by Ann B. Ross
I wasn’t too sure of that. In fact, I wondered if Francie couldn’t teach him a thing or two, especially because he’d apparently had such poor personal luck with women, seeing that he’d lived a lifetime without a wife. But recalling what Sam had said was probably Francie’s secret weapon in attracting husbands, all I could think was Lord help us all. Put those two together with their combined store of erotic knowledge, and there was no telling what kind of combustible material would flare up.
Chapter 33
After hanging up the phone, I stood there fuming over Francie Pitts’s putting on the poor-little-me act during a pastoral visit. Then I began stewing because I’d gotten trapped into having both her and Dr. Fred as guests in my home. And if I hadn’t watched myself, I could’ve turned my wrath against Sam for putting me in the position of hosting them, especially Dr. Fred. But being the clear-eyed woman I am, I had to shake my head and give a rueful laugh, for I’d been the one who’d put myself in that position the day I lost my head in the bridal parlor.
But it wasn’t funny, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I didn’t want either one of them in my house or anywhere around me. What I did want was for Francie to go back to Florida and Dr. Fred to go back to his mother.
There was only one thing to do, and my shoulders began to slump as I realized it. I had to confess to Sam, with no fooling around this time. Then, even if he pulled away from me, at least he’d know why I couldn’t bring myself to face that hypocrite of a Christian psychologist. And he’d know why I couldn’t sit and listen to the man’s high moral lectures on Christian marriage when I knew without a doubt that he had, with malice aforethought, led me on to make a fool of myself.
I left the kitchen and headed for the living room, where Sam was watching a ball game on television. Lingering in the dining room, I could hear Lloyd and Etta Mae playing some kind of video game upstairs. I glanced at the dining room table that Lillian had set for supper before she and Latisha left. She’d put a pot roast with vegetables in the oven, telling me it’d be ready when we were.
The house was filled with the aroma from the oven, but I doubted I’d be able to eat any of it after baring my soul to Sam, and his stomach would probably be so turned that he’d be unable to eat either. So, I sighed, Etta Mae and Lloyd would enjoy it, and there’d be enough left over for Sunday.
The voices of Lloyd and Etta Mae drifted downstairs as they laughed and talked, having a good time together. I declare, there was something pleasantly childlike about Etta Mae, the way she could lose herself in the moment, whatever that moment happened to contain.
I was stalling, lingering there in the dining room as I worked up enough courage to face Sam. I knew I was putting off the inevitable, yet I went around the table, aligning knives with forks and centering plates on the place mats. Maybe Sam was engrossed in the ball game, maybe this wasn’t a good time to disturb him and maybe I was looking for an excuse to wait a day or so.
I considered getting sick again. If so, I’d have to start feeling bad fairly soon. I knew a weak spell would work just as well as it had the first time, because Sam was already worried about me. And this time, because Lillian and Etta Mae would know what I was doing, they’d likely help me carry it off. Except . . .
Except it saddened me to the depths of my soul to conspire in pulling the wool over Sam’s eyes. He’d been so concerned, and still was, about my health. I hadn’t meant to worry him so, and I certainly hadn’t meant to be threatened with a full-body examination in a doctor’s office.
Well, I thought as I heard the announcer proclaim halftime, this was as good a time as any to get it off my chest and over with. I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath and walked purposefully into the living room.
“Sam, do you have a minute?”
“Always,” he said, as he hit the mute button on the remote. “Come sit with me and tell me what’s on your mind.”
I sat gingerly on the sofa beside him, but not close to him. I kept myself perched on the edge, turned so I could see the expression on his face when I told him what I had to tell him.
“Well,” I began, then looked away because I couldn’t bear to see the moment his face fell. “It’s like this, Sam.” I stopped, my eyes darting around the room, afraid to come out with it. “I hate to say this because I know it means a lot to you. And you’ll be disappointed in me, I know, and I’m just so sorry that it’s come to this.”
“What has it come to, sweetheart? And how in the world could I be disappointed in you? You keep me hopping. I never know what’s going to happen next.”
“And you don’t want to know this time. It’s just so awful, Sam, and I thought I could get around it without telling you. Not,” I quickly added, “that I wanted to keep anything from you. I just didn’t want to upset you, but now, with all those people coming here Monday night, which means I’ll have to greet them and offer refreshments and smile and be friendly and listen to Dr. Fred talk about private matters right out in public, well, there’s nothing for it but to just . . . confess.”
“Confess what, honey? Tell me and we’ll fix it.”
“Oh, I wish we could, but it goes against the grain of everything I stand for in this town. And I know people will talk, and Pastor Ledbetter will think I’m awful, and there’s no telling what LuAnne and Emma Sue will say.”
“Listen, now,” Sam said, taking my arm and urging me closer. “It can’t be that bad. Are you not feeling well? Is that it?”
“I feel all right—just sick to my soul for doing this to you.”
“That’s sick enough,” he said, beginning to rise. “Let’s get you over to the hospital. I’ll call Dr. Hargrove to meet us there.”
“No, wait. Really, Sam, I’m not sick that way. It’s just that it makes me ill to admit this to you, because it puts you in a bad position.” I clasped his hand, working up the nerve to tell him. “I guess the only thing to do is just say it straight out.”
Sam looked at me, frowning with concern, as I took a deep breath, blew it out and looked him straight in the eye with all the courage I could muster. I bit my lip, felt a tremor in my hands, then said in a rush, “I don’t want to have that meeting here Monday night.”
There, I’d said it. I stared at him, waiting for his response.
“You don’t?”
I shook my head and looked away. “No.”
“Okay.”
“What?”
“Okay. We won’t have it. I’ll call Ledbetter and tell him to find another place. To tell the truth, honey, I was about to suggest we back out, too. A lot’s going on in the next few days with Hazel Marie and Pickens coming home and you not feeling well, so having a bunch of people in is just too much.”
I kept staring at him, unable to believe that it’d been so easy. I’d expected him to ask why I didn’t want to have it, at which point I’d planned to spill the whole sordid mess. Instead, he’d supplied an answer himself. Thank you, Lord, I thought, and sagged onto Sam’s shoulder. Saved again!
“Well,” Sam said, as he hung up the phone after passing the news to the pastor, “he wasn’t happy about it, but he knows you haven’t been well—apparently Francie asked about you when he and Dr. Fowler visited her, and Emma Sue mentioned it, too. He’ll announce the change tomorrow during the service.”
It struck me as odd that Francie had expressed interest in my well-being, first to Sam when she saw him on the street and again to the pastor when he visited her. She was generally so wrapped up in her own woes that nobody else’s seemed to count.
“I’m really sorry, Sam,” I said, dropping Francie from my mind. “Ordinarily, I’d love to have it here, but I really don’t think I’m up for it right now.” Of course, I wasn’t up for it now and never would be, but not because of being sick.
What I needed to do from this point on was to let Sam see me gradually feel better, which would reassure him and, in the process, stave off a visit to the doctor. Then, with the sessions settled at Mildred’s, I mi
ght manage to avoid Dr. Fred entirely.
“I know you’re not,” Sam said, running his hand along my arm, “and I should’ve known better than to suggest it.”
“Did the pastor say where they’ll be meeting?”
Sam laughed. “I think it’s going to end up back in the men’s Sunday-school room at the church. Emma Sue won’t like it, and neither, I think, will he in his current state of mind, but it’ll just be the one time. Mildred will be back for the rest of them.”
A low front had moved in during the night, so Sunday morning dawned gray and drizzly. I dressed slowly, dreading the church service for fear that I’d run headlong into Dr. Fowler, who would certainly be there drumming up business. I’d have to do some quick stepping between Sunday school and the service, when people milled around greeting one another, to stay out of his line of sight.
Hearing Etta Mae, Sam and Lloyd in the kitchen preparing our usual light Sunday breakfast, I quickly finished my toilette and hurried downstairs to do my part.
Just as I pushed through the door into the kitchen, I sneezed, not once but three times.
Sam set the milk carton on the table and came over to me. “All right, back to bed. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Why, Sam, it’s just a little sneezing fit. I feel perfectly fine. Besides, it’s allergy season.”
“Maybe so, but you don’t need to be out in this damp weather. I want you to stay home. At least put your feet up and rest.”
“Well,” I said, as if reluctant to miss Pastor Ledbetter’s sermon, “if you think it best.” But I was thinking, what a reprieve, and completely unplanned!
Etta Mae walked over and eyed me carefully. She was dressed in a short skirt, a simple blouse and sling-back heels—bare legged, though. It was her churchgoing attire, I assumed, because plans had been made the night before for her to accompany us to the service. She hadn’t been enthusiastic about it but had acquiesced easily enough.
Knowing that a realistic sneeze can hardly be manufactured on demand, Etta Mae showed some concern. “I’ll stay with her.”
“There’s no need for that,” I said firmly. “Because it’s raining, I will stay home, but I’m not going to bed. I’ll put my feet up and read the paper. It’ll be nice to have a little peace and quiet around here.”
Lloyd laughed. “Better get it while you can, Miss Julia. Mama and J.D. will be home today, and I can hardly wait. They’ve sure been gone a long time.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing them, too,” I said, and sat at the table and proceeded to eat the cold cereal and warm muffins that the three of them had prepared. I didn’t want any comments on a lack of appetite that might’ve indicated the need for bed rest. Still, the sneezing fit would work beautifully if I needed another excuse to stay home Monday night.
After they left to walk across the street to the church, I sighed with pleasure at being alone in the house. I took another cup of coffee into the living room with me, separated the pile of advertisements from the newspaper and settled down in one of my Victorian chairs by the fireplace to enjoy catching up with the world.
The world not being all that exciting, I think I dozed off for a while, but came alert at the sound of a car door closing. Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens! I jumped up and went to the front window. Parked at the curb was a long Cadillac painted a garish Florida color—some sort of orangey bronze—and limping up the walk with the help of a cane was Francie Pitts Delacorte.
“My word,” I said aloud, “what is she doing here?”
I thought of pretending I was at church and just not answering the door. But curiosity got the best of me, and I hurried to see why she was ringing my doorbell.
“Why, Francie,” I said, as I opened the door and took in her filmy dress in muted fall colors, her rakish hat trimmed in the same, her Prada pocketbook hanging on one arm and her rubber-soled flat shoes, one with the top cut off for her gouty toe. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were able to be out and about.”
“I’m really not,” she said, with a long-suffering sigh. “But I had to come, Julia. I’m not one to sit at home when a friend needs a comforting hand.”
“Oh? Well, do come in.” I stepped back to allow her to enter, then led her into the living room. “Have a seat, Francie. You’re obviously feeling better, and I must say you’re looking well.”
Forgive me, Lord, I thought, for telling such a story on a Sunday. LuAnne had been right about Francie’s heavy-handed makeup application, for it looked caked on—a far cry from the pallor of her hospital stay. She was even wearing blue eye shadow—at her age, too. Hazel Marie would’ve been aghast.
As Francie settled herself in the chair I’d vacated, spreading out her full skirt and smoothing it over her knees, I studied her face for signs of surgical scars from her alleged face-lift. There were none that I could see, but her face was certainly smooth and wrinkle free, with just a hint of stretching around the mouth and more than a hint of a wide-eyed stare.
“Would you care for coffee, Francie?” I asked.
“No, dear, I’m just fine visiting with you.” She glanced around, leaning over to see into the dining room across the hall. “Where is everybody? They didn’t leave you alone, did they?”
Aha, I thought, she’s here to talk Etta Mae into coming to her again. I settled back into the sofa, pleased to have discovered her purpose and determined to nip that in the bud.
“They’re all at church,” I said. “But Francie, I have to tell you that Hazel Marie will definitely be home today. So Etta Mae is fully employed.”
“I could care less about the Wiggins woman.” Francie put her pocketbook on the floor, then adjusted her cane against the chair arm, making sure that it wouldn’t fall over. “I’m concerned about you. They shouldn’t have left you alone, but that just goes to show how much I’m needed. Now,” she said, as I started to interrupt, “don’t pretend otherwise. I know you don’t want the rank and file to know your condition, but there’s no need to pretend with me.” She glanced toward the front door. “When will church be over?”
“A little after twelve,” I said, then frowned at her. “But Francie, I don’t know what condition you’re talking about. I’m as well as I can be.”
“Of course you are, dear. And we’ll keep it under wraps as long as possible. But I want you to know that you can depend on me. I’ve had so much experience with sickness of all kinds, and caring for you will be no problem at all.” Francie looked at her watch. “Sam went to church, too?”
“Yes, he always does. But truly, Francie, I don’t need any help. I have Lillian and Etta Mae and Hazel Marie, to say nothing of Sam and Lloyd, and that’s if I needed any help. Which I don’t, and I don’t understand why you think I do.”
“Why, Julia,” she said, leaning toward me with a worried look on her face, “it’s all over town that you are quite ill, and what’s a friend to do but be with you in your time of need?”
“But I assure you . . . ,” I started, but, hearing the sound of footsteps on the porch and of Etta Mae and Lloyd talking and Sam’s soft chuckle, I rose to greet them, hoping that Francie would take the hint and leave. “There they are now.”
“Oh my,” Francie said, followed by that tittering laugh. “I expect they’ll be surprised to see me here.” She smoothed her skirt again as she sat up straight, arched her back and turned sideways as she crossed her ankles.
Watching as she arranged herself, I saw an avid look of anticipation on her face as she turned toward the door. Posing, I caught myself thinking, and wondered why she thought Etta Mae would be impressed with the picture she made.
Chapter 34
After the greetings were over, Etta Mae and I went to the kitchen to put lunch on the table, leaving Sam and Lloyd to entertain Francie. She’d made no move to leave, even though it was clearly mealtime, so I had no option but to invite her to stay and eat with us.
“Nothing fancy,” I said, hoping she’d take the hint. “Just leftovers.”
“Oh, I’d love to have lunch with you,” she’d almost gushed. “It’s so seldom that I’m in such pleasant company.”
Etta Mae helped me put a few things on the stove to heat, or rather, I helped her because she was so handy. We could hear the sound of voices from the living room, but not the words.
“I’m kinda surprised to see Mrs. Delacorte here,” Etta Mae said, broaching the subject carefully.
“You and me!” I shot back. “You know what she wants, don’t you? She wants you to leave Hazel Marie and work for her. I don’t know what she’s doing, staying on for lunch. Anybody with any manners would know it’s time to leave. Especially having dropped in with no warning at all.” I slammed a pot on the stove, working up a full head of steam at Francie’s gall.
“Well, I’m not going to work for her,” Etta Mae said, as she began slicing tomatoes. “She just doesn’t know when no means no. I think she wants me back so she can accuse me of something else, like that gatekeeper said.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her. How would you heat up these rolls, Etta Mae?”
She glanced over from the counter where she was working. “Wrap ’em in tinfoil and put ’em in the oven. They’ll heat up without getting too brown.” She finished the tomatoes, then took several cucumbers from the refrigerator. “I wish she wouldn’t keep on after me. It worries me because I haven’t heard a word from Binkie, and I don’t know if I’m still number one on Lieutenant Peavey’s hit parade or not.”
Before I could tell her that no news probably meant good news, Lloyd pushed through the swinging door into the kichen. “Y’all need any help?”
“I don’t think so, honey,” I said, “but thank you anyway. What’ve you been talking about in yonder?”
