Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind (18 page)

“You so welcome, honey,” Lillian said, patting his hand.

“Some things are just right to do,” I said, then fearing that I’d sounded ungracious, changed the subject. “Lillian, tell us what happened when you went in there.”

“Well, first thing, I didn’t think I was gonna get in. They didn’t like somebody knockin’ on they door that time a night. But them big bills you give me changed they minds, like it would anybody’s. That first man what come to the door, he wanted me
to give ’em to him, but I say, ‘No, I got my ’structions an’ they got to go dreckly to Brother Vern and Brother Stedman.’ He keep tellin’ me they on the air an’ can’t be ’sturbed an’ I keep tellin’ him I wait for ’em. Finally, he let me go in the studio, but he tell me to stay over in the corner outta the way till Miss Rubynell sing again an’ then I can hand over the donations. That suited me, ’cause everybody so busy they forget about me, an’ I stood there lookin’ ’round for our little boy an’ wonderin’ how can I get him to see me.”

“I saw you, Miss Lillian!” Little Lloyd said, so excited that his glasses almost fell off. “I couldn’t believe it was you over in that corner. I didn’t even see you come in.”

“Well, the next thing I had to worry ’bout was you sayin’ somethin’. You know, out loud, that’d let everybody know what was up.”

“But I knew better, didn’t I? I didn’t say a thing, did I?” He was bouncing on the seat and I almost said something to him, but thought better of it with his mother there. I declare, I didn’t know the child had that much life in him, which is just as well. I can’t stand a nervous, talkative child, can you?

“You sho’ didn’t, honey. You did it just right. I jus’ put my finger on my lips to shush you an’ then motion you to come on to me.”

“And you know what else I did, Mama? Miz Springer, guess what I did then? I whispered to one of the big kids that was on the show that I had to go to the bathroom and he said okay. And I just got up and left and Miss Lillian followed me. And then we ran, didn’t we, Miss Lillian!”

“We made us some tracks, all right!” Lillian said, laughing.

I have to confess that I admired Little Lloyd’s quick thinking, in spite of having to hear about it at full volume. Not many nine-year-olds would have their heads on so straight.

“I’m real proud of you, baby,” Hazel Marie said, “and so glad to have you back.”

We were all quiet as I maneuvered the car through the loop to put us back on I-26. The traffic thinned out as we began the climb toward Abbotsville. Nobody spoke, thinking either about our close calls or about Jerome, one.

There were no bright-beamed headlights behind us, so I leaned back and began to relax, keeping my hands lightly on the steering wheel. In spite of everything that’d happened and in spite of the fact that we were safely on the way home, not a one complimented me on my driving. Even though I really had the hang of it by then.

“Uh, speaking of going to the bathroom,” Hazel Marie said.

“Just hold your water,” I said. “I’m not about to stop on the side of the road with that Jerome after us. I’ll come off on the next exit and we’ll look for a cornfield.”

I don’t know why they thought that was so funny, but they laughed about it all the way home.

W
E ALL HAD
a slow start the next morning, except for Lillian, who was up before seven getting breakfast for Deputy Bates. We didn’t want him guessing we’d been tooling around two states in the middle of the night. I’d cautioned her before we’d gone to bed, saying we all needed to get our stories straight before telling anybody about our nighttime activities.

“Lieutenant Peavey told me not to leave town,” I reminded her. “But what he don’t know won’t hurt him.”

I got up about eight and checked on Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd in his room.

“I think I pulled something loose, Miz Springer,” Hazel Marie said as she tried to sit up. “I’m awful sorry to be so much trouble. But I got my baby back, thanks to you and Miss Lillian, and I’ll be all right.”

“You stay right there in bed,” I told her. “Here’s some Tylenol, and if that doesn’t help I’m taking you to the doctor today. Little Lloyd, run down and let Lillian give you some breakfast, but don’t wake up Deputy Bates.”

“Yes’m,” he said, a brighter, happier child than I’d seen before. Not much improved in looks, though, I’ll have to say, since he inherited so much from Wesley Lloyd.

“
DID BROTHER VERN
treat you all right?” I sat at the kitchen table with Little Lloyd while Lillian puttered around the sink. I noticed that so far he’d not retrieved his Winn-Dixie sack; at least it wasn’t in his lap or by his chair.

“Yes’m, it was all right,” he said, giving me quick glances like he was still afraid to look me in the eye. “I thought he was taking me to my mama.”

“I thought so, too, or I’d’ve never let you leave with him. I want you to know that. But he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No’m.”

“What did he want with you? Did he ever say?”

“He said my mama wouldn’t let him have something my daddy gave her. He thought I knew where it was, but I don’t even know what it is.”

Lillian said, “That man up to no good, if you ast me.”

“Amen to that,” I said. “Little Lloyd, I want you to stay inside today, either with me or Lillian. Your mother’s not feeling well, so she needs to stay in bed.

“Lillian, I don’t want to scare this child, but Brother Vern and Jerome Puckett may not be through with us. If you see that truck, or hear it, let me know. I want us all to stay close until we see what they’re up to.”

“This baby’s not gonna be outta my sight,” Lillian said. “Come on over here, honey, le’s us make some biscuits for when Deputy Bates have his supper.”

He got out of the chair, smiling, and went to her. For the first time since I’d known the child, and for just the briefest time, he didn’t resemble Wesley Lloyd in the least.

THE FRONT DOORBELL
rang as I started to leave them to it. Lillian and I looked at each other, then at Little Lloyd, whose face had gone white.

“It’s nobody; don’t worry,” I said. “Jerome’s not going to come to this house and announce himself. Lillian, you and Little Lloyd stay in here. I’ll see who it is, and get rid of them as soon as I can.” Unless it’s Sam, I amended to myself.

It wasn’t. It was Pastor Ledbetter, smiling confidently and not at all abashed over the outcome of our last meeting. Standing beside him was a short, thin man in a blue-and-white seersucker suit, the kind Wesley Lloyd wouldn’t’ve been caught dead in. The man had a few strands of reddish hair combed carefully across the bald area where his hair had receded to a remarkable extent. He smiled without showing any teeth, stretching the thin mustache into a straight, dark line between his mouth and his nose. Milky blue eyes stared at me through gold-rimmed glasses, and it took me a minute to remember my manners.

“Why, good morning,” I said, tearing my eyes away from the nondescript little man who had such a mesmerizing stare, and focusing on Pastor Ledbetter. He was looking too friendly for me to expect another lecture on a woman’s responsibilities. That took a serious mind and a long face, but if he brought up Wesley Lloyd’s estate again, I decided I’d transfer my membership. Maybe to the Episcopal church, where grown men get down on their knees. Which a lot of men, including the Presbyterian kind, ought to try. “I wasn’t expecting you, Pastor, but do come in.”

“Miss Julia,” Pastor Ledbetter said, smiling broadly as he ushered in the stranger and followed him. “Sorry not to call first, but I wanted our newest member to meet you, so we just stepped across the street to introduce you. Dr. Fowler, this is Miss Julia Springer, who is one of our most active members. I don’t know what First Church would do without her.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Springer,” the man said, shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Dr. Fred Fowler.”

I don’t trust people who have to make sure you know their
titles, do you? And I’ve noticed that people with honorary titles are the worst offenders, so my guard went up another foot or so.

I got them seated and asked if they cared for anything to eat or drink. No, they both said, this was just an introductory meeting, which struck me as strange since Pastor Ledbetter had never made such a to-do over a new member before. At least to me, he hadn’t. They sat side by side on my sofa, the little man smiling what seemed to me a secret smile, like he knew something that gave him pleasure, and Pastor Ledbetter giving me his broad, outgoing one.

“How’ve you been feeling, Miss Julia?” Pastor Ledbetter asked. “A little run-down lately?”

“No,” I said cautiously, wondering at his concern. “Can’t say that I have. I’ve been too busy to worry about how I’m feeling. How about you, Pastor, you feeling all right?”

“Oh,” he said, laughing and glancing sideways at Dr. Fred Fowler, who sat with his eyes glued on me. I hadn’t seen the man blink yet. “Nothing wrong with me an afternoon of golf wouldn’t cure.”

“Well, an afternoon of golf would cripple me,” I said. Both seemed to think that was an exceptionally amusing thing to say. “Do you have a family, Dr. Fowler? I’d like to meet them and welcome them to town.”

“No, I’m sorry to say. The Lord hasn’t led me in that direction, but maybe I’ll meet someone here.”

“Maybe so, but I’m afraid there’s not much to choose from in Abbotsville,” I said, thinking of the dearth of available women in their fifties. “Are you planning to practice in Abbotsville, or have you come here to retire?”

“Oh, I don’t have any plans to retire. I like my work,” he said, crossing one leg over the other like he was perfectly at ease. I wasn’t, because those eyes of his had a strange, penetrating look
to them. If he thought he was going to get me up on another table in those metal contraptions again, he had another think coming. He studied me for a minute and said, “What would you think if I opened my practice in Abbotsville?”

“I wouldn’t think much one way or the other,” I said. “I’m not the one to ask. The Chamber of Commerce, maybe, or some of the other doctors could help you. But you’re not a young man, if you don’t mind my pointing it out. Aren’t you starting out a little late in life?”

His smile stretched out broader, still with no teeth showing. I wondered if he’d needed braces as a child and hadn’t gotten them. Dr. Fowler and Pastor Ledbetter glanced at each other, and Pastor Ledbetter raised his eyebrows.

“No,” Dr. Fowler said, “I’ve been in practice for a number of years over in Chattanooga, but I’m feeling the need for a change. Have you ever felt that way, Mrs. Springer?”

I twisted my mouth, glancing from one to the other of them, wondering at the strangeness of the conversation. I tried to make allowances, though, because even some educated people have poor social skills. “No, I can’t say I have. My feeling is that if you move around too much, people think you’re flighty. It’s especially bad where doctors are concerned, as I expect you know. People always wonder about a doctor who picks up and moves somewhere else; they wonder if something’s wrong with him. I hope I haven’t offended you, but the way people are couldn’t be news to you.”

“No, indeed,” he said, putting his hands together and resting his fingers against his chin. “Mrs. Springer, I can see that you’re a discerning judge of people, and I’d like to speak with you again, if I may. Could you spare some time to, well, just sit and talk every now and then?”

“I’m not sure. I’m pretty busy these days, but I’d like to help you if I can.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage it,” Pastor Ledbetter said, rising to his feet. Dr. Fowler followed, holding his hand out to me as my preacher kept trying to get a committment. “You could meet over at the church,” he said, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You can show Dr. Fowler around and tell him about the church and the town and yourself, as well.” Pastor Ledbetter turned to the doctor. “She knows all the local history.”

“It would be a pleasure,” Dr. Fowler said. “Can we say ten o’clock this Friday?”

“I’m not sure I can do it then,” I said, feeling uneasy over their combined efforts. “In fact, I’m sure I can’t this Friday. Maybe sometime next week, or maybe Pastor Ledbetter can find somebody else to talk with you.”

“I’d really rather it be you, Mrs. Springer,” Dr. Fowler said, holding my hand and giving it a little squeeze. He wasn’t that young, but he was too young to be flirting with me. I’d heard of men who preyed on wealthy widows regardless of age differences. I drew my hand away and stepped back.

“It’s got to be you or nobody, Miss Julia,” Pastor Ledbetter said in his heartiest manner.

I smiled and walked them to the door. “Maybe you should prepare yourself for nobody,” I said. They both thought that was a clever thing to say, and they left smiling and shaking their heads.

I watched them walk across the street, Pastor Ledbetter leaning over the shorter man, talking nonstop and gesturing with his hands. I crossed my arms and shook my head. This beat all I’d ever seen. I couldn’t wait to tell Lillian that my preacher was now playing Cupid. I leaned against the door and laughed to myself. I might even tell Sam, too.

I turned back into the living room, still smiling. I don’t care how old you get, the least hint of a man’s interest is enough to lift up your heart. I hate to admit it, but it’s the truth even when
it’s from a man so unlikely as to slightly turn your stomach. Wonder what makes a woman so dependent on a man’s good graces? There was little about Dr. Fowler that appealed to me, except that I seemed to appeal to him. And that was enough to brighten my outlook considerably. I’m just as foolish as the next woman, I guess.

I sat down in the chair by the front window and looked across the street at the church. It stood there, benign and holy, with its spire reaching toward heaven. A place of sanctuary and worship, yet there’d been so many upsets and hurt feelings and cliques and intrigues and downright battles in it, you wouldn’t believe. And something was going on over there now. If I could only figure out what.

Leaning my elbow on the arm of the chair, I studied the problem. Pastor Ledbetter, unlike our previous preachers, had never been one to be guided or instructed or counseled by anybody. Except by Wesley Lloyd, who was no longer around to make his will known. So, what Pastor Ledbetter wanted, he got. And now, I realized with a start, what he wanted was a money-eating monument to family values, whatever they were, that he called an “activities center.” An activities center built with the assets of Wesley Lloyd Springer, that widely known paragon of traditional family values.

I jumped from the chair so fast I got a catch in my back.
That’s
what was on the preacher’s mind. That’s why he was over here making me feel I was in the inner circle. Drawing me in, that’s what he was doing.

But how did Dr. Fred Fowler, newcomer and special friend of the pastor, fit in?

I walked the floor, rubbing out the crick in my lower back, trying to figure how Pastor Ledbetter’s mind worked. Not an easy job, unless you understood that he never gave up on anything. He had the patience of Job, because I’d seen him work his will in
spite of opposition from the session. But only since Wesley Lloyd had passed, of course. So it stood to reason that he still had building on his mind.

Maybe Dr. Fowler had money to burn. Doctors make it hand over fist, don’t you know. Maybe Pastor Ledbetter was thinking that, with contributions from Dr. Fowler and, if he couldn’t break Wesley Lloyd’s will, from me, he could break ground any day.

That was it, I was sure of it. Get Dr. Fowler and me together, make us feel
chosen
to donate to the church, and he’d get what he wanted. The man would stop at nothing to do the Lord’s work as he saw it. It made no difference if somebody else saw the Lord’s work in a different light. Pastor Ledbetter had a hot line to heaven and nobody could tell him it might be a party line.

Well, he was just going to have to dial in again, because I wasn’t about to be manipulated by the likes of him. The thing to do was to find out if Dr. Fowler was in on the plan or if he was being played for a fool like I was. Some way or another I needed to get close to the good doctor and see if his interest was in me as a woman or in me as the means to a pile of bricks with a commemorative plaque on it.

And they’d given me the perfect way to go about it.