Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind

by Ann B. Ross

  “I’m doing the driving,” I reminded her, but I considered what she’d said. I thought you always had to stop and look both ways when entering a main road.

  After a while Lillian said, “How fast you goin’?”

  “I’m almost up to the speed limit.”

  “Well, get on up there and a little over,” she said. “We got to get to that place ’fore he go off with that boy again.”

  “Oh, yes, please let’s do,” Hazel Marie said.

  “Now look, you two, I want to get there as quick as you do. But I want us there in one piece, so spare me the comments.”

  “I probably could drive,” Hazel Marie said, “if you need me to.”

  I glanced at her, hunched over with the pain in her ribs. “You can’t hardly straighten up, much less take the wheel of a car. I’ll get us there, don’t worry. And in plenty of time, too.”

  In fact, night driving wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it’d be. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, and what there was came in bunches that whizzed on past us.

  “Uh-oh,” Lillian said as a flash of lightning lit the southwestern sky. “Look like a cloud comin’ up.”

  “Heat lightning, most likely,” I said. Still, it worried me. I could do without one of our fierce mountain storms that usually followed a heat spell like we’d been having.

  For long stretches, we were the only car on the road. The four-lane highway dipped and climbed, ran past the Continental Divide, and curved between high cliffs before streaming down the mountain to the flat country below. Our headlights cut a tunnel through the night as lightning occasionally flashed behind a cloud ahead of us. I thought I could hear the tires humming on the pavement, then realized it was Hazel Marie moaning. Or praying.

  “I jus’ thought of something,” Lillian said, leaning forward between the front seats. “What that chile doin’ in that fam’ly? Reckon Brother Vern give him away?”

  “Oh, don’t say that,” Hazel Marie cried. “Surely he wouldn’t do that.”

  “He might,” I said. “He might want him where he’d be out of your reach, and mine. But don’t you worry about it. We know Brother Stedman lives in Memphis, and from what he said about his activities there, I don’t expect we’d have any trouble tracking him down.”

  “I want to get Junior tonight. I just don’t think I could stand it if we miss him.”

  “We’ll get him,” I said, with as much assurance as I could muster. I wasn’t ready to drive to Memphis that night, but I’d do it if I had to.

  “I jus’ thought of something else,” Lillian said. “Do anybody know where we goin’ when we get to Spartanburg?”

  Trust Lillian to say what had just occurred to me. That studio on television had seemed so real that I guess I just thought we could drive down the mountain and straight to it.

  “I think I know where it is,” Hazel Marie said. “I was down there one time when Brother Vern had the idea of a family band. The Puckett Pickers or the Pickin’ Pucketts, he couldn’t decide which, but it didn’t work out. He said music was supposed to be to the glory of God, but we couldn’t stay in tune long enough to glorify anybody.”

  “I declare,” I said, wondering what other talents Hazel Marie had. Besides those Wesley Lloyd had appreciated.

  “I jus’ thought of somethin’ else,” Lillian said.

  “For goodness’ sakes, Lillian,” I said, “what now?”

  “We might ought to have a plan of some kind. I mean, do we go inside an’ grab him? Or do we wait till he come out an’ scoop him up then? Better think about what we gonna do.”

  So we all thought for a mile or so, considering the best way to snatch a child who’d been snatched from us. I wished I could think of some way to trick Brother Vern the way he’d tricked me, but I couldn’t. I looked over at Hazel Marie, but all I could see in the glow of the dashboard lights was an intense frown on her face. She was either hurting bad or thinking hard. Maybe both.

  “Uh, Miz Springer,” she said, scrunching up her shoulders so that I thought her pain had gotten worse. “I hate to ask this, but you reckon we could stop for a minute?”

  “You want to stop?” I took my foot off the gas and got a blaring horn from a lumber truck that passed us so fast it shook the car. I speeded up a little to keep from getting run over, and asked, “You going to be sick?”

  “No’m, it’s just that I got to, well, pee-pee, and I don’t think I can hold it any longer.”

  “Pee-pee?” I almost laughed, then remembered what she could’ve called it. “Lillian, help me look for a filling station. I haven’t seen one for miles, but we ought to come up on a sign pretty soon.” But the roadsides were dark, and there were no exit signs ahead that I could see.

  “I can’t wait, Miz Springer. I got to go real bad.”

  “Well, I don’t know what I can do. I can’t make a filling station with a bathroom just appear out here on the side of the road.”

  She moaned.

  Lillian said, “Be quicker to jus’ pull over an’ let her go beside the car.”

  “Why, that’s plain trashy,” I said. “Lillian, this is your fault, making her drink all day long.”

  “Ain’t nobody gonna see her, so jus’ pull on over. When you got to go, you got to go, an’ don’t matter if it do be trashy.”

  I didn’t like it, but I pulled over onto the edge of the road. After fiddling around on the dashboard, I found my blinker lights. Hazel Marie had the door open before we stopped rolling good, and Lillian shoved out after her.

  “Squat down right here,” she told her, “an’ I’ll stand so cars comin’ up can’t see you.”

  “I don’t even care,” Hazel Marie said tightly, hiking up my satin robe and hunkering down beside the car.

  “Reckon they’s any snakes out here?” Lillian said, almost stopping Hazel Marie in her tracks, so to speak.

  Suddenly a blast of light hit us. We were lit up like the sun had come up at ten o’clock at night. My heart nearly stopped when I heard the whooshing sound of air brakes behind us. A big truck, with running lights over the cab and a pair of headlights that put us on display for miles around, pulled up behind us.

  “Thay Lord,” Lillian said. She spread her skirt out to screen Hazel Marie from view.

  “Hurry up. Hurry up,” I urged. “My Lord, he’s getting out!” I saw the shadowy figure of a man climb down from the cab and walk over to my window.

  “You ladies need any help?” he asked, leaning down to look across me at Hazel Marie’s head, which she was covering with one hand. I gave her credit. I couldn’t see much of him, but he wore a baseball cap and had a powerful masculine odor to him. Probably been cooped up in that truck for miles on end.

  “No, but thank you for stopping,” I said. “We’re all right, just a, you know, a necessity stop.”

  “Well,” he said, grinning and spitting on the road, “I know how that is, but you ladies need to be careful along here. They’s been somebody ’long this stretch with a blue light that ain’t no police.”

  “Hurry up, Hazel Marie,” I said.

  “I’m tryin’,” she said.

  “Where you ladies goin’?” the trucker asked.

  “We goin’ to Spartanburg,” Lillian said. I glared at her, trying to stop her from telling a stranger our business. “You know where they’s a television station down there?”

  “You mean that Christian broadcastin’ one? I know where that is. If y’all’re headin’ there, you can follow me. I’m goin’ to the interchange and on up to the Milliken plant on I-85, an’ we’ll pass right by it.”

  Hazel Marie popped up right then, straightening out her satin negligee. She said, “Oh, thank you, thank you. That’s wonderful. We’ll follow right behind you.”

  The trucker stood up to look at her over the top of the car. Then he leaned down to look at her through my window. He couldn’t decide which view he liked best, but I doubted he’d seen many beat-up blondes in satin negligees on the side of the road before this
. But I could’ve been wrong.

  “Lemme see can I get back in this car,” Lillian said, crawling over Hazel Marie’s seat. “We needs to be there real soon, Mr. Truckin’ Man, so don’t spare the gas.”

  “Now, just one minute,” I said. “We don’t need to go too fast. Are you in, Miss Puckett? Reach over and get the door, Lillian.”

  “This ain’t gonna be no problem,” the trucker said, squatting now so he could get a good look at Hazel Marie through the window. “Just get behind me, stay a coupla car lengths away, and the slipstream’ll do the rest. Y’all got a CB in there?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Well, I won’t lose you, and when we get to your exit, I’ll blink my lights and blow the air horn in plenty of time for you to make your turn. Just stay in the same lane I’m in all the way down.” He straightened up and began walking back to his truck. Then he turned around and came back. “I hope you don’t mind me askin’, but are y’all some kinda gospel-singin’ group?”

  I nearly choked, picturing Lillian in her white nurse’s uniform, Hazel Marie in my blue satin robe, and me in my Leslie Fay shirtwaist singing gospel songs on television.

  “Nossir,” I said and, figuring we needed to provide some explanation for ourselves, went on, “we’re going down for a healing service.” Forgive me, Lord, but it was the only thing that seemed to fit us all. I don’t hold with lying as a usual thing, but the ox was just about in the ditch.

  “Aw, I’m real sorry to hear that,” he said. “Don’t you worry none; I’ll get you there.” He gave Hazel Marie a tender look, a change from what he’d been giving her.

  “We need to hurry,” she said. “The program goes off at eleven, and I just got to get there before then.”

  “You’ll make it if I have anything to do with it.” He ran to his truck, put it in gear and pulled out around us, tapping his horn as he went.

  I followed, and it was as easy as he said because I didn’t have to watch all the other traffic. He did it for me. All I had to do was click on my turn signal when he did, change lanes when he did, and stay right behind him.

  “Uh-oh,” Lillian said.

  “What now?”

  “They’s another big ole truck comin’ up behind us. He might want us to get outta the way.”

  “I don’t think so,” Hazel Marie said, gingerly turning to look back. “No, they’ve put us in the rocking chair.”

  “In the what?”

  “We’re between two eighteen-wheelers an’ they won’t let anybody else in. He must’ve called out over his CB an’ told him we need to get there in a hurry.”

  Across the way on the interstate, two big trucks going west on I-26 blew their horns and blinked every light they had, which was plenty. After a while, a car pulled up alongside of us and just stayed at our speed, every person in it gawking at us.

  “What them folks want?” Lillian asked. They were worrying me, too.

  “See that antenna?” Hazel Marie pointed at the car. “They got a CB, so they’ve heard about us.”

  “Good Lord!” I gasped as bright lights lit up the car beside us, and a horn blew a blast that sounded like Brother Stedman’s last trump. Another big truck came rushing up behind the car, getting right on his bumper. This new truck kept blinking his lights and blowing that horn. The driver of the car spurted on past us like a bat out of you-know-where. Scared to death, and I didn’t blame him.

  The third truck then eased up until the trailer was even with us, and we moved on down the interstate with one truck in front, one behind, and one to the side of us.

  “They got us in the pen,” Hazel Marie said. “Thank you, Lord.” She leaned back against the headrest, and seemed to relax for the first time since we’d started.

  That was the easiest driving I’d ever done, and I resolved to get myself one of those CB radios and from then on call for an escort every time I went anywhere.

  We rolled on down I-26 eastbound, the third truck occasionally pulling ahead to let a fast car pass, then easing back beside us. When we got to the I-85 interchange, I didn’t even have to worry about getting on the right exit ramp or merging with the heavier traffic. I just leaned that little car in the curve right along with our trucking friends and let them clear a path for us.

  “I think I see it,” Hazel Marie said, pointing ahead of us. “See those red lights high up over there? I bet that’s the tower.”

  “I can’t look,” I said, “but you must be right. He’s moving us over to the outside lane. Yes, and there go his lights. Y’all watch for the exit.”

  The lights on the truck in front of us were blinking like a nervous Christmas tree, and the horn started blowing. I flipped on my turn signal to let him know he could let up, I’d gotten his message.

  “There it is!” Lillian yelled. “Slow down! Turn off! Turn off ’fore you miss it!”

  “Blow your horn back at him, Miz Springer,” Hazel Marie said.

  “I can’t do everything at once,” I cried, slowing down, straining to see the exit, blowing my horn, and hoping the truck behind wouldn’t climb over us. When we were safely on the exit road, every truck on both sides of the interstate blew their air horns and flashed their lights. Truckers’ prayers for poor Hazel Marie, I guess. Lord, forgive me for lying by indirection, but she could use whatever prayers she could get.

  The broadcasting studio was a squatty cement block building with that steel-strutted edifice, blinking with red lights, towering above it. A weed-choked wire fence enclosed the parking lot, with a security light on a pole at the open gate. A half-dozen or so cars were parked in the uneven asphalt lot, but we didn’t see any people. One yellow bulb burned over the entrance to the building, and there was a weak light coming from a small window high up beside the door.

  “It sure looks closed up. Wonder if anybody’s in there,” I said, trying to decide the best place to park.

  “Somebody’s there,” Hazel Marie said. “The studios don’t have windows, that’s why it’s so dark.”

  I knew that.

  “I’ll park by the side of the building while we decide how to go about this,” I said.

  “If you don’t mind, Miz Springer,” Hazel Marie said, “park over in that far corner. I got to pee-pee again if we got time.”

  I rolled my eyes even though nobody could see me, and drove over to the darkest corner in the lot. Hazel Marie slid out of the car and I was treated to the slithering of satin and the top of her head again as she crouched down beside the open door.

  “She losin’ a lot of fluids,” Lillian said. “We ought to stop on the way home an’ get her a drink.”

  I said, “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Woo-oo,” Hazel Marie sighed as she eased back in her seat. “That’s a relief. I was ’bout to pop.”

  “All right, now,” I said. “We’re here, and Brother Vern’s program’ll be over in about ten minutes. What’re we going to do?”

  “I’m gonna sneak in and get Junior,” Hazel Marie said.

  “You ain’t gonna do no sneakin’ in what you got on,” Lillian reminded her.

  “I’ll go in,” I said. “Little Lloyd’ll come when he sees me. He knows me.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lillian said. “An’ that Brother Vern know you, too. You think he jus’ gonna let you come take that chile by the hand an’ walk outta there? Ever’body in there workin’ for Brother Vern, an’ all he got to do is yell, ‘Stop that woman!’ an’ they stop you.”

  “Well, what do you suggest we do?” I asked, edgy now that we were there without knowing what to do next.

  “I bet those truckers would’ve helped us,” Hazel Marie said. “Wish I’d thought to ask ’em. We coulda told them my little boy was kidnapped by a crazy snake handler or something.” Once lying starts, it just keeps growing, which is why I’m against it as a general rule.

  “Huh,” I said, “too late now.” But I shivered at the thought of a bunch of wild truck drivers crashing in on a live television progra
m. Sister Rubynell’d really have something to screech about, to say nothing of all those children in there. “We better think of something quick.”

  “Brother Vern don’t know me,” Lillian said. “Lemme outta this car. I’m goin’ in an’ get our little boy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  OKAY,” I AGREED, because I couldn’t think of a better way. “Miss Puckett, let Lillian out on your side. Then if you can manage it, see if you can get in the backseat. When she comes out with Little Lloyd, we won’t have time to get you in and out of the car.”

  She nodded and opened the door again. When she was out, hunched over and holding her rib cage, Lillian crawled out beside her. Then, whimpering with pain, Hazel Marie managed to get over the seat and into the back. She groaned as she settled into the seat. A flash of lightning lit up the weeds along the fence, as well as her drawn face, frowning with pain.

  “Lordamercy!” Lillian yelped as a roll of thunder followed the flash. “I got to get outta this ’fore I get struck down.”

  She started toward the station, but I stuck my head out the window and called to her in a loud whisper.

  “Lillian, Lillian! Come back here a minute.”

  She came to my window and leaned against the door. “What you want?”

  “Take this,” I said, rummaging in my pocketbook. I held out two new hundred-dollar bills from among several that I kept on me in case I needed anything. And also because Wesley Lloyd had never given me more than fifty dollars at a time. “I didn’t see any of your people on that television show, so you may have trouble getting in. Tell whoever you see that you work for somebody who’s too feeble to get out of the car, but who wants to contribute one of those bills to Brother Vern’s ministry, and to buy a bumper sticker from Brother Stedman with the other one. Don’t give them to just anybody. Make them let you inside where Little Lloyd can see you.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “Money do talk. And open doors, too.”

  She hurried toward the building, shoes flapping on her heels. I admired her courage, knowing how frightened she was of lightning. To say nothing of knocking on a door belonging to white people in the middle of the night.