Miss Julia Renews Her Vows

by Ann B. Ross

  “I certainly did. When I told Larry what that man talked about at Mildred’s the other night, he was just as outraged as you and I were. See, Larry thought he was going to teach that passage in Ephesians—you know, the one about the husband being the head of the household and the wife being submissive to him. He didn’t know Dr. Fowler was going to get into the specifi cs of submission. So he agreed that such things shouldn’t be discussed in a church setting. Anyway,” Emma Sue said, after stopping to take a breath, “he prayed and prayed about it, because there’re lots and lots of couples in our church who need to hear these things. I tell you, Julia, you wouldn’t believe who they are, but, of course, Larry doesn’t confide in me—pastoral confidentiality and all that. But I’m not dense. When somebody keeps calling him here at home at all hours of the night, crying and sobbing, needing to talk to him, well, I can put two and two together. And Julia, the two biggest problems in any marriage are money and, well, you-know-what.” Emma Sue couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

  “In-laws?” I asked innocently.

  “No, Julia, not in-laws and not children, either. Dr. Fowler’s subject, the thing we’ve been talking about. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “No,” I said, almost laughing. “I was just teasing you.”

  But Emma Sue didn’t take too well to teasing, so she ignored me.

  “Anyway,” she said with a patient sigh, “there’s so much about it on television and in the movies these days. I mean, it’s just glamorized and glorified everywhere, and Larry says that modern couples have this idea that everybody knows more about it than they do, so they’re eager to hear what they’re missing out on, which is exactly what these sessions supply. So Larry and I are of one mind. In spite of Dr. Fowler’s subject matter and the graphic way he teaches it—Julia, you ought to see his books—we think there’re plenty of people who need to hear it, and hear it from a Christ-centered point of view. Just not in the church.”

  “How’re you going to manage that?”

  “Why, they’re just going to meet somewhere else. Larry’s decided to ask Mildred if she’ll let them meet at her house every Monday evening. She has that huge drawing room, you know, and Larry thinks with the spurt of interest that’s come about, we’ll fill it up.”

  “Well, that seems a good solution, and Mildred is known for opening her home for worthy causes.” Actually, which I didn’t mention, that solution could work out well for me. Sam might not feel as obligated to go, because the classes would no longer be under the auspices of the church.

  “But I tell you, Emma Sue,” I went on, “I was hoping we’d seen the last of Dr. Fowler. He just doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

  “To me, either, but I admit that he has some fascinating things to say, I mean, to read, because I’m not going to those meetings, regardless of where they have them. I told Larry that it wouldn’t do to have everybody in the church wondering about the state of our marriage, and I’d just study those books and follow the instructions. I figure that I can stoke the marital embers just as well as somebody who hears it in person.”

  “I wish I had your excuse,” I said, thinking for the first time ever that there might be some benefits in being a minister’s wife. “Sam never worries about what people think of him. He’d just laugh if anybody wondered about our marriage and say it was none of their business.”

  “Well, we can’t do that. There are twelve hundred church members who make everything we do their business.”

  “I know, Emma Sue, and it’s a shame. I don’t know how you stand it sometimes.”

  “I just try to do the Lord’s work, Julia. That’s the only thing that gets me through. And speaking of the Lord’s work, do you know where Francie Pitts lives?”

  “Francie? Why, yes, she lives on Woodchuck Lane out at Mountain Villas—number eight, I think. Why? Are you going to visit her?”

  “I thought I would. She’s had a hard time, I understand, and she was a member of our church at one time. After losing so many husbands and getting attacked the way she did, she may be ready to return to the fold. Monday’s my day to visit new-comers anyway, so I thought I’d drop by. Of course, she’s not exactly new, and she hasn’t exactly come to church recently, but she’s just gotten out of the hospital, so I think she qualifies for a visit.”

  “I expect she does,” I said, but hesitated as I wondered how to warn Emma Sue about Francie’s propensity to cast blame where none should be, namely, at Etta Mae Wiggins. “But let me caution you, Emma Sue. Francie may still be suffering the ill effects of that attack. I know for a fact that she’s thrown around some wild accusations that the evidence does not bear out. So be careful about believing everything she says.”

  “Oh?” Emma Sue’s interest perked up. “What’s she saying?”

  “It doesn’t bear repeating, although you’ll probably hear it. Just take whatever she says with a grain of salt.”

  “You know I will, Julia. We must all properly discern the word of truth. And since I do pastoral work, too, I take confidentiality seriously. Well,” she said in a wrapping-it-up tone, “I must get busy and get some things done. Oh, and Julia, I’m going to look through Dr. Fowler’s books one more time, then I’ll pass them on to you. But I want them back. I might need them for future reference.”

  “Has the pastor read them?”

  “Well, he sorta skimmed them until he got to the illustrations, which is when he decided they weren’t appropriate for the church.” Emma Sue paused, then went on. “Julia, if you’ll take it in the right way, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can, except visit Francie with you. What is it?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s, well, I hope you won’t be offended, but I wish you’d stop referring to Larry as the pastor and calling him Pastor Ledbetter.”

  “Well, my goodness, Emma Sue. I’m showing respect for him, because I can’t call him Larry. That’s too familiar and presumptuous on my part.” Besides, which I didn’t say, he had never corrected my use of his title in all the years he’d been our pastor. It seemed to me that if he wanted the church members to be on more familiar terms with him, he’d have said something. “But,” I went on, “I wouldn’t want to offend either of you. So what should I call him?”

  “It would really help me if you could bring yourself to call him just Larry, at least when you’re talking about him to me. You see, Julia. Oh, this is so embarrassing, but Dr. Fowler’s book has opened my eyes to some of the things that reduce a woman’s, well, I guess you’d call it willingness. And as soon as I read that, I realized that one of the things that really puts me off is knowing that I’m in bed with, quote quote, the pastor.”

  I was shocked that Emma Sue would evoke such a graphic image in my mind. But she did, and she was right. Being in bed with the pastor would certainly put me off. But then, so would being in bed with just Larry.

  But I said, “I’ll do my best, Emma Sue. It’s an ingrained habit, though, so I may slip up now and then. Just overlook it if I do.”

  When we hung up, I stood by the phone a minute, wondering if it would work. If Emma Sue could think of her husband as just a man named Larry, and not as the dignified pastor of a Presbyterian church, would her embers be more likely to burst into flame every time he took his pants off?

  I didn’t like thinking of either possibility and wished she’d never brought it up. As far as I could see, there wouldn’t be a nickel’s worth of difference between his two personas, but for me, thank goodness, there didn’t have to be.

  Chapter 32

  “Lillian,” I said, as she pushed through the swinging door and came back into the kitchen. I was still bemused by Emma Sue’s revelation of the difficulty of being in bed with her pastor. “Lillian,” I said again, “have you ever thought of your pastor as a regular man? I mean, like he’s a husband?”

  “No’m, not mine.”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about your pastor in particular. I’m just wonderin
g about men of the cloth in general. I’d think it’d be a little disconcerting to be married to a man who puts on a pastoral robe and stands up in a pulpit to deliver the word of God, and then go home with him and, you know, be his wife.”

  She studied me a minute. “I tell you the truth, Miss Julia. It never cross my mind, ’cept for oncet a long time ago when we had this young preacher come for the summer. I thought about him takin’ off that robe all summer long.”

  I laughed. “Well, you were young then. But I was just thinking it would be hard for a pastor’s wife to switch back and forth. You know, from being a member of the flock, so to speak, to being, well, let’s say, an equal partner at home.”

  “I figure they not so equal,” Lillian said in a way that made me realize that she had thought about it. “I figure a big man in church be a big man at home, an’ his wife be a little mouse in both. But Miss Julia, if it worryin’ you, jus’ look at the Reverend Morris Abernathy at our church. He don’t do his switchin’ at home, he do it in the pulpit. He give out the word of the Lord strong and sure up there, but oncet he come down, he jus’ a sweet little ole pussycat. Everybody love him to death, includin’ Miz Abernathy, and that say a lot for a man, whether he a preacher or not.”

  Lillian wasn’t entirely following my line of thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to be more explicit. I agreed that the Reverend Mr. Abernathy was an exceptional person, which he assuredly was, and let it go at that.

  Later that afternoon, after Sam and the children got home from the boat show—without a boat in tow, I’m relieved to say—he took my hand and led me out to the back garden. Etta Mae was occupied with making lists of all the baby things that Hazel Marie would need, from cribs to Handi Wipes, and I was happy that she had something to do besides study me for stray symptoms.

  “Won’t be long now,” Sam said, looking up at the trees that edged the yard. “We’ll be out here raking our heads off.”

  “I’m not looking forward to that,” I said. “I hate to see the leaves fall. Not because of the raking, but because it means winter’s not far behind. Another year, Sam.”

  “Yes, a good year passing with another good one on the way.” He took my arm and edged me toward a garden bench beneath the arbor. “Let’s sit awhile. We don’t get many chances to be alone.”

  I smiled as we both swept a few leaves off the bench and sat down. “I know, and it’ll be harder when the new couple gets back.”

  “True,” Sam nodded, putting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward to survey the yard. “We’ll just have to make time for us. I don’t want us to grow apart with all the demands on our time.”

  “Me either. We may have to make dates to meet out here in the yard just to get away.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Sam said, straightening up and putting an arm along the back of the bench. “If it gets too hectic, you can come over to my house and have lunch. James can fix something and we’ll have that time together.”

  “That sounds good, and it’ll give James something to do. Of course, we’ll have to eat in your office with the door closed or James’ll add his two cents’ worth about everything we say.”

  We laughed, then sat in companionable silence as we watched a few leaves float down around us.

  “By the way,” Sam said, “we saw Ledbetter at the boat show this morning, and he’s had second thoughts about Dr. Fred.”

  “Yes,” I said, carefully. “Emma Sue mentioned something about that. She was up in arms about the church’s sponsoring him, and when she showed his books to the pastor, well, I think that about did it.”

  “I guess she got to him then, or the books did. He told me that upon consideration, he felt that the subject matter could be viewed as inappropriate in a church setting. I got the feeling that he’d been on the verge of canceling the whole thing, but after Dr. Fred spoke to the women at Mildred’s the other night, there’s been an outpouring of interest. His office phone has rung off the hook with people wanting to attend.”

  “My goodness. You’d think that because they’d missed the introductory session, they’d be too far behind to show up for the second one.” At least, using that excuse had been my plan.

  “No, not at all. In fact, Ledbetter said Dr. Fowler is thrilled that so many want to come.” Sam smiled wryly. “It might be that the church is paying him by the head.”

  “Oh, surely not.” I smiled, content to discuss Dr. Fred Fowler without the fear of meeting him. “Emma Sue said something about moving the sessions out of the church, which, if they’re not going to cancel them entirely, seems more appropriate to me. By having them in a private home, people won’t feel an obligation to support the church. They’ll only go if they want to.”

  Sam nodded in agreement. “That’s the hope, anyway. He’s already spoken to Mildred about having them because she has that large room. But,” Sam said, flicking a yellow leaf off his shoulder, “she and Tonya are going to Atlanta to shop for a few days. I told him I’d check with you, but we could probably have the meeting this Monday. Is that all right? It’d just be the one Monday. Mildred will take them after that.”

  I felt my face drain of color. Have Dr. Fred here? Where I couldn’t avoid him or hide from him? Lord, I thought, strike me down right now.

  Then, mentally shaking myself and licking my lips to be able to speak, I said, “Of course it will. It’s your house, too, and you can invite anybody you want to.” Including, I thought, the last man on earth I want to see. “You know, though,” I went on, choosing my words with care, “we’ll have a full house already. The Pickenses will be here and Etta Mae, too.”

  “That’s right, and it’s the main reason I made the offer. Etta Mae’s had her problems with marriage, to say nothing of Pickens and his several stabs at it. We talked about how beneficial the sessions would be for him and Hazel Marie, remember?”

  Beneficial for them, but not for me—and not for Sam, either, if he but knew it. But I nodded in agreement, a mental picture of stirrups on an examining table waiting for me. There was nothing for it but to resign myself to facing either Dr. Hargrove or Dr. Fowler, and at that point I didn’t know which was the worst.

  We’d barely gotten back inside when the phone rang, and it was Emma Sue again.

  “Julia,” she said, sounding excited, “I know I’m worrying you to death, but I just had to tell you. Larry told me about seeing Sam at the boat show and how kind he was about offering your house for Monday night. I’m so glad, because I want you to tell me all about it. I mean, you could take notes again so I’ll know what he says without having to be there.”

  “Well, I don’t know—” I started, but she had the bit in her teeth.

  “But that’s not all. Guess who may be there, too.”

  “Who?”

  “Francie Pitts, would you believe?”

  “No! Why would she come? She’s not even married, although who knows? She could’ve found another one in the last couple of days.”

  “Now, Julia,” Emma Sue said, “that’s not very nice of you. She’s more to be pitied than censured, and we should all extend the hand of fellowship to her.”

  I just hated it when Emma Sue took a lecturing tone with me. As many times as she’d cried on my shoulder and begged for my advice, you’d think she’d stop doing it.

  “Anyway,” Emma Sue went on, “what I really wanted to tell you is that when Larry and Sam were talking at the boat show, Sam mentioned that he’d seen Francie downtown. And immediately, the Lord laid her on Larry’s heart, and you know how he gets when the Lord does that. I mean, when the Lord gets ahold of him, that man doesn’t sit around. He acts! He went straight to the B and B where Dr. Fowler’s staying, and they got down on their knees together so they’d know what to do. And you know what they did?”

  “I have no idea, Emma Sue, and I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “Why, they went right over there to see her—both of them. Well, of course, they called first, and she was so grateful. Just pathetic
ally grateful, Larry said. She told him that nobody at all had had the kindness to visit, and—”

  “Wait just one minute. I went to see her! Doesn’t that count? I declare, Emma Sue, the woman wouldn’t know the truth from a hole in the ground.”

  “Well, I’m just telling you what she told Larry. She said she was all alone without a friend in the world.”

  “And that’s about the first truthful thing she’s said.”

  “Now, Julia,” Emma Sue said. “You might’ve had some problems with her, but you should learn to put them aside. She has suffered terribly, you know, physically and emotionally.”

  I couldn’t help it. My eyes rolled back in my head.

  “So,” I said, bearing up as best as I could, “how did the pastor’s, I mean Larry and Fred’s, visit go?”

  “Oh, Julia, you shouldn’t call Dr. Fowler by his first name. You don’t know him that well.”

  I was getting tired of all the admonishments Emma Sue was ladling out. Besides, she was unaware of just how well I did know Fred Fowler.

  “I stand corrected, Emma Sue,” I said, a trifle tartly. “You’ll have to forgive me. I got carried away trying to remember who rates a title and who doesn’t. But tell me about their visit.”

  “I can’t. They’re not back yet. They must’ve found loads to talk about and, of course, they’ll spend some time in prayer with her. I expect the poor thing’s lonely. But Julia,” she cautioned, “even when they get back, I can’t tell you what was said. Pastoral—”

  “Confidentiality. Yes, I know. But is she really planning to come here Monday night?”

  “Oh, I think that was the whole purpose of their visit. Naturally, Larry told Dr. Fred about her marital history, and he said that Dr. Fred said he’d never heard of any woman who needed his lessons more than she does. So he’s real anxious to meet her and try to guide her to either choose healthier husbands or to be content in whatsoever single condition she’s in. As he says he is.” Emma Sue stopped to take a breath, which she needed. “Oh, Julia, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Dr. Fowler—and remember, it was Larry who brought him here—could lift that poor soul out of her misery and reach her for the Lord? Dr. Fowler could teach her so much.”