Miss Julia Hits the Road (18 page)

I stepped back to let him in, thanked him, then went to call the others to witness more evidence of Sam’s carelessness in throwing money away on spring flowers on a brisk October day.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” Hazel Marie said. “Who’re they from?”

“Guess,” I said dryly.

“He send you two at a time now?” Lillian asked, eyeing the flowers and probably wondering, as I was, where we were going to put them.

“Yes, and it’s proof of what I’ve been concerned about,” I told her. “He probably forgot he’d ordered one, so he turned around and ordered another one.”

“Oh, look!” Hazel Marie sang out, as she unpinned an envelope from one of the arrangements. “This one’s for Lillian!”

A look of disbelief and delight swept across Lillian’s face. “No! Nobody be sendin’ me flowers.”

“Look right here,” Hazel Marie said, holding the envelope out. “There’s your name, plain as day. Open it. Let’s see who sent them.”

Lillian’s fingers trembled as she took out the card. “Oh, my goodness. They from Miss Binkie and Coleman. I think I jus’ about cry.” And she sniffed to prove it, at the same time reaching out to touch one of the flowers.

“What does the card say?” I asked, somewhat chagrined by my assumption that both arrangements were for me.

“It say they thinkin’ ’bout me.”

“That is just so sweet,” Hazel Marie said. “Now let’s see who the other one’s for.” She plucked the envelope from the other arrangement and handed it to me with a knowing smile. “For you, Miss Julia.”

I pulled out the card, and then quickly shoved it back into the envelope.

“Who it from?” Lillian asked. “The same one what been sendin’ ’em?”

“Well, yes.”

“What does the card say?” Hazel Marie said; she should’ve known better than to ask such a question.

“It says . . . well, it’s personal,” I said, and slipped it into my pocket.

“I bet,” Hazel Marie teased.

“Well, not
that
personal,” I said, anxious not to let on what I’d seen at first glance, which was
Roses are red,
after which I’d stopped reading. “Sam’s a gentleman, and he’s just thanking us for dinner last night. Even if it was take-out pizza.” Then, to change the subject, I said, “Hazel Marie, we need to help Lillian with dinner tonight. Little Lloyd needs a balanced meal, and you do, too, Lillian. We don’t want you getting sick from all the worry you have right now.”

“Yessum, we all need one. I ain’t never forget to cook supper before. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Oh, Lillian,” Hazel Marie said. “You had a lot on your mind, and it was our fault for not realizing it. I’ll tell you what. I’ll cook supper tonight.”

I rolled my eyes just the slightest bit, for Hazel Marie was not all that adept in the kitchen. But then, neither was I.

Lillian took her flowers to the kitchen, grinning all over herself. I stayed in the living room, pacing back and forth and glancing occasionally at mine, while Hazel Marie took herself on another shopping trip.

Pacing and thinking, I went around and around, trying to decide what to do. If I could muster the courage to put up my house for three weeks, we could stay Clarence Gibbs’s hand. He couldn’t sell the Willow Lane property to anybody else, and he couldn’t proceed with his water bottling plans.

But could we raise two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in that amount of time? Frankly, I didn’t see how we could, no matter how lucrative a Poker Run would be. Maybe, I thought, I could unload some of my other real estate within that time. There was the convenience store on the highway near the edge of town and, Lord knows, I’d be happy to be rid of that trailer park out in Delmont. Why in the world Wesley Lloyd ever invested in such as that, I’ll never know. Of course, they brought in regular income, which was nice to have, but I also knew that neither of them would sell quickly.

Of course, Binkie would have a fit if I put them on the market. But I had to have a backup plan, or I’d be out on the street with Lillian.

Well, there was nothing to do but get at it, and start bringing in some money, some way, somehow.

With that decided, I pushed through the kitchen door. “Lillian, I’m going to pay a visit to old man Jones, and I want you to go with me.”

Her eyes got wide and her mouth gaped open. “Ole man
Thurlow
Jones?”

“Yes, and don’t look at me like that. He’s got enough money to afford a big donation, and I intend to get it from him.”

“Miss Julia, you can’t go see that ole man. He crazy. No tellin’ what he do, you go over there.”

I clicked my tongue. “He doesn’t bother me. Besides, he’s not really crazy, he just likes to act that way. Says it keeps the riffraff away.”

“You better not go see him. Let Mr. Sam go, he know how to handle him.”

“Oh, Lillian, he does not. Thurlow Jones takes great pleasure in getting the best of any man in town. Don’t ask me why, but he is much more amenable to women. At least, he’ll be courteous to me, whereas he’d turn Sam down flat before he got in the door.”

“Yessum, that why you ought not go. I hear how he be with the ladies.”

“He’s not interested in women my age,” I said, waving my hand. “Listen, Lillian, that old man is so cantankerous that he won’t give a cent to the church or to any other kind of normal fund. But he
does
give money—lots of it—to the craziest things. Why, LuAnne Conover told me that he gave five thousand dollars to some educational program about African violets, and they only needed a couple of hundred. And Binkie says he gives thousands of dollars every time elections roll around to anybody who’s running against an incumbent. And I know he gave an untold amount to a group of women who call themselves goddesses after some preacher wrote a letter to the editor complaining about them. You remember that, don’t you? It was all in the paper.”

“Yessum,” she mumbled, still unconvinced. “I guess. But that don’t mean he listen to us.” She stopped, then began to smile, her gold tooth gleaming. “ ’Less he think you an’ me look like a goddess.” She bent over, laughing at the thought.

I laughed, too, and when we’d recovered, I said, “So you’ll go with me?”

“Guess I will, if you bound an’ determined. But I ought not go in this athaletic suit. Maybe Coleman come over an’ help me move them boxes till I find somethin’ else to put on. Miss Hazel Marie, she ’changed some of them things what was too little. But, Miss Julia, don’t none of them fit, either.”

“You look fine in what you have on,” I said, although I’d dressed carefully that morning in a light wool mauve dress, the one Hazel Marie said complemented my coloring. My winter white coat set it off perfectly.

“When you plannin’ on goin’ to Mr. Jones’s?” Lillian asked.

“Right now’s as good a time as any,” I said, looking at my watch. “I don’t want to lose my nerve. One other thing, Lillian,” I went on, “this visit to Thurlow Jones has to be our secret until it’s successfully completed. Don’t tell anybody. Now, do you think I ought to wear a hat and gloves? I want Mr. Jones to know that I mean business, and I want to look like it.”

She looked me over, while I was doing the same to her. I wished I hadn’t brought up the subject of clothing, for she was in another nylon running suit purchased by Hazel Marie. This one was green with yellow stripes, and she was still wearing those huge boat-like tenny-pumps.

“No’m, I don’t think so. He might think you there on church bus’ness, an’ that turn him off good.”

“You’re right. Well, get your coat and let’s go.”

“I wouldn’t do this,” she mumbled as she slipped into her winter coat, “ ’cept I know you do it anyway by yo’self.”

As we drove the few blocks to Thurlow Jones’s once-stately brick house, I grew more nervous. I’d known him for years, but we were not what you’d call close acquaintances, much less friends. Of course, with my unassailable position in town, he would know about me, just as I knew about him. But just what would he know? That I’d been the duped wife of a man who carried on a secret life right under her nose? Lord, he could well laugh me off his porch before I got into the house. I ground my teeth together and pulled into his long driveway.

“Look at that, would you?” I said, looking around at the poorly maintained yard, full of weeds, dying grass, and fall leaves. A shutter hung halfway off one of the front windows, and a torn screen flapped in the breeze. “You’d think he’d keep this place up. He certainly has the money to do it.”

“Yessum,” Lillian said. I knew she was none too happy to be there, which meant that I had to keep my own spirits up.

“All right,” I said, opening the car door. “Let’s go.”

I marched up the walk to the front door, my pocketbook gripped under my arm, and banged the knocker. Lillian breathed heavily behind me.

“Nobody home,” she whispered. “Le’s us go.”

I shook my head. I’d gotten this far on pure nerve, and I might not be able to work up enough of it to try again. This had to be it. Just as I lifted the knocker again, the door flew open and there he stood.

“I don’t want any, whatever you’re sellin’, givin’ away, or witnessin’ to,” he all but shouted in my face. Then we both stood there and stared at each other.

He was a small man, short and skinny as a rail, and dressed in a white shirt that was none too clean. A sprig of white chest hair peeked out of the shirt’s open neck, a most unappetizing sight. His trousers hung low on his skinny hips, the cuffs drooping down over leather bedroom slippers. I took all that in, then lifted my eyes to his thinning white hair that badly needed barbering and his sunken and unshaven cheeks that gleamed with white bristles, and stared through his glasses into his fierce blue eyes.

“Well, now,” he said before I could get a word out. “Who is this? It couldn’t be the Lady Springer, could it? Here with her handmaid? How do I rate such an honor?”

I drew myself up, determined not to let his sarcasm disturb me. “Good morning, Mr. Jones. I am Julia Springer and this is my friend, Lillian. We’re here on an urgent mission, and wonder if you’d allow us a moment of your time.”

“Come in, come in,” he said, smiling widely and clicking his upper plate firmly in place. “My god, I haven’t had a surprise like this in a coon’s age.” He stepped back and waved us into a dark, musty-smelling hall.

We followed him into an equally dark parlor, filled with too much tapestry-covered furniture, old newspapers, and a foul-smelling Great Dane. Lillian hummed deep in her throat as she walked in behind me, and I knew she was liking none of it.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Jones said in an immoderately loud voice. “Take any of ’em, I don’t care.” Then, raising a newspaper at the Great Dane, he yelled, “Get off of there, Ronnie! Let the ladies have that settee.”

The dog lumbered off the sofa and curled up by the sooty fireplace.

I sat gingerly on the still warm sofa, and patted a place beside me for Lillian. She didn’t much want to take it, but I glared at her, so she did. I needed her close by.

“Well, here we are,” Mr. Jones said, his eyes glinting from behind his glasses as if he were thoroughly enjoying this break from his morning’s routine. He settled himself into a recliner that was long past due for reupholstering. “Just what can I do for you, Lady Springer?”

Determined to put a stop to his ragging and get down to the business at hand, I said, “My name is Mrs. Julia Springer. And I’d appreciate your addressing me as such.”

“Hah!” He threw his head back, seemingly tickled to death at being corrected. “A woman with spirit! I like that. Go on,
Mrs.
Springer, I know you want something from me, so let’s hear it.”

“Well, Mr. Jones, it’s like this,” I said, gathering myself to present my case.

“I can’t wait,” he said, fidgeting in his chair to let me know how eager he was. “This’ll be good, I know it will. Now, Mrs. . . .
Julia,
can I call you Julia? You wouldn’t mind, would you? First-name basis, that’s what we need here.”

“Of course,” I said, although I most certainly did mind. But when you’re on a begging mission, you have to put up with more than you ordinarily would. “Now, Mr. Jones,” I began again.

“Thurlow!” He said, grabbing the arms of his recliner and leaning toward me. Little specks of spittle flew toward me as he spoke. I leaned back out of the line of fire. “Call me Thurlow. Don’t know when I’ve had such a handsome woman in my house. We got to get to know one another and do it fast. I’m on my last legs here, god doggit.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” I said, anxious to placate him and get what I was there to get. “You look in fine shape to me.”

“I knew it!” he boomed, then pulled a lever so that both he and the chair reclined with a thump. “I knew it soon as I set eyes on you. We’re gonna get along just fine. Now whatta you want?”

Lord, his moods seemed to go up one side and down the other. Lillian was trying to make herself smaller as she scrunched down on the sofa, her breath catching in her throat every time he switched channels.