Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (31 page)

The world not being all that exciting, I think I dozed off for a while, but came alert at the sound of a car door closing. Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens! I jumped up and went to the front window. Parked at the curb was a long Cadillac painted a garish Florida color—some sort of orangey bronze—and limping up the walk with the help of a cane was Francie Pitts Delacorte.

“My word,” I said aloud, “what is
she
doing here?”

I thought of pretending I was at church and just not answering the door. But curiosity got the best of me, and I hurried to see why she was ringing my doorbell.

“Why, Francie,” I said, as I opened the door and took in her filmy dress in muted fall colors, her rakish hat trimmed in the same, her Prada pocketbook hanging on one arm and her rubber-soled flat shoes, one with the top cut off for her gouty toe. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were able to be out and about.”

“I’m really not,” she said, with a long-suffering sigh. “But I had to come, Julia. I’m not one to sit at home when a friend needs a comforting hand.”

“Oh? Well, do come in.” I stepped back to allow her to enter, then led her into the living room. “Have a seat, Francie. You’re obviously feeling better, and I must say you’re looking well.”

Forgive me, Lord, I thought, for telling such a story on a Sunday. LuAnne had been right about Francie’s heavy-handed makeup application, for it looked caked on—a far cry from the pallor of her hospital stay. She was even wearing blue eye shadow—at her age, too. Hazel Marie would’ve been aghast.

As Francie settled herself in the chair I’d vacated, spreading out her full skirt and smoothing it over her knees, I studied her face for signs of surgical scars from her alleged face-lift. There were none that I could see, but her face was certainly smooth and wrinkle free, with just a hint of stretching around the mouth and more than a hint of a wide-eyed stare.

“Would you care for coffee, Francie?” I asked.

“No, dear, I’m just fine visiting with you.” She glanced around, leaning over to see into the dining room across the hall. “Where is everybody? They didn’t leave you alone, did they?”

Aha, I thought, she’s here to talk Etta Mae into coming to her again. I settled back into the sofa, pleased to have discovered her purpose and determined to nip that in the bud.

“They’re all at church,” I said. “But Francie, I have to tell you that Hazel Marie will definitely be home today. So Etta Mae is fully employed.”

“I could care less about the Wiggins woman.” Francie put her pocketbook on the floor, then adjusted her cane against the chair arm, making sure that it wouldn’t fall over. “I’m concerned about you. They shouldn’t have left you alone, but that just goes to show how much I’m needed. Now,” she said, as I started to interrupt, “don’t pretend otherwise. I know you don’t want the rank and file to know your condition, but there’s no need to pretend with me.” She glanced toward the front door. “When will church be over?”

“A little after twelve,” I said, then frowned at her. “But Francie, I don’t know what condition you’re talking about. I’m as well as I can be.”

“Of course you are, dear. And we’ll keep it under wraps as long as possible. But I want you to know that you can depend on me. I’ve had so much experience with sickness of all kinds, and caring for you will be no problem at all.” Francie looked at her watch. “Sam went to church, too?”

“Yes, he always does. But truly, Francie, I don’t need any help. I have Lillian and Etta Mae and Hazel Marie, to say nothing of Sam and Lloyd, and that’s if I
needed
any help. Which I don’t, and I don’t understand why you think I do.”

“Why, Julia,” she said, leaning toward me with a worried look on her face, “it’s all over town that you are quite ill, and what’s a friend to do but be with you in your time of need?”

“But I assure you . . . ,” I started, but, hearing the sound of footsteps on the porch and of Etta Mae and Lloyd talking and Sam’s soft chuckle, I rose to greet them, hoping that Francie would take the hint and leave. “There they are now.”

“Oh my,” Francie said, followed by that tittering laugh. “I expect they’ll be surprised to see
me
here.” She smoothed her skirt again as she sat up straight, arched her back and turned sideways as she crossed her ankles.

Watching as she arranged herself, I saw an avid look of anticipation on her face as she turned toward the door. Posing, I caught myself thinking, and wondered why she thought Etta Mae would be impressed with the picture she made.

After the greetings were over, Etta Mae and I went to the kitchen to put lunch on the table, leaving Sam and Lloyd to entertain Francie. She’d made no move to leave, even though it was clearly mealtime, so I had no option but to invite her to stay and eat with us.

“Nothing fancy,” I said, hoping she’d take the hint. “Just leftovers.”

“Oh, I’d love to have lunch with you,” she’d almost gushed. “It’s so seldom that I’m in such pleasant company.”

Etta Mae helped me put a few things on the stove to heat, or rather, I helped her because she was so handy. We could hear the sound of voices from the living room, but not the words.

“I’m kinda surprised to see Mrs. Delacorte here,” Etta Mae said, broaching the subject carefully.

“You and me!” I shot back. “You know what she wants, don’t you? She wants you to leave Hazel Marie and work for her. I don’t know what she’s doing, staying on for lunch. Anybody with any manners would know it’s time to leave. Especially having dropped in with no warning at all.” I slammed a pot on the stove, working up a full head of steam at Francie’s gall.

“Well, I’m not going to work for her,” Etta Mae said, as she began slicing tomatoes. “She just doesn’t know when no means
no.
I think she wants me back so she can accuse me of something else, like that gatekeeper said.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. How would you heat up these rolls, Etta Mae?”

She glanced over from the counter where she was working. “Wrap ’em in tinfoil and put ’em in the oven. They’ll heat up without getting too brown.” She finished the tomatoes, then took several cucumbers from the refrigerator. “I wish she wouldn’t keep on after me. It worries me because I haven’t heard a word from Binkie, and I don’t know if I’m still number one on Lieutenant Peavey’s hit parade or not.”

Before I could tell her that no news probably meant good news, Lloyd pushed through the swinging door into the kichen. “Y’all need any help?”

“I don’t think so, honey,” I said, “but thank you anyway. What’ve you been talking about in yonder?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t do much talking. Just listened until it got boring. That lady’s telling Mr. Sam about Florida and how wonderful it is. I kept wanting to ask why she moved back here if it’s all that great.”

“Good question!” I said, as Etta Mae laughed. “In some ways, she’s to be pitied, Lloyd. She’s had a hard life, although she’s brought a lot of it on herself. Anyway, we’re almost through here, so you can go back out if you want to. You’re sweet to think of helping.”

“I didn’t exactly think of it,” he said, leaning on the counter to watch Etta Mae. “That lady told me to.”

I turned from the stove where I was stirring the beans and met Etta Mae’s eyes. Our eyebrows went up at the same time. What was Francie up to?

“Well,” I said, “you run right back out there and tell them they can come to the table.”

He grinned, snatched up a cucumber slice and put it in his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

When he left, I turned to Etta Mae. “That beats all I ever heard. She sent Lloyd out so she could play on Sam’s sympathy and make him feel sorry for her. I expect she hopes he’ll help her get you back. I’m beginning to think that the woman is just plain evil.”

“She’s just used to getting her way,” Etta Mae said. Then, with a frown, she went on. “You think Mr. Sam won’t want me here? He might think Mrs. Delacorte needs me worse than Hazel Marie does.”

“Not a chance. He’s not all that eager to tend to twins, even if they’re not here yet. Besides, where you work is your business, and he’s not going to interfere in that.” I picked up a platter of pot roast and vegetables. “Let’s get this on the table and get it over with. Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens will surely be home in a little while, and I want Francie gone long before that.”

“I can’t wait to see them,” Etta Mae said, as she took the rolls out of the oven and put them in a napkin-lined basket. “I bet Hazel Marie’s getting as big as a house.”

“Your table is lovely, Julia,” Francie said as she took a seat on Sam’s right. “I don’t know how you do it, with all you have going on.”

Because there were only the five of us, I’d seated everybody at one end of the table—me on Sam’s left, Etta Mae to my left to keep her away from Francie and, unhappily but necessarily, Lloyd across from Etta Mae and next to Francie.

The meal transpired pleasantly enough, for Sam was as always the genial host. He had the innate ability and courtesy to draw out any guest, asking pertinent questions and expressing sincere interest in whatever opinions, plans or experiences the guest offered. Francie glowed under his attention, dominating the conversation as she responded to him. Sam attempted to include the rest of us, but his expertise failed to elicit satisfactory responses, mainly because Francie constantly drew the conversation back to herself.

As the meal drew to a close, Etta Mae whispered, “You stay right here. I’ll fix the pound cake.” And as soon as she stood, Lloyd was up like a shot, eager to clear the table and go to the kitchen with her.

The two of them served toasted pound cake slices with ice cream and chocolate syrup, a simple dessert that Francie consumed in minutes, in spite of her constant flow of words. We heard all about Florida: its scenery, its ocean breezes, its lovely beaches, its wonderful shops, its wealthy residents and on and on. Then we heard about her sorrowful experiences, especially the trying time she’d had with her sick husband—or husbands. I was never able to determine which one, or ones, she was speaking of.

The one matter that she didn’t bring up was the recent theft and assault she’d suffered. I kept waiting for her to mention it, hoping for some small sign that she’d moved away from her accusation of Etta Mae. I mean, how could she sit placidly and companionably across the table from someone who she believed had physically injured her?

She couldn’t; nobody could, which indicated to me that Francie knew that Etta Mae was not guilty of anything. But did she bring it up? Did she apologize, even in a roundabout way? No, she didn’t. In fact, she ignored Etta Mae completely, which might’ve indicated some animosity toward her. But then, she ignored Lloyd, too, and she couldn’t have had anything against him.

Well, the fact of the matter was, she ignored me for a good part of the time, and when she did take notice, it was to refer obliquely to the sad state of my health. And though it tightened my mouth to do it, I held my tongue, because I might have to use that excuse again, come Monday night.

Finally, the meal was over and we rose from the table. Surely, I thought, Francie would leave. Her unannounced visit had lasted more than two hours, and that was long enough for anybody without a suitcase. And thank goodness, she’d not brought one of those.

Lloyd hopped up, saying, “I’ll do the dishes.” And Etta Mae immediately said, “I’ll help.”

I nodded, thanking them, knowing that they preferred the busyness of the kitchen to Francie’s boring monopoly of the conversation.

But at last, Francie began to indicate that she was preparing to leave. First, she excused herself to go to the powder room—the ladies’, she called it, as if I had gender-separated bathrooms in my home. But before that, she’d had to swish into the living room for her pocketbook, walking delicately in front of Sam to retrieve it. When she came out of the “ladies’,” she’d refreshed her makeup and reseated her hat.

I’d about had enough of her company, so when she returned, I handed her the walking stick. “We’ve loved having you, Francie. There’s nothing better than catching up with old friends. And this was the perfect time for it, too, because Hazel Marie will be back this afternoon, and there’ll be no time for visiting from now on.”