Miss Julia Stands Her Ground (16 page)

I had to give Lillian some excuse for coming in without a package to my name, so I told her I would have to finish up tomorrow, leaving the impression that I'd at least started, and perhaps had left a few bags in the trunk of the car.

“You shouldn't ask questions about Christmas gifts, Lillian,” I said primly. “Secrecy is what it's all about.”

Then I retired to my bedroom, sat in the easy chair, and put my feet on the hassock. I leaned my head back, going over in my mind everything that had been said—and done, for my hand was still warm where Sam had touched it.

Everytime I recalled the way he'd looked at me, and touched me, and said he wanted to see me again, something perilously close to a loss of breath occurred. I knew I was being foolish to dwell on such notions, making me no better than half the widows in town who lost their heads every time a man spoke to them. It was a settled fact that I had read more into Sam's actions and words than he'd intended, so why was I entertaining such foolish notions? All I had to do was look in the mirror and know that my frivolous days were long gone.

I was a long married woman and a recent widow, for goodness sake, and had never in my life turned my eye toward any
man other than my husband. Although considering the diversions my husband had engaged in, maybe I should have.

But it had never been my way to stray off the beaten path, regardless of the motivation. Nor would it be my way now, even though I was legally and morally free to pursue any adventurous enterprise that happened to appeal to me.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” I said aloud, fidgeting in the chair. I had let my mind wander along forbidden and uncharted pathways. “What is wrong with you?” I asked myself. Let one man smile politely in my direction and here I was, entertaining romantic nonsense.

First thing you know, I'd be as bad as Hazel Marie.

Sam was merely being kind to the wife of an old friend and nothing more. To read something into nothing was a sign of old age and failing perceptions. Silliness, actually, and I did not intend to let myself lapse into such a state as that.

As I started to rise and busy myself with practical matters, I heard a tap on my door.

“Yes?”

“It's me.” Little Lloyd's voice was so soft I could barely make out what he was saying. “Can I, I mean, may I come in?”

“Of course you may.”

He opened the door and stood waiting, hesitant, it seemed, to fully enter the room.

“Well, come on in,” I said, wondering what business the child could possibly have with me.

He edged in and walked over to my chair, one hand behind his back. “I have something for you.”

“A Christmas present? You can put it under the tree with the others.”

“No, ma'am. It's something you can use before Christmas. I'm going to get you another present to unwrap.”

“What is it, then?”

“You might not like it.”

“I won't know until I see it, will I?”

I declare, getting anything out of the child was like pulling teeth.

He brought his hand from behind his back and thrust a little homemade booklet at me. I took it, turned it this way and that, giving it a good examination. It seemed to be made from several notebook pages, cut in fourths, and tied on one edge with Christmas ribbon. On the front in the child's crooked handwriting was:
MISS JULIA
'
S COUPON BOOK
.

“A coupon book?” I asked. “I don't know what that is.”

“It's like you use at the grocery store when you buy something and don't have to pay much for it.”

I had never used a coupon in my life and only entered a grocery store when Lillian was too busy to go.

I frowned at the booklet, wondering what he expected me to do with it. “How does it work?”

“You tear out a page and give it to me when you want me to do something for you. See,” he said, turning to the first page, “right here, it says
BRING IN THE MAIL
. When you give that to me, I'll run out and bring in the mail. Even when it's raining or snowing.”

“Well, that's nice. What else do we have?”

“The next page says
EMPTY TRASH CAN
. So when the trash can by your desk needs emptying, I'll do it for you.” He sniffed and pushed up his glasses.

“Are you getting a cold?”

“No'm, I don't think so.” He turned to another page. “See this one? When you give me this page, I'll clean out your car. Sweep it and wipe off the dust and whatever else it needs.”

“That will be helpful. What's on the next page?”

He turned the page. “
BRING IN FIREWOOD
. That means when Deputy Bates is gone or if he forgets.”

“Indeed. I'll certainly appreciate having a constant supply of firewood.”

“And this one,” he went on, still in that soft, whispery voice. “This one says
BRING IN THE NEWSPAPER
, but that's not just for one time. That's kind of like a promise to do it every morning.”

“Well, I like that one. But you have to do it early, or Lillian'll get it before you do.”

“Yes, ma'am, I know. Now this one says
SIT UP STRAIGHT
, and it's a promise, too, because I forget sometimes. So now you won't have to tell me, just show me that page and I'll do it.”

“This is all quite commendable.”

“Look at this one.” He turned a page and showed me where it said
BRING YOU A BLANKET WHEN IT GETS COLD AT NIGHT
.

I took my lower lip in my teeth, unable to think of a suitable comment. I looked at the written promise, slanted across the page, thinking of this child climbing out of a warm bed to bring a blanket to me in the middle of the night.

“That's very thoughtful,” I managed to say, although I did wonder how I would wake him out of a sound sleep without getting up myself. In which case, I might as well get my own blanket. It was, however, the thought that counted.

“The last one is more like a promise, too, but I don't think I'll have to be reminded to do it. I'll think of it all by myself.”

I turned to the last page and read
ASK GOD TO MAKE ME A GOOD BOY
. I closed my eyes, smitten to my soul, and truly rendered speechless.

“See, Miss Julia,” he said, leaning and rocking on the arm of my chair, which I could've done without. “See, I know you want me to be a good boy, and I'm trying really hard.”

“I know you are,” I said, having to blink my eyes and clear my throat. “You are a good boy, Little Lloyd, as good as anyone could want. Although,” I hastened to add, “we all need to be aware of the need for improvement. And that includes me, as
well. Perhaps we both could ask God to make us better than we are.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Now, you should run along and get ready for dinner. Lillian'll be calling us in a few minutes.” I took the booklet from him and glanced through the pages again, struck with his efforts. On each page, there was a drawing, carefully colored in, relating to the subject matter. This was the secret project he'd devoted the previous entire day on. And he had done it for me.

As he turned to leave, I said, “Little Lloyd.”

“Ma'am?”

“This is the best present I've ever received, and I thank you for it.”

His face lit up with a smile that transformed it before my eyes. If I could keep him smiling, he would never again remind me of his worthless father.

When the child was gone, I sat still, holding the booklet and feeling overcome with tenderness, a sentiment most unusual for me. The care that the child had lavished on the pitiful-looking booklet affected me powerfully, and, after the way I'd undoubtedly misread Sam and gone off into a frenzy of daydreaming, well, all I can say is that everything was contriving to play havoc with my nervous system.

Later that night, on the eve of Christmas Eve, I sat again in the living room by myself, enjoying the warm glow of the dying fire and the colored lights on that beautifully shaped and decorated tree, which now seemed worth every penny it had cost. I picked at the pleats on my dress while my thoughts wandered all over the place. I had essentially lived alone all my life, in spite of the fact that Wesley Lloyd had resided in the same house. So, I was not accustomed to having anybody, especially a child, make demands on my emotions. Yet, that was exactly what had happened. Here I was, getting all warm and dewy-eyed, thinking of Little Lloyd laboring with painstaking intensity to make a coupon book for me. And I knew his mother had not suggested it to him, nor even known what he was doing, for I'd asked her about it. No, he had come up with the idea on his own and followed through until he had it exactly as he wanted it. That shows strong character, right there.

Thinking of the child's thoughtfulness, I was so moved that I had to get up and walk to the window. The streetlight appeared to waver as the wind blew tree limbs in front of it. A cold night to be alone and lonely. I shivered, in spite of the
warmth of the room, seeing myself as a sad and lonely old woman with a heart as cold as the north wind and as grasping as another Ebenezer Scrooge. I pressed the coupon book to my breast, as something broke and crumpled inside of me. Leaning my forehead against an icy window pane, I thought of that child asking God's help to be good. Lord, that's what I needed, worse than he ever would. Without realizing it, I had become so much like Wesley Lloyd that all I could think of was how to protect and hoard my wealth, dribbling it out penny by penny, holding on to it as if I could take it with me. He hadn't been able to, so why had I thought I could?

A line of poetry or scripture or something began running through my mind: And a little child shall lead them. One had certainly led me. With that, I took a few deep breaths, then turned and went into the kitchen to use the phone.

“Binkie?” I asked when she answered.

“Hi, Miss Julia. You want to speak to Coleman?”

“Why, no. Why would I?”

She giggled. “Because he's over here, watching television. I thought you might be wondering where he was.”

“Binkie, you know I'm not in the habit of checking up on Deputy Bates. Now listen, I know it's late, and you have guests, so I won't keep you long. What I want to know is how much money I have.”

She didn't answer right away. Adding things up, I supposed. Then she said, “Overall? Or readily available?”

“Both, eventually. But right now I want to know how much I can spend in one day and not wish I had it back next year or five years down the road.”

“Well, let's see. Your household account . . .”

“No, not that,” I said. “We need to eat, you know.”

“I know. I was just listing things off. You have three money market accounts that you haven't touched. Remember those
small checkbooks I gave you? You can write three checks a month on each one. Look at the balances, there's plenty in all of them.”

“Binkie,” I said, somewhat plaintively, “I don't know what you mean by plenty. I may want to spend a good bit, but I have a great fear of it running out.”

“Are you planning to go to New York or to Paris to do this spending?”

“Certainly not. I'm just going downtown and shop for one day.”

“Tell you what, Miss Julia,” Binkie said, her voice taking on a professional firmness. “You go on and spend however much you want. There's no way in the world you could do much damage in downtown Abbotsville in one day.”

“Really?” I had always heard of having a light heart, but mine suddenly lifted off.

“Really. And enjoy every minute of it.”

“I believe I will. Yes, I do believe I will.”

After hanging up, I got down on my hands and knees, searching through the packages under the tree to see how many gifts Hazel Marie had for Little Lloyd. Not enough, that was plain to see. I declare, you would think his mother of all people would've done better by him.

I was up bright and early on Christmas Eve, long before anyone else. I had things to do and barely enough time to do them. After dressing, I went down to the kitchen, put on the coffee, and sat down to make a list of the bare necessities for a boy's Christmas. Then I dialed the phone.

“Sam? Are you up?”

“Just barely, Julia. What's wrong?”

“Not a thing. You said if I needed anything to let you know, and that's what I'm doing.”

“I'm at your service, ma'am,” he said, with what seemed to me a suspicious amount of levity. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a truck. Can you get one?”

“A truck. You mean a semi or something like a pickup?”

“A pickup will do. If we need to make two trips, we'll do it.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, then with what sounded like a suppressed laugh, he asked, “Do I dare ask why?”

“I'm going Christmas shopping, and I need your help if you're available. I can't drive a truck, for one thing.”

“Well, I'm certainly available, and I think I can prevail on James to let me borrow his. He'll be here in a little while to start breakfast.”

“Good, but don't wait around for breakfast. I want to get there before the shelves are empty, so we need to get an early start. I have too much to do to be waiting around half the morning.”

“I'll be there within the hour.”

That was not soon enough for me, but I had to accept it. I knew my car would not hold what I intended to buy, so I was at the mercy of a truck and a driver. So I poured a cup of coffee and tried to stem my impatience.

Before long, Hazel Marie pushed through the kitchen door, wrapped in a woolly robe and fuzzy slippers against the chill of the morning. She pushed back her frowzy hair and stared at me with bleary eyes.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “I heard you come downstairs, and thought something was wrong.”

“No, I'm fine. It's early, Hazel Marie. Lillian's not even here, so why don't you go back to bed?”

“But you're already dressed and everything. What's going on? Can I help?”

“No, I'm just going shopping with Sam. It's the last shopping day before Christmas, you know. Now, Hazel Marie, I've looked under the tree, and there's simply not enough under it for that child. What did you get him? I don't want to duplicate anything.”

She blinked her eyes, then said, “I got him a new car coat, which he needs real bad. A sweater and some pullover knit shirts. A couple of books, and a Game Boy. You know, it's a kind of electronic toy. And I got him a few games to go with it. I wrapped everything separately so it would look like a lot. But I was real careful, Miss Julia, not to go overboard.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “That is poor doings, Hazel Marie. It is Christmas, you know, and we need to do better than that. But don't run out and get anything else, because I'm going to take up the slack.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. So she just stared at me as if I'd said something completely incomprehensible. Which I had not. As far as I was now concerned, it was perfectly understandable to give that child a memorable Christmas.

A noise in the driveway took our attention, and Hazel Marie went to the window just as a motor backfired. “Who in the world? Why, it's Mr. Sam in some old rattletrap of a truck.”

I got up from the table and put on my coat. “Finally,” I said. “Now Hazel Marie, you can have my car for a little while, but I might need it this afternoon after we get through at Wal-Mart.”

She turned to look at me, surprise on her face. “I didn't know you shopped at Wal-Mart's.”

“I don't, ordinarily. But it meets my present requirements, so I'll give them my business. Tell Lillian that I'll be in and out all day.”

I hurried out to meet Sam on his way to the door. The wind whipped my coat around me, and I cast a hurried glance at the lowering clouds. Bad weather in the offing. That was all I needed on this day, when I had so much to do.

“Let's go, Sam,” I said, heading him off, as he seemed intent on going inside. Then I stopped in my tracks. That truck
had seen better days a long time ago. There was a large rust spot on the fender, and the front bumper had been wired in place. A long crack ran across the windshield, and a piece of cardboard filled the space where the passenger window had been. Sam had left the motor running, and the whole thing was shaking and shimmying with alarming portent.

Sam grinned as I viewed our conveyance. “It's not much,” he said, “but it'll get us there and back.”

“Well, beggars can't be choosers, I guess. How do I get in the thing?”

Sam walked around to the passenger door and helped me up onto the duct-taped seat. “My word,” I said, “are you sure it'll hold together?”

He laughed and went around to crawl under the steering wheel. “It runs better than it looks. Now, where to, madam?”

I looked straight ahead, not wanting to see his reaction to my destination. “Wal-Mart. And I can do without any comments.”

He laughed. “Wal-Mart, it is then.”

I declare, it was trial to try to carry on a conversation in that noisy contraption, but I managed to tell him what I wanted to get for Little Lloyd. The truck shook so bad as we traveled to the edge of town that our voices trembled like we both had St. Vitus dance.

It was a mortal relief to park in the huge lot that was already half filled with shopper's cars. Half the county must've had the same idea I'd had.

As Sam helped me out of the truck, I said, “Now, Sam, there's one, no, two things I want you to do. First, keep that old man they have at the door from coming at me with open arms. I'm going to smack him if he lays a hand on me.”

Sam threw back his head and laughed. Then he took my arm as we threaded our way across the parking lot. “I'll watch him like a hawk.”

“And the other thing is,” I went on, “I don't want you to say a word about what I buy. Binkie said I could spend whatever I want, and that's what I aim to do.”

“Not a word,” he promised. “I'm just along for the ride.”

As we went through the automatic doors at the entrance, all I could think of was that the place reminded me of a beehive. The aisles were fraught with glassy-eyed shoppers propelling overladen carts like they were the only ones in the store.

“Well,” I said, casting an anxious eye around for that masher who was paid to feel up every woman who walked in the door. “If you have any suggestions as to what a nine-year-old boy would want, I'd like to hear them. But first, let's head for the bicycles. Where do you think they'd be?”

“We'll find 'em,” Sam said as he took my arm, and together we plunged into the turbulent crowd.