Miss Julia Delivers the Goods (8 page)

Sam looked at me in an indulgent, but admiring, way. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have. I am not going to have Hazel Marie going through another pregnancy alone and unwed, and I’m not going to have Lloyd suffering any shame or ridicule because of their precipitant and careless actions. And,” I went on after a moment’s thought, “I am not going to be put in the position of having to defend the indefensible to everybody in town. To Pastor Ledbetter, in particular.”

Every friend I had, along with their probable responses to another child unblessed by legitimacy, passed through my mind. LuAnne Conover would be shocked to the core, and she’d lambast me for what she’d see as my complicity in the situation. Appearances were so important to her that she had little sympathy for any deviations. On the other hand, if everybody else accepted Hazel Marie, she would follow along, not ever wanting to be the only holdout on anything.

Helen Stroud would never let anyone know what she thought. She’d treat Hazel Marie as politely as she always did, but you’d always wonder what was going on in her mind. Emma Sue Ledbetter would agonize over forgiving the sinner while condemning the sin, putting a great strain on her testimony as she tried to figure out where the lines were drawn. Mildred Allen was the only one whom I figured would wave off the whole matter. But, of course, she almost had to since she’d fairly easily come to terms with her only son having had a remarkable and surgical transformation into a woman.

I couldn’t even imagine what the verdict would be among the members of the Lila Mae Harding Sunday school class, to say nothing of the garden club and the book club, all of which Hazel Marie belonged to. It’s a settled fact that groups of women were influenced by the loudest and most unforgiving talkers among them.

Of course, I thought, as I rubbed my forehead almost in despair, none of that spoke to my own feelings. I was as rigorous and unbending as the worst of them when it came to expecting others to do as I did, which entailed following the rules and traditions of a moral society. But when it came to people I cared about who’d started down that slippery slope, why, I could find all kinds of excuses for them. Fact of the matter, I was swinging back and forth between being torn in two with anger at Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens, but mostly at him since he ought to’ve known better, and being protective of her and that innocent baby.

“Julia?” Sam said, sliding an arm around me and pulling me close. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not sure. I’m having trouble taking it all in, plus trying to figure out how to handle those two bullheaded people. Mr. Pickens is moving away, if he hasn’t already, and Hazel Marie wants to move somewhere where she can pretend to be a widow. I ask you, Sam, is that a solution to anything? I’d be tempted to help Hazel Marie do exactly that, if she wouldn’t take Lloyd with her but you know she would. And what would that do to him? He’d be leaving the only decent home he’s ever known, changing schools, and having to aid and abet his mother’s pretense. I can’t have it, Sam, I just can’t. We have to get Mr. Pickens back here and lay down the law to him.”

“I agree,” he said, running his hand up and down my back, a gesture that soothed my soul. “But there’ll be no need to lay down the law. Pickens won’t have to be forced to do the right thing. My concern is Hazel Marie. She’s raised one child on her own. She may feel she can do it again, especially since she has money coming in from Lloyd’s inheritance. It would be a whole lot easier this time.”

“I’ll take care of Hazel Marie, don’t worry about that. You handle Mr. Pickens. Frankly, I don’t care if they never live together or even see each other after they’re married. They can divorce the day after the wedding for all I care. But they’re going to put things right for the sake of that baby and for Lloyd or I’m going to know the reason why. And if either of them balks at a shotgun wedding, I can point out three or four couples in town who had seven-pound premature babies—Binkie and Coleman, for one—and their marriages are still going strong. I mean, you do what you have to when the circumstances demand it, and these circumstances certainly demand it.”

“All right,” Sam said, shifting to stand up. “Let me get started trying to find Pickens, while you get Hazel Marie ready to see him. But I’m only going to locate him, not tell him anything. She’ll have to do that. Anyway, I don’t think there’ll be a problem with him, but, like I said, I’m not so sure about her.”

I waved my hand. “All Mr. Pickens has to do is be sweet to her, tell her he loves her and ask her to marry him. Believe me, she’ll fall all over herself agreeing to anything he says. After all, that’s what got her into this condition in the first place. You just make sure that he knows he might have to do a little courting, but she’ll come around.”

“I hope you’re right, and I hope we’re doing the right thing. I’m never comfortable interfering in the lives of other people.”

“Well, I’m not either, and, as you know, I rarely do it. It’s only when I’m absolutely sure of what’s best that I dare to step in. But this is surely just such an occasion.”

 

 

 

 

I left Sam to his telephoning and went home, noting as I left that James had done a fairly decent job of clearing the steps and front walkway.

As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, Lillian’s eyes swept the room as if she expected someone to be listening in. Then she tiptoed over to me and whispered, “How Mr. Sam takin’ it?”

“Just as he always does,” I said, ridding myself of my raincoat. “He takes anything that happens right in stride. And, Lillian, there’s no need for you to try to find Mr. Pickens. Sam’s doing it for us, since he has contacts we don’t have. I expect we’ll hear from him most anytime now.”

“Well,” she whispered, “I didn’t know he gonna do it, so I call his house and his office but didn’t get no further than you did. Then I call that operator down in Charlotte an’ ask do he have a telephone an’ he do. The number right over there by the phone, but nobody home there, either.”

“Why, Lillian,” I said, looking at her in amazement, “that is outstanding. I never would’ve thought of that. Well, I probably would have eventually, but you did it. Is this it?”

I picked up a scrap of paper with a number in a different area code just as the back screen door slammed.

“Lloyd home,” Lillian said, as I crammed the slip of paper in my pocket.

“Not a word to him, Lillian, about any of this. Just that his mother’s coming home tomorrow. That’s all he needs to know.”

Lloyd walked into the kitchen, propping his tennis racket against the wall as he headed for the counter and the snack that Lillian had put out for him. “Who needs to know what?” he asked. “Is mama all right?”

“She’s fine, getting better all the time. We were just talking about that new doctor who’s proved that he knows all he needs to know.” Quickly changing the subject, I went on. “We’ll be bringing your mother home in the morning.”

His face lit up. “Tomorrow? Oh, wow, I’m glad about that.” He put down a half-eaten banana and pushed back his wet hair. “We had to play indoors again today ’cause the courts were too wet to use.” He reached for his racket, then struck with a sudden thought, said, “Is it all right if I walk downtown and buy some flowers for her room? The rain’s about stopped and I’ve got some money.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. She’ll have to stay in bed for a few days, so flowers in her room will be perfect. Here,” I said, searching in my pocketbook for a couple of twenties, “take this with you and get something bright and pretty from Sam and me. If they’re too awkward to carry, just have them delivered this afternoon. I know it’s late in the day, but don’t let them put you off. I’ve done enough business with that florist for them to go the extra mile for me.”

 

 

 

 

The next morning dawned hot and cloudless with everything looking fresh and green from the rain, a far cry from the usual dog days of August. Before going in to breakfast, I went up to Hazel Marie’s room to open the draperies and to turn down her bed. Looking over our preparations for her return, I couldn’t help but think that she’d have to realize how important she was to us.

When I got to the dining room, I found Lloyd so excited about his mother’s imminent discharge from the hospital that he could hardly sit still long enough to eat a decent breakfast. He kept saying how glad he was that it was a Saturday, so he didn’t have to go to his tennis clinic.

“I wouldn’t learn a thing,” he said, grinning across the breakfast table at me. “My mind would be on Mama coming home, and everybody’d be acing me right and left.”

I agreed, realizing that I had the same excited expectation of Hazel Marie’s return as he had. Ignoring the nagging worry of what our next step would be, I turned to Sam, “Sam, her bedroom looks like a florist’s shop. You should peek in and see. Everybody we know has sent flowers or cookies or books or something. Lillian has the best sheets on her bed with half-a-dozen pillows propped up on it. A few days of bed rest won’t be a hardship at all. And,” I went on, meeting Sam’s eyes over my coffee cup, “bed rest means just that. No visitors, no phone calls and nobody asking personal questions.”

“I can visit, can’t I?” Lloyd asked. “I won’t ask any questions, except maybe, ‘How’re you feeling?’ ”

“You’re not a visitor,” Sam said, with a pat on the boy’s arm. “You’re family, and family doesn’t come under the no-visiting rule.”

Lillian pushed in from the kitchen, bearing a basket of hot biscuits. Just as I reached out to take it from her, a jolt of fear brought us all to a sudden standstill—my hand hanging in the air, Lillian holding out the basket, Lloyd’s water glass halfway to his mouth and Sam’s fork clattering to his plate.

An eerie wail like “Whoo-oo, whoo-oo,” then “Whoo-oo” again, reverberated from a distance, but closing in fast. “What’s that?” Lloyd cried as he sprang out of his chair.

We stared at each other, our eyes getting bigger as the ululation neared the house. Then a flash of dark clothing zipped past the dining room windows, and we heard the slap of outsized running shoes on the paved driveway. Then someone began banging on the back door, hitting it so hard that the screen rattled on its hinges.

Sam was on his feet, heading for the door, with Lloyd right behind him, as Lillian, her eyes big with fear, dropped the basket, scattering biscuits everywhere. I clasped the edge of the table with both hands, not knowing whether to get under it or go see what the trouble was.

“Lord he’p us!” Lillian cried, as a loud voice bellowed “Mr. Sam! Mr. Sam!” out in the kitchen. “That nobody but that worthless James! What he doin’ scarin’ everybody out of they wits?”

We pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen to see James leaning over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, while Sam tried to get a straight answer out of him.

“Mr. Sam,” James puffed, “you got to come quick. I never seen the like. Ever’thing all messed up and broke into and strewed all over the place. You got to come quick.”

“James,” Sam said, leading him to a chair. “James, calm down and tell me what happened.”

James sank heavily into a kitchen chair, mopped his face, and looked up at Sam. “Somebody done broke in yo’ house, Mr. Sam, an’ I don’t know but what they still in there.”

 

 

 

“Call nine-one-one, Julia,” Sam said. “Come on, James, let’s get over there.”

“Sam, no!” I cried. “Not if somebody’s still there.”

“If they were, they’ll be gone by now. Tell the officers to meet us there. Get up, James, and let’s go.”

James wasn’t all that eager to leave the safety of our house, but he dragged himself up and followed Sam out the door. And, just as I punched in the emergency number with shaking hands, Lloyd dashed out after them.

“Lillian,” I said, motioning to her to stop him, but my call was immediately answered and I had to report the breaking and entering at Sam’s house.

I hung up the phone and turned to scold Lillian for letting Lloyd go, just in time to see her crawl into Sam’s car with the rest of them. It backed out of the drive and was gone.

“Well,” I said to nobody, “I guess I’m left behind to clean up the kitchen.” Which was just as well, since bringing in dishes from the dining room and stacking them in the sink gave me time to calm my nerves. Hearing sirens converging a few blocks away, I could only hope that Sergeant Coleman Bates was one of the responders. As a personal friend, he would make sure that a thorough investigation was carried out.

But who could’ve broken into Sam’s house? And why? Sam didn’t keep any valuable items there, so what could they have wanted? Well, I sighed, it was vandals, most likely, or somebody just looking for empty houses to rob. It had become common practice to have a friend stay in a house just so it wouldn’t be empty during the time a family was participating in a wedding or a funeral—a poor commentary on the current state of the world in my opinion.

After clearing the dining table of crumbs, picking up biscuits from the floor, and putting the centerpiece back into place, with still no call from Sam, I decided to go see for myself what was going on. Then, glancing at my watch, I realized that time had gotten away from me.

“Goodness,” I mumbled, searching for the car keys and my pocketbook, “if I’m late getting to the hospital, no telling what Hazel Marie will do. She could think we don’t want her home, get her feelings hurt, and take off for parts unknown.”

 

 

 

 

So as concerned as I was about the goings-on at Sam’s house, I had no choice but to go to the hospital and bring Hazel Marie home. And it was a good thing I made that decision, for I found her already dressed and waiting for me in a wheelchair.

“Hazel Marie!” I exclaimed. “Honey, are you too weak to walk?”