Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind (24 page)

“I knew that much,” I said, but I wasn’t the reader that Sam was. “But if proving the condition of my mind depends on writing a play, I’m in worse trouble than I thought.”

Sam laughed. “Ah, Julia, that was just an example.” Then he turned serious again. “Look, I don’t want to scare you, but I’d better talk to Binkie about this. And, just so you know the process, anybody can make application to have someone declared incompetent. After that, a guardian
ad litem
would be appointed to represent that person’s interests at the hearing. If the person’s
adjudicated incompetent, then a permanent guardian would be named, and that’s the end of it.”

I thought about it. It would turn me inside out to have to go through such a humiliating experience, but it sounded as if there would be enough safeguards to protect me.

“Well, Sam,” I said, “I’d hate it if it tomes down to it, but you could be named the guardian
ad litem
and Binkie the permanent guardian. Seems to me that things would go on just the way they are now, except for signing some legal papers and such. Now that you’ve explained it, it doesn’t sound so bad.”

Sam shook his head and looked down at the floor. “No, Julia, it’s not that simple, but let Binkie and me worry about this. We’re not going to let them railroad you, so what you have to do is stand up to them. And I know you can do that. You do it to me all the time.”

I managed a smile in spite of the pink paper burning a hole in my skin inside my bodice.

W
HEN
I
GOT
back to the house, I went through the gate in the back garden and on into the kitchen. I nearly turned back around when Lillian told me that Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler were waiting in the living room. I grabbed the edge of the counter and prayed for a fainting spell so I wouldn’t have to face them. It didn’t work.

“I tol’ them I didn’t know when you be back,” Lillian said, as she arranged glasses of lemonade on a tray. “But they say they wait anyway. You better go on in there, ’cause Miss Puckett in the room right above an’ she’s up tryin’ to get herself dressed.”

“Little Lloyd with her?” I managed to ask.

“Yessum, I done warned ’em both to stay up there an’ stay quiet.”

I watched Lillian arrange cheese straws on a silver plate, girding myself for the ordeal to come. I tried to overcome my embarrassment by building up a head of steam to confront those two about their meddling, but it was hard to do. Somehow that pink paper inside my dress was sapping my spirit, and nothing seemed worth the effort anymore.

I took a deep breath and held the door for Lillian as she preceded me into the living room. Both men stood as I entered
the room, Pastor Ledbetter’s broad smile masking his nefarious intentions.

I nodded a greeting, unwilling to risk a handshake, and took a seat on one of the Victorian chairs by the fireplace. Lillian placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa where both men were seated. She offered the plate of cheese straws and, after an encouraging glance at me, left the room.

I sat and waited for them to begin, ignoring my natural inclination to entertain them with conversation and make them feel welcome. This visit was their idea, and since it was so hard on me, I determined not to make it easy for them. I saw them glance at each other over the tops of their glasses of lemonade, then cut their eyes at me while I burned with shame. I couldn’t meet Dr. Fowler’s eyes, but I held my head up. I couldn’t even reach for my glass on the tray, so I just sat there with my hands in my lap, waiting them out.

Finally, Pastor Ledbetter cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss Julia,” he began, setting down his glass and patting his mouth with a napkin. “Have you given any thought to what I talked with you about over at the church? We can’t let matters drag on forever, you know.” He cut his eyes over at Dr. Fowler. To see if he was doing all right, I guess.

“Pastor, all I’ve thought about is what you said to me in the bridal parlor, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you were wrong. I’ve also concluded that you and Dr. Fowler here conspired to put me in a compromising position. I’d like to know how you’d answer that in a court of law, especially when I describe what Dr. Fowler had in his pocket. Well, I don’t mean his pocket, but you know what I mean.”

“Now, just a minute here,” Dr. Fowler said, briefly levitating from my sofa.

Pastor Ledbetter held up his hand, taking charge. “Let me handle this, Fred. Miss Julia, Dr. Fowler has already explained it
all to me. What that was,
if
it was anything, was an autonomic nervous system response to unwelcome stimuli, which any man in the world would understand, given the circumstances. It’s incumbent on me to advise you not to use that in any way. It would only make you appear even more childlike not to understand these matters.

“Now,” he said, hitching himself forward to lean toward me, “here’s what I want to talk to you about. None of us wants to take any legal steps against you, but something has to be done. We want to consider your wishes as we decide these matters. Have you thought about what you’d like to do?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You should, Miss Julia.” He clasped his hands together between his spread legs and looked earnestly at me. “I’ll be honest with you, that episode of you taking in that child claiming to be Mr. Springer’s son should’ve been a warning to us that you weren’t thinking right. And now”—he spread his hands—“look where it’s led us to.”

“I don’t have an idea in the world what you’re talking about, Pastor,” I said.

“It’s like this,” he said, resting his hands on his knees. He gave another look at Dr. Fowler, who was leaning back with his legs crossed, staring at me with those strange eyes of his. “We, that is, the church, the congregation of this church, are your family, the only one you have in this town. It’s up to us to look after one another. Now, Miss Julia, I come to you not only as your pastor but as a member of that family, to say that we are deeply concerned about you. Besides what I saw with my own eyes, I’ve had reports that you’ve exhibited other strange behavior. All of which points to the fact that I’ve been remiss in not pursuing this matter more vigorously. Now, I know—”

He raised his hand, palm out, to stop any argument to the contrary, but I overrode him. “Tell me about those reports.”

“Oh now,” he said, smiling and shaking his head, “we don’t need to discuss the details. Suffice it to say that several people, people who care about you and want to help you, have noticed a few worrisome things.”

“Who?” I demanded.

“Now, don’t get upset. We need to talk about this reasonably and come to some decision that’ll be best for you.”

“Who?”

“Miss Julia,” he said, sighing, “this is just the kind of thing I’m talking about. You’re not thinking straight. You need to be thinking about what you’ll do in the future, not what’s happened in the past. That’s behind us, and I’m concerned about you right now, and I want you to know that Dr. Fowler here has opened a retirement center, a fine, Christian place, offering the best of care for our senior citizens. It has what’s known as lifetime care where you can have a room with your own furniture and personal things, but also have nursing care when you need it. I’ll tell you, it’s a wonderful place with chapel every morning and evening prayers at night. There’re nurses on duty day and night, and a trained dietitian, and therapists of all kinds. Why, they even have a social director who plans outings and all kinds of activities for the residents, things like aerobics and sing-alongs and birthday parties. Why, the days are just filled with wholesome activities, and all your meals are prepared and served in a lovely dining room with white tablecloths and candles at the evening meal.”

Some of the old fire flamed up inside of me and I forgot about the pink paper pinned to my bodice. I straightened my back, thankful for all the calcium I’d taken over the years, and looked him in the eye.

“Are you going to tell me
who
has brought reports of my strange behavior to you, or did you break your promise and start the rumors yourself?”

“Now, Miss Julia, you don’t want to get upset.”

“Upset?” My voice went up alarmingly on the last syllable, and I made an effort to contain myself. “I simply want to know,” I went on in a calmer tone, “on whose reports you’ve made the decision that I need to be in an old-folks home.”

“Well,” he said, giving another quick glance at the silent Dr. Fowler. Pastor Ledbetter pushed his hair off his forehead and sighed. “Several people have come to me with their concerns. It seems, for one thing, that you’re planning to open a kennel right here in your house. And going so far as to buy a number of unlikely medical items for which you have no need at all. Now, you have to admit that that is a little strange and not at all like you. And, for another, people speak to you on the street and they get unusual responses from you, or no response at all, as if you’re off in another world. Those are just examples, Miss Julia, and of course, I have not and will not speak of another example if, that is, you get some help. And let’s not forget the way you took in that strange child with no idea in the world who he was or what he was after. You’re just not yourself, Miss Julia, and we want to see you taken care of. Because we care about you and we’re all worried about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure Norma Cantrell’s just made herself sick with worry over me,” I said. “As well as Buck Tatum and Troy Beckworth. Both of them ought to be minding their own business instead of poking their noses in mine. I wouldn’t trust either of them as far as I could throw them, since they’re the biggest gossips in town. Except for Norma, who you ought to know by now doesn’t have a lick of sense.”

I swung around in my chair and faced Dr. Fowler. “And what is your interest in this, Doctor, other than befriending lonely old women so you can fill up the rooms in your rest home?”

“I…” he began, uncrossing his legs and looking away from me for the first time, “I was asked by Pastor Ledbetter and the
session to give my evaluation of your state of mind. For your own good, I might add.”

My soul sank inside of me. If my competency rating depended on Dr. Fowler’s evaluation, the rest of me was sunk, too. They were giving me the choice of voluntarily committing myself or having a judge do it for me. And either way, it was for my own good.

As I opened and closed my mouth, trying to speak, footsteps sounded on the porch and the doorbell rang.

W
HY
, B
ROTHER
V
ERN
,” I said, staring at him through the screen door, my mind going a hundred miles a minute, wondering how much he knew or how much he’d guessed, and what he intended to do. I was so shocked I couldn’t move, trying to figure out how to get rid of him. And Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler, too, while I was at it. My mind fluttered here and there, trying to think how to warn Lillian and Hazel Marie.

He took hold of the screen and said, “Miz Springer. May I come in?”

“Why yes,” I managed to say. “Yes, come in.”

He walked in, nodding to the two men who’d stood as he entered. I saw Pastor Ledbetter take in Brother Vern’s brown polyester suit, yellow tie, and white shoes. Short-sleeved shirt, too, since no cuffs showed below his coat sleeves. Brother Vern looked hot, his face red and shiny, his black hair glistening.

I made the introductions and the two ministers of the Gospel looked each other over like two dogs circling. Dr. Fowler might as well not have been there for all the attention they paid him. I could see that Pastor Ledbetter’s back was up, since he’d pretty well gotten Brother Vern’s number right from the start.

“Reverend Puckett has a television program every week.
Feed
ing the Flame
, isn’t that it?” I said, considerably relieved to steer the conversation in another direction.

“That’s it,” he said. “I preach to a congregation of some forty to fifty thousand people every week, praise God.”

Top that, I thought, as I found myself taking a peculiar satisfaction in setting one against the other. Not that I especially enjoyed it, you understand, but at least they weren’t going after me.

“A televangelist,” Pastor Ledbetter said, cutting his eyes at Dr. Fowler. “I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of ministry, Miss Julia.” More fuel for the flame he wanted to set under me.

“I don’t expect the Lord is limited to eleven o’clock on Sundays,” I said.

“No, indeed,” Brother Vern agreed. “In fact, Brother, the Lord is changing a lotta things these days. Have you switched your Sunday night services to Friday nights yet?”

“What?” Pastor Ledbetter looked bewildered, unsure he’d heard right.

“It’s the coming thing,” Brother Vern went on, coming into his own now that he’d discovered a way to teach a mainline preacher a thing or two. “The Lord has spoken to any number of preachers, evangelicals mostly, and pointed out to them that Sunday afternoons are family times and shouldn’t be interrupted for church services. Friday nights do just fine for a substitute, and start the weekends off right. The Lord figures it’s a good way to keep people out of bars and dance halls on Friday nights. And,” he added with a knowing grin, “country clubs, too.”

That was a nice jab.

Pastor Ledbetter drew himself up and said, “There’s a clear mandate to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy.”

“You certainly know your Bible, Brother,” Brother Vern said with a sly gleam in his eye. “And our Jewish friends honor the Sabbath every Saturday that rolls around. But us evangelical
Christians honor the Lord every day of the week, don’t matter to us what the calendar says.”

“Well, but I—”

“Mr. Puckett,” I interrupted, “was there something you wanted to see me about? Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler were just leaving.”

Pastor Ledbetter found his voice. “Miss Julia, if you don’t mind, we haven’t finished with our concerns. Why don’t you let Mr. Puckett here state his business, and then we can pick up where we left off.”

Pastor Ledbetter wasn’t anxious to leave me alone with a preacher who used television to raise money to stay on television. He probably thought I was one of those poor souls who believed a preacher with a Cadillac needed their Social Security checks worse than they did. I noticed Dr. Fowler pulling a little notepad from his jacket pocket.

“Then let’s all have a seat,” I said. I didn’t know how Brother Vern could help my current situation, but he was doing a good job of distracting the other two. And I was happy to note that I wasn’t having even a twinge of interest toward him. “Now, Mr. Puckett, what can I help you with?”

He sat across from me in the matching Victorian chair and ignored the other two on the sofa. “You heard about how my precious little great-nephew’s been kidnapped?”

Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler exchanged surprised glances, and Dr. Fowler began jotting notes on his pad.

“I heard,” I said. “That is, I heard that a child was missing in Spartanburg. Don’t tell me it was the same child! Why, Mr. Puckett, it couldn’t be! I mean, you took him to Raleigh! Didn’t you? That’s what you told me you were going to do.” I might’ve been overplaying it, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, now,” he said, pulling out a large white handkerchief
and wiping the palms of his hands. “We was on our way, but when the Lord leads you to preach, you just have to stop and preach.”

“But you took the child on Sunday,” I reminded him. “And according to the lieutenant who notified me, the child went missing on Tuesday night. Late Tuesday night, too late for a child of that age to be up. Sounds to me like somebody wasn’t taking care of him.”

“That boy was gettin’ three a day and plenty of sleep,” Brother Vern said. “And I was going to take him to his mama, just as soon as I finished my telecast. We was going to drive on down to Raleigh right afterwards.” He wiped his face with the handkerchief.

Pastor Ledbetter’s eyes bounced from one to the other of us, mentally taking note of what else I was mixed up in. Dr. Fowler was just taking notes.

“Mrs. Springer,” Brother Vern went on, a pleading tone in his voice now. “I mightta done wrong by not taking that boy right on down to Raleigh, but my conscience is clear. I did my best by him, and can’t nobody help it when some strange black woman comes outta nowhere and snatches him away. Now I’ve come here to ask your help in gettin’ him back. The police’re doin’ all they can, and it looks like to me that what we need is to offer some reward money.” He wiped his forehead and glanced at me with those black eyes. “I’ve come to appeal to your spirit of Christian charity.”

Pastor Ledbetter sat straight up, opening his mouth to protest. I cut him off.

“How much?”

“Why, whatever you find it in your heart to give. Whatever you think best, but it ought to be enough to get people’s attention. You know, so if anybody has any information, they’ll come
forward. Or so that black woman will be tempted. I’ll put it out over my
Feeding the Flame
program, and everybody’ll be looking for that precious child.”

“How much?”

“Miss Julia.” Pastor Ledbetter couldn’t stand it any longer. “Think about this before you do anything. You need to pray about this. Who knows where that child is? Or who has him? Don’t get involved with this until you have more information.”

Dr. Fowler’s eyes gleamed as his notes began to cover a second page.

I waved off my pastor and kept my attention on Brother Vern.

“How much?”

“Well, I was thinking, maybe, ten thousand?” Brother Vern said.

“Ten thousand,” I repeated.

“Five, if that’s all you can do.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of twenty-five,” I said. “For a start.”

Brother Vern’s face brightened and Pastor Ledbetter buried his in his hands.

“The Lord bless you, Mrs. Springer!” Brother Vern cried. “I’ll get that boy back, the Lord be praised!”

“Miss Julia,” Pastor Ledbetter said, “you oughtn’t do this. You’re not yourself, we know it and you know it. Don’t make any rash decisions before a guardian can be appointed. I beg you, don’t squander Mr. Springer’s estate that he worked so hard for. This is just the sort of thing Dr. Fowler and I are trying to forestall by taking care of you.”

“Pastor, I don’t need taking care of, and Mr. Springer’s estate is as safe as it was the day he left this vale of tears.” I smiled at him, then at Dr. Fowler and Brother Vern. “If you need more, Brother Vern, just let me know.”

“Lord bless you, Mrs. Springer!” Brother Vern leaned back in his chair and gave Pastor Ledbetter a complacent smile.

The door from the kitchen swung open, and Lillian’s run-over heels slapped on the floor as she came toward the living room. I started from my chair, my heart pounding.

“I brought y’all some more lemonade,” she sang out, balancing a full pitcher on a tray.

Brother Vern sprang from his chair like he’d been shot. “That’s her!” He pointed at her, index finger quivering, as he bellowed, “She’s the one! Call the sheriff!”

“Jesus Lord, help me!” Lillian shrieked, throwing her hands up as tray, pitcher, and three quarts of lemonade sprayed the room. She turned and ran for the kitchen.

“Citizen’s arrest!” Brother Vern cried, running after her. “Stop, woman, you’re under arrest!”

“What in the world?” Pastor Ledbetter asked, standing and shaking out his trousers, soaked with Lillian’s lemonade. “Has everybody lost their minds?”

Dr. Fowler nodded as he wet a finger and turned a page, then began scribbling even faster.