Miss Julia Inherits a Mess (6 page)

The next morning I woke with a firm determination to do that job with all the cheerfulness I could muster. I reminded myself that Mattie had bestowed a high honor on me by entrusting her physical well-being and all her worldly goods to my care. And, really, how difficult or time consuming could it be? She'd soon be up and around with plenty of help, which I would most certainly see that she had. After that, I would have to make sure only that her bills were paid, and that would be it. There was no reason in the world for my days to be disrupted in any measurable way by having her power of attorney wrapped around my neck.

So, accepting what I could not shirk, I began to feel a renewed excitement about the prospect of working with my fellow man, even, or especially, if he were illiterate. Sam, in particular, had been enthusiastic about my plans to volunteer with the Literacy Council and said that he might volunteer along with me.

That being the case, I thought that it behooved me to get my ducks in a row and be ready to attend some training courses as soon as they started. So I decided to visit Mattie early that morning—sort of get it out of the way. I would offer to run any errands she needed taken care of, maybe take her some magazines, assure her that her affairs were in order, and perhaps catch her surgeon on his rounds. I could then consider my obligations as the holder of her power of attorney and as a longtime acquaintance more than fulfilled. At least, for the day.

Before leaving for the hospital, though, I decided to look through Mattie's pocketbook in case there was anything in it that she might want. Sam had plopped it on the desk in the library the day before, his eyebrows going up at the clank the contents made as he set it down.

“She must have the kitchen sink in there,” he'd said.

“Oh, you,” I said, laughing. “We never know what we might need. We have to be prepared.”

That morning, then, I sat at the desk and opened the clasp at the top of the large black pocketbook and began to unload it. On top, there was a handful of Kleenex—fresh, I hoped—which I consigned to the wastebasket. Then I pulled out a big, round, almost empty compact of pressed face powder, a smaller one of Estée Lauder rouge, and a small tube of Tangee lipstick, which I thought had been unavailable for a generation or more, as well as a wallet with four dollar bills and two credit cards in it, and a change purse holding seventy-six cents. I dutifully wrote down the amounts in case I ever had to account for my guardianship of Mattie's possessions. The next things to come out of her purse were a comb, a lint roller, two Bic pens, a notepad, and, at the bottom, a heavy odd-shaped object that I kept pushing aside to get to the small items under it. Those small items included two sticks of Juicy Fruit gum, four pennies, a nickel, three hairpins, a toothpick, a small tube of breath freshener, and a full key ring. And that reminded me, something would have to be done with Mattie's car. What that would be, I didn't know. I mean, who would want it?

Finally, after having everything spread out on the desk, I extracted with some effort what turned out to be a thin, curved silver container with an elaborately etched monogram that I couldn't decipher.

What in the world?
Shaking it, I heard the slosh of liquid, but couldn't believe that Mattie would be the owner of what looked suspiciously like a flask. Not that I was so familiar with what a flask looked like, but I'd read that they were flat and curved—just
as this one was—so as to fit in a back pocket. This one fit just as well in the bottom of Mattie's purse.

It was a common sight these days to see people carrying around bottles of water from which they constantly sipped, no matter the circumstances or the surroundings. How they managed to get anything done between subsequent trips to a restroom, I didn't know. So, with every vending machine offering water from all over the world, why would Mattie have a flask in her purse?

With some difficulty—the cap was on crooked—I unscrewed the top, laid it aside, then got a good whiff of the emanating fumes. The top of my head almost blew off. My word, Mattie Freeman was a secret tippler!

Let Sam laugh at my choice of words if he wanted to, but this was serious. No wonder Mattie was so cranky most of the time, and no wonder she couldn't half drive, and no wonder she was lying up there in bed with her mind wandering all over the past century. And, finally, no wonder she had fallen in the first place—tipsy people are prone to accidents.

My first thought was to empty the flask, rinse it out, then put it back where I'd found it. But sooner or later, Mattie would want her pocketbook, as well as what she expected to be in it.

So what was my responsibility in this? Give the flask back to her in the same state in which she'd left it—almost full? Or as empty as the day she'd bought it, seeing that the hospital would frown on their patients taking little nips throughout the day?

I didn't know what to do. So for the time being I put everything back into the pocketbook, including the flask with no change in its contents. I had trouble, though, getting the cap back on as the threads had been partially stripped—I put that down to frequency of access. For fear of leakage, I propped the flask upright against the side of the pocketbook and scotched it with the lint roller and wallet.

I was overcome with embarrassment and shame for Mattie and with guilt on my part for uncovering a secret that not one
soul had ever guessed. I even lifted the wad of Kleenex from the wastebasket and stuffed it in on top, hoping that Mattie would never suspect that I had rummaged among her things. Then I closed the pocketbook, deciding that I would take it to Mattie as it was—just as soon as she recovered her senses—and if she asked if I'd gone through it, I'd lie through my teeth.

_______

On my way to the hospital, but still unnerved by my discovery, I swung by the bakery on Main Street and, finding a parking place, ran inside to pick up a dozen petits fours. But the shock of what I'd found in Mattie's pocketbook was still disturbing my mind. It was all I could think of.

One thing was for sure, though. No one would hear about Mattie's weakness from me. I wouldn't tell a soul. Well, maybe I'd tell Sam. How could I keep something so shocking from him? And maybe Mildred and Hazel Marie, too, if I just couldn't keep it to myself.

While waiting for the little cakes to be boxed, I thought of how Mattie loved petits fours. I had often seen her stack three or four on her plate at any party she attended, and if the hostess had been slack with her offerings, Mattie wasn't above making her disappointment known. Maybe a dozen petits fours on her bedside table would cut down on the craving for something else.

Hurrying out to the car, I still felt electrified by learning of Mattie's secret vice—and she a lifelong Presbyterian, too.

I certainly could not let even a hint of my discovery escape my lips to Pastor Ledbetter. If he got wind of such a thing, he'd surely make it a sermon topic. Oh, he wouldn't mention a name, but he'd make sure that the congregation knew he had a particular person in mind, and that would throw the church into a frenzy of guessing who it could be.

After parking at the hospital, I went up to the second floor, hoping that I would find Mattie awake and cheerful and on the mend. Carefully carrying the bakery box so the little cakes would stay intact, I threaded my way along the hall to Mattie's room.

And stopped in the doorway. The dividing curtain was pushed back, both beds were stripped to their mattresses, and a man—an orderly from the fact that he was wielding a mop—was moving a chair so he could clean a corner.

“Oh,” I said, taken aback, “what happened to the patients in here? Where've they been moved?”

“Don' know,” he said, painfully straightening his back and leaning on the mop. “All they tell me is mop the room 'cause one is gone an' one is passed.”

“
Passed?
Passed what?”
Kidney stones?
Then, “Oh, my goodness, she
passed
? Which one?”

“Don' know. They both gone by the time I get here.”

“Oh, my goodness,” I said again and anxiously turned toward the nurses' station. No longer concerned with the care of little iced cakes, I was holding the box by its string and, in my haste, whacked it against the door frame.

Breathing hard, I reached the station and leaned over the desk. “Excuse me,” I said, panting, “but Mrs. Freeman? In that room down there?” I pointed down the hall. “How is she? Where has she been moved?”

The nurse looked up, frowned, and said, “Are you a family member?”

“No, a friend. I mean, her attorney. Acting attorney, I mean. I don't think she has any family. But surely you can tell me where you've moved her.”

“I'm sorry, but Mrs. Freeman expired early this morning.”

“Expired? You mean, like, she
died
?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“But,” I said, unable to process what I'd heard, “she wasn't
sick
. I mean, a broken hip won't kill you, will it? And she was fine after her surgery. Well, not
fine
exactly, her mind having regressed a few years, but I just . . . well, I just had no idea she was . . .”

The nurse stood up. “Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?”

“Oh, no. No, I'm all right, just stunned, I guess. We didn't know
she was that near the end, but, well . . . would you care for some petits fours?” I held out the box. “Fresh from the bakery, and perhaps a little crumbly, but I'm sure Mrs. Freeman would want you to have them.”

Knowing Mattie, I wasn't at all sure of that, but the nurse took the box and thanked me.

Then as I turned away toward the bank of elevators, barely aware of what I was doing, the nurse called me back. “Ma'am? We have Mrs. Freeman's suitcase here behind the desk for safekeeping. Would you like to take it now? I can release it to you since you're one of her attorneys. It'll save you from having to come back.”

“Fine. Yes, good idea. I can do that.” I was mumbling half to myself, but aware enough to know that I didn't want to have to come back.

Struggling with Mattie's suitcase, my pocketbook, and my wobbly knees, I made my way to an elevator, still trying to get my mind around what had happened.

Mattie
had died?
Being totally consumed by the shock of her passing, all I could hope was that her dress had arrived and she'd found her gloves, so that once again she'd been able to dance at her debutante ball—even if it'd been only in her mind.

But, then, what of her secret? Should it be safe with me? Or did it now not even matter?

The one thing I did know, however, was that I would never tell LuAnne. Good grief, if she knew, everybody would know, and Mattie would never live it down.

Well, I guess I shouldn't have put it quite like that, now that she was no longer with us. But if LuAnne found out, Mattie would have a besmirched reputation that would last long after the memory of her Meissen tea set had faded away.

“Is Sam upstairs?” It was out of my mouth as soon as I stepped through the door at home. Setting down Mattie's suitcase, I headed for the hall, barely waiting for Lillian's answer.

She turned from the sink. “Yes'm, he in his office workin' away. I jus' take him some coffee. You want some?”

“No, not yet. Oh, Lillian,” I moaned, turning back to her, “I just went to see Mattie Freeman, and can you believe that she died last night? I mean, we just visited her yesterday. It doesn't seem possible.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Lillian said, snatching up a dish towel to dry her hands. “Miss Mattie Freeman, gone? Well, bless her ole heart, I guess she in a better place now.”

“I hope so. At least I hope it's better than what was facing her here.” I started toward the stairs. “I'm going up to tell Sam. He'll want to know.”

I tapped on the door to what had once been my sunroom, but was now reconfigured as a working office for Sam. He had it filled with machines of one sort or another, some of which beeped and flashed and hummed. How he got any writing or thinking done with all that noise was beyond me.

“Sam?” I pushed open the door as he looked up from the book that was open on his desk. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but, oh, Sam, you won't believe who has gone to her reward.”

Sam's eyebrows rose. “I didn't know anybody was up for one.”

“Well, I didn't, either. She seemed well enough to me. I mean, considering all she's been through and discounting her mental state. I tell you, Sam, I'm shaken by it.”

Sam abruptly stood and started around the desk toward me. “What's happened, honey?”

“Mattie Freeman, Sam,” I said, feeling a few tears spring to my eyes. “She's gone. And I didn't even know she was leaving.”

Sam took my arm and led me to a side chair. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't have been flippant. It's never easy to lose someone you care about. Sit down and tell me about it.”

“Well, see, that's the thing,” I said, sinking into the easy chair beside his desk. “I never thought I cared one way or the other about Mattie, and I really didn't—I mean,
personally
cared. So I was really upset with her for giving me so much responsibility when we'd never been close. But now I don't know why her sudden passing has shaken me the way it has.”

“I expect you'd have been better prepared if she'd been sick a long time. It's probably the unexpectedness of it that's upsetting you.”

“I guess. Except at her age, I don't know what else I should've expected. But, Sam, you and I just saw her yesterday afternoon, and of course she didn't look well, but I never thought . . . well, anyway, I spent an awful lot of time worrying about where she would go and who would take care of her when she got out of the hospital—all of which has turned out to be a total waste of time. I guess it should teach me a lesson. Make no plans for the morrow, for the morrow may never come—or something like that. Which is certainly true for Mattie.”

I straightened in my chair, struck by a sudden dread. “What about that power of attorney now, Sam? What am I supposed to do about that?” I just didn't think I was up to making funerary arrangements, regardless of how much Mattie had thought of me. That was an honor I could do without.

“It's all right, sweetheart. The power of attorney expires when the grantor does.”

“You mean . . . ?” I brightened considerably, realizing that my obligations were over and done with. “Well, that is welcome news. But, you know, Sam, now that I think about it, it hasn't been so onerous, after all.”

After a few reassuring words and some comforting hugs from Sam, it occurred to me that I was most likely the only one among our friends who knew about this disconcerting development. So, after thanking Sam for relieving my mind, I left him to his work and hurried to the library. It was up to me, it seemed, to spread the word of Mattie's demise to our friends and acquaintances. To be the town crier, so to speak, certainly gives one a feeling of importance, and I concerned myself with striking just the right note between accuracy in reporting and personal concern.

“Mildred?” I asked when Ida Lee called her to the phone. “I have sad news.”

“Who died?”

“
Mildred!
How did you know? You didn't give me a chance to break it to you gently.”

“You mean somebody really did?” she asked. “Oh, my, that'll teach me to play around trying to be funny. But, really, who was it?”

“Miss Mattie. Oh, Mildred, I went to the hospital this morning, even took her a dozen petits fours, hoping to perk her up—you know how she loved those things—and her bed was empty. Stripped, in fact, though I thought she'd just been moved. I declare, I was not prepared for where she'd been moved
to
. It's really quite shaken me up.”

“Well, me, too,” Mildred said, a great deal more soberly than she'd started out. “I had no idea that she was in danger of
leaving
us. Believe me, if I had, I would've bestirred myself to go visit her with you and LuAnne. I wish now I'd gone with you.”

“Don't worry about it. She wouldn't have known if you were there or not. But I expect we'll all have a few regrets in the next several days. Sam says we can't dwell on those, though, since nothing can be done about them now. Still, I wish she'd known that I'd thought enough of her to bring petits fours.”

“Yes, that's a pity. She loved those things. But, Julia, have you told LuAnne?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Well, hang up and do it right now. I want LuAnne to know that she's not always the first to know when something happens.”

I had to laugh, for LuAnne would be beside herself at hearing a bit of news about which she had absolutely no idea. And especially to hear it from one who was generally the last to know anything.

_______

“LuAnne?” I said when she answered her phone. “I hate to be the one to bring bad news, but Miss Mattie died sometime last night.”

“What?”

I told her again, adding, “I just happened to have gone to see her early this morning, and . . .”

“And you didn't call me to go with you?”

“Well, LuAnne, I had several unforeseen obligations to take care of, and I wanted to speak to her about them.”

“What kind of obligations did you have that you didn't want me to know about?”

“It wasn't like that, LuAnne. I don't care if you know that Mattie had given me her power of attorney . . .”

“
What!
Why did she give it to you? I've known her as long as you have—longer, even.”

“I don't know, but, believe me, I would've been glad to pass it along to you if I'd had the chance. But really, there was little to do, and now, nothing at all. Any powers I may have had expired when she did.”

“Well, I still don't understand why she picked you. Why, Julia, I took her a loaf of banana nut bread every Christmas, and picked her up to take her to I-don't-know-how-many parties, just to keep us all safe from that car. I even offered to drive her to and from church every Sunday, but she turned me down. I did that after she backed into two cars in the church parking lot. One of them was mine.”

“I know, LuAnne, you were always very thoughtful where
Mattie was concerned. And the only reason I can think of for not naming you was that she didn't want to burden you.” I was doing my best to console LuAnne for having been found lacking in Mattie's eyes, or perhaps for having been merely overlooked. Although, to tell the truth, as much as I cared for LuAnne, she would be the last person to whom I'd entrust my business affairs. And the thought of her being in charge of my medical decisions sent a shudder down my spine.

“LuAnne,” I said, inspired by a sudden thought, “I would count it a great favor if you would call everyone, starting with Pastor Ledbetter and Emma Sue, the organist who'll need a heads-up for the service, and all our friends and tell them about Mattie. They all need to be notified, and I am just overwhelmed here. Would you have time to do that?”

There was a noticeable silence. Then she asked, “You haven't already called them?”

“No, I just learned about it myself.”

“And called me first?”

I hesitated for a moment of silence. “Yes, except I did tell Sam and Lillian. I mean, of course, they were right here when I walked through the door.”

“Well, okay. I can do that, if you're sure.”

“I'm sure, and I'd be ever so grateful, and,” I added with a laugh, “to prove it, I'll dance at your wedding.”

“Ha!” she said, her spirits improving by the minute. “How about at my debutante ball instead?”

We laughed together for a minute, then hung up. Or at least, she did. I merely clicked the phone off, then back on, and punched in Mildred's number before LuAnne could.

“Mildred,” I said, thankful that she'd answered so quickly, “LuAnne's going to call you about Mattie. Be surprised, and don't tell her you already know.”

Mildred started laughing. “Okay, I'll be properly stunned at the news, but keep in mind, Julia, that I intend to hold this over your head for just about forever.”