Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind (4 page)

I fit into this town like I’d been born to it. Wesley Lloyd Springer’s wife had a built-in place, and I slid into it like butter on a biscuit. I learned right quick that everybody in Abbotsville had the same respect and high esteem for Wesley Lloyd that I had. It didn’t matter that other men towered over him or that they had deeper voices and stronger muscles. When Wesley Lloyd studied a loan application, there wasn’t a bigger man in town. People listened to him and heeded his advice, and not just in his office at the bank. Town commissioners consulted him, lawyers telephoned him, businessmen pleaded with him, and the First Presbyterian Church of Abbotsville didn’t spend a penny without his approval. He was a leader of men, and everybody knew it.

And, oh, I’d been so proud of who I was. Julia DeWitt Springer. Wesley Lloyd Springer’s wife.

Dumbest woman in town.

I
T’S A WONDER
I slept a wink that night. How could I with my husband’s bastard child in my guest room right across the hall? I’d never been so torn up in my life. The idea of Wesley Lloyd betraying me, breaking his vows, living a life of hypocrisy, fornicating not once but, I now realized, every Thursday night for years upon years.

And who knew if the Puckett woman was the first, or even the only, one? My whole life, everything I’d relied on and believed in, was like dust under my feet. I told myself that there was not one thing I could do about the past, that I had to clear the fog I’d been living in and face everything clear-eyed and levelheaded. I had to call a spade a spade and let the chips fall.

When daylight finally came, I got out of bed with my mind made up and my resolve thoroughly firmed.

There was one thing I could and would do—flatly refuse to sugarcoat or whitewash what that man had done to me. Wesley Lloyd had been a hypocrite of the first order, but there was no reason for me to be. A whited sepulchre was what he’d been, clean on the outside but rotten to the core. Oh, I was mad at him, mad at what he’d done to me and mad that he didn’t have
to live with the disgrace. During that long night, I had come to an understanding of how easy it would be to wring a husband’s neck.

Now if you think those boiling feelings came from love and jealousy, you’d be wrong. I always thought I loved Wesley Lloyd; after all, I was married to him, wasn’t I? But I didn’t give a lick about that. I raged at him, not out of love or because of his betrayal of the marriage bed, but because he’d demanded such a high level of conduct from me, lecturing, criticizing, and quoting Scripture at me, and all the while he was jumping weekly into another woman’s bed.

Don’t get me wrong; there was no other bed I wanted to jump into, Lord, no. Too old for it, for one thing. But it was the
principle
of the thing.

I moved from ranting and raving at him to cringing in humiliation at what the town was going to do with this juicy item. It was going to take everything I had to hold my head up and ignore their smirking faces. I just wished Wesley Lloyd could be there to see how strong I was going to be. I’d show him a thing or two about strength of character. After all, I was already doing things he’d never credited me with the ability to do. Like keeping records. And writing checks. And balancing my checkbook.

Binkie Enloe, at that first meeting I’d had with her, could hardly believe how Wesley Lloyd had protected me from the harsh realities. I was sitting there in her law office in my gray crepe, my Red Cross shoes, white because Labor Day was still a while away, clutching my pocketbook in my lap while Binkie explained the facts of finance to me. She’d looked at me over the gold-rimmed glasses she used only for close work and said, “Miss Julia, I didn’t know there was a woman in the world who didn’t know how to write a check.” “Yes,” I’d said with a prideful smile, “Mr. Springer always took good care of me.” Binkie blew out a
breath, then commenced to show me how to write checks and keep records, and it was ever so easy. I don’t know why Wesley Lloyd thought I didn’t have a head for figures.

BY SIX-THIRTY
that morning I was dressed and ready to march downtown to Binkie’s office. It was going to be a long wait until eight when she was usually behind her desk. I started downstairs and found the boy sitting on the stairs, dressed in the same chintzy clothes he’d had on the day before, including the clip-on bow tie. I hadn’t heard a peep out of him all through that long night, now here he was, up and dressed, with his suitcase and Winn-Dixie grocery sack beside him.

I stood two steps above him and looked him over as he hunched against the wall. He slid the grocery sack closer to clear the stair, and glanced quickly up at me. The sack looked flat and half empty, rolled down the way he had it, but he seemed to like having it close by. I’d heard about little boys’ treasures, so I didn’t want to think what might be in it.

“Up pretty early, aren’t you?” I asked. What do you say to a nine-year-old first thing in the morning?

“Is my mama coming back today?” he asked.

I took a deep breath, not knowing exactly how to answer him. But the truth is always the best. “Not likely,” I said. “Now come on to the kitchen. Lillian’ll be here soon and we’ll have breakfast. Leave your things here.”

He followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen, scrunching his shoulders so that he reminded me of a little old man. He looked like Wesley Lloyd, but he didn’t act like him. Wesley Lloyd had not been a tall man, but he stood as straight as a poker and walked with purpose, shoulders back and heels clicking.

I pointed Little Lloyd to a chair while I started the coffee.
The day looked to be a fine one, sun shining, birds singing in the backyard, impatiens heavy-headed with a sprinkling of dew. The world was going on as if the earth hadn’t shifted under my feet since I’d stood at that same window yesterday morning.

I poured two cups of coffee and set one before the boy. He looked quickly up at me and then down again. Lillian needed to get out the Windex and clean those glasses. I shoved the cream and sugar beside his cup and said, “Fix it the way you like it.”

He poured cream to the top of the cup and stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar. Leaning over, he tasted the coffee with the cup still in the saucer, screwed up his face, and put in two more spoonfuls. Not much of a coffee drinker, I thought as I sat down across from him and occupied myself with my own cup.

I couldn’t look at him except out of the corner of my eye and then I realized he was watching me the same way. We had little to say to each other, and I wished I’d turned the radio on while I’d been up. I racked my brain to come up with something to talk about, believing that ease of conversation is the mark of a cultured person.

I put down my cup and said, “Have you had a movement since you’ve been here?”

Coffee sloshed over into his saucer. “Ma’am?”

“Your bowels. Have they moved yet?”

His eyes veered wildly behind his glasses as he looked from one side of the kitchen to another. “Yessum. A little.”

“Well, you need to have a good one today. I’ve always found that you can handle problems better if you have regular movements on a daily basis. I have some Ex-Lax if you need it.”

“No’m, I don’t need it.”

He kept his head down over his coffee, and that was the end of the conversation. I gave up trying to draw him out. A little later he ventured to ask where Deputy Bates was. I told him Deputy Bates worked nights and would be home in a little while
to go to bed, so we couldn’t be running and jumping and making a lot of noise. That seemed to satisfy him, but it was a relief when Lillian came in the back door. She put the
Abbotsville Press
on the table, then looked sternly at me.

“You givin’ that chile coffee?”

“And why not? He could use a little perking up.”

She shook her head, then began pulling out bacon and eggs. The boy turned out to be a picky eater, which I’d noticed the night before at supper. He tried everything without complaining, but it was plain that he didn’t have much appetite. I made a mental note to get him a tonic from the drugstore. And a haircut at Buddy’s.

At seven-forty-five, I stood before the hall mirror and adjusted my hat. Then, taking my pocketbook, I left the house for Binkie’s office. I got to the sidewalk, then turned back. Might as well face the music from the start.

“Little Lloyd!” I called from the front door. “I want you to go with me.”

He came, carrying his grocery sack, but he looked more like he was headed for a dentist’s office than a lawyer’s. Miserable looking, if you want my opinion, but it wasn’t my fault.

“You want to leave that sack here?” I asked, thinking he’d look a lot less trashy without it.

“No’m.” He clutched it to his chest, so I rolled my eyes and started off again.

“Stay right with me, now,” I said. “We’ve got business downtown.”

He walked by my side, but a half step behind, those shoulders hunched over so bad that I was beginning to worry about his posture as a grown man. You can freeze in unattractive ways, you know.

It was too early to meet anybody on the sidewalk, but several
people in cars waved to me. I could see them adjust their rearview mirrors to get a better look as they passed.

Binkie took us right in, with hardly any waiting. If you have enough assets, a lawyer will make time for you without fiddling around with appointments and such like. Binkie Enloe kept a severe expression on her face, but it was still mighty young looking, which was no surprise since she
was
young. She made up for it with those glasses that she’d snatch off when she wanted to make a point. She wore dark suits with plain linen blouses, and tried to tame her curly hair with a severe cut. It didn’t work. By midday her head would be a tangled mess of curls. I expect that flyaway hair was one reason for her serious demeanor. I’ve always found that you have to compensate in other ways when your hair won’t behave. But Binkie was all business, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without her those past few months. In spite of having felt she didn’t know enough to get in out of the rain when Sam first sent me to her.

“You know who this is, don’t you?” I asked before I got sat down good. “His mama said she’d talked to you.”

“Well, yes, she did,” she said, cool as a cucumber. Not much flustered Binkie Enloe. “How did you end up with him?”

When I told her how the Puckett woman just left him and took off, she raised her eyebrows. Totally shocked.

“Well,” she commented. “I see. You plan to keep him until she’s found?”

“What else can I do?” I demanded. “Don’t swing your legs, Little Lloyd.” He was sitting in one of Binkie’s big chairs, his legs dangling in the air.

“Well, you could—”

“No, I couldn’t,” I said, interrupting her. “I know you’re going to say that I could turn him over to social services, but all that’ll do is look like I’m trying to hide from the truth. And the
talk will be just that much worse. No, I’m going to face the town with the facts. And if it hurts Mr. Springer’s reputation, then so be it.

“Now. Sam Murdoch told me to tell you what’s going on, so that’s what I’m doing. And I want to know how many people are planning to sue me. This boy’s mother? My own church? Who else?”

“Nobody, at this point,” she said. “I’m getting inklings about the church, but you don’t need to worry about them. Promises and/or intentions don’t mean anything. Mr. Springer’s will names you as the sole beneficiary, and that’s that. The church can’t do anything but threaten and gnash its teeth.” She smiled a little at the thought. Little Lloyd sniffed wetly from his chair behind me. I reached in my pocketbook and handed him a Kleenex. “As for Ms. Puckett,” Binkie went on, “she gave no indication she was thinking along those lines. But I’ll have to tell you, Miss Julia, she might have a good case with the proper documentation of her claims.”

“My Lord, she’s got a birth certificate with Mr. Springer’s name on it, big as life! What else does she need?”

“Birth certificate information is usually taken by a nurse from the mother. That information is as good as the mother’s word. But if she can show with receipts and so forth that Mr. Springer supported the child as his own, then she’s in a pretty strong position.”

“But she didn’t say a word about laying any claims! In fact, she said she wasn’t asking for anything but for me to take care of him until she got some training so she could support him herself. Binkie, I’ll tell you this, I don’t want to be sued. Mr. Springer, regardless of his
intentions
, left everything to me, and I intend to keep it.”

“All right,” she said, nodding like she agreed with me, and I knew she did. Fair is fair, after all. “There’s not much we can do,
unless and until somebody serves you with notice of a suit. Now on to other business while you’re here. You’ve got First Union and Wachovia banks putting out feelers to buy the Springer Bank and Trust. They’re interested, but not willing to commit at this point. They’re hoping you’ll come down on the price, but the Springer Bank is worth every penny we’re asking. I’m going to approach one or two others, and see if that won’t stir them up a little. I’ll make as good a deal as I can for you. You don’t want too much cash, for tax reasons, but we’ll want a good stock exchange. Does that still suit you?”

“As long as the bank we deal with is in good shape, it does. I don’t want a lockbox full of worthless stock if one of them pulls a savings-and-loan stunt.”

She smiled that quick smile of hers, and studied her papers. Then she studied Little Lloyd for a minute. Finally she shook her head at this living testimony of a hypocrite. “Keep me informed,” she said. “If you hear from Ms. Puckett, I want to know about it.”

I thanked her and left, Little Lloyd tagging behind. I got to the door of the reception area, then turned around to Mary Alice McKinnon, behind the desk. Pleasant young woman who always put me right through to Binkie whenever I called.

“Mary Alice,” I said, turning the child by his shoulders, “I want you to meet Mr. Springer’s son. This is Lloyd Springer. Say hello to Miss McKinnon, Lloyd.”

He ducked his head, while Mary Alice gasped and turned red. She managed a word or two of greeting, because she’s from a good family, but it was clear she was impressed with my truthfulness.