by Ross, Ann B
Mr. Pickens stifled another yawn, making me want to smack him. That seemed a signal to the others that it was time to go. While Hazel Marie went to the kitchen to have Little Lloyd come out and say good-bye, and Coleman was asking Sam where he could rent formal wear, I pulled Mr. Pickens aside.
“Mr. Pickens,” I said, “does any of this ring any bells for you?”
“What?” He leaned his head closer, a frown on his face. “What kind of bells?”
“Wedding bells, Mr. Pickens. What do you think we’ve been talking about?”
He began to grin then, shaking his head, while I yearned to shake him to within an inch of his life. I said, “Let me remind you that Hazel Marie’s uncle, Brother Vernon Puckett, has come close to taking Little Lloyd away from her, not once but twice in times past. And he had nothing to go on but rumors, false rumors, I remind you, that Hazel Marie was living a loose life. Now, what do you think he’ll do when he finds out about that child being brought up in a house of sin? I’ll tell you what he’ll do, he’ll be in that courthouse getting a protective custody order before you can turn around.”
“No, he won’t.” Mr. Pickens shook his head, hiding a smile under that bushy mustache. “You worry too much, Miss Julia. I can take care of Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd, and Brother Vern’s not going to be a problem.”
“You don’t know him like I do. He’s a snake in the grass, and if he sees any way to get his hands on that trust fund, he’ll go after it in a flash. And if you and Hazel Marie keep on with this unseemly plan, it won’t be rumors that can be disproved. He’ll have the facts this time, facts that’ll prove to any Republican-appointed judge that Hazel Marie doesn’t have a family value to her name.”
Mr. Pickens had the nerve to put his arm around my shoulders and say, “Trust me, darlin’; I’ve got it taken care of. And if you have to know how, I’ll just tell you that Brother Vern doesn’t have the cleanest hands in the county, and he knows I know it. He’s not going to make a move against the boy, so put your mind at rest.”
Lord, the man had a way with women. No wonder Hazel Marie was under his spell. It was all I could do to keep from leaning my head against his chest and letting him take care of everything.
I knew better than that, of course, because no man needed that kind of power. They get carried away and start thinking they can boss you around.
So I pulled away from him and said, “You’re a good man, Mr. Pickens, but I still don’t like what you’re doing. You ought to marry Hazel Marie, and not toy with her like this.”
“Toy with her?” He threw his head back and laughed. “You have a way with words, Miss Julia. But you can stop worrying and leave it to me.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?” I stepped farther back so I could keep my head. “But I warn you, Mr. Pickens,” I went on, shaking my finger in his face, “if you hurt her or cause her trouble in any way, you’ll have me to answer to.”
“Don’t think I don’t know it,” he said, grabbing my finger and kissing it, laughing at me all the while.
If I hadn’t known it before, I would’ve then. Hazel Marie had her work cut out for her.
* * *
As Binkie and Coleman left together, headed for a night in the same state of togetherness, and Hazel Marie lingered on the porch with Mr. Pickens, I sent Little Lloyd to bed and turned to find Sam nowhere near far enough away.
“I’ll drive Lillian home for you,” he said. “She’s just finishing up in the kitchen.”
“That’s good of you, Sam. I appreciate it.” I moved away from him. “I’m going to owe her a fortune, with all the extra time she’s putting in this week.”
“Well worth it, Julia. It’s a fine thing you’re doing.” He took a step, standing much too close again, making me uneasy with the thought that somebody would walk in on us. “And I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”
When he leaned in close, I said, “Well, we’ve got a pile of silver that needs polishing. . . .”
Chapter 9
Sunday morning, and Hazel Marie said she didn’t think she could make it to church. That’s what happens when you’re contemplating a jump into sin as she was; you lose your taste for sermons on the subject. If you’re honest, that is, and Hazel Marie was as honest as the day is long. In a backhanded way, I admired her for staying home. I had known and still knew any number of people who could lie, steal, cheat, betray, embezzle and take part in all kinds of illegal and immoral activities and still sit in church every Sunday morning with smiles on their faces.
“Let me comb your hair, Little Lloyd,” I said as I ran the comb under the faucet. He stood still as I parted his hair and put enough water on his cowlick to make it lie down for a while.
We walked over to the church in time for Sunday school, and by the time I’d passed the Family Life Center in its state of half-completion, I needed some lessons in patience and forbearance.
After Little Lloyd went to the young people’s class, I took my place in the Lulu Mae Harding class and put my dollar in the basket when it was passed. LuAnne Conover, a friend for too many years to count, leaned over my shoulder to tell me how much she was looking forward to the wedding.
“What can I do to help, Julia?” she whispered while Alma Claxton, the class president, made announcements and asked for volunteers to take casseroles to a member who’d just come home from the hospital.
“We have a lot of silver to be polished,” I whispered back. “I could use some help with that.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, you know how hard that polish is on your manicure. But I’ll try to come by and help out. You just call me, now, if you need anything else.”
I don’t remember what the lesson was, something about the first miracle that occurred in the city of Cana, I think. My mind was busy making more lists and thinking of all the things that still had to be done. I should’ve listened more carefully to the lesson, though, since the miracle had to do with wedding preparations. I could’ve picked up some pointers.
After Sunday school, I met up with Little Lloyd and we found our usual place in the sanctuary, fourth row from the front on the aisle.
I gave about as much attention to Pastor Lance Petree’s sermon as I had to the Sunday school lesson. The man was a droner, on and on and on until my head was nodding and my eyes drooping, so overcome with the tedium I could hardly bear it. Pastor Petree was not a stirring speaker. One thing I can say about Pastor Ledbetter, he’d raise his voice now and then to keep the congregation awake, even somewhat on edge since we never knew when he was going to cut loose.
Emma Sue Ledbetter caught up with me in the narthex as the congregation filed out. “Come over here, Julia,” she said, “I want to talk to you a minute. Lloyd, you can wait for us on the steps.” She guided me out of the press of people anxious to get out where the sun was shining and dinner was waiting at home.
“What is it, Emma Sue? I’ve got a million things to do today.” I hated to be short with her, but I didn’t have the patience to put up with her whining. Emma Sue and I had not been the closest of friends ever since she’d taught a Sunday school lesson on the effectiveness of prayer, and prayer alone, regardless of the problems facing us. I’d piped up and said that it stood to reason that we should also take advantage of modern medicine and technological advances. “We’re Presbyterians, Emma Sue,” I’d reminded her in front of the whole class. “Not Christian Scientists.” She’d been worried about my spiritual state ever since.
Now she wanted something from me or she wouldn’t have pulled me to the side to speak in private.
Leaning in close, she said, “I know just what you’re going through, Julia, and I’m so happy about that young couple. You’ve had a time with them, haven’t you? You’re putting stars in your crown, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I waited, biting my tongue, to hear what she had to say. Emma Sue was a short, fleshy woman who made her own clothes and they looked like it. I happened to
know the salary Pastor Ledbetter made and knew she didn’t have to scrimp the way she did. She didn’t use makeup, either, other than a little dusting of powder to take the shine off. Her eyes looked weak and red-rimmed behind her glasses, as if she never got enough sleep. Of course, they teared up at the drop of a hat so maybe that’s what was wrong with them. Either that, or pinkeye.
“Two things burden my heart, Julia,” she whispered, looking over my shoulder to see who was close enough to overhear. “One is the young peoples’ meeting, which I’ve rescheduled for tomorrow right after school. We have to get the young ones active as early as we can, you know, if we’re going to keep them off drugs and welfare. And I’ll be heartbroken if Lloyd is not there. He’s such a fine little fellow, in spite of his background, don’t you think?”
I gripped my pocketbook and nodded.
“And his mother has turned into a real asset to the church, even though I’ve had to ask the Lord’s forgiveness for thinking so harshly of her at first. All that eye makeup, you know. But, Julia, there’s something that’s weighing so heavily on my heart that I have to share it with somebody.” As I wished she’d chosen someone else to share it with, she pulled me farther into the corner and whispered, “I had to go into Larry’s office this morning, and there’s something missing from it.”
“What?”
“Have you ever noticed that little miniature clock he keeps on his desk? You know, the one with the tiny brass balls that go around as it keeps time? That was a gift from his mother when he finished seminary, and he thinks the world of it. Well”—she leaned closer and hissed into my ear—“it’s not there anymore, and that office is supposed to stay locked when he’s away.”
“Maybe he took it to the Holy Land with him.”
“Why would he do that? I packed his travel clock, so he wouldn’t need another one. No, somebody’s taken it.”
“Well, who, Emma Sue? I mean, who has access and who’d want it?”
“There’re three people who have keys, besides Larry.” Her face darkened with suspicion. “I have one, and so do Lance Petree and Norma Cantrell.”
“Oh, surely you don’t suspect them.”
“Norma’s always admired that clock.” Emma Sue’s eyes welled up and she dabbed them with the handkerchief that she always kept handy, knowing how often she’d need it. “You’re so capable, Julia; would you talk to her? Would you do that for me?”
“Not on your life, Emma Sue. Norma Cantrell and I’ve crossed swords too many times for me to go and accuse her of stealing from the pastor.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t say stealing. That’s too strong and it’d hurt her feelings.”
“I don’t know what else you’d call it. Look, Emma Sue, I think you ought to wait till the pastor gets back. Who knows, if he thinks that much of the clock, he may’ve locked it in a drawer or a cabinet before he left. I mean, you’re treading on dangerous ground, suspecting either his secretary or his associate. And I’m not about to be drawn into such a thing. Besides, I have enough on my plate right now, so I can’t be investigating a theft, if there even was one. Come to think it, though, I do know a private investigator if . . . , but he’s busy now with another case, so forget about that. Wait till Pastor Ledbetter gets home. That’s my advice.”
“It just hurts me so, Julia, to think that somebody would do that to us.” She sniffed wetly, as the last of the congregation gave us a wide berth. They all knew that when Emma Sue started overflowing, she wanted something she wasn’t getting, and they didn’t want to be caught up in whatever it was.
“Well,” she went on with a heavy sigh, “if you won’t help me, I’ll just put it in the hands of the Lord. I’m going right home and start the prayer chain.”
“Oh, Emma Sue, don’t do that. You know what’ll happen. By the time a dozen people get called to pray about this, it’ll be all over town that Norma Cantrell’s a thief. Every person who gets called will add a little to it, and first thing you know, the prayer request won’t sound anything like it started out sounding.”
“You don’t have much faith in prayer, do you, Julia?” A hard look came into her eyes, flooded though they were, and I took a step back.
“I have enough faith to stay away from a rumor mill, which the prayer chain has come to be. Remember when Hallie Trent asked for prayer because the doctor told her if her womb dropped any further, she’d have to decide between surgery or a pessary? And by the time the story was told a few times, they had that poor woman unable to pass her water or even walk, her womb had fallen so far out, and six people showed up at her house with casseroles. So, if you’re going to start the chain about Norma, just take my name off the list. I’m not going to be a party to circulating such a story.
“Now, Emma Sue, I have to get Little Lloyd home; he needs his lunch.” And I stepped away and out of the narthex as quickly as I could, leaving her stunned at my lack of spirituality. Nobody, as far as I knew, had ever resigned from the prayer chain, so I took a certain amount of justifiable pride in being the first to turn my back on that hotbed of gossip.
* * *
“You did the right thing, Julia,” Sam said.
We were sitting in his car late that afternoon at Walter’s Ice Cream Stop, eating butter pecan cones. The windows were rolled down to catch the warm spring breeze and so I could watch Little Lloyd, who was sitting at a picnic table, licking chocolate ice cream dripping down his cone and playing with his Game Boy. Sam had come by to give us a break from the telephone—we were phoning last-minute invitations—and unwrapping stored china and stacking up silver serving pieces and flatware on the dining room table. “Take a break, Julia,” Sam had said. “I’ve had ice cream on my mind all day.”
So, as we ate ice cream in his car, I’d told him of Emma Sue’s suspect in the Great Church Robbery, omitting any mention of the prayer chain for fear he’d think I’d fallen into apostasy, and he’d laughed. “She’ll calm down when Ledbetter gets back and shows her where he put it.”
We spent a pleasant hour discussing the wedding and how relieved I was to know it was fast approaching, even if I was about to break my neck getting ready for it.
I leaned my head out the window. “Come on, Little Lloyd. We’ve got to be getting back.”
As the boy dropped his chocolate-covered napkin into the trash and came to the car, Sam said, “You in a hurry, Julia?”
“Well, yes. I have things to do. Get in, Little Lloyd, and buckle your seat belt.”
When Sam pulled up in front of my house, there were two cars taking up all the curb space.
“That one’s Mr. Pickens’s car,” I said. “But I don’t know the other one. Just pull into the driveway, Sam, and come in for a while.”
“That’s a big ole Cadillac, Miss Julia,” Little Lloyd said. He’d sat up straight as soon as he’d heard me mention Mr. Pickens. The child had admired Mr. Pickens ever since we’d run all over the state with him a few months back, and he wasn’t at all unhappy that his mother admired him, too.
The light blue full-sized Cadillac parked in front of Mr. Pickens’s flashy Firebird was neither the newest model nor the oldest, but it took up an inordinate amount of space. I noticed a wooden cross and a rabbit’s foot dangling from its rearview mirror. Covering all the bases, I guessed.
When we walked into the living room, Mr. Pickens stood up to greet me and to shake Sam’s hand. Hazel Marie was in a chair across the room from where he’d been sitting, and I wondered if they’d had words. Then I saw the owner of the Cadillac in the other Victorian chair, and I knew why Mr. Pickens and Hazel Marie had been on their best behavior.
“This is Miss Mattie Mae Morgan, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said.
Miss Morgan heaved herself out of the chair with the most glittering smile I’d ever seen. Two gold teeth added their luster, and the big gold hoops in her ears flashed an accompaniment. The woman had to be a size 22 or 24, somewhere around there, and there was enough turquoise satin around her to make Omar’s tent. She was
an ebony person, as Lillian had described her to me, and there was a lot of her.
“Miss Morgan,” I said, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came, but I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Oh, I don’t ’spect you to be settin’ ’round waitin’ on me, Miz Springer,” she said, just as pleasant and friendly as she could be. “Miss Lillian tole me I ought to drop by and see where you havin’ the wedding, and see what kind a instrument you want me to play.”
“Well, it’s not exactly here yet. I’m having to rent a piano and it won’t be here until sometime Friday. Is there any particular kind you’d prefer?”
“No’m, I can play anything with black and white keys on it, even a pump organ, if you want to go that far. But I never have learned on one of them keyboards with pipes that run up through the ceiling and foot pedals and all.”
“We won’t have one of those, I assure you. But take a seat, Miss Morgan. And you, too, Sam. Mr. Pickens, sit back down. We might as well plan the wedding music while Miss Morgan is here. And I don’t know a thing about it, so what would you suggest, Miss Morgan?”
“Call me Mattie Mae, Miz Springer. I don’t hardly know who you talkin’ to when you say Miss Morgan.” Laughter rolled up through the turquoise dress in waves. “Now, who that fine lookin’ little man come in with you? That got to be Miss Lillian’s baby, Little Lloyd Puckett. Come on over here, honey, an’ let Mattie Mae get a look at you.”
Little Lloyd walked over to her, hanging his head, just hating to be made the center of attention.
“Why, you fine lookin’,” she said. “Jus’ the spittin’ image of . . .”
“Come over here, son,” Mr. Pickens, bless his heart, broke in before Miss Morgan could bring up the boy’s father and embarrass us all. “Let me see how you’re doing with your Game Boy.” Little Lloyd hurried over to sit by Mr. Pickens on the sofa, relieved to be out from under Miss Morgan’s scrutiny. Children don’t like to be made over in public, don’t you know, especially when they’re told who they favor.
