Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind (20 page)

“Oh, yes. Dr. Fowler says so.”

I shuddered. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone, don’t worry. He thought he ought to leave in case his presence caused a, ah, recurrence.”

“Little danger of that,” I mumbled, and turned my face into the sofa. “I just don’t know what got into me. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter now what I thought.”

“Miss Julia, I know you were acting out of character, and that you weren’t in control of yourself. Dr. Fowler thinks you need therapy before it happens again.”

“Therapy?” I turned to face him, keeping my hand over my eyes but looking at him through my fingers. “He thinks I’m that bad off? What’s wrong with me?”

“Have you ever heard of”—he lowered his voice to a whisper as he leaned over me—“nym-pho-
man
-ia?”

“Nympho
…oh
!” My heart skipped and thudded, and I clutched at my chest as he pronounced the name of my affliction in broad daylight. The word I’d only heard whispered about and guessed at, the word that was tinged with dark, voracious appetites. I could hardly get my breath.

“Do you understand me, Miss Julia?” he demanded. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to take it in. “We are talking mortal danger here, and something has to be done. You are not only risking your own soul, but also the soul of any man you come in contact with. You can’t play around with something like nympho-
man
-ia. I’ve studied up on it, along with other sins of the flesh, and I know what I’m talking about.”

“What does it mean?” I whispered.

“Opinions differ, Miss Julia.” Pastor Ledbetter sat back in his chair and shifted into a teaching mode. “Some so-called experts say you’re born with a natural inclination for unnatural acts and can’t be changed. Others say it’s a learned response to childhood trauma, an arrested state of emotional development, and that it’s a normal, alternate lifestyle. Of course, Christians know better, don’t we? We know it’s sin, which can be overcome by exercising the will and being forgiven through grace. Afflicted people can choose to live normal, decent lives. And that’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, I do. And, Pastor, I’ve always lived a normal, decent life. I really have. I couldn’t’ve had this condition all my life and
not known it, could I? This just had to’ve been an error in judgment, an aberration, or something.”

“No,” he said, so forcefully that I cringed against the cushion. “You have to call it what it is. It is
sin
, and nothing less. You have to admit it and face it head-on. You may’ve been able to hide these impulses even from yourself, but now, with the grief of Mr. Springer’s passing and the upset of that errant child, you’ve allowed this, this
debauchery
to rear its ugly head. Dr. Fowler is practically a stranger to you and look what happened with him. Who can tell what you’ll do with somebody you know?”

He was right. If I could go after somebody as unappetizing as Dr. Fowler, there wasn’t a man in town safe from me. The thought of flinging myself on Brother Vern or Leonard Conover or Lieutenant Peavey caused an ominous rumble from my stomach. Then I thought of Sam, and covered my face again.

“Pastor, don’t tell anybody about this,” I begged as tears streamed down my face onto the velvet love seat. “Please promise you won’t tell. I’ll get some help. I’ll do anything, just don’t tell anybody.” I clutched at his hand, pleading with him and trying to stop his infernal fanning. “Especially Norma Cantrell. She’ll blab it everywhere.”

“Listen to me now,” Pastor Ledbetter said as he pulled a large handkerchief from his hip pocket and gave it to me. “I’m not going to tell a soul. But you must promise me to get some help, and I firmly believe you can be helped. With prayer and obedience to the Word of God and Christian counseling, this problem can be overcome. But, Miss Julia, you must have someone trustworthy look after your affairs while you’re so incapacitated.”

“Binkie’s doing that,” I said, trying to blow my nose from a prone position.

“Miss Enloe’s not a member of our church, and I think your guardian should be someone with the same values that you have.”

“Guardian?” I said, struggling against the velvet to sit up. “You think I need a guardian?”

“It’s the usual procedure in cases of this kind, all perfectly legal and aboveboard. A guardian would be appointed to protect your interests, and it would be for your own good, Miss Julia. I don’t want to see you put away by court order, which could happen if you do this again and it becomes public.”

“Public,” I repeated. I swung my feet to the floor, testing my balance and the floor’s stability. “Pastor, I’ll do anything to keep this from becoming the talk of the town. And don’t worry about it happening again. I’m staying away from red-headed men, for one thing. So as far as therapy and a guardian are concerned, I’ve got to give that some thought.”

“Don’t take too long, I beg you,” he said, sitting back in his chair and observing me. “It would be better for all concerned if you did this voluntarily. If it comes to a hearing, your condition will become public knowledge. As an ordained minister of the Word, I can’t continue to ignore a sin committed before my very eyes. You need to know that the Lord has already burdened my heart about you and some of the decisions you’ve made long before today.”

Mercy, I thought, as my eyes rolled back in my head. When you’re threatened with the leading of the Lord, you’re in real trouble.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d call Lillian to come get me,” I finally managed to say.

“I’ll walk you home, or maybe I’d better drive you across the street.”

“No. Thank you, anyway.” It was all too much for me. I started crying again, wanting only to curl up in a corner of my house with a sack over my head. “Call Lillian for me. Please, I just want Lillian.”

A
S SOON AS
Lillian showed up, Pastor Ledbetter told her I’d had a weak spell and needed to be watched carefully. She took one look at me and got me out of the church. She walked me across the street and into the house and, before I knew it, I was in bed with a cold cloth on my forehead and a lunch tray on my lap. And she did it without any questions or fussing or mumbling under her breath, much less any eye rolling. She was a tower of strength, which I badly needed.

“You can take the tray, Lillian. I can’t eat.”

“You better eat something,” she said. “What happened to you, anyway?”

“Oh, Lillian, it was awful.” I reached up and pulled the cloth over my eyes. I didn’t know how I could ever face anybody again after mortifying myself the way I’d done.

“A weak spell can’t be that bad, ’less you fall and show more’n you want to,” she said as she stood with her hands on her hips. “What you need is a doctor and you better see one fast.”

“I know, and I will. Just as soon as I get my strength back.”

“Well, then, you can start with this soup. Liquids is what you need.” That was Lillian’s remedy for everything. She held out
a spoon, and when I didn’t take it she said, “You want me to feed you?”

“I do not.” I pressed the cloth tighter to sop up the overflow. “Just let me rest a little, then I’ll eat.”

When she left for the kitchen, pictures of what I’d done during the past hour tormented my mind until I thought I’d throw up with the shame of it all. Worst of all, Pastor Ledbetter and that awful Dr. Fowler knew how I’d acted up, and they were going to make me go tell somebody else about it. How could I go into some doctor’s office and say, “
Sorry to bother you, but I’m a nymphomaniac
”?

I ran through my mind all the doctors in town. As far as I knew, none of them specialized in sudden and uncontrollable fits of physical appetite. And they were all men, and what if I had an attack of it while I was being examined?

I moaned aloud.

And if they wrote me a prescription for the condition, would Buck Tatum fill it and know what I was being treated for?

I writhed with mortification. And sloshed soup all over the tray.

What I needed was an expert, a confidential expert who wouldn’t blab all over the place.

An expert, I thought, and snatched the cloth off my eyes. Lord, there was an expert right across the hall, if I could only ask her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t confide in anybody. Not Hazel Marie, not Lillian, not Binkie nor Sam. No one could know, and I determined to do whatever it took to keep my affliction a secret.

My head swam as I tried to think through this sudden change of life. Pastor Ledbetter’d said I needed a guardian, but what did that mean? Just someone to manage my money, or someone who’d follow me around all day to keep me from attacking every man I met? And he’d implied, or maybe he’d
said, that if I didn’t appoint one myself he was going to take steps. Public ones, too.

Lord, I’d thought that child showing up on my doorstep was as bad as things could get. I was wrong. What in the world was I going to do?

My head snapped up as the answer suddenly came to me. I’d heard Pastor Ledbetter say a million times that prayer could move mountains, and here was the perfect test. I’d pray like I’d never prayed before and depend on the Lord to cure me so I wouldn’t need a guardian.

Then I remembered what the pastor had said about it being a matter of will, which, coming from a Calvinist, didn’t make sense. How could you exercise free will and, at the same time, have your life planned, plotted, and predestinated?

If I wasn’t careful, I’d give myself a headache with such theological problems. I had to keep it simple. I’d pray my heart out, and I’d steer clear of men, all shapes and sizes of them. Yes, I’d pray for a cure and, while I was at it, I’d pray that the Lord would keep the mouths of those two shut. And if that didn’t work, I’d deny it till my dying day.

“
NOW, WHAT WAS
that about, I wonder?” I hung up the phone with hands shaking so bad I had to hide them from Lillian. In an effort to appear normal, I’d made myself come down to the kitchen. I didn’t want to alarm Lillian by hiding in bed all day.

Little Lloyd was standing on a stool at the sink while Lillian showed him how to shuck corn for supper. I’d just assured her that I was fully recovered from my weak spell when the phone interrupted us.

“What?” she asked. “That wadn’t that Brother Vern, was it?”

“No, not him,” I said, frowning with concern. “It was LuAnne Conover, wanting to know how I’m feeling.”

“What you troubled ’bout that for?”

“Because she was calling to ask the state of my health, that’s why. She usually has a dozen things to talk about, not how I’m feeling. You want a glass of tea, Lillian? Little Lloyd? I declare, before another summer gets here, I’m going to air-condition this house.”

“The whole thing?”

“The whole thing.”

“I been meaning to ast you ’bout one of them little units for the kitchen,” she said. “But the whole house’d be better. Sometime it get so hot, I have to open the Frigidaire and stand in front of it.”

My land, I thought, no wonder the electric bill’s so high.

I put my tea on the table and sat down, listening to Lillian tell Little Lloyd how to get the silk off the ears. Then, still frowning, I propped my elbow on the table and rested my chin on my hand. Unbidden images of the fool I’d made of myself flooded my mind, so that I had to hold on to the table to keep from crawling under it. Gradually, my thoughts centered less on my shameful actions and more on Dr. Fowler’s responses to them. Mercy, I thought as I suddenly sat up straight, I couldn’t have mistaken that. It’d been a long time since I’d been in a face-to-face situation with a man, but you certainly don’t mistake a thing like that.

Anger flashed through me like one of Troy Beckworth’s sea surges. They’d blamed it all on me, said I was crazy, called me a…well, a you-know-what, and all the while that man had been as interested as I’d been. And then denied it, and said I needed a guardian. And therapy, of all things.

I squinched my eyes together, recalling Pastor Ledbetter’s opportune arrival. My Lord, could they have planned it all?

I couldn’t believe such a thing of my pastor, but then, a
good many men had been doing things I couldn’t believe. I wasn’t a nymphomaniac, couldn’t possibly be. Not and crawl into a lonely bed every night, even when Wesley Lloyd had been in it.

Those two had been playing with my mind, and they’d done a pretty good job of it. Well, I’d show them a thing or two. Sam still had control of Wesley Lloyd’s estate and it would take months to get that settled. Until then, no one else could lay a hand on it. And as far as a guardian for me, I’d go them one better and appoint two. Between Binkie and Lillian, I ought to be well looked after, even if I didn’t tell them why they needed to watch me. And, just to be on the safe side, I’d watch myself whenever a man came around.

THE DOORBELL RANG
, putting me to the test then and there.

“I’ll get it, Lillian,” I said, halfway hoping it would be Pastor Ledbetter so I could let him know that Dr. Fowler’s actions hadn’t been so innocent, either. I’d tell him I suspected a conspiracy between the two of them, and that I just might sue their pants off. Well, not that, exactly.

On my way to the door, I stopped dead still in the dining room. I couldn’t threaten them with a thing. All they had to do was tell one person, and the news of my so-called affliction would be all over town by nightfall. I’d never live it down.

The doorbell rang again, bringing me to myself, as well as to the unwelcome presence of Lieutenant Peavey.

I invited him in, gathering my strength to put on a good show of being pleased to see him. He’d intimidated me even before I had so much more to hide. I offered him a chair, and I took one across the room where I hoped he’d be safe if my condition suddenly flared up. No telling what I might do if Pastor
Ledbetter’s diagnosis had been anywhere close to accurate. I figured it was better to err on the side of caution until I could get a second opinion.

I tried not to look too closely at Lieutenant Peavey, but he seemed bigger than anything in the room, including the mahogany breakfront with my collection of mother-of-pearl oyster plates.

“Mrs. Springer,” he started, taking out his little notebook and clicking his pen. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about a matter that’s recently come up.”

“My lawyer’s not here.”

“That’s all right, but you can call him, if you feel you need him.”

“Her.”

“Ma’am?”

“My lawyer. It’s a her, Binkie Enloe.”

“Well,” he said, twisting his neck like his collar was too tight. Binkie had that effect on people. “Well, she’s a good’un. But, Mrs. Springer, I guess I misspoke myself. I’m here not so much to question you as to pass on some information and see if it has anything to do with what happened here last week.”

I sat up at that. “What information?”

“Our department, along with several others in the area, has been notified by the Spartanburg Sheriff’s Department that a child, a little boy, was kidnapped last night.”

My eyelids fluttered. “Kidnapped?”

“Yes, all the surrounding law-enforcement units are working on it, and they’ll probably call the FBI in before long. Seems a black female walked into a television studio down there, and took the child before anybody knew what was happening. When I saw the name, Puckett, I figured it might be one of our Abbot County Pucketts.”

“Why, that’s terrible,” I said, wondering if he could hear my
heart pounding away. “Lieutenant, excuse me for just a minute. I left something on the stove and I need to turn it off before it burns.” I got up and hurried toward the kitchen. “I’ll just be a minute,” I called back.

I slipped through the kitchen door and closed it behind me. “Lillian,” I hissed, motioning to her. “Don’t say a word; don’t say anything. You and Little Lloyd get over here quick.”

“What you want?”

“Shhh, I told you, don’t say anything. Get in the pantry. You, too, Little Lloyd, get in here.” I pushed them both into the pantry and closed the door behind us.

“What is it? What is it?” Little Lloyd jittered around so much that his glasses went cockeyed on him. Then he clutched at Lillian.

I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “We’re going to look after you, but you two need to stay in here and not make a sound. No matter what you hear, you’ve got to stay quiet.”

“What’s goin’ on out there?” Lillian asked. Whispered, rather. “Who was that at the door? Was it that Brother Vern?”

“No. Worse than him. It’s Lieutenant Peavey, and all the police in two states are looking for Little Lloyd.”

I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream. Stay quiet. I’m going to get rid of him before he finds out we’ve got this child and takes him away from us. You’re not going to scream, are you?”

She shook her head, her eyes rolling as much as mine ever had. She grabbed my hand and jerked it away. “I ain’t about to do no screaming. What you think I am? Now, you ain’t gonna turn this chile over to the law, are you?”

“Of course not. Why do you think we’re in the pantry? Little Lloyd, you stay right here with Lillian and don’t be afraid. We’ll figure out what to do as soon as he leaves.”

I went back into the living room, apologizing for having to interrupt the lieutenant’s flow of information. “You know how it is,” I said. “When you’ve got several pans on the stove, you have to watch them like a hawk. I declare, I do love to cook.” If he believed that, he’d believe anything.

“Now, tell me more about that poor little kidnapped child,” I said, smoothing my dress as I sat down.

“I’m trying to establish if the child who was taken in Spartanburg was the same one who left here Sunday. The one you told me about yesterday. What was his name?”

“Wesley Lloyd Junior Springer. Puckett, I mean Puckett.”

“Which is it? Springer or Puckett?” He was making notes in his little book.

“It’s complicated, Lieutenant. I think he’s known as a Springer, but legally he’s a Puckett.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either.”

He shook his head, frowning as he studied his notes. “Could you describe the child you know? The fax we got didn’t have much of a description. About nine years old, wearing glasses, sandy hair.”

“Sounds close,” I said, thinking that I could show him a picture of Wesley Lloyd and he could get a fairly accurate description of the child. But then, I could’ve produced the child himself. “Do they have a description of the person who took him?”

“African-American female in a nurse’s uniform, heavyset but not fat. Quick on her feet, they said. Got into a car that tried to run over the people chasing them, so she had at least one accomplice.”

“Accomplice,” I repeated, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in my voice. “What kind of car?”

“New, dark-colored, possibly foreign make,” he said. “That’s
the best they could do, ’cause the car didn’t have any lights on and witnesses said the driver tried to run them all down. One scared bunch of people, from what I understand. The officer I talked to said there were a lot of children appearing on a program at the time. The parents were convinced that it was a liberal plot to kidnap one of theirs to stop their ministry. Pretty confusing, I gather. A dozen kids taken to the station, all crying and terrified. Parents demanding police protection, and it was a while before the officers determined who’d been taken. Turned out to be this Puckett kid, but the uncle who claimed to be his guardian couldn’t or wouldn’t give them much information.” I could tell he was watching my reaction, at least those dark aviator glasses were trained on me like a double-barreled shotgun. “It’s a strange situation.”