by Ann B. Ross
“But, Julia, I told you I was bringing supper tonight. I did that so you’d both be home for the party. Didn’t she even want it?”
“Yes, of course she did. And so did Mr. Pickens, he said he did. I was going to save a plate for them.”
“Well,” Emma Sue said with a little flounce of disappointment, “I don’t know what I’m expected to do now. The party’s just ruined.”
“No, it isn’t, Emma Sue. It’s the best idea you’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot. And just listen. Everybody’s having a wonderful time.” I paused so she would listen to the din of a couple of dozen women talking over each other, some louder than others and some shrieking with laughter. “It sounds like this is going to be the party of the year.”
Emma Sue turned to look toward the living room whence the noise was emanating, then she turned to me with a questioning look. “You think?”
“I certainly do. You’ve done it, Emma Sue, and I’m honored that you brought it to my house. No one but you would’ve thought of such a thing. Hazel Marie’s going to be sick that she missed it.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Emma Sue said with a burst of enthusiasm. “But we won’t have to. I brought a digital camera to take pictures, so she would have mementos to take to Florida with her. Oh, but,” she went on, frowning, “I was going to take pictures of her opening the gifts. And now I can’t, so that’s ruined, too. We won’t even get to watch her open the gifts, much less see her face when she does.”
“How about this, Emma Sue,” I said with a sudden inspired idea. “Let’s let each guest open her own gift and hold it up for everybody to see while you take a picture for Hazel Marie. I think we’d all enjoy that, and Hazel Marie would have a visual record of who gave what, and we wouldn’t even have to make a list for thank-you notes.”
“That could work, I guess.”
“It will, and it’ll be so different that nobody’ll ever forget this party.” I was beginning to relax, believing that I’d adequately explained Hazel Marie’s absence and soothed Emma Sue’s feelings, when I looked down the hall and saw a familiar, but completely unexpected, face in the living room crowd. “Emma Sue, is that Cassie Wooten?”
“Why, yes, I invited her. I’ve gotten to know her on the committee I told you about, and the other day when you mentioned that you knew her, I thought it’d be nice to have her—even though she doesn’t know Hazel Marie from Adam. But she’s a lovely Christian, Julia, and someone you should cultivate. She’d be so helpful to you on your spiritual journey.”
I couldn’t help it, I rolled my eyes. Emma Sue was always concerned about my spiritual state, intimating that I was too involved in worldly matters and superficial people, some of whom were her friends, too. But frankly, knowing what I knew about Cassie, I just couldn’t see putting myself under her guidance, spiritual or otherwise. Oh, I know people can change for the better, and Cassie appeared to have done just that. But since her testimony had to be pulled out of her by her domineering husband, I couldn’t help but wonder just how authentic the change had been.
But Emma Sue meant well, even though I try to avoid people who often mean well, but who leave shattered feelings in their wake. They’re the ones who tell you the most hurtful things for your own good and expect you to be grateful. I rarely was.
By this time, we’d walked down the hall and entered the living room. Emma Sue immediately took over, clapping her hands to get the crowd’s attention and calling, “Ladies, ladies! I want each one of you to get your own gift and take a seat. We’re going to start now.”
There was a bustle as people looked through the pile of gifts on a side table for the one they’d brought. Then the women scrambled for a seat—every last one of them programmed to obey when Emma Sue issued a command.
“Lillian!” she called, taking over as was her wont, “we need more chairs out here. Tell Lloyd to bring some from the dining room.”
When they were all seated, Emma Sue stood before them, her camera in hand, and announced the procedure. “First of all, I have to tell you that the guest of honor isn’t here.” This announcement produced a buzz of questions and a low rumble of disappointment. “But that’s all right. It just means that Hazel Marie is feeling so much better, and we’re happy about that, aren’t we? Anyway,” she went on with a brief glare at me, “despite the fact that she was supposed to be here, we’re going to do the next best thing.” And she proceeded to tell them exactly how and when each guest was to open her gift, hold it up so everybody could see it and smile for the camera. Of course, it took forever for Emma Sue to get the hang of the camera and to take the perfect picture of each one, so I eased into a corner of the dining room, out of Emma Sue’s line of sight.
While Emma Sue was organizing everybody, I glanced around until I saw Cassie Wooten, sitting quietly among the guests. She was wearing a navy crepe dress with a lace collar and flat shoes with thick rubber soles. Foot problems, I suspected. Her hair was pinned up on the back of her head, the way it’d been when Mr. Pickens and I had visited, but today it was put up in a looser fashion and was a little more becoming. She wore no makeup, which was probably one reason Emma Sue had taken to her. Two of a kind, don’t you know.
I looked away before catching her eye, lest she realize I thought it strange that she’d come to a party for someone she didn’t know.
As the ladies got into the swing of gift opening and gift appreciation, laughing and talking and smiling for the camera, I slipped into the kitchen where there was a little peace and quiet. Lillian and Lloyd were there, but Sam wasn’t.
“Where’s Sam?” I asked.
“He still in Miss Hazel Marie’s room,” Lillian said. “He say he don’t wanta get mixed up with that crew out yonder, so I took him a plate of party food an’ he eat in there. Lloyd been runnin’ back an’ forth through the back hall ’cause he don’t wanta get mixed up with ’em, either.” She smiled fondly at Lloyd. “He been tellin’ me ’bout how y’all slip his mama out the window.”
“Sh-h-h, Lillian,” I said, looking over my shoulder. “Don’t say a word about that to anybody. Mrs. Ledbetter would never forgive us.” I walked over to the sink where they were leaning against the counter, as far from the door to the dining room as they could get. “Lloyd, did you tell her about Mr. Pickens breaking a window to get in?”
“Yessum, I did, and now we’re wondering if they’re making up. I sure hope so, ’cause it was awful how they wouldn’t even speak to each other. I didn’t like it.”
“None of us did,” I said, as Lillian put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “And I must say that even though Mr. Pickens has his faults, well, as most of us do, he is undoubtedly the only man for her.” I’d never spoken truer words, although the boy didn’t know why and I wasn’t about to tell him. “So maybe they’re ironing out their differences as we speak and we’ll hear good news, but not, I hope, before those women in there leave and go home. Lillian, have you ever heard the like of such a party? Don’t ever mention surprise to me again. I’ve had about all the surprises here lately that I can stand.”
It was two more long hours before the guests began to leave, and, by that time, Lillian had their Pyrex dishes, Tupperware bowls, china plates, and other odds and ends washed and ready to go home with the ones who had brought them. Emma Sue and I saw the guests out, thanking them for the gifts and receiving thanks for the lovely party.
“Well, Julia,” Emma Sue said when the last one left, “let’s get this mess cleared up. I have to teach Sunday school in the morning, so I need my rest.”
“You run on, Emma Sue. There’s no need for you to stay. I’m going to send Lillian home since she’s stayed later than usual, but I’ll have Sam and Lloyd to help me.” I began to gather up wrapping paper and ribbon, bunching them together before throwing them out.
“Oh, Julia,” Emma Sue cried, snatching the papers out of my hands. “Be careful with that, you’ll ruin it. Here, let me show you how to smooth it out and save it.
I always save wrapping paper and the ribbons, too. If you use a cool iron, the ribbon will be as good as new.”
I declare, Emma Sue Ledbetter caused my eyes to roll more than any other one person I knew. But it was better to do it the way she wanted than to argue with her, so I smoothed out dozens of sheets of wrapping paper, wondering where I could store it and doubting that I’d ever use it again.
“Julia, look at this,” Emma Sue said, holding up a little ceramic gnome, painted in bright red and green. “Isn’t it darling? I know Hazel Marie’ll love it. And look at this precious little angel. She’s going to have so many knickknacks to remind her of home that she’ll have her new apartment decorated in no time.”
I nodded and pretended to agree, but it’d taken me years to wean Hazel Marie off darling little knickknacks that did nothing but collect dust and ruin one’s more elegant decor. Some of the gifts, however, were of a more useful nature, I was happy to note. There were dish towels, a set of napkins, salt and pepper shakers, and some place mats. But others had brought personal items: A nightgown, bedroom shoes, a little travel bag with a toothbrush in it, and one thoughtful person had given a book on how to decorate an apartment. There was also a photograph album, ready and waiting for Emma Sue’s pictures, as well as an address book with every guest’s address and phone number in it. Someone, and I could guess who, wanted to be sure that Hazel Marie acknowledged each gift with the appropriate note.
I, myself, would’ve been hard-pressed to come up with a suitable gift for a person who was moving away, considering the fact that few people would want any more items to pack than they already had. But it occurred to me that almost every gift chosen for Hazel Marie could serve equally as well for a bridal shower gift as a going-away one.
And that, of course, brought my thoughts back to what was happening between her and Mr. Pickens. To show how anxious I was, I was even tempted to ask Emma Sue to join me in prayer for the right outcome. I quickly got over it.
When Emma Sue finally left with her Tupperware bowl, an armful of recycled wrapping paper that I’d insisted she take and my effusive thanks, I went back to Hazel Marie’s room, formerly mine and Sam’s.
“You can come out now,” I said to him.
He looked up from the book he was reading. “They’re all gone?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Have you heard from Hazel Marie?”
“Not a word. Or from Pickens, either. I expect they have a lot to talk about.”
“They certainly do, and I just hope they cover all the ground that needs to be covered and manage to come to an agreement as to the proper solution.”
Sam grinned, closed his book and said, “And what would that be?”
“Oh, you. You know what it would be. But I’m worried, Sam. They could’ve decided on the right thing in five minutes and it’s been hours since they left here. What could they be doing?”
Sam got up and put his arms around me. “I expect you’ll figure it out if you think about it.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, if that’s the case, then maybe the longer they stay away the better. Where’s Lloyd? He didn’t go over there, did he?”
“No. He was helping Lillian, but he may’ve gone upstairs by now. That boy’s like me—when there’re more women around than you can count, we head for the hills.”
I started to laugh, but was interrupted by Lillian appearing in the door.
“Miss Julia?” she said.
“Why, Lillian, I thought you’d gone home. I apologize for keeping you so late. Just leave whatever’s not done, and we’ll get to it later.”
“Yessum, I’m about to go, but they’s a lady out here want to see you.”
I looked at my watch. “Why, it’s almost nine o’clock. Who could be visiting this time of night? I didn’t even hear the doorbell.”
“No’m, she come tappin’ at the back do’, an’ I let her in. She settin’ in there in the livin’ room waitin’ on you.”
I looked at Sam and saw his eyebrows go up, as we both wondered who would be dropping by on a Saturday night.
“I’ll see who it is,” Sam said.
“Well, Mr. Sam,” Lillian said. “That lady, she say she jus’ want to see Miss Julia for a few minutes, an’ then she be gone.”
“Did she give her name?” I asked.
“Yessum, she say to tell you she Miz William Wooten, an’ she need to talk to you.”
Sam and I looked at each other, and this time it was my eyebrows that went up.
Chapter 44
I walked into the living room where Cassie Wooten sat in one of my Victorian chairs by the magnolia leaf-filled fireplace—my usual decorative touch for the summer months. Her feet in those awful shoes were flat on the floor and close together. Her hands were clasped in her lap. She sat quiet and composed, serenely waiting. Or so it seemed until I noticed that a long, stringy-looking strand of grayish hair had come loose from the French twist she’d attempted for the party.
“Cassie?” I said softly as I approached.
She turned with a jerk, startled at first, then smiled briefly. “Oh, Mrs. Murdoch, Julia, I mean. I hope you don’t mind me coming back in. I don’t want to disrupt your evening.”
“You aren’t disrupting anything, Cassie. I’m glad to see you.”
She nodded and began kneading her hands in her lap. “You must be wondering why I’m here. And the reason is, well, I couldn’t go home without explaining some things.” She gave a short self-deprecating laugh. “I only came to the party because Mrs. Ledbetter insisted, and because I hoped to get a minute with you. But there were so many people here. I shouldn’t have come at all, but it was the only chance I had, since William . . . Anyway,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve been waiting in the car for everybody to leave.”
“Why, Cassie, if I’d known you wanted to talk, we could’ve gone upstairs.”
“No, it’s all right. I didn’t want to put you out. Anyway,” she said again, taking another ragged breath before launching into what she’d come to say, “William told me you’d called. So, first, I wanted to tell you that for Mr. Murdoch’s sake, I’m glad his computer wasn’t ruined.” She gazed at the fireplace and murmured, “William says that means the past will all be raked up again.”
She looked down at her hands, while I thought to myself that my deceitful phone call had, indeed, stirred things up. Maybe she was here to admit William’s guilt and to throw him on our mercy—wouldn’t that be something?
Cassie looked up at me and went on. “The thing of it is, well, I guess what I really wanted to say was I know how William comes across sometimes. But, please,” she said, giving me a pleading look, “he doesn’t know about this. It would really upset him if he knew I was discussing him with you. With anyone, for that matter.”
“What husbands don’t know won’t hurt them,” I said, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation. It didn’t work.
“Anyway,” she repeated herself again, this time with a heavy sigh, “I know how important those papers and things are to Mr. Murdoch and I hate that they got stolen and his house was all torn up. It just made me sick when I heard about it. And when you and that investigator came by, I got so worried that you’d think William did it. Then when you called about maybe finding a copy, I thought I’d be so relieved. But I wasn’t, because you and Mr. Murdoch would still believe William had done it, and you’d always hold it against him. So, what I wanted to tell you is that he really didn’t.”
I blinked, wondering how she’d known my thoughts, much less Mr. Pickens’s, on the subject of William Wooten as a suspect. We’d both thought he had it in him to do whatever he wanted, the way he acted and all, not letting Cassie talk, berating her for letting Sam interview her and doing it in front of us and so on. But I said, “Oh, I’m sure nobody ever thought it was him, Cassie.”
She looked down at her restless hands again. “I know how he sounds sometimes, but he’s not always like that. And he wasn’t very courteous to you
and that man when you visited, so it’d be easy to think he might’ve done it. He can get so angry.” She sighed, either in resignation or despair, I couldn’t tell which. “I was afraid you’d get the wrong idea.”
I sat still for a few seconds, wondering if Sam were listening to this and what he would ask at this point when she seemed so amenable to being questioned. She was either protecting her husband or she truly believed he wasn’t a thief and a vandal. Or he was actually innocent. I didn’t know how to tell which it was, but I was determined to try.
“Well, Cassie, I believe you, although I can’t speak for Sam or Mr. Pickens. William’s reaction sort of made him stand out from the others. So let me ask you this: If he didn’t do it, do you know who did?”
She glanced quickly at me and away again, but not before I saw her eyes widen with alarm. “Oh, no, I couldn’t name anybody, that wouldn’t be right. Besides, I don’t know anything about it except that William couldn’t have done it. Why, he’s a Christian.”
Well, Lord help us, claiming to be a Christian hadn’t stopped any number of crooks, criminals, and con men before, so if that was her husband’s only proof of innocence, Cassie was on shaky ground. But far be it from me to judge anyone’s spiritual status, not wanting to be judged myself.
Having said what she’d come to say, Cassie stood and I did, too. I wasn’t sure that she felt any better, for her hands smoothed the hair from her forehead, felt the buttons at the neck of her dress, then rubbed along her forearms—nervous gestures that belied the lack of expression on her face.
“I better be going,” she said. “William will be worried.” She started to leave, then turned back. “You’ll tell Mr. Murdoch, won’t you? Tell him it wasn’t William.”
“Yes, of course I will, but if you want to talk to him, he’s here.”
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. You tell him for me.” She walked hurriedly toward the kitchen where she’d come in, and I followed her.
