Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind

by Ann B. Ross

Binkie took us right in, with hardly any waiting. If you have enough assets, a lawyer will make time for you without fiddling around with appointments and such like. Binkie Enloe kept a severe expression on her face, but it was still mighty young looking, which was no surprise since she was young. She made up for it with those glasses that she’d snatch off when she wanted to make a point. She wore dark suits with plain linen blouses, and tried to tame her curly hair with a severe cut. It didn’t work. By midday her head would be a tangled mess of curls. I expect that flyaway hair was one reason for her serious demeanor. I’ve always found that you have to compensate in other ways when your hair won’t behave. But Binkie was all business, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without her those past few months. In spite of having felt she didn’t know enough to get in out of the rain when Sam first sent me to her.

  “You know who this is, don’t you?” I asked before I got sat down good. “His mama said she’d talked to you.”

  “Well, yes, she did,” she said, cool as a cucumber. Not much flustered Binkie Enloe. “How did you end up with him?”

  When I told her how the Puckett woman just left him and took off, she raised her eyebrows. Totally shocked.

  “Well,” she commented. “I see. You plan to keep him until she’s found?”

  “What else can I do?” I demanded. “Don’t swing your legs, Little Lloyd.” He was sitting in one of Binkie’s big chairs, his legs dangling in the air.

  “Well, you could—”

  “No, I couldn’t,” I said, interrupting her. “I know you’re going to say that I could turn him over to social services, but all that’ll do is look like I’m trying to hide from the truth. And the talk will be just that much worse. No, I’m going to face the town with the facts. And if it hurts Mr. Springer’s reputation, then so be it.

  “Now. Sam Murdoch told me to tell you what’s going on, so that’s what I’m doing. And I want to know how many people are planning to sue me. This boy’s mother? My own church? Who else?”

  “Nobody, at this point,” she said. “I’m getting inklings about the church, but you don’t need to worry about them. Promises and/or intentions don’t mean anything. Mr. Springer’s will names you as the sole beneficiary, and that’s that. The church can’t do anything but threaten and gnash its teeth.” She smiled a little at the thought. Little Lloyd sniffed wetly from his chair behind me. I reached in my pocketbook and handed him a Kleenex. “As for Ms. Puckett,” Binkie went on, “she gave no indication she was thinking along those lines. But I’ll have to tell you, Miss Julia, she might have a good case with the proper documentation of her claims.”

  “My Lord, she’s got a birth certificate with Mr. Springer’s name on it, big as life! What else does she need?”

  “Birth certificate information is usually taken by a nurse from the mother. That information is as good as the mother’s word. But if she can show with receipts and so forth that Mr. Springer supported the child as his own, then she’s in a pretty strong position.”

  “But she didn’t say a word about laying any claims! In fact, she said she wasn’t asking for anything but for me to take care of him until she got some training so she could support him herself. Binkie, I’ll tell you this, I don’t want to be sued. Mr. Springer, regardless of his intentions, left everything to me, and I intend to keep it.”

  “All right,” she said, nodding like she agreed with me, and I knew she did. Fair is fair, after all. “There’s not much we can do, unless and until somebody serves you with notice of a suit. Now on to other business while you’re here. You’ve got First Union and Wachovia banks putting out feelers to buy the Springer Bank and Trust. They’re interested, but not willing to commit at this point. They’re hoping you’ll come down on the price, but the Springer Bank is worth every penny we’re asking. I’m going to approach one or two others, and see if that won’t stir them up a little. I’ll make as good a deal as I can for you. You don’t want too much cash, for tax reasons, but we’ll want a good stock exchange. Does that still suit you?”

  “As long as the bank we deal with is in good shape, it does. I don’t want a lockbox full of worthless stock if one of them pulls a savings-and-loan stunt.”

  She smiled that quick smile of hers, and studied her papers. Then she studied Little Lloyd for a minute. Finally she shook her head at this living testimony of a hypocrite. “Keep me informed,” she said. “If you hear from Ms. Puckett, I want to know about it.”

  I thanked her and left, Little Lloyd tagging behind. I got to the door of the reception area, then turned around to Mary Alice McKinnon, behind the desk. Pleasant young woman who always put me right through to Binkie whenever I called.

  “Mary Alice,” I said, turning the child by his shoulders, “I want you to meet Mr. Springer’s son. This is Lloyd Springer. Say hello to Miss McKinnon, Lloyd.”

  He ducked his head, while Mary Alice gasped and turned red. She managed a word or two of greeting, because she’s from a good family, but it was clear she was impressed with my truthfulness.

  Out on the sidewalk, I said, “Now, see, that wasn’t so hard. Let’s go get a fountain Coke at the drugstore.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHEN WE WERE through with the pause that refreshes, I marched the child down the block to Buddy’s Barber & Expert Depilatory Shop. Buddy Whitesides had two chairs in the front where he and Arlo Turner wielded razors, scissors, and electric clippers. And flung around clouds of talcum powder with their little whisk brooms. In the back, separated by a gray flannel curtain, Alva, Buddy’s wife, had a chair where she ministered to those with hair in unsightly places. You couldn’t’ve paid me to go back there.

  Both Buddy and Arlo were working on two men I didn’t know, farmer types, when we walked in. And sitting in one of the maroon Naugahyde and rusted-chrome chairs was Leonard Conover, of all people, waiting his turn. He looked up from his magazine when the bell over the door tinkled, then he slammed the magazine shut and shoved it under a stack on the table beside him.

  “Why, Julia,” he said, his face turning an unappetizing red. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I didn’t expect to be here, either. But here I am because this boy needs a haircut. Buddy,” I said, turning to the owner, “which one of you does the best haircut for a child?”

  “Oh, we’re both good,” he said, clippers suspended as he looked from me to the boy. “Either one of us will do you a fine job. That a little friend of yours?” He nodded toward the boy.

  “You could say that,” I said, sitting down by Leonard and motioning Little Lloyd to take a seat, too. “How are you, Leonard? How’re things down at the courthouse?”

  “Good, good, I stay busy.” He kept looking across me to the boy, curious as a cat. I should’ve said something right then, because if you want something to get around town, just tell it in a beauty or barbershop. But I held my peace for the time being.

  “Yes,” Leonard went on, his fair complexion gradually returning to its natural state, “besides all I have to do at the courthouse, church business is taking up a lot of my time. Lots of plans. Yes, lots of plans. Takes a lot of work.” He nodded his head for emphasis.

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said. Leonard had never been known as a ball of fire even before he became a civil servant. I rested my hands on my pocketbook in my lap and fixed a steady gaze on Buddy so he’d hurry up and get to us.

  “You know, Julia,” Leonard said, half turning in his chair to get my attention. I noted the fine graying hair that barely covered his scalp, the soft weight of his shoulders, and how he spread out in the chair, and wondered if LuAnne minded. But then, once married, you take whatever the results turn out to be. “I’m not supposed to say anything about this,” he told me in a confidential whisper, “because it’s just in the planning stage. But the church has grown so much that we’ve just got to consider a building program. I’ve been thinking, and it’s just my idea, but now, with Wesley Lloyd gone and all, you might be ready to move to a s
maller place. You ought to think about donating your house to the church. We could sure use the space, even if it’s just for parking.”

  I turned and looked at him. I clamped my teeth together and said, “You want to tear down my house so you can park cars over there for one hour each week? Leonard Conover, not in a million years.”

  He raised and lowered a shoulder, then slumped back in his chair. Leonard was used to having his ideas shot down. “It was just a thought for, you know, well, when the house gets to be too much for you.”

  Arlo was shaving his customer’s neck while Buddy snipped around his client’s ears, their attention on us more than on their work. It made me cringe to think of a slip. Contrary to what I’d always heard about conversation in a barbershop, there was very little going on in this one. Too busy trying to hear Leonard and me, and trying to figure out what I was doing with a child who looked awfully familiar.

  “Don’t plan on that happening anytime soon. Buddy,” I said, “I don’t mean to hurry you, but some people have things to do.” He nodded and snipped faster as I added, “We don’t all work at the courthouse, you know.”

  “Now, Julia,” Leonard said, heaving himself up in his chair for another approach, “you don’t have any idea what I do at the courthouse, and I hope you never have to find out. But you ought to consider that Wesley Lloyd never wanted you to be burdened with responsibility. What he left is too much for one person, ’specially for somebody who’s never had experience handling estates and such like. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I sure wouldn’t want LuAnne to be burdened like you are.”

  I stared at him. LuAnne was as likely to be burdened with Leonard’s estate as she was with the Publishers’ Clearing House Sweepstakes grand prize.

  “You don’t think I’m capable?”

  “Well,” Leonard said, and exchanged knowing smiles with Buddy and Arlo. Three barbershop tycoons. “You’re not getting any younger, Julia.”

  There was a bulletin for you.

  Buddy flipped the cape off his customer and started flicking talcum powder around the poor man’s neck.

  “Come on, Little Lloyd,” I said, taking his hand. “Mr. Buddy will take you next.”

  I helped Little Lloyd up in the chair and onto the board that Buddy put across the arms to raise him to the right height. “Take your glasses off,” I said, and then to Buddy, “I don’t want it shaved, buzzed, or styled. I want a decent haircut that gets the hair out of his eyes and off his neck. In fact, you can give him one just like you used to give his daddy.”

  Recognition of the boy and confirmation of their suspicions froze every man in the place. Arlo’s eyes bugged out as his jaw dropped. His customer frowned, trying to make sense of what was going on. Leonard sat in his chair like he was paralyzed with shock. He kept opening and closing his mouth, his lips making a smacking noise each time they met. The voice of some country music singer on the radio yearning for commitment did little to fill the embarrassed silence.

  “Well, get on with it,” I said to Buddy, who stood with his hands held up in the air like a surgeon.

  “Yes, ma’am, okay, we’ll give this boy a fine haircut.” He jerked around, picked up a comb, dropped it on the floor, fumbled for another one, and gave me a sick grin as he finally got started on the boy’s head.

  Some people don’t know how to act when the truth stares them in the face.

  By the time we started home, after meeting any number of people downtown, I was drained to a fare-thee-well. Telling the truth, which I’d forced myself to do after nearly falling down on the job in the barbershop, can really take the starch out of you. Little Lloyd felt the same way, because he scuffed his feet all the way home and I had to speak to him about it.

  “Pick up your feet, Little Lloyd,” I said as we walked down the sidewalk on our way home. “Here, let me have your hand, and smile so everybody’ll see how happy you are.”

  He gave me his hand and said, “I don’t much think I am.”

  “Well, of course not, what with your mother gone and all. But you have to put up a good front so people won’t know your personal business and talk about you. And that reminds me, we should’ve gotten you something to play with. What do you enjoy doing?”

  He thought for a minute, then said, “I like to put puzzles together. And I like to listen to music.”

  “I used to like puzzles myself. We’ll have to get us some and work them together. What kind of music do you like?”

  “All kinds, but I like Tim McGraw and Sawyer Brown best. My mama, she likes Dwight Yoakam. She likes to watch his videos.”

  “Do tell,” I murmured, not having an idea in the world of what he was talking about. “Here we are,” I said, turning into the front walk. “I declare, we’ve had a time of it. And the day not half over yet.”

  THERE WAS STILL a long day in front of me, because LuAnne Conover was sitting there ensconced in one of my wine velvet Victorian chairs. She hopped up as soon as we got in the door, flapping and waving her hands with the thrill of it all.

  “Julia, oh, Julia,” she said, running to my side like I needed help to get in the door. “Oh, I just heard this terrible news; I just can’t believe it; tell me it isn’t true! Oh, Julia, I just feel for you so much, I don’t know how you’re bearing up. How are you, anyway?” She was speaking to me, but her eyes, bright with curiosity, were fastened on the boy.

  “Sit down, LuAnne,” I said, trying to get my hat off my head. “I’m all right, but it looks like you need some help. Didn’t Lillian offer you anything?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t eat a thing. I’m just too upset by all this, and suffering with you, Julia. Tell me now,” she said, sitting beside me on the sofa and leaning practically in my face, “just what all happened. You wouldn’t believe all the stories I’ve heard this morning!”

  “Oh, I probably would,” I said, sighing. I knew the town about as well as it could be known, and Mary Alice, along with everybody else we’d met, except maybe Leonard, who’d never been able to put two and two together, would’ve been on the phone as soon as my back was turned. “By the way, this is the subject of all you’ve heard.” I looked over at Little Lloyd, who was still standing by the door. “Say hello to Miz Conover, Lloyd, then run on in the kitchen and ask Lillian for your lunch. If you didn’t spoil your appetite with that cherry Coke.”

  He ducked his head and mumbled something at LuAnne before scurrying out of the room. I would’ve corrected his manners, but LuAnne’s were worse. She just stared at him with her mouth open.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it!” she gasped. “Somebody told me you had that boy, but I told them, ‘No, Julia wouldn’t do that.’ What in the world are you thinking of, Julia? How can you stand to have that child in your house? I tell you, if Leonard pulled a stunt like that, I wouldn’t take in his”—she paused, looked around, and whispered—“bastard.”

  “You do what you have to do, LuAnne,” I said, “which is what I’m doing. Now, I want to ask you something. Did you know Wesley Lloyd was keeping that woman?”

  “Oh, Julia, everybody knew it. Well, I mean,” she corrected herself, “it’s been talked about for years. You know how these stories get around.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why, you know, I just didn’t believe it.” She laughed a little nervous laugh and quickly cut it off when she saw the look I gave her. “And nobody did, believe me, they really didn’t. Or maybe they thought you knew and didn’t care. Ann Landers says the wife always knows, and everybody should MYOB.”

  “My Lord,” I moaned, holding my head in my hands.

  I heard the telephone ring and Lillian’s voice as she answered it. I didn’t want to talk to anybody, including LuAnne. But on she went.

  “Julia, everybody’s upset over what you’re doing and, I have to tell you, they’re wondering if maybe you’re not thinking too clearly.

  “Oh, I mean,” she said as I lifted my head and glared at her, “w
e all know you’ve been under a strain, what with Wesley Lloyd’s passing and all. It’s just been too much for you, and you need to sit back and let your friends take over for you. Leonard was saying just the other day that there are legal remedies.”

  “Legal remedies? What are you talking about, LuAnne?”

  “Why, all your problems, of course. Leonard sees this type of a problem every week or so, and the decisions he has to make just tear him up.”

  I leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. “Have mercy,” I prayed just loud enough for LuAnne to hear, as well as the One addressed. If I were fool enough to let Leonard Conover make decisions for me, I’d need not only mercy but shock treatments, too.

  “Now, Julia,” LuAnne went on, “I’m here to do anything I can for you. You just go up and lie down, and I’ll answer the door and keep a record for you. People are going to want to come by or call to see how you’re doing.”

  “Nobody’s died here, LuAnne! And I don’t need to receive people who just want to satisfy their curiosity. I’m too busy to see anybody anyway, so you can run on home and look after Leonard.”

  “Well,” she said, and I could see her feelings were hurt. Too bad, because mine were, too. “I just thought you’d want a friend beside you in your time of trouble.”

  “My time of trouble was all those years when Wesley Lloyd was gallivanting with that woman. I could’ve used a friend then, but I didn’t have a one in this town.”

  “I can see you’re upset, Julia, and I don’t fault you for it.” She got up and stood by me, her hand on my shoulder. “I’m praying for you, and so is the whole prayer chain. I started it right before I came over here.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. What else could I say? The Presbyterian Women’s Prayer Chain transmitted news of sickness, accident, death, divorce, pregnancy, teenage problems, bankruptcy, and anything else you could name, and did it faster than a streak of summer lightning. Well, it was no more than I expected, having activated the prayer chain myself any number of times when I’d heard something that needed to be prayed over and passed on.