Miss Julia Knows a Thing or Two

by Ann B. Ross

  “Well, how long does she expect me to wait? I want this thing settled and set in stone, and I don’t want to have to wait until sometime after Christmas.”

  “Hold on, ma’am, I’ve got another call coming in. It may be her broker. I’ll put you on hold.”

  So I stood there, steaming and stewing and dreading telling Etta Mae that Lurline still had us dangling.

  “Mrs. Murdoch?” Mr. Blair was back on the line. “That was her broker. She just called him from her cell phone to tell him she’s in Easley, South Carolina, and—”

  “What? She’s out of town?”

  “Yes, it seems her nephew’s in a hospital down there and she’s on her way to see about him.”

  “Bug?” I asked.

  “No, car wreck. Anyway, she wanted to assure us, well, actually you that the offer is signed and she’ll get it to us as soon as she gets back. She’s asking for your patience because of a family emergency.”

  “Well, I guess there’s nothing else I can do, but I don’t like it. Did she give any idea of when she’ll be back?”

  “No, but I expect she’ll want to be back for Christmas if he’s in any shape to be moved. Why don’t we say we’ll expect the signed offer tomorrow afternoon by three?”

  “All right,” I said, sighing. “But that’s it.”

  I hung up, just drained by the disappointment, and now I had to tell Etta Mae, which would put her in the same condition.

  Chapter 49

  During a light breakfast, a lot of bantering went on in the kitchen between Sam and James, while Lillian, laughing at their carrying-on, stood at the counter chopping celery and onions.

  When I asked if she wanted a cup of coffee, she wiped her face with her arm and said, “I already had some, an’ I got to get all this chopped for the dressin’, an’ then I got to be sure I got everything for the Jell-O salad. I keep thinkin’ I forgot something. You know,” she went on, looking up, “the worst thing about cookin’ a big dinner is timin’ ev’rything jus’ right. The turkey has to start thawin’ days ahead of time, an’ the dressin’ has to be ready to go in the oven early Christmas mornin’, and the Jell-O salad ought to be in the ’frigerator no later than Christmas Eve mornin’, an’ sweet potatoes got to be baked and peeled that afternoon, an’ at the last minute, I got to whip the whippin’ cream to finish the dessert, an’ I have to put Janelle to work peelin’ oranges for the ambrosia. She can set and do that tomorrow. Ev’rything has to be ready to go in or on the stove on Christmas mornin’. Then I can set and rest while it’s all cookin’.”

  “Well, as I’ve said before,” I said, “you could lead an army, Lillian, and,” I went on, leaning over to whisper so James wouldn’t hear, “I’m glad you’re in charge. But don’t tire yourself out so much that you won’t enjoy the day when it gets here.”

  Leaving her smiling, I went to the library and called Etta Mae while dreading every minute it would take to tell her.

  “Etta Mae? Are you driving?”

  “No’m, I’m just sitting in my car in a patient’s yard, trying to get myself up for the next one on my list. I’ve heard, Miss Julia. Lurline called early this morning to tell me that Bug got upset when she told him she was selling the business instead of giving it to him. She said he broke her heart when he stormed out late last night, saying that nobody ever thought of him. And, Miss Julia, that’s all that family has ever done—think of him, I mean.” Etta Mae drew in a shuddering breath. “So go ahead and give me the bad news. She’s backed out, hasn’t she?”

  “No, at least not yet,” I said and told her of Mr. Blair’s call. “He seems to think she’s worried that I’ll withdraw the offer, but we’re giving her until three o’clock tomorrow. So just hold on, Etta Mae, we’re still in the running.”

  “I’m almost afraid to hope anymore,” she replied in a mumble, as if to herself.

  “Well, tell me this, why was Bug going to South Carolina? What’s down there?”

  “Oh,” she said, “they have family down there, so I guess he was going to hang out with them for a while. Anyway, he had a wreck again—his was the only car in sight and he drove off the road, sideswiped a speed limit sign, and ended up in a ditch.”

  “That’s the second time he’s done that, isn’t it? Maybe he needs glasses or something. Was he hurt?”

  “I don’t guess so,” Etta Mae said. “They took him to the hospital, then to jail, which is mainly why Lurline went down there, to get him out.”

  “Goodness,” I said, “I didn’t know they put you in jail if nobody else was involved.”

  “They don’t. It was all the empty beer cans in his car that did it. Those South Carolina cops don’t mess around.”

  “Oh, well then,” I said, no longer interested in Bug’s run-in with a ditch and out-of-state law officers. “We’ll just have to wait one more day, Etta Mae. I expect by this time Lurline wants nothing more than to be rid of both The Handy Home Helpers and Bug. Florida has to be looking more and more attractive to her.”

  After boosting Etta Mae’s spirits, although doing little for mine, I said goodbye and then called Mildred. Before I could ask after Penelope, she insisted that I come over for coffee that afternoon.

  “I thought you’d forgotten me,” she said. “I know it’s Christmas and everybody’s busy, and I’ve certainly been busy, as well. But I’d really like to know what you think of the options I’ve found for Horace.”

  * * *

  —

  “I’ve found two places,” Mildred said, pointing to a small stack of brochures as we sat in the chintz-covered chairs in her sunroom. “They’re the best of the crop, although that’s not saying much. Just reading about them saddens me. They make their facilities sound so nice, even desirable. Yet once you’re inside, you don’t get out unless someone with a key lets you out. But I just called to confirm one of them because I decided that I’d feel better if he’s in a church-run place, so it’ll be the Episcopal retirement center near Southern Pines. Of course it’s farther away than the one north of Asheville, but I don’t expect to be visiting very often, anyway. I mean,” she went on as tears glistened in her eyes, “he doesn’t even know who I am. He thinks I’m his mother or his sister or maybe that Jane Smith, whoever she is or was.”

  “I am so sorry,” I said, and I was, imagining how I’d feel if Sam ever lost all memory of our life together. “But I’m glad you’ve found a place for him.”

  “Yes,” Mildred said, dabbing at her eyes. “Ida Lee is going through his things and beginning to pack. We’re taking him the day after Christmas. I’ve found a professional driver, so we’ll take the Town Car.”

  “Ida Lee is going with you?”

  “Oh, yes, I couldn’t manage without her. We should be back late the same day, but I want to impose on you again and ask if you’d have Penelope while we’re gone.”

  “Of course,” I said. “We’ll be happy to have her, and on that note I wanted to ask if she can go with us to the Christmas Eve service at the church. We’re going to the early one at six, and,” I quickly went on, taking advantage of the opening she’d given me, “we’d love to have her this afternoon. Latisha is coming for a little while, and the girls play so well together.”

  “You may not want her at all,” Mildred said, reaching for her coffee cup. “I wouldn’t take her anywhere if it was up to me. On top of everything else I’ve had to contend with, she has almost been the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve been on the telephone for days, speaking with first one care center after another, calling to find a driver, going through Horace’s clothes and all the stuff he’s saved, trying to get him to shave and shower, and . . . ,” she stopped to take a breath, then went on, “. . . and arranging a schedule of sitters. Did you know that there’re people who will sit with sick people, and I do mean sit? That’s about all they do, just sit. And they cost a fortune, but at least they let
you know if there’s a problem, especially with someone who’s a flight risk, as Horace is. I told them that if he ends up hanging on the side of the house again, somebody was going to get sued. So now they sit by the window instead of in the hall. Anyway,” she said after stopping to catch her breath, “what does Penelope do on top of everything else? She cuts her hair!”

  “Oh, no,” I said, and recalled Ida Lee’s scissors, which Penelope had used so adroitly when wrapping her gifts. “She cut her beautiful long hair?”

  “No, not all of it, but, Julia, you may not want to take her out in public. When she came downstairs this morning, I could hardly believe my eyes. I called Velma to see if she could do anything—even it up or something, and do you know she’s closed her shop for the holidays already? You’d think Christmas would be her busiest time. I really think she needs some competition in this town. Anyway, Penelope looks like a little ragamuffin, so she really should stay home.”

  “I can’t believe it’s that bad,” I said. “Remember when one of Hazel Marie’s twins went to bed with chewing gum in her mouth? The next morning it was stuck all through her hair. They ended up having to give her almost a boy’s haircut, so, you know, children do that sort of thing and nobody thinks anything of it.”

  “Well,” Mildred said with a slight wave of her hand, “if you don’t mind the way she looks, go ahead and take her. But where she ever came up with the idea of bangs is beyond me.”

  Startled, I blinked, then, hurrying to relieve Penelope of some of Mildred’s displeasure, I admitted that she’d gotten the idea from me. “I’m sorry, Mildred, but don’t be upset with her. She would’ve never thought of bangs if I hadn’t said they’d look nice on her.”

  “Well,” Mildred said in her dry way, “just wait till you see her now.”

  Chapter 50

  “Lillian?” I called as I opened the kitchen door and stepped in with Penelope in her pink fur-lined boots edging in behind me. The house was quiet with James having gone back to Hazel Marie’s, leaving to Lillian and Janelle the final preparations for our Christmas dinner.

  “Look who’s come to see us,” I said, urging Penelope forward, knowing that Lillian would know what to say.

  When Mildred had called Penelope down so I could “see what she’d done to herself,” I had not only seen what she’d done, but what she was feeling, as well. The child was in great need of someone with hairstyling expertise and an abundance of comfort to offer.

  To say that the newly acquired bangs were uneven does not quite cover the description. One side was long enough to lap over her eyebrow, while the other side was little more than a wisp of hair, leaving her forehead only partially covered. I had been vaguely reminded of Veronica Lake, a movie star of long ago who was famous for a wave of hair covering one eye.

  Penelope had stood before her grandmother with the miserable look of a child who knows she’s done something wrong and has been told of it in no uncertain terms. Mildred would never use inappropriate words to anyone, but I also knew that her tone of voice could flay the skin off a miscreant. Penelope had the forlorn look of a scolded puppy, so I knew she’d been the target of Mildred’s extreme displeasure.

  Not wanting to hear any belittling comments Mildred might make, I jumped in to announce that Latisha was coming especially to see Penelope and that Lillian wanted them to frost some cookies she’d made. That was enough to get the child released for the afternoon. “Oh, take her,” Mildred had said. “Maybe she’ll stay out of trouble with you.”

  Now, as we walked in and Lillian got her first sight of Penelope’s mangled hair, she said, “Oh, my goodness!” Which could be taken in several different ways, but her shock from the sight was evident enough to me. Lillian, however, quickly recovered. “Here’s our pretty little girl come to see us again. Come’ere, little Honey, an’ let Lillian give you a great big hug. I been missin’ you.”

  Then, turning from hugging Penelope, Lillian looked at me and said, “Miss Julia, put this chile on a stool while I get a towel an’ some scissors. We gonna even things up a little.”

  Spreading newspapers on the floor, I centered a counter stool on them and helped Penelope to climb up. Lillian draped a towel around Penelope’s shoulders, stood back with comb and scissors at the ready, and said, “I don’t think we want ’em as short as the shortest side, so how you wanta do this?”

  “I thought you knew how,” I said, just as Janelle walked in, having finished setting silverware on the card tables in the library.

  Taking in the scene, she asked, “What y’all doin’?”

  “Fixin’ this chile’s bangs,” Lillian said, “but I’m studyin’ on it first.”

  Janelle, a competent, reliable teenager who was third in her high school class and willing to work at anything for college money, took one look and said, “First thing, comb her hair over her face. Just comb it forward from the top of her head, then cut straight across right above her eyebrows.”

  Lillian hesitated. “You wanta do it?”

  “Sure,” Janelle said, taking the comb, “I’ve cut bangs before.”

  And in just a few minutes, long strands of black hair were falling on the newspaper and an even line of bangs was on Penelope’s forehead. One side was a little thinner than the other side, but from a distance you could hardly tell.

  “There!” Janelle said, brushing hair from Penelope’s face. “You look terrific.”

  Removing the towel from Penelope’s shoulders, I turned her around to get a good look. “They’re perfect! Oh, Honey, bangs are beautiful on you. Janelle did such a good job. Now, would you like me to make a braid to go with them?”

  She nodded, her face clearing of misery, as the hope of pleasing those who counted reappeared. When I finished the thick, loose plait and tied a green bow at the end, Lillian took her to the hall bathroom and lifted her up so she could see in the mirror. The pleased expression that swept over her face lifted my spirits.

  “Wait till your grandmother sees you now,” I said. “You’re going to knock her socks off.”

  * * *

  —

  When Latisha was dropped off by her babysitter after choir practice later that afternoon, she took one look at Penelope and said, “Why, girl, you look just like a pesky kid in a movie that drives her parents crazy but gets them out of trouble in the end.” Which of course pleased Penelope no end.

  They played quietly for an hour or so with Latisha chattering away about the Christmas Eve service. I heard her tell Penelope about the sweet girl playing Mary, and about the manger with a baby doll in it, and about the shepherds wearing fake beards, and about the three kings wearing bathrobes until Lillian was ready to go home. It was time for Penelope to be home, as well, so both girls prepared to leave.

  As we put on our coats, Lillian said, “Now, you little girls need to be in bed right after church tomorrow night so Santy Claus can come, an’ if you listen real close right before you go to sleep, you might hear little reindeer hooves tappin’ on the roof.”

  Waving goodbye to Latisha and Lillian as they left for home, I walked Penelope across the yards to the house next door.

  On our way over, Penelope said, “I wish I could see three kings come walking in.”

  “But, Honey, you will see them,” I said. “You’re going with us to see the whole service and sing the songs and hear the Christmas story again. Didn’t your grandmother tell you?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe she forgot.”

  “Well, you just be ready because we’re going.” But there was another black mark against Mildred and it was all I could do to keep my feelings to myself.

  Before ringing the doorbell, I leaned down and said to Penelope, “Sometimes grandmothers don’t know what all the girls are wearing these days. But you are right in style, and bangs look wonderful on you.”

  Undercutting Mildred’s authority like that was not something I�
��d ordinarily do, but I wanted to ease the sting of any other slashing comment that might be made.

  As I walked home alone, I couldn’t rid myself of the downcast look I’d seen on Penelope’s face as the door closed behind her. It was bad enough to think of Mildred making snide remarks about the way the child looked. Even worse was the fear that Santa Claus did not have the Allen house on his list of stops the following night.

  Slightly comforting, though, was the fact that I had a few gifts for Penelope under our tree. That, however, wasn’t the same as discovering what Santa had left under your own tree.

  * * *

  —

  Sam and I went to a party that evening at the Hargroves’ home, taking literally it having been called a drop-in, for that was about all we did. Too many other things were on my mind to be in a party mood.

  “Next year,” I said to Sam on our way home, “I’m planning absolutely nothing. I am going to focus only on the spiritual meaning of Christmas and go to every church service there is. I’m not inviting anybody in, and I’m not accepting any invitations out. It’ll be a Christmas celebrating what it’s supposed to celebrate.”

  “Okay,” Sam said as he turned onto Polk Street, “but you should write that down. You could forget as the year goes on.”

  I laughed. “I know. But my intentions are good right now.”

  * * *