by Ann B. Ross
“Is that what this is about?” I demanded, as a surge of anger swept through me. “To talk me into supporting that ill-advised and misplaced group home?” I got to my feet, turned to LuAnne, and said, “You said this was to be a time of prayer. But that was just a ruse to get me here, wasn’t it? Well, let me tell you—”
“Oh, no,” Diane Jarret said, an imploring note in her voice. “It’s about more than Madge’s efforts. We want to open your eyes to the need in this county. Why, Julia, did you know that we have almost two hundred children without a regular place to sleep at night? And, more than that, who don’t get a hot breakfast and have to be fed at school?”
“That’s right,” Lynette added, “and we don’t understand how you can turn your back on even the few that Madge is helping. It just breaks my heart to get into bed at night and think of all those children with no place to lay their heads.”
“Lynette,” I said, “you can play Lady Bountiful all you want, but you’d do well to show a little sense while you’re doing it. I happen to know that you have two guest rooms in your house that are empty about three hundred and fifty nights of the year.
“Now,” I went on, “if any of you are actually interested in praying, I suggest you stop with the personal attacks and get started.”
“Oh, no,” Lynette said again, not knowing when to stop. “We’re not attacking you personally, Miss Julia. At least, I’m not. I just want to counsel with you—”
“If you want to counsel anybody, Lynette,” I snapped, “then get a degree. And to the rest of you—get the beams out of your own eyes before criticizing anybody else. And futhermore, some of you,” I said, turning to stare at Madge and thinking of my Mohawk carpet, “would do well to tend to the problems in your own homes because—”
“Please don’t be upset,” Mary Nell Warner said, rudely interrupting me. Rounding on her, I noted that her tightly set hair had had a recent blueing. It didn’t do one thing for her. “We care for you, Julia,” she said quickly, holding out her hand to stop me, “and we hate seeing you so dead set against a home for those so much in need. You are well known in town, and your attitude is turning others against us. We just want to reason with you and admonish you in the name of the Lord, as Scripture tells us to do when a brother—or a sister—goes astray.”
Waves of anger washed up in my soul, and if I ever needed prayer, I needed it then. “Let me ask you something, Mary Nell,” I said, glaring at her. “If you’re so concerned about homeless teenagers, why aren’t you fostering a teenage boy in your own home?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she said, drawing back. “I’m a widow, and, well, it wouldn’t look right.”
“Believe me, Mary Nell,” I said, hardly knowing what I was saying by this time, “no one would think a thing of it.”
“Well, and here’s something else,” Madge said in a strident tone. “Even if you couldn’t bring yourself to help us, it seems like you could’ve kept it to yourself. Instead you’ve done nothing but talk about us and work against us and stir up others to question our motives. And I know you did it—especially that tea you had—on purpose just to hurt us, but it wasn’t us that you hurt. It was the children. We’re well aware that some of the neighbors are unhappy, but you need to understand that what we’re doing is for the greater good. By putting your personal friends before needy children, you’re doing a disservice to the whole community.”
“Well, Madge,” I said, turning to her because if anyone was the ringleader, she fit the bill. “If you’d opened that house in an area where it was permitted, you’d have had no problem from me. But when you ignore the laws and act as if they don’t apply to you, what can you expect?” Then, with a sudden upsurge of confidence and a good bit of self-righteousness, I said, “Thank you all for thinking that I have enough influence in this town to affect the outcome of your efforts. I didn’t know that I was succeeding in getting that group home moved from its untenable location.
“However,” I went on, trembling inside but determined to have my say, “I do admit that your stated intent to have a prayer time was an excellent one, yet so far I’ve not seen or heard anybody praying. So if this is the way you plan to run that group home—”
“Foster home,” Madge said firmly.
“Foster, my foot! All you’re doing is warehousing boys and paying someone to do what none of you will do yourselves. Not a one of you would take a needy child into your own home—which, I remind you, I have done—so don’t sit there criticizing me and feeling all self-righteous about it.”
LuAnne, looking stricken by now, said, “Don’t be mad, Julia. We just—”
“About time you chimed in, LuAnne,” I said, turning toward her. “Where’s all that prayer you used to get me here? But since you started all this—for the greater good, I’m sure—why don’t you lead us in a closing prayer?”
“Oh,” she said, cringing back in her chair, “I can’t do that. You know I don’t pray out loud, but, Julia, don’t be mad at us. We all love you and admire you, and we thought that if we staged an intervention—”
“An intervention!” A white rage flashed through my brain. I don’t know why putting a name to this public humiliation was so devastating, but it was. “Was that your idea, LuAnne?”
“No,” Madge said, and I give her credit for bravery because I was dangerously furious by this time. “No, it was mine, but LuAnne was all for it. Julia, we want you with us, not against us. We need everybody who is anybody to be with us. Part of our mission statement is our desire to be inclusive of all attitudes and viewpoints.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Madge, your mission statement can be as inclusive as you want, but . . .” I took a deep breath, clutched my pocketbook under my arm, and strode to the door. Then I turned back and glared at each one of them. “You can include me out. And, LuAnne, you can try to be all things to all people if you want to, but the next one in line for an intervention may be you. And I hope you noticed that the one person who has every right to call me to task is not here. At least Helen had the grace not to attend, didn’t she?”
And with that, I went out the door and shut it firmly behind me. And would’ve locked it if I’d had the key.
Chapter 39
Fuming from the humiliating criticism to which I’d just been subjected by people barely on the edge of my circle of friends, I stomped my way home. Suffering from embarrassment, shame, and more than a little anger—especially at LuAnne—I headed straight upstairs, unable to tell even Lillian what had happened.
Gradually, though, as I sat on the side of the bed reliving the past hour, I realized that there was one thing that would keep my head held high. Not one of my close friends—excepting LuAnne—had been there. Had they approached Mildred, Hazel Marie, Binkie, Sue, Helen, and a few others and been turned down by each of them?
With LuAnne involved, I was sure that they’d been asked to participate, which tells you right there who my true friends were. As for LuAnne, what could I say? I had no doubt that the whole idea of doing an intervention started with Madge, and LuAnne would not have been able to resist being a part of it. She always wanted to be included. No matter what it was, she didn’t want to be left out. Well, too bad, because she’d just been struck off my dance card.
But, Helen, I thought with deep regret—she’d done the striking off of me, and I couldn’t blame her. Now that I’d borne the brunt of a public critique, I was even more ashamed for my part in criticizing her.
Helen and I had never been close, drop-by-anytime friends, but, then, she’d never been that close to anyone. Serene and self-contained was the way I mentally described her, and I admired her for it. She had accepted the ups of her well-ordered life with grace and cool entitlement. Then, when her husband had been imprisoned for embezzlement, she’d accepted the downs with the same equanimity. She’d divorced him, sold her perfectly appointed home on which she’d lavis
hed care and money, and moved into an inexpensive condominium—and done it all without bemoaning her fate or crying on anyone’s shoulder.
As I thought of Helen and what she’d been through, my heart melted with the memory of the injustice we’d done her. I now knew how she’d felt at being wrongly accused, judged, and convicted. I could only marvel that she’d refused to turn the tables on me.
Snatching up the phone by the bed, I punched in the number, and as soon as Mildred answered, I demanded, “Did you know about it?”
“Oh, my goodness, did they actually do it?”
“So you knew.”
“I knew they were having a hard time getting anybody to join them. It was LuAnne, of course, doing the dirty work, and I was going to warn you, but she told me they were aiming for sometime next week because so many had other plans. I’m sorry, Julia, I thought they’d give up when nobody would participate, and you’d never have had to know.”
“Well, they didn’t. And I went over to the church thinking it was for a prayer meeting.”
“I am so, so sorry. I should’ve warned you, but I really didn’t think it would amount to anything. You know how flighty LuAnne is—as long as she’s not left out, she’ll jump onto anything. But I told her in no uncertain terms that she ought to watch who she associates with. Who all was there?”
When I told her, Mildred said, “Well, see? They had to get people you hardly know. I wouldn’t even call it an intervention with that group. It sounds more like a kangaroo court than anything.”
“Well,” I said, my shoulders slumping, “at least they didn’t accuse me of anything I haven’t done. It was all about that group home, Mildred. Apparently, my attitude toward it is lacking in compassion and, what’s more, I’m influencing others to withhold their support.” I managed a small laugh. “I didn’t know I was able to do that, but I’m trying to take it as encouraging news.”
“You should,” Mildred assured me. “It means you’re having an effect on all that high-handedness that’s going on. So now I’m just waiting for somebody to try to intervene with me. I’m beginning to feel left out.”
“Oh, Mildred, don’t make me laugh. Nobody in their right mind would try an intervention with you. You’d lay them low, and I wish that I had your way with words so I could’ve done the same thing. Instead, I was too stunned to say much of anything. Although,” I mused aloud as I recalled the disturbing episode, “I might’ve managed to cast a few arrows—not that they’ll do much good.
“But, listen, let me tell you what Sam found out at the Register of Deeds.” And I went on to tell her of the precarious hold that Madge and the board of Homes for Teens apparently had on the Cochran house.
Mildred was silent for a minute, then she asked, “So you think they’re just renting it?”
“I have no idea. But it’s either that or this Ridgetop Corporation is letting them have it rent free. Either way, it’s possible, even likely, that they’re being used to run off the other residents on the block. Which they’re well on their way to doing. Then the Homes for Teens could be evicted.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Mildred said, catching her breath. “Then there really is a master plan for that block. We’ve got to find out who the members of Ridgetop are and what it aims to do. Because if it’s true, and the Pickenses and the Winsteads keep holding out, they could be in for a world of trouble.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. But how can we find out?”
“I’ll tell you one thing that’ll tell us something,” Mildred said. “If we knew what the commissioners were going to do, we’d be in better shape to fight it. If they’re in the mood to grant a variance for a group home, they may go a step further and rezone the entire block.”
“Do you really think so? Would they do that?” My heart thudded in my chest as I recalled Sam mentioning that possibility. And now here was Mildred—as acute a financial finagler as I’d ever known—bringing up the same concern. And all along I’d been worried about one little house while somebody could be planning a wholesale takeover.
“That’s what we need to find out,” Mildred said. “Let me make some calls—I’m not without some influence in this town.”
Indeed, she wasn’t. And as we brought our conversation to a close, I also recalled that Sam had intimated that it could be the commissioners themselves, not a powerless nonprofit group, who had much more in mind than a simple variance request.
One good thing about this new worry, though, was that it shoved that humiliating intervention to the back of my mind. Mildred would be reaching out to the movers and shakers who worked behind the scenes—her bigtime lawyers, her bankers, her financial advisers—to see what they had heard and what they knew was being planned for our little town.
* * *
—
“Hazel Marie?” I said when she answered her phone. To allay her fears, I’d decided not to immediately ask what I’d called to ask, but to allow her to think I’d called just to chat. “I haven’t heard much about Ronnie lately, and I was wondering how he’s doing.”
“Oh, he’s fine, Miss Julia. I don’t know how he puts up with the little girls like he does. They had a baby bonnet on his head yesterday, and they crawl all over him when he lies down. He never growls or barks, just lets them do whatever they want. When he gets enough of it, he goes to sit by J.D., or in his chair if he’s not here, and that’s kinda like being in time-out for him. He’s a wonderful dog.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s working out for all of you. Have you heard from Thurlow?”
“Yes, J.D. and Lloyd walked Ronnie over to visit him last Sunday afternoon. Ronnie tried to get in bed with him, but Helen made him lie down on the floor. J.D. said that she was nervous the whole time they were there, for fear, he thought, that Ronnie would go to the bathroom in the house. But, Miss Julia, he wouldn’t do that. He’s a perfect gentleman here. Of course we do let him out on a regular basis.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Hazel Marie. You’ve certainly done a good deed by taking him in. But, listen, I was just wondering—what’s going on with the Pickerells and Mrs. Osborne? Have you heard anything?”
“Oh, Miss Julia, they’re just waiting for the closing date, but they’re both beginning to pack.”
Closing date? The thought flashed in my head as I realized that the deals weren’t done deals yet. I had to get off the phone and call Mildred, but Hazel Marie was still talking.
“I don’t know what Jan Osborne is going to do,” she went on, “but I think she’s planning to rent a place. That way, she won’t be responsible for repairs and so forth. She can just call her landlord.”
“That’s probably a wise decision. But,” I went on, asking the question that was on my mind, “have you heard anything from the Winsteads? Do you think they’ve been approached?”
“J.D. went over last night to talk to Hal Winstead, wanting, you know, to encourage him to resist any offers. And I should’ve called to tell you, but I didn’t know if it’s good news or not. Anyway, he’s been approached by the same man who’s been after all of us, but J.D. says that Hal is as tough as nails. He laughed in the man’s face and told him he’d have to double his offer before he’d even consider selling.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I said, then thought better of it. “Except if that holding company wants it bad enough, they might just do it.”
“Yes, well, J.D. said that if he and Hal Winstead keep refusing, they might eventually give up. But I don’t think they will. For one thing, whoever is trying to buy them out already has a lot invested in this block—or will have when they all close—so I don’t think they’ll ever give up.”
“Tell that husband of yours that Sam has found out that something called Ridgetop Corporation is registered as the owner of the Cochran house, so it’s more than likely that they’re the ones after the other houses as well. But why in the world they
’d want them, I can’t figure out.”
“Oh, my goodness, a corporation?” Hazel Marie said. “How’re we going to fight something like that? Oh, Miss Julia, what’re we going to do?”
I didn’t know what we could do, but it just added to my determination to find out who Ridgetop was, and to find out if it was behind the establishment of a group home next door to Hazel Marie, and to find out what they had planned for a prime piece of real estate when the group home had run its course of usefulness. To that end I brought the conversation to a close and called Mildred.
* * *
—
While waiting for her to get off a conference call and thinking that getting one or two gifts wrapped was better than none, I taped a bow onto the second one and prepared to leave the guest room for dinner. A tentative knock on the door made me hurriedly stash an unwrapped gift into a sack before responding.
“Yes? Come in, but don’t look.”
Lloyd stuck his head around the door. “I won’t look, but can I come in?”
“Of course you may. Come sit down if you can find a seat.” Rolls of Christmas paper, unwrapped boxes, bows, and name tags were piled up on the bed, and the table I was using was covered with snips of paper and pieces of Scotch tape. “What’s going on, honey?”
“Well,” he said, pushing aside a shopping bag so he could sit on the bed, “I guess I just need to talk, because I don’t much know what to do.”
“About what? Is there a problem at school?”
“No’m, not exactly. It’s, well, I guess it’s about that house next door to Mama’s and what I just found out about it.”
I put aside all thought of presents, Christmas or otherwise, and gave him my full attention. That house next door to his mother’s house had ruled my thoughts for weeks, and now it was disrupting his thoughts. “Tell me,” I said.
