Miss Julia Paints the Town

by Ann B. Ross

  I wished I could think who he reminded me of. It was somebody I didn’t like, I was sure of that. I don’t care for aggressive people who feel they have to attack others before they get attacked themselves—which is generally because they’re hiding something that needs attacking.

  Walking into the living room, I saw that Sam was making sure that everyone was comfortable as he went from one to the other with a few words of welcome. Sam was an easy and thoughtful host, always knowledgeable enough to ask about special projects or interests of each guest. But, given the general tenor of thought and concern pressing in on most of those present, he would have to make a mighty effort, as would I, to keep the party from degenerating into a lament over the possible loss of either a husband or a courthouse.

  Lillian came in with a tray of drinks, a fruit punch laced with ginger ale and served in my Waterford cystal. I saw Mr. Kessler take a sip, then look askance at the contents. As his eyes followed Hazel Marie, he took another sip, possibly to confirm the absence of alcohol, and swallowed with a slight curl of his mouth. I smiled to myself, thinking that he’d be further dismayed when he learned there would be no wine with dinner, either. He liked Lillian’s hot olive cheese puffs, though, and even stopped her on her way back to the kitchen to ask how she’d made them.

  “I jus’ th’ow in a little of this an’ a little of that,” she said, “an’ enough cheese to make a dough, then wrap it ’round them olives. Then I cook ’em till they done.”

  When we went to the table, I placed Mildred at Sam’s right and Mr. Kessler at mine. I would have preferred a more amiable guest beside me, but you either do things right or you don’t do them at all. I made up for it by placing Etta Mae next to him, in the hope that she’d keep him occupied. Conversationally speaking, of course. Emma Sue was at my left, which earned me glares from LuAnne, who’d wanted to be seated close to Mr. Kessler. But I didn’t see it as my responsibility to aid and abet a married woman who was intent on waging a campaign to outdo her delinquent husband.

  I placed Lloyd next to Etta Mae, since they enjoyed each other, and Hazel Marie beside him on Sam’s left. Pastor Ledbetter and LuAnne filled out the other side. It wasn’t the most evenly balanced table, but it was the best I could do, given what, or rather, who I had to work with.

  Hazel Marie tried valiantly to converse with LuAnne, but she kept getting interrupted by Mildred who wanted not only Sam, but those on either side, to commiserate with her. And, of course, LuAnne was straining to hear anything Mr. Kessler said.

  Finally Hazel Marie picked up the condiment dish. “Would anyone care for watermelon rind pickles?” she asked, as she passed the dish to Sam.

  Mr. Kessler did not, nor did he much care for the rest of his meal. Oh, he ate the shrimp and took a roll every time the silver bread basket was offered. As for the grits, he only spread them around on his plate so that it would look as if he’d eaten some. I was familiar with that tactic, since Lloyd also used it when green peas were served. Lillian frequently found a pile of them hidden under a lettuce leaf.

  As for the collards, well, I pretended not to hear when he quietly asked Etta Mae what they were.

  “Collard greens,” she whispered back. “They’re what helped the South rise again.”

  I tried to engage Emma Sue in conversation, but it was a losing proposition. She mostly sat like stone, her face white and drawn as she picked at her food. Pastor Ledbetter, on the other hand, was at his voluble best, essentially carrying the conversation for the table and eating heartily. If you ever want to be heartened by the food you serve, invite a preacher to eat it. They like any and every thing, and will make you feel that you’re an exceptional hostess by the enjoyment they exhibit in consuming it.

  “Well, I tell you,” he said, as he cleaned his plate, “that was some fine eating. Lillian is an absolute jewel, Miss Julia, not another one like her.” Then looking across my bedraggled centerpiece at Mr. Kessler, he said, “I hear you’re planning to move to our fine town, and if you do, you won’t regret it. I’ve been here for years now, and it’s a fine place to live. Of course,” he went on with a big smile, “we know it doesn’t have the advantages of a big city like Raleigh, but it has its compensations.”

  At the mention of Raleigh, Emma Sue bowed her head and, in the process of patting her lips with her napkin, did the same to her eyes. Fearing a tearful breakdown, I quickly pressed the bell under the table with my foot to summon Lillian, and met Sam’s eyes down the length of the table. His eyebrows went up just a fraction, then Mildred leaned toward him to regain his attention. I had to smile. She had monopolized him throughout the meal, undoubtedly regaling him with the same complaints I’d had to put up with during the Night of the Prowler. Ordinarily, it was a pleasure to have Mildred, since she knew what was expected of a guest, but this night was different. But then, I suppose that any night in which your husband is missing has to be different by any definition.

  “It certainly does,” Mr. Kessler said, responding to Pastor Ledbetter. “And that’s exactly what people who live in metropolitan areas are looking for when they retire. They want a small-town atmosphere with quaint characters who’re friendly and community minded. They want to see salt-of-the-earth types when their cars need a lube job. They want to walk down the sidewalk and have people speak to them, and they want repairmen who’ll come when they’re called.”

  Yes, and so would I. I couldn’t help wondering what fantasyland Mr. Kessler was living in. No one replied to his dream of small-town living, silenced, I supposed, by what he’d apparently seen in Abbotsville that we hadn’t.

  “One thing I want to do while I’m here,” Mr. Kessler went on, “is to meet some of these people, get to know them, learn what they do with their time and how they live their lives. I’ll have my staff put some talking points together, so as soon as the sale goes through, we’ll be ready to spread the word all over the country about the good life in Abbotsville.” He managed a quick, one-sided grin. “You’ll all be celebrities by the time I’m through.”

  The thought of sudden and unwanted fame silenced all of us until Pastor Ledbetter cleared his throat and said, “I hope you won’t leave out this community’s commitment to the church, although I must say I’m leery of widespread exposure through the media. But I’m sure whatever you do will be tasteful and appropriate.”

  I wasn’t sure it would be, because when it comes to selling something, which in this case would be us, all bets are usually off.

  But Lillian distracted us when she came in and efficiently cleared the table, then served generous helpings of her pecan pie, which Mr. Kessler clearly enjoyed. He would’ve probably accepted another slice if it’d been offered since he’d eaten so little of the main course.

  As I rose from the table and indicated that we move to the living room, I mentally sighed with relief. The dinner had gone off well enough. No one had instigated an argument about high-rise condominiums where they weren’t wanted, and no one had dissolved into tears in spite of Emma Sue’s fragile hold on hers. Of course, LuAnne had made no effort to add to the conversation. She’d limited herself to frowning at me, still unhappy with the seating arrangements. And poor Sam had been stuck with Mildred, but, I thought with grim satisfaction, he’d already put himself out for one woman with a missing husband, why not for another?

  Actually, though, I’d guess that only two people had truly enjoyed themselves: Pastor Ledbetter who, as I’ve mentioned before, is easy to please when food is served, and Etta Mae Wiggins who was always thrilled to be included in anything. She’d kept up a constant chatter with Mr. Kessler on one side and with Lloyd on the other, displaying more social ease than I’d previously given her credit for. Mr. Kessler seemed intrigued with her, or if not her, then Hazel Marie. He glanced from one to the other of them often enough for me to notice, though I’m not sure anyone else did. Of course, they were the only women at the table without wedding bands, so that may have been the attraction. I’d have to mention that to LuAnne.
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  Then as we wended our way back to the living room, Mr. Kessler said, “I’d like to extend my compliments to the cook,” and he pushed through the door to the kitchen to speak to Lillian. I almost followed him, but went instead with the rest of the guests. But he had surprised and confounded me by this manifestation of good manners. Especially since he’d eaten so little of what the cook had served.

  Chapter 21

  Our after-dinner conversation got off on the wrong foot almost as soon as we regathered in the living room. As we sat in a loose semicircle around the fireplace, in which Sam had built a small fire to take the chill off the nippy evening, Pastor Ledbetter took it upon himself to draw out Mr. Kessler.

  In the midst of the general conversation, the pastor leaned over and said, “I hear you have big plans for Main Street. It’s about time somebody did something with that old courthouse. It’s about to fall down.”

  Wanting to forestall that topic and pretending not to have heard, I jumped in with a question. “Will your wife be joining you, Mr. Kessler?”

  LuAnne immediately stopped talking with Emma Sue and turned to hear the answer.

  “I’m a widower,” Mr. Kessler said. “Unhappily. But call me Arthur.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied, then, searching frantically for another subject, went on. “And where in New Jersey do you live?”

  “Milford.”

  I waited a second for further enlightenment, but when it wasn’t forthcoming, tried again. “Do you have children?”

  “Two daughters. Both grown and married.”

  By this time, everybody’s attention was on him, waiting to learn more. Pleading silently for anyone to help me out, I was relieved when LuAnne finally said, “Oh, children are such a blessing and I know you’re proud of yours. I’ve always regretted not having any, but a single woman is so much better off without them, don’t you think?”

  My eyes rolled only slightly as she let him know she was available. I declare, what some women won’t do to attract a man.

  I thought Sam was coming to the rescue when he said, “We have a lot of retirees here from New Jersey. All fine people and an asset to the town.”

  That perked up Mr. Kessler. “That’s exactly the kind we intend to attract. People’re tired of congestion and long commutes and hard winters. Like I said, they’re looking for better places to live when they retire, places with a low cost of living and where they’ll have a sense of community. That’s why we think Abbotsville is ideal for our project.”

  I wanted to ask who the we were that he kept referring to, but I preferred staying above and out of any of his plans.

  “Well, you’re looking at the right place,” Pastor Ledbetter said, and we were off and running on the very subject I’d wanted to avoid.

  Mildred, roused out of her concentration on her own woes, said, “I hope you’ll build something nice, something that will bring in the right kind of people. If you do, I might be interested myself. I don’t want to end up rattling around in a big house all by myself.”

  Etta Mae reached over, patted her hand and whispered something comforting to her. Then she said to Mr. Kessler, “If you’re looking for building sites, you ought to look at Delmont. We’re only a few miles from here out in the county, and we could sure use some fresh faces. Everywhere I go, I see the same people, I don’t care where it is.” She laughed. “The ones I see at the hardware store in the mornings pop up again at Ingles in the afternoon, and they’re the same ones I see line dancing at the roadhouse that night.”

  Mr. Kessler gave her long, penetrating look, and I couldn’t tell if it was a look of dismay or of interest. Either way, he didn’t answer her, just turned his shrewd eyes to Hazel Marie when she said, “Delmont’s a nice place. I’ve always liked it.”

  “Oh, I like it, too,” Etta Mae said. “Especially now. Since Miss Julia gave me the manager’s job, I’ve been able to get some decent people in the trailer park.”

  Mr. Kessler jumped on that. “You live in a trailer?”

  “I sure do,” she said, not one bit reluctant to admit to it. “I’ve got it fixed up real nice with an awning and everything, and now that I don’t have to call the cops every night, it suits me fine.”

  LuAnne’s eyes rolled worse than mine ever had. She couldn’t imagine living in a trailer, much less announcing it to all and sundry. “My goodness,” she murmured.

  But Mr. Kessler was definitely interested in Etta Mae. He leaned forward and said to her, “My condos are going to be top of the line, the last word in luxury and there’ll be some one, two and three bedroom units, as well as a penthouse. Maybe you’d be interested in moving up.”

  Etta Mae threw back her curly head and laughed. “Mr. Kessler, a double-wide would be moving up for me.”

  Hazel Marie quickly said, “But your place is so nice, Etta Mae, even if it is a single-wide.”

  Mr. Kessler gave Etta Mae another long, almost calculating look. “Call me Arthur,” he said.

  “Well,” Pastor Ledbetter said, “I, for one, think anything would be better than letting that courthouse sit there, deteriorating by the day. But I’ll tell you, Arthur, you may have a tough row to hoe getting the commissioners’ approval to tear it down. There’re some in town who’re dead set against it.”

  Well, there it was, out in the open. Inwardly fuming at the pastor, I bit my lip and remained silent. But it frosted me good that, if he moved to Raleigh, he wouldn’t have to live with a monstrosity on Main Street. For Emma Sue’s sake, though, I couldn’t say a word. But he’d certainly hear from me in the future.

  Mr. Kessler gave a quick nod of agreement. “I know there’s opposition,” he said. “But we expected that, and we’ll deal with it. We have the mayor’s backing already and almost a majority of the commissioners—only one or two are wavering. They’ll come around, though, when they see the plans and hear how it’ll mean progress for the whole county.”

  Mr. Kessler didn’t seem to have a doubt in the world that he’d get his way, sooner or later and one way or another. And I didn’t doubt that he would, either. You put dollar signs in front of the businessmen on the Board of Commissioners, and you could bet your bottom one that they’d give him whatever he wanted.

  And, furthermore, they wouldn’t care if more than half the town disagreed with their decision. They’d figure it’d all be forgotten and forgiven by the time the next election rolled around. In fact, they’d run on the increase of the tax base they’d brought to the town.

  “Besides,” Mr. Kessler went on, “even if we don’t get a majority vote, that won’t stop us. There’s nothing on the books that’ll keep an unused courthouse off the market. All that remains to be settled is how much they’ll take for it.”

  And there we had it: It came down to money. I wanted to slap off that arrogant curl of his mouth. He was positive that our commissioners could be bought, either directly or for the supposed good of the town.

  So my idea of presenting an alternate plan for the courthouse was dead in the water before I’d even started rowing. There was no way that archives and Boy Scout meeting rooms could compete with luxury condominiums filled with tax-paying property owners.

  I’d have to come up with something else, and by the time the guests took their leave, I’d about decided what that something else would be. It was confirmed for me when I went into the kitchen after the last guest had left.

  “Lillian,” I said, “everything was perfect. You outdid yourself with the shrimp and grits. I think they were tastier than usual.”

  “Yessum, I spiced ’em up a little. But,” she said, frowning, “that Mr. Kessler didn’t do much damage to his.”

  “I noticed. But that was the idea. I didn’t want him to think too highly of us.”

  “Well, you misfigured on that, ’cause he come in here an’ say he never have such good yeast rolls and pecan pie. He ast me can I cook roast beef an’ steak an’ such as that, an’ I say I been cookin’ such as that all my life.”<
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  “Why in the world did he want to know that?”

  She took a last swipe of the countertop and looked up at me with a grin. “‘Cause he offer me a job.”

  “A job! Doing what?”

  “He say he intend to keep one of them condominiums for hisself, an’ he want me to cook for him whenever he come to town. He say he keep on payin’ me even when he out of town, an’ I never have it so good.”

  I was stunned and furious in equal measure. The nerve of the man, coming into my home and trying to hire Lillian out from under me. No guest had ever been so rude and underhanded.

  Holding on to a chair for support and nearly strangling, I asked, “What did you tell him?”

  “I tell him I’m not in the market for another job. I like the one I got.”

  “Oh, Lillian,” I said, relief flooding my soul, “thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if you left.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I left, either. Can’t no other place be like this one. Nobody know what gonna happen next ’round here. It keep me en’ertained all the time.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, but I think it’s time you had a raise. I’ll see to it at the end of the week.”

  “Well, I ’preciate it, but you don’t have to do that ever’time somebody want to hire me.”

  “Why? Has somebody else tried to hire you?”

  “Yessum, Miz Allen, one time she say Ida Lee need help an’ she ast me if I come to work for her.”

  “Mildred! She asked you?” I had to sit down. “I can’t believe a friend would go behind my back. And after all I’ve done for her, too.”

  Lillian laughed. “You won’t find no friends when it come to money and good cooks. I done learnt that a long time ago.”