Miss Julia Rocks The Cradle Part 16

After seeing Thurlow and Ronnie out, I stood by the door and watched as they walked away, Thurlow in his worn coat and baggy pants, and Ronnie shambling along beside him. Two old men, I thought, who, if you didn't know better, could arouse pity in a tender heart.

But I knew better and hurried to the kitchen to tell Lillian what I'd figured out and to discuss with her the significance of a particular knothole. In fact, I'd tell her everything except whom I'd slept with the night before.

Chapter 31.

"We need to talk," I whispered, sidling up to Lillian as she loaded the dishwasher. "Come to the living room, so the girls won't walk in on us."

"I be there in a minute," she said, but she didn't sound all that eager to do it. "I got to get this done first."

I waited in the living room, pacing a little as various thoughts and plans flitted through my mind.

Finally Lillian came in drying her hands on a dish towel. "What we got to talk about?"

"Well, first I want to thank you for your quick thinking last night when they asked what we were doing outside. What you said was perfect and n.o.body questioned it."

She just grunted because she was as staunchly against the telling of stories as I was, but also like me, she understood that you don't have to tell all you know when the circ.u.mstances are such that the better part of discretion is to say as little as possible.

"But listen, Lillian, I found out what Richard Stroud was doing in the toolshed, which was what we wanted to do and therefore worth everything we went through. There were two bags full of fertilizer on top of each other that made a seat, like a chair, and they were placed right in front of a knothole. And when I sat down and looked through that hole, I could see right down on Thurlow's backyard and the back of his house. That's what I was doing when I saw his lights come on and the door open to let Ronnie out. So you see?"

"No'm."

"Why, Lillian, it's plain as day. Richard was watching Thurlow. Miss Petty didn't have a thing to do with it, although Thurlow's been implying all along that she did."

"That what Mr. Thurlow say?"

"He didn't say anything this morning, because I didn't tell him I'd figured it out. There's only one reason Richard would've been spying on Thurlow, and I'm just as sure as I'm standing here that Thurlow was in on Richard's fradulent investment schemes. But somebody outsmarted somebody and Richard ended up in jail for it. And you know as well as I do that a lot of money was never accounted for, and I think Richard thought that Thurlow has it. And Richard must've needed money or he wouldn't have stolen checks from me." I waited for her to say something, but she didn't. "So what do you think?"

"I'm jus' wonderin'," she said, frowning, "what all that have to do with you and Mr. Sam."

"Why," I said, flinging out my arms, "it doesn't have anything to do with us, but that's just the thing. Don't you see, Lillian, if I can prove to Sam that I had nothing to do with any of it, he'll be satisfied and come on home."

"Why don't you jus' go over there an' tell him all that an' ast him real nice to come home? Then you won't need to go about provin' nothing."

"I already explained and apologized to him until I was blue in the face, and it didn't do any good. And I'm not going to demean myself by groveling at his feet. Look, Lillian, I know Sam, and an emotional scene would do nothing but embarra.s.s him. He has a logical, a.n.a.lytical mind, which means he'll respond to sane and reasonable arguments. And that's what I'm looking to present to him." Full of self-righteous determination, I ignored her skeptical look. "So now we know what Richard was doing, but we don't yet know exactly why he was doing it. But a money connection is the logical conclusion, don't you think?"

"Maybe so, 'cept what you gonna do about it if it is?"

"That's where I'm stuck," I admitted, sitting down abruptly. "I can't think what the next step should be. I was going to see Miss Petty this afternoon, but I'm convinced that she has nothing to do with it. It's just her misfortune to live behind Thurlow."

After Lillian returned to the kitchen, I stayed in the living room thinking up and discarding ideas of how I could convince Sam that I was not involved with either Richard or Thurlow. It was still beyond me how Sam could think I was personally interested in either one of them. Then it hit me.

That wasn't it at all. Sam was smart enough to have come to a money connection long before I had. After all, I did invest with Richard Stroud and had kept it from Sam. That was what had hurt him so badly: he thought I didn't trust him with my finances and had gone behind his back to take up with Richard. And then it suddenly struck me: it would seem to Sam that I-who was never careless with money-had left a checkbook in an unlocked car for somebody to steal a few checks, leaving me seemingly innocent of aiding and abetting. It was an easy jump to a.s.sume that somebody had been Richard Stroud. Once Sam came to such a conclusion, one thing had led to another until now he no longer trusted me.

There was only one thing to do: follow the money. Easier said than done, though, because I didn't know where to start. The courts had taken everything Richard had to recompense those he'd cheated-everything they could find, that is. There sure hadn't been anything left for Helen to live on. She'd had to give up her home and, as I'd recently heard, take a part-time paid job at some nonprofit agency. I didn't think she would've done either one if there'd been money stashed away somewhere.

So maybe Thurlow had it, and Richard had wanted it back.

Lord, it was too much for me to figure out. Sitting there studying on it until my brain was half addled, I became aware of the noise from Hazel Marie's room. The babies had revved up again, and she and Etta Mae were bustling around changing diapers and fixing bottles, slamming doors, and talking over the din, with Lillian chiming in from the kitchen. I thought of going back there to see what I could do, but they had a baby apiece and could surely manage without my help. I wondered how long Lillian would be willing to stay day and night without a break. I thought I might suggest that she and Latisha take the weekend off so they could go home and rest. Lillian's house would certainly be quieter than mine.

Every time the phone rang, as it just did, my heart jumped, imagining that it was Sam calling to apologize. That was ridiculous of me to even think of, because he wouldn't call. He would just come walking in, as I'd thought he'd done last night. But I didn't want to dwell on that little mix-up, so when I answered the phone, I still hoped it would be Sam.

"Julia?" Mildred Allen spoke with a catch in her voice, almost as if she weren't sure she wanted to say anything. "I am so very sorry. Are you all right? Can I do anything to help?"

"I'm fine, Mildred, and I don't need any help, although Hazel Marie and Etta Mae might. Why do you ask?"

"Why, honey, I thought you'd be devastated. I mean, I was. In fact, I still can't believe it."

"Believe what? What're you talking about?"

"I understand if you don't want to talk about it. I wouldn't want to either. But the word is getting around, and I thought you needed to be prepared."

"Mildred, I'm not following you at all." All I could think of were the various kinds of word that might be getting around. Images kept flas.h.i.+ng through my mind: Lillian and I sneaking around in the dead of night, Ronnie following us home and ending up in my bed, Thurlow insinuating something unwholesome about me, as he'd tried to do about Miss Petty. "Tell me what you're talking about."

"Oh, Julia," Mildred sighed, "I know this is going to do you in, but I heard that you and Sam have separated."

"Who told you that?"

"Oh good. I knew it wasn't true, and I'll just tell the one who told me that it's not, and the talk will soon die down."

"No, now I want to know who told you such a thing."

"Well, I guess she won't mind my saying who it was, because she didn't believe it either. In fact, she was indignant toward the one who told her."

"Who, Mildred?"

"Ida Lee, and you know she's not a gossip. If she was, I'd have to move out of town." Mildred giggled as much as a large woman can giggle. "But seriously, she's most concerned about you, and she'll be relieved when I tell her it's not so."

Ida Lee, I thought, and immediately calmed down. Mildred was right about Ida Lee, who was the most reserved, elegant, and closemouthed housekeeper of all. Well, Lillian was her equal in keeping what she knew to herself, but I'd have to pa.s.s on the elegant part.

"She may be relieved," I said, "but I'm not. Where did she hear it? Who told her?"

"James came by last night-I think he may be courting her, but he's barking up the wrong tree if he thinks Ida Lee would be interested in him. Anyway, he told her that Sam has moved back into his house, and James thinks it's for good."

"That sorry James," I said, so perturbed I could've gone to Sam's house and wrung his neck-James's, not Sam's. I blew out my breath and went on. "Mildred, Sam is staying at his house, but it's entirely temporary. He's staying there because he's at a tedious place in that book he's been writing for ages, and there's so much noise and activity here that he can't think straight. James doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Well, that certainly explains it, and I can just imagine how hectic it must be with two babies and all the extra help you have and everybody milling around. It's a wonder you haven't moved out too."

"I admit I've been tempted," I said, thankful that she fell in so easily with my explanation. "But you know I just can't leave Hazel Marie and those babies."

"You are so good, Julia. You put me to shame. Well, anyway, I was thinking that you might want to get out for a while and I'm asking a few people over for tea tomorrow morning. Very casual because it's so last-minute, but Ida Lee is making real spiced tea, the kind with all the fruit juices, not that instant Tang and Red-Hot candy concoction. And," she went on, "the weather's been so bad, I'm about to get cabin fever, so I thought a little social get-together would do us all good."

"Why, I'd be delighted," I said, and I was because it would be a chance to face down any tendril of gossip that James had started in any other quarter.

"Oh," Mildred said, "and it's going to be slightly ec.u.menical because I'm asking that new lady preacher the Methodists have. I've heard that she is charming, but that's because she comes from a good family and went to Duke. It has Methodist ties, you know. And she made her debut at the Terpsich.o.r.ean Ball in Raleigh and I heard she had a real rush by all the escorts. It's a wonder she's not married, but I guess she had a call to the ministry instead."

"I hope so," I said, "given that's where she is. But how did you meet her?"

"Oh, I haven't, but Tonya has and she just thinks the world of her. I wanted to wait till Tonya got back from St. Thomas, but I'm about to go crazy closed up in this house."

Tonya, I thought, who was born and raised as Anthony or Tony until he went up north as a young man and been transformed by surgery and hormones. Living next door as he grew up, I'd watched as he became more and more theatrical in his mannerisms and dress, displaying dramatic tendencies like wearing capes and twirling walking sticks. None of it had bothered Mildred-she doted on the boy and figured he'd outgrow his peculiarities.

But he hadn't, and something happened after his transformation, for now Tonya was a serene and sensible young woman whom you wouldn't hesitate to ask to pour at the head of your table.

"Well, if Tonya likes her, she must be nice," I told Mildred. "I look forward to meeting her. What's her name?"

"Poppy Patterson. I don't know her real name, because she says to just call her Poppy." Mildred laughed. "You can tell she was a popular girl with a nickname like that."

Poppy? I thought. Pastor Poppy? This should be interesting.

Chapter 32.

After asking if Hazel Marie would be able to come and being a.s.sured that it was still too soon after childbirth for her to be out, Mildred ended her call. She had also included "that baby nurse Hazel Marie hired," for which I mentally commended Mildred for her comprehensive invitation list. But to leave Lillian alone with both babies? No, that was too much to ask. Of course I did tell Hazel Marie and Etta Mae that they'd been invited and that I had refused for them. Hazel Marie said, "Good, because I'm not going anywhere until these babies are old enough to go with me."

I couldn't help it. I rolled my eyes because don't you just hate it when a mother brings along an uninvited child? I mean, what are babysitters for, anyway?

So I had no qualms about having spoken for them. Besides, I was more than ready to be out on my own and away from the havoc the babies were creating in the house.

It would be such a change, don't you know, to hear about something other than the number and color of infant evacuations, which baby slept the longest, which one nursed the best, which garments they would wear, how long their nightly colic would last, and on and on. Hazel Marie and Etta Mae discussed nothing but the care and feeding of babies, and Lillian was almost as bad. In fact, she constantly marveled at the number of diapers those two babies used, repeatedly expressing grat.i.tude to whoever had invented the disposable kind.

"Jus' think," she said to Etta Mae, "if we usin' the cloth kind, that was.h.i.+n' machine be goin' all day every day, an' we be thankin' the Lord for 'lectricity 'stead of throwin' away them Pampers."

"Yes," Etta Mae said, "and that reminds me of my granny telling about when she didn't even have electricity, much less a was.h.i.+ng machine. She had to scrub diapers in a tub with a washboard. Imagine doing that. She used Octagon soap and still had to boil the diapers to get them clean."

"My mama did the same thing," Lillian said, settling down at the table to reminisce about the old days. "I 'member helpin' her hang 'em out on a clothesline when I was jus' a girl, an' on the cold days they'd freeze stiff as a board."

"Well," Hazel Marie said, coming into the kitchen in time to hear part of the conversation. "I'm glad we don't have to do that, but we're going to break the bank keeping those little girls in Pampers. Etta Mae, I just opened the last pack. Do you mind running to the store?" Then with just a tinge of exasperation, she said, "That's going to be J.D.'s job if he ever gets back here to do it."

That was the sort of thing they talked about all day long, although this conversation had been a little more interesting than the ones about diaper rashes. So I was looking forward to being among adults who had more than one interest. It would be a welcome change for me.

And come to think of it, I'd not been out of the house since those babies were born. Except, of course, for Richard's funeral and that night stroll to Miss Petty's toolshed, neither of which I counted as a social excursion.

Still, the thought of socializing while my heart was so heavy over Sam's absence brought on a renewed wave of desolation. If it was all I could do to keep up a good front for Hazel Marie and Etta Mae, how in the world would I be able to conduct myself normally with a roomful of watchful and suspicious women? They would be avidly interested in Pastor Poppy, I was sure of that, and if I was lucky, she'd be the center of their attention. But James was known to be a source of gossip and the grocery aisles were his venue. He only needed to tell one shopper at the meat counter that Sam had moved out for half the town to be pitying me and adding my name to their prayer lists.

Well, I could use their prayers, and even if the prayers were somewhat skewed, the Lord would know the truth of it. So I would go to Mildred's and steel myself to ignore the whispers and the glances. Heaven knows I'd had enough experience in the past of holding my head high as rumors and speculations swirled around me.

I dressed carefully the following morning, putting on a gray wool dress and the matching gray pumps with the Ferragamo old-lady heels that Hazel Marie said would complete my outfit. Then I added my pearls and, after a slight hesitation, pinned on the diamond brooch that I'd rewarded myself with after learning the extent of Wesley Lloyd Springer's folly, as well as that of the estate he'd left. I took my winter-white cashmere coat from the closet and, from a drawer, the beautiful pink and gray plaid scarf that Lloyd, on his mother's advice, had given me for Christmas. I put them both on and stood before the mirror.

Not bad, I thought. Not outstanding-only an airbrush on my face could accomplish that-but not bad. And right here I'll give some advice to whoever happens to need it. When you're suffering from some emotional devastation that you don't want to advertise around town, you should go the extra mile with your appearance. Dress up, put on makeup, have your hair done-and your nails too if you can afford it-and plaster a smile on your face. You'll not only make them think twice about any gossip going around, you'll feel better too.

When I went into the kitchen to get my purse and gloves, Lillian gave me an approving nod. "You lookin' real nice, Miss Julia," she said. "I got the car all warmed up for you."

"Why, Lillian, I'm just going next door. I'll walk."

"No'm, it twelve degrees out there an' risin' slow. You don't need to be walkin' in it." Then she leaned toward me and lowered her voice. "It's a wonder you an' me both don't have pneumonia from all that walkin' we already done."

So I drove to Mildred's, backing the car out onto Polk Street, putting it in forward gear, then easing the half block to her driveway. I pulled in onto the brick-paved U-shaped drive and parked beside several other cars in what Mildred called her motor court. I nearly froze in the walk to her front door, dreading the drive back home when there'd be n.o.body to warm the car for me.

Inside, it was a different story. Mildred greeted me warmly with a hug, even though she knew full well that I prefer a handshake. Still, her house was bright and welcoming with huge fires in the drawing room fireplace and in the one in the dining room. As Ida Lee took my coat, I saw fifteen or so women milling around, drinking tea from Mildred's Spode-her second- or maybe third-best china because it was a casual affair-and talking with one another.

Everybody seemed to have had the same idea I'd had: they were all dressed well with plenty of pearls or gold jewelry. Made me wonder if they, too, were dealing with some emotional distress. Then Emma Sue Ledbetter came in, took one look, and almost walked back out. She was wearing a pair of plaid wool slacks and a turtleneck sweater-perfectly fine for the weather but not for the company.

She sidled up to me as I stood in the foyer, waiting for the line at the dining table to thin out.

"Oh, Julia," she whispered, her face red and her eyes moist. "I never can get it right and I'm so embarra.s.sed. You know it took me the longest to buy even a pair of pants, much less wear them in public, and Larry still gets tight-lipped when I do, and I got it wrong again. I thought, as cold as it is and Mildred saying it would just be a few friends for a cup of tea, that it would be casual. And it's not!"

"Don't worry about it, Emma Sue," I said, trying to rea.s.sure her. "I expect several are going on to lunch afterward. That's probably why they're dressed the way they are."

She looked at me with accusing eyes. "Are you going on to lunch?"

"Well, no, but you know I never wear pants, so I didn't have a decision to make. There have been times, though, when I have wished with all my heart that I had a pair." The night before last, to be exact, but I didn't mention that. "Hold your head up, Emma Sue, and don't give it another thought."

"Well, you're right," Emma Sue said, taking a deep breath. "n.o.body cares what I have on, except they'll probably talk about me. But the Bible tells us to take no thought for what we wear or for what we eat." She dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex, then took my arm. "Let's go see what Mildred's serving."

Chapter 33.

A little surprised that Mildred had not asked Emma Sue to pour, I walked with her to the dining room and saw the reason why. Instead of a tea tray at the head of the table, she had placed her embossed sterling urn on the sideboard for guests to serve themselves-Mildred's idea of casual. So we helped ourselves, filling our cups, then our plates with cheese straws, ham biscuits, nuts, and small skewers of fruit.

Then we wandered across the foyer to the drawing room, where a group surrounded the new Methodist woman minister. We eased closer in order to introduce ourselves.

Emma Sue whispered to me, "Larry's trying his best to come to terms with this. She was at the last meeting of the County Ministerial a.s.sociation, and when he got home, he had to spend an hour in prayer just to get over having a woman there. You know how he feels about that."

Did I ever. Pastor Ledbetter was of the old school and felt that women should cover their heads and keep their mouths shut when it came to church services. I wouldn't go quite that far, although I had to admit that I would find it unsettling to have a black-robed woman half my age explaining, expounding, and explicating Scripture, as well as excoriating us, from the pulpit. And when it came to a Communion service, I would never be sure that a woman was suited for a sacramental role. But maybe I've just lived too long to embrace change for its own sake.

And another thing: with a woman minister, you get into the complications of how to address her. I well recall the problem the Episcopalians had when they had their first woman a.s.sistant priest. Her official address, would you believe, was Mother Melanie, and she was less than half the age of the majority of the paris.h.i.+oners. Frankly, I would find it intolerable to call a snip of a girl Mother.