JU03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding

by Ann B. Ross

  “Come in, LuAnne. What is it?”

  “Well, I can’t stay,” she said, her hands fluttering as they always did when she had a bright idea. “I’m on my way to that fabric place out on the highway. But I thought I’d better check with you first, just to make sure somebody else is not already doing it.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you know I’ve been wanting to help with the wedding?”

  I nodded, recalling all the silver we’d had to polish without any help.

  “Now I’ve come up with just the thing,” she went on, her eyes sparkling. “I just hope nobody else is doing them, because they’re perfect for me.”

  “What, LuAnne?”

  “Well, you know those little bags that you put rice or something in and tie up with ribbon? You know, for the guests to open and throw whatever at the bride and groom as they leave? Well, that’s what I want to make for you.”

  “Why, LuAnne, that’s a splendid idea. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Well, now, listen. I’ve been looking through Martha Stewart’s wedding book, and she recommends rose petals to fill the little bags. But, Julia, it’d take forever to pluck petals and fill bags. So, I thought maybe using birdseed would be better. Everybody says not to use rice, because it can get slippery on bricks or pavement. And, besides, birdseed’s ecologically sound and feeds the birds, too. What do you think?”

  “I think birdseed’s a fine idea,” I said, hoping we’d have some cause to throw whatever she decided to use. “How’re you going to make the bags?”

  “I’ll just buy some white net and cut out squares, then tie up the birdseed with pink ribbon. How many bags do you think we’ll need? Fifty or sixty?”

  “About sixty, to be on the safe side. But, LuAnne, are you sure you’ll have enough time to do them?”

  “I’ll work on them nonstop,” she assured me. Then, leaning in close, she lowered her voice. “Besides, Julia, they’re the perfect thing to work on in my lap. You know, while we’re watching television or whatever. That way, maybe Leonard’ll behave himself.”

  “LuAnne . . .” I said with a warning note in my voice.

  “I know you don’t like to hear my problems, but, Julia, ever since the doctor put Leonard on that medication, he can’t keep his hands off me.”

  It hadn’t been too long before that LuAnne had cried on my shoulder because Leonard had lost his taste for life. She’d complained that he never put his hands on her, moving her to consider divorce, and at her age, too. She’d even made it plain that she wouldn’t be above considering a dalliance with a race-truck driver, either.

  Now the shoe was on the other foot, for Leonard’s appetite had markedly increased, and she spent a lot of time getting her hair done and shopping and visiting friends. Anything to get out of the house and away from him, she’d told me. “He’s driving me crazy,” she’d confided, and it was all I could do to keep from staring at him during church services. He was such a meek-looking man, I just couldn’t imagine. . . . Well, and I tried my best not to.

  “LuAnne,” I said, “why don’t you ask the doctor to adjust his dosage? Wouldn’t that work?”

  “Oh, my goodness, no. Leonard won’t hear of it. Says, now that he’s got it back, he doesn’t want to risk losing it again. But I’ve found that if I keep myself busy, especially with something in my lap, like some cross-stitch with needles all around, it sort of deters him. That’s one reason I want to do these bags. And to help you, too, of course.”

  “It’s thoughtful of you, LuAnne. And we can certainly use them.”

  “I’ve got that big pretty basket that fruit came in last Christmas. I thought I’d pile all the bags in that and tie a big ribbon on the handle.”

  “That’d be perfect. Thank you again, LuAnne. That’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

  She gave me a conspiratorial grin, and said, “No, thank you. You’re giving me one less thing to worry about.”

  As she left on her fabric shopping trip, I thought to myself that medical science is a wonderful thing, even if it didn’t hit quite the right degree of moderation in some cases.

  * * *

  I had hardly gotten halfway back to Hazel Marie’s room when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it, Lillian,” I called, wondering if LuAnne had come back for a longer visit, which I certainly did not have time for today.

  But it wasn’t LuAnne, it was that little snip, Etta Mae Wiggins, in a white shirt and drawstring pants like hospital workers wear. Even though I knew full well she didn’t work in a hospital.

  “Yes?” I said, standing with the screen between us.

  “Uh, Mrs. Springer,” she said, twisting her hands. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was out this way seeing a patient, and I thought I’d just drop by and let you know that Mr. Carter hasn’t replaced those bulbs yet. We’re still in the dark, and, Mrs. Springer, it’s scary out there with the woods all around. Especially when we have to go out or come in at night. I just thought you’d like to know he’s still not doing his job.”

  “I’ve talked with him, Miss Wiggins, and he assured me that he would have those lights replaced right away. You just haven’t given him enough time. He has to find a ladder tall enough to reach, and someone to help him.”

  We stood there looking at each other for a minute, neither knowing where to go from there. I began to feel bad for not inviting her in, but I knew she had work to do, and so did I.

  “Well,” she said, beginning to turn away. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  As she started toward the porch steps, I had a sudden mental picture of Little Lloyd watching this exchange.

  “Miss Wiggins,” I said, opening the screen door and stepping out on the porch. “Just a moment, please. I thank you for letting me know that Mr. Carter hasn’t done what he assured me he would do. I will call someone else this very day, and let Mr. Carter know that I no longer need him in my employ.”

  She turned to me, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Springer. I hate for anybody to lose their job, but he’s just not worth whatever you’re paying him.” She stopped and bit her lip. Then, as if determined to get it said, she went on. “We’ve had something else stolen, too. Blanca Diaz, who lives just two trailers from me, had her beautiful hand-embroidered shawl stolen. She brought it with her from Mexico, and now it’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, but Little Lloyd is in the process of getting estimates to get a fence put around the park. So, if you . . . I mean, if the residents out there can just watch out for one another a while longer, we’ll have something put up that’ll keep you safe.”

  Her eyes really lit up at that. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Springer! I didn’t think you would do it, but everybody’ll be so happy to hear it.”

  So enthusiastic was her response that I stepped back for fear she’d throw her arms around me. “Well, good. And I hope there’ll be no more phone calls or letters or visits about this matter. You have to realize that I can’t have a fence put up in a day. But I assure you that as soon as this busy week is over, it’ll get done. You’ll just have to have some patience, Miss Wiggins.”

  That turned her glow down a notch, but she had my promise, which was as good as gold. When she left, I went back inside marveling at how little it took to make some people happy. Of course, it would take a great deal more than a little for me to pay for it, but I had a warm feeling, knowing how pleased Little Lloyd would be. But then, it would be just like Miss Wiggins to come up with something else she wanted done, now that I’d given in to her demand for a fence.

  But I followed through on my promise and went straight to the telephone to give Mr. Carter his notice, and hoped to heaven I could find someone to replace him. Then I looked through the notes Little Lloyd had made—such a dependable child—and called the fence company with the lowest bid.

  “There,” I said to myself. “Maybe they’ll fix it so that Miss Wiggins is fenced in for good.”

 
Then I smiled with the anticipation of telling the news to Little Lloyd when he got home. My smile was short-lived, though, for as soon as I hung up the phone all my worries about Binkie came rushing in again. Believe me, the afterglow of doing a good deed doesn’t last very long when troubles loom all around you.

  Chapter 23

  I had a good mind to try another good deed and, the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that it was exactly what was called for. I’d not heard from Coleman, so who knew how his campaign was progressing, if it was at all. So somebody had to do something.

  One thing was for sure; I’d never be able to rest if everything that could be tried, wasn’t tried. So to that end, I decided to take on Binkie myself and tell her in no uncertain terms that it was time to grow up and get married like she was supposed to.

  Having determined my course of action, I walked upstairs after supper to tell Hazel Marie I was going out for a while. Little Lloyd was taking his bath and Hazel Marie was laying out his clothes for the last day of school tomorrow.

  “Hazel Marie,” I said. “I just can’t sit here any longer without knowing what’s going on with Binkie. I’ve decided to go over there and have it out with her.”

  She turned to me, clasping a red-and-white knit shirt to her bosom. “Oh, good! I was wondering if there wasn’t something we could do. You want us to go with you?”

  “No, I think it’d be better if I tackle her by myself. Not that you wouldn’t be of help, but I have some harsh things to say to her and she might not want an audience to hear them.”

  “You be careful then, and let me know when you get back,” Hazel Marie said. “I’ll be waiting up for you.”

  She walked downstairs with me and whispered, “Good luck,” as she waited in the doorway until I got in the car and backed it down the drive. I wondered if I ought to honk the horn so I wouldn’t run over some of the people who had begun to congregate again on the sidewalk, but they’d left me plenty of room. After backing into the street, while a van and a chrome-laden sports car waited for me, I glanced at the gathering mass of people, noticing that a few women had joined them. You’d think they’d have better things to do than wander up and down the sidewalk. Putting the car into gear, I dismissed what other people found to do with their time—it was no business of mine—and hurried off to Binkie’s town house or condominium or whatever the latest developer called it.

  Her place was in a cluster of similar units at the north edge of the town. I’d only been there a couple of times, and then only in the daylight, so it took me a while to find hers, since they all looked alike. Every time I went, though, I just got sick at the thought of that beautiful house in the historic district where she’d grown up. Her parents had offered it to her when they’d moved to Florida, but she would have nothing to do with it. Too old, she’d said, and too big. So they’d sold it to somebody from New Jersey who wouldn’t know a Georgian from a Federal.

  So what did Binkie end up with? An architect’s nightmare, full of angles and skylights and lofts and open spaces. Why, her bedroom was up a spiral metal staircase that would’ve broken my hip a dozen times if I’d had to climb it. And not only that, her bedroom was in the loft, overlooking the living-dining-cooking space down below. Why, when you walked in the front door, you could look up and see her bed, plain as day. I couldn’t sleep that way myself. No telling who would walk in.

  She opened the door to me in her pajamas and robe, looking somewhat surprised to see me at that time of night.

  “Binkie,” I said, marching myself inside. “I’ve come to see if you need any help packing for your honeymoon. Where’re your suitcases?”

  “Uh, Miss Julia, I’m not . . .”

  I held up my hand to her as I walked toward her sofa. One of those sectional things. “I don’t want to hear it. You wanted this wedding, and I’ve planned this wedding, and we’re going to have it. And furthermore,” I said, taking a seat without a by-your-leave. I wanted her to know I meant business. “It’s the height of discourtesy for you to call it off without saying one formal word to me. So, I’ve carried on, and it’s too late now to change your mind.”

  “Miss Julia,” she said with a sigh as she sat at right angles to me. “Look, you don’t know . . .”

  “Of course I know, and it won’t be long till everybody in town knows, too. A baby on the way can be hidden just so long, you know. You’ve just got to get married before it’s obvious to everybody.”

  Binkie managed a sad smile. “That won’t make any difference. They can still count.”

  “Let them count, Binkie. You’d be surprised at the number of seven- and eight-month babies born in this town all the time. They’re the number one topic on the prayer chain for a while, then people forgive and try to forget. If, that is, the parents show their good faith by getting married before the baby makes its appearance.

  “Now, Binkie, I’ve put up with your recalcitrance this whole week, and so has Coleman. It’s time to think of someone besides yourself for a change. That little baby needs a daddy, and you need a husband. This is no time to be obstinate just to show people how independent you are.”

  She frowned and pleated her robe across her knees. “You don’t understand, Miss Julia. Times have changed, and a woman doesn’t have to get married just because she’s expecting.”

  “The times haven’t changed that much! Why, even that Steinem woman got married and she didn’t even have to, so it wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.”

  She got up and walked around the ell of the sofa. Leaning against it, she looked at me and said, “I, well, I’ve seen too many unhappy couples, Miss Julia. Doing divorce work, you know. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen men who’re mad and resentful because they got trapped into marriage. I don’t want Coleman ever to feel that way.”

  “Binkie, for goodness’ sake! Does Coleman look trapped! Just tell me one thing, do you love him?”

  She looked down, her face softening as she smiled. “Oh, yes.”

  “Well, thay Lord!” I said, leaning back in exasperation. Then I sat up straight. “And you know he loves you, don’t you? Don’t you?”

  She nodded, still with that smile at the corners of her mouth. I knew good and well that love didn’t guarantee a good marriage, but I also knew that young people put a lot of stock in it. So I played every card I had to the hilt, hoping to convince her that that unstable emotion could conquer all.

  “This beats all I’ve ever heard!” I got up and walked over to her fireplace, unable to sit still in the face of such foolishness. “Look, you are loved and you are in love, and as pregnant as you can be, on top of that. There’s not one thing stopping you from marrying a fine man like Coleman, except contrariness. That is not attractive, Binkie. Not at all.”

  “Well, I’m still thinking about it, but . . .”

  “You don’t have time to think about it! The wedding’s this Saturday, and that baby’s due . . . when’s it due?”

  “In about five months.”

  “Oh, Lord.” I put my hand to my head to stop it from exploding. “Binkie, that child needs to be legitimate. Believe me, I know the consequences of having what Lillian calls yard children. You don’t want to put that mark on your very own child.”

  “It’s not that way anymore,” she said, rubbing her hand across her waist, which, now that I was noticing, seemed to’ve gotten a little thick. “The world is a different place now, and nobody cares about such things anymore.”

  I could’ve pulled my hair out, I was so frustrated. “Binkie, wake up. This is not New York and it’s not Atlanta. It’s not even Chapel Hill. You just don’t do such things in Abbotsville without suffering the consequences. You and that child both.”

  “Miss Julia,” Binkie said, looking me straight in the eye with a lawyerly gleam in her own. “I happen to know that your marriage wasn’t the best in the world, so I don’t understand why you’re so anxious to push me into the same kind of situation.”

  Well
, I huffed, so she wants to play rough. “It’s not the same kind of situation at all! There’s no comparison between Coleman and Wesley Lloyd, and none between you and me. For one thing, I wasn’t expecting a baby. But let me tell you, if I had been, I’d’ve married quicker than I did and with a lot less thought. That was the way I was raised.

  “And I’ll tell you something else, Binkie Enloe, you’re just being willful and selfish, thinking only of yourself and not that little new life that you’re bringing into the world. There’re plenty of women who’ve married for less reason than you have, and made the best of it, too. You think everything has to be perfect? Well, let me tell you, it’s not going to be. In fact, you’re about at the point of losing what you do have. You think Coleman’s going to live the rest of his life on the edge of yours, just so you can pride yourself on your independence? No, ma’am, I don’t think so.”

  “He said . . .”

  “I don’t care what he said, and I don’t doubt that he meant it at the time. But what about ten years from now, after he’s watched his child grow up without him? Binkie, listen to reason.”

  She looked around the room as if she’d find some support somewhere in the rafters. “There’re problems with our jobs. He got upset with me for taking Dixon’s case. In fact, he laughed at me, said I didn’t know what I was getting into. And I resent that.”

  I spread my arms out with a loud sigh. “Well, resent all you want to; it’s not enough reason to ruin your life. You and Coleman can work out little things like that after you’re married. And I’ll tell you this, I’d hate to think I’d let a no-account like Dixon Hightower make my decisions for me.”

  “You don’t understand, Miss Julia. You’re of the generation that thinks a woman should submit to her husband in everything, take a backseat to him and agree with him even when he’s wrong, like that minister said I should do. I can’t and won’t do that.”