulled out a chair at the table, he said, “Guess who I ran into on my way home.”

  “I don’t know. Who?”

  “Sonny Taylor. I didn’t think he even knew me, but when we passed on the sidewalk, he stopped and said, ‘Hey, boy, why’s your old man being such a jackass?’”

  “Lloyd!” I said, shocked at Lloyd’s easy use of the word, even as I pictured Madge’s languid son using such language.

  He shrugged. “I’m just repeating what he said, so I don’t think that counts.”

  Lillian, interested, came over to the table. “What’d you say back to him?”

  “Well,” Lloyd said, as if being accosted by an older boy were an everyday occurence, “I knew he was trying to intimidate me, so I just told him the truth. I said, ‘He’s being a jackass because that’s what he does when people mess with him.’”

  “Lloyd!” I said again.

  Lillian, ignoring me, asked, “An’ what he say to that?”

  “He said, ‘Well, ain’t you the lucky one.’ And I said, ‘I sure am. Be seeing you, Sonny.’ And I walked off.”

  Lillian said, “My Jesus, that boy coulda hit you, Lloyd, you standin’ up to him like that. He twice your size.”

  “No’m,” Lloyd said, shaking his head, “Sonny’s too lazy to hit anybody. Besides,” he went on, grinning, “I’m faster than he is, and now I know that he knows I live with a jackass of the first order.”

  Relieved that the encounter had not led to fisticuffs, I could do no more than feel grateful toward Mr. Pickens—his prickly reputation had preceeded him and served as a protection to his son, adopted though he was. And, as Lillian later reminded me, boys were always teasing and picking on one another, and Lloyd had more than held his own, so I should stop worrying about it.

  Chapter 27

  So I tried, mainly because I was so worried and anxious about what we were about to put Helen through that I couldn’t add another topic, much less revel in the prospect of Sam’s imminent return. Everything I’d read about interventions seemed to imply that the ones who instigated such a public condemnation were the ones who cared the most about the subject.

  Somehow, though, I didn’t think Helen would view it that way. We were just before hurting her irrevocably and losing her friendship by meddling in business that should be of no concern to us or to anybody else. I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to us again.

  The only thing that kept me going was that old man’s fear of being at Helen’s mercy and losing everything that he’d held on to for so long. Granted, Thurlow was not the most trustworthy of souls, so who knew if his fear was realistic. It was a settled fact that he was used to having his way, so I knew that he would bitterly resent anyone who blocked him—even for his own good, which might be all that Helen was doing. Add to that the fact that he wasn’t well and being confined to bed as he was could skew his thinking even more.

  Whatever the truth was, Mildred and I had committed ourselves to finding it. My hope was that Helen would take our meddling with good grace and laugh at our concern. I hoped that she would assure us that the town’s grouchy old man was simply trying to rule the roost as he’d always done. He’d been known for years as a troublemaker—not in a criminal sense at all, but by taking an inordinate delight in shocking, even outraging, people, and that could be all he was doing now.

  So I steeled myself to pretending that I simply wanted to have a few friends to dinner and called Helen. And felt like an absolute hypocrite when she expressed such pleasure in accepting.

  “It’s been so long,” she said, “since I’ve had dinner out with anyone. And to see you and Mildred and LuAnne—just the four of us—it’ll be lovely to catch up with all of you. Thank you, Julia, I would love to come. It will have to be an early evening, though. Mike can’t stay too late and I can’t leave Thurlow alone.”

  “I’m so glad you can come,” I said, “and I’m sure that an early evening will suit everybody.”

  More than she knew, I thought as I hung up. She’d probably be so glad to see the last of us after we’d done what we were planning to do that she’d be out the door as quickly as she could. Lord, I hoped we weren’t overstepping ourselves, because when it came down to it, we would essentially be accusing Helen of elder abuse, and she was smart enough to recognize that. And I had a sinking feeling that we might ought to eat dinner together and leave well enough alone. Since when, I asked myself, had Thurlow Jones ever needed protection from anyone?

  Well, I answered myself, since he fell off a roof and put himself out of commission and at the mercy of someone else, that’s when.

  * * *

  —

  Mildred came over early the following evening, and after I took her coat we sat in the living room to plan our assault on Helen. Lillian, in her usual unobtrusive way, lit the candles on the dining room table, then, with an approving glance at the centerpiece, went back into the kitchen.

  “I think you should start it,” I said to Mildred, before she could suggest that I do it. “It was your idea, and I know you’ll set the right tone.”

  “Well, I don’t mind,” Mildred said, “if you and LuAnne will jump in and not leave me hanging. Helen has to understand that we’re all concerned, not just me.”

  “Oh, we will, but give me an idea of what you’re going to say so I’ll be prepared to back you up. Then we can be led by Helen’s responses.”

  Before Mildred could tell me how she planned to introduce the touchy subject, the doorbell rang and LuAnne joined us. She was nervous, but excited, about our plan to straighten Helen out and immediately began talking.

  “Just what will our main points be?” she asked. “The way she treats Thurlow? Or her obsession with that house? Or just plain spending too much? I think it ought to be the money. I mean, if it runs out, what she does to Thurlow or the house won’t matter. And, let’s face it, Thurlow is certainly better off than he’d be in a nursing home somewhere, which would probably eat up his money faster than Helen would. But tell me what I ought to say. I mean, give me a clue as to how an intervention is supposed to go. I’ve never been a part of one before.”

  “None of us have,” I said as she finally paused for breath. “But let’s remember that Helen is a friend and we’re doing this for her own good. I mean, we have to be kind and let her know that we care for her. We don’t want to end up alienating her.”

  “That’s right,” Mildred said, “and I intend to make that plain from the beginning. I’ll just say that Thurlow has expressed concern about the money, and we’ve wondered if perhaps she has let having a free hand with that house go to her head. And at that point, Julia, why don’t you say that all we want to do is to reassure Thurlow that all is well? Although you might want to get in that we know how easy it is to let redoing a house become the main focus.”

  LuAnne broke in, saying, “And what about me? What should I say?”

  “Oh, tell her how much we admire her for taking care of Thurlow and for making a decent place for him to live. Pile on the compliments to ease her mind.”

  “Well,” LuAnne said right sharply, “I want to do more than that. Just think. She’s gotten rid of his dog, and she’s got a muscle-bound man watching Thurlow all the time so he can’t do anything, and she’s just using him to get what she wants. I think if we’re going to do this, we have to really lay it on.”

  Mildred rolled her eyes. “Don’t get carried away, LuAnne.”

  “Well,” LuAnne said again, “Helen has lorded over us all for years. I think it’s about time that she’s taken down a peg or two.”

  “No,” I said, sitting up straight in my chair, “that’s the wrong attitude, LuAnne. We want to enlighten her, make her rethink what’s important—Thurlow’s well-being, both physically and financially—not make her mad. If we put her on the defensive, we’ll have failed in accompl
ishing anything.”

  “Well,” LuAnne said for the third time, “I intend to say what I think, because she needs to hear it.”

  As Mildred and I looked at each other with some dismay, I wished we’d never started an intervention. Too late, for the doorbell rang and Helen was with us.

  * * *

  —

  Lillian had prepared an elegant meal of fried chicken cutlets, served King’s Arms Tavern style, on slices of country ham—a delicious, if slightly heavy, entrée. A sweet potato soufflé and green beans, along with her yeast rolls, were the accompaniments, and lemon sherbet with a raspberry sauce rounded out the repast.

  Helen looked lovely in candlelight, and it was obvious that she was enjoying a respite from Thurlow’s demands. As well as, I thought to myself, a respite from deciding between valences with swags and cornices with fringe for the dining room windows. I kept glancing from one to the other of my three friends, wishing that the evening could end when the meal did.

  But it didn’t and we finally adjourned to the living room, leaving the table for Lillian to clear. I closed the dining room’s pocket doors, having earlier told Lillian that we had some personal problems to discuss. Then I’d told her just what those personal problems were. She’d frowned and shaken her head. “I don’t know ’bout that, Miss Julia,” she’d said. “All I know’s nobody likes to be told they wrong.”

  Wasn’t that the truth? As soon as we’d settled ourselves in the living room, things went from friendly and comfortable to tense and acrimonious in a hurry.

  Mildred took her cue from Helen, who said, as soon as she was seated in a wing chair beside the fireplace, “This has been such a relief from Thurlow and that house. I didn’t realize how heavy those burdens have been weighing on me.”

  And Mildred jumped right in. “I’m glad you recognize that, Helen. We’ve been concerned that you might’ve taken on too much. We all know how hard it is to get along with Thurlow, and we know what a tightwad he is. I expect he’s concerned with the amount of money that’s being spent on the house.” Mildred paused, then said, “Frankly, we’re worried that you might be overspending a little, and where would he be if it runs out? In fact, where would you be if it runs out?”

  Helen looked stunned for a second. None of us were in the habit of openly discussing money, and certainly we’d never questioned how anyone spent it—to their faces, I mean. That was something that just wasn’t done among genteel people.

  She quickly recovered with a little laugh. “There’s no need for you to worry. I’m very careful with what belongs to Thurlow.” But then her mouth tightened as if she wanted to add “if it’s any of your business.”

  “We’re sure you are,” I said. “It’s just that Thurlow is worried. He’s not used to seeing so much go out—so much being spent on the house that he’s never bothered to care for. We’d like to be able to reassure him that you have things well in hand.”

  Helen gave me a cool glance, so I hurriedly added, “We’ve all refurbished houses before, and we know how quickly it can take on a life of its own.”

  “Yes,” Mildred said, “we just wonder if you’re aware of how addictive it can become to get just the right fabric and cover just one more sofa and buy just one more perfect Oriental rug.” She smiled and shrugged. “I know, because it’s happened to me. But it was my money, not someone else’s, and that makes a difference.”

  Helen stiffened, then, through a tight mouth, said, “So you’re assuming that I’m running through Thurlow’s money with no thought of what will happen to him. Frankly, I’m surprised that you care about him at all.”

  “Well, Helen,” I said, as soothingly as I could, “he’s the one who’s worried. It’s really none of our business, I know—”

  “It certainly isn’t,” Helen said, sliding to the edge of her chair. “And, LuAnne, what do you have to say? Aren’t you going to add something to how I’m taking advantage of Thurlow?”

  “Uh-uh,” LuAnne said, shaking her head as she shrank back into the sofa. “I don’t know anything about any of it. I’m just here to help with the intervention.”

  “Intervention!” Helen leaped to her feet. “You called me over here to have an intervention? I’m not an alchoholic or a gambler or a sex fiend or a drug addict! All I’m doing is what none of you would do yourselves. So you can sit here and pass judgment on me if you want to, but I don’t have to listen to it.” And with that, she was out the door, leaving her coat, and not thanking me for a lovely evening.

  The three of us sat in silence for a few minutes, then LuAnne said, “I guess that didn’t go so well, did it?”

  “And where were you?” Mildred demanded. “You were the one who was going to lay into her, yet you didn’t say a word. You left it all to us, so we don’t need a comment from you now.”

  “Well!” LuAnne said, taking immediate umbrage. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, which was something you weren’t concerned about.”

  “Wait, wait,” I said, standing to look at them both. “Let’s just agree that we were out of line, but let’s not fight among ourselves. It’s enough that we’ve offended Helen, but who knows? She may take it to heart, even so.”

  “I guess so,” Mildred agreed with a sigh. “But, LuAnne, don’t think just because you had nothing to say that she won’t remember that you were here and part of what we did. You’re not scot-free by any means, and you shouldn’t be.”

  “Well,” LuAnne responded in a mumble, “I just remembered that Helen hasn’t signed my lease yet. If I made her mad, she could take her condo back and where would that leave me?”

  “Out in the cold,” Mildred shot back, still furious with her. “Which is where you are with me already.”

  Chapter 28

  “Oh, Lillian,” I moaned as I pushed through the door to the kitchen after my guests had left. “It didn’t go well at all. I am just sick about it.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, nodding her head. “Meddlin’ don’t never work out so good, but Miss Helen prob’ly know your hearts is in the right place.”

  Surely that was true, although a lot of good it was doing me now. While Lillian gave the countertops a last swipe, I sat at the kitchen table with my head in my hand, reliving the earlier scenes.

  After LuAnne had stormed out in high dungeon and full of righteous indignation, Mildred had lingered for a while as we tried to assure ourselves that it hadn’t been as bad as it had actually been.

  “We should’ve stayed out of it,” I said to Lillian, just as I’d said to Mildred a few minutes earlier.

  It didn’t help that both Mildred and Lillian agreed with my conclusion. After Lillian offered a few soothing words, she left for home, and I went upstairs to bed. But not to sleep, for my mind was filled with shame and regret and embarrassment for our arrogance in sitting in judgment of someone else. It hadn’t been an intervention. It had been an interference, and, knowing Helen’s cool self-sufficiency, I doubted she’d ever be able to completely overlook our heavy-handed intrusion into her affairs.

  I did not, however, expect her to retaliate, but she did. And she did it in a way that hurt me, of the three of us, the most. I didn’t learn of what she’d done for several days, during which Thanksgiving approached and my sweet Sam returned home. I was so taken up with having him back that I was able to put our shameful efforts somewhat out of mind. But not until I had taken Helen’s coat to her, hoping for a chance to tell her how sorry I was for what had happened. I didn’t get that chance, for the maid answered the door, took the coat, and told me that Mrs. Stroud wasn’t receiving visitors.

  So I’d written a note on my best stationery in an attempt to explain to Helen our intentions and to ask forgiveness for any offense we’d given.

  She did not respond, and I’d cried on Mildred’s shoulder—not literally, of course—in my need for some reassurance that we’d acted with the best of intent
ions.

  “Julia,” Mildred had said in her straightforward way, “get over it. If nothing else, we’ve made her think about what she’s doing. And, frankly, her reaction just proves our point—she’s spending too much and she knows it. She just didn’t like anybody calling her on it. But I’ll bet you anything that she takes a hard look at the bottom line—Thurlow’s bottom line—and begins to mend her ways. And if she does, then we did what we set out to do.”

  “And lost a friend in the process,” I said. “I’m not sure it was worth that.”

  “Yes, it was, because in the long run, she’ll realize we were concerned for her, as well as for him.”

  “Well,” I said, feeling a little better, “the long run can be a long time, but I hope you’re right. I just hate the thought of having hurt her—”

  “We didn’t hurt her. We offended her because she knew we were right. Now, how’re your party plans coming along?”

  * * *

  —

  My party plans were temporarily on hold, although I had all the to-do lists made and they were already being carried out. I’d given Lillian the cleaning and silver-polishing list and she’d brought in some help to get it all done. She also had the grocery list, and had begun stocking the pantry and the freezer. My own list included putting up a Christmas tree, ordering a centerpiece for the table and some garlands for the mantels and the staircase, but that was for closer to the party date.

  In the meantime, enthusiastic acceptances to our invitations were rolling in. And when the issue of Scenic hit the newsstands and the mailboxes, we had every indication that we were the talk of the town. Mildred added to the excitement in her interview with a reporter from the local newspaper as she extolled our grand vision of a double party. In the same issue, there were only three lines about the Homes for Teens tea, which was stuck in a long list of local events on the back page.