Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind

by Ann B. Ross

  THE DOORBELL RANG, putting me to the test then and there.

  “I’ll get it, Lillian,” I said, halfway hoping it would be Pastor Ledbetter so I could let him know that Dr. Fowler’s actions hadn’t been so innocent, either. I’d tell him I suspected a conspiracy between the two of them, and that I just might sue their pants off. Well, not that, exactly.

  On my way to the door, I stopped dead still in the dining room. I couldn’t threaten them with a thing. All they had to do was tell one person, and the news of my so-called affliction would be all over town by nightfall. I’d never live it down.

  The doorbell rang again, bringing me to myself, as well as to the unwelcome presence of Lieutenant Peavey.

  I invited him in, gathering my strength to put on a good show of being pleased to see him. He’d intimidated me even before I had so much more to hide. I offered him a chair, and I took one across the room where I hoped he’d be safe if my condition suddenly flared up. No telling what I might do if Pastor Ledbetter’s diagnosis had been anywhere close to accurate. I figured it was better to err on the side of caution until I could get a second opinion.

  I tried not to look too closely at Lieutenant Peavey, but he seemed bigger than anything in the room, including the mahogany breakfront with my collection of mother-of-pearl oyster plates.

  “Mrs. Springer,” he started, taking out his little notebook and clicking his pen. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about a matter that’s recently come up.”

  “My lawyer’s not here.”

  “That’s all right, but you can call him, if you feel you need him.”

  “Her.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “My lawyer. It’s a her, Binkie Enloe.”

  “Well,” he said, twisting his neck like his collar was too tight. Binkie had that effect on people. “Well, she’s a good’un. But, Mrs. Springer, I guess I misspoke myself. I’m here not so much to question you as to pass on some information and see if it has anything to do with what happened here last week.”

  I sat up at that. “What information?”

  “Our department, along with several others in the area, has been notified by the Spartanburg Sheriff’s Department that a child, a little boy, was kidnapped last night.”

  My eyelids fluttered. “Kidnapped?”

  “Yes, all the surrounding law-enforcement units are working on it, and they’ll probably call the FBI in before long. Seems a black female walked into a television studio down there, and took the child before anybody knew what was happening. When I saw the name, Puckett, I figured it might be one of our Abbot County Pucketts.”

  “Why, that’s terrible,” I said, wondering if he could hear my heart pounding away. “Lieutenant, excuse me for just a minute. I left something on the stove and I need to turn it off before it burns.” I got up and hurried toward the kitchen. “I’ll just be a minute,” I called back.

  I slipped through the kitchen door and closed it behind me. “Lillian,” I hissed, motioning to her. “Don’t say a word; don’t say anything. You and Little Lloyd get over here quick.”

  “What you want?”

  “Shhh, I told you, don’t say anything. Get in the pantry. You, too, Little Lloyd, get in here.” I pushed them both into the pantry and closed the door behind us.

  “What is it? What is it?” Little Lloyd jittered around so much that his glasses went cockeyed on him. Then he clutched at Lillian.

  I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “We’re going to look after you, but you two need to stay in here and not make a sound. No matter what you hear, you’ve got to stay quiet.”

  “What’s goin’ on out there?” Lillian asked. Whispered, rather. “Who was that at the door? Was it that Brother Vern?”

  “No. Worse than him. It’s Lieutenant Peavey, and all the police in two states are looking for Little Lloyd.”

  I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream. Stay quiet. I’m going to get rid of him before he finds out we’ve got this child and takes him away from us. You’re not going to scream, are you?”

  She shook her head, her eyes rolling as much as mine ever had. She grabbed my hand and jerked it away. “I ain’t about to do no screaming. What you think I am? Now, you ain’t gonna turn this chile over to the law, are you?”

  “Of course not. Why do you think we’re in the pantry? Little Lloyd, you stay right here with Lillian and don’t be afraid. We’ll figure out what to do as soon as he leaves.”

  I went back into the living room, apologizing for having to interrupt the lieutenant’s flow of information. “You know how it is,” I said. “When you’ve got several pans on the stove, you have to watch them like a hawk. I declare, I do love to cook.” If he believed that, he’d believe anything.

  “Now, tell me more about that poor little kidnapped child,” I said, smoothing my dress as I sat down.

  “I’m trying to establish if the child who was taken in Spartanburg was the same one who left here Sunday. The one you told me about yesterday. What was his name?”

  “Wesley Lloyd Junior Springer. Puckett, I mean Puckett.”

  “Which is it? Springer or Puckett?” He was making notes in his little book.

  “It’s complicated, Lieutenant. I think he’s known as a Springer, but legally he’s a Puckett.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either.”

  He shook his head, frowning as he studied his notes. “Could you describe the child you know? The fax we got didn’t have much of a description. About nine years old, wearing glasses, sandy hair.”

  “Sounds close,” I said, thinking that I could show him a picture of Wesley Lloyd and he could get a fairly accurate description of the child. But then, I could’ve produced the child himself. “Do they have a description of the person who took him?”

  “African-American female in a nurse’s uniform, heavyset but not fat. Quick on her feet, they said. Got into a car that tried to run over the people chasing them, so she had at least one accomplice.”

  “Accomplice,” I repeated, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in my voice. “What kind of car?”

  “New, dark-colored, possibly foreign make,” he said. “That’s the best they could do, ’cause the car didn’t have any lights on and witnesses said the driver tried to run them all down. One scared bunch of people, from what I understand. The officer I talked to said there were a lot of children appearing on a program at the time. The parents were convinced that it was a liberal plot to kidnap one of theirs to stop their ministry. Pretty confusing, I gather. A dozen kids taken to the station, all crying and terrified. Parents demanding police protection, and it was a while before the officers determined who’d been taken. Turned out to be this Puckett kid, but the uncle who claimed to be his guardian couldn’t or wouldn’t give them much information.” I could tell he was watching my reaction, at least those dark aviator glasses were trained on me like a double-barreled shotgun. “It’s a strange situation.”

  “Very strange,” I said, making every effort to look straight back at him. “I hate to hear it anytime a child’s been kidnapped and I hope to goodness it wasn’t the little boy who visited me. But I understand there’re a lot of Pucketts.”

  “They are that,” he said, closing his notebook and standing. “Well, Mrs. Springer, if you hear from the boy you know, call me so I can at least eliminate one of them.”

  “I’ll surely do that, but as far as I knew on Sunday, he was going to Raleigh to be with his mother.” That was certainly what I believed to be true on Sunday. “You were going to find out if he made it, weren’t you?”

  “Right. I’ll double-check that today. Well, I ’preciate your time, Mrs. Springer.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” I said, walking him to the door. “I’d like to know how this turns out. I do hope you find the child. And whoever took him.”

  “We’ll find ’em,” he said, that mouth set in a hard line. I looked away, determined not to notice mout
hs anymore. “One thing I can’t stand is somebody who’d hurt a child. I don’t know how you feel, Mrs. Springer, but most of us in law enforcement are glad to have the death penalty in this state.”

  “Ah,” I swallowed hard. “So am I.” I hoped my face didn’t look as bloodless as it felt. I closed and locked the door behind him, then ran to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  COME ON OUT,” I whispered to Lillian and Little Lloyd. “But stay away from the windows. I don’t want anybody to see you.”

  “How’m I gonna cook supper and stay away from the windows?” Lillian said, holding on to Little Lloyd and peeking around the pantry door.

  “I just want to make sure he’s gone and not coming back. I’ll tell you, Lillian, I never knew that it’s just as hard to keep quiet about the truth as it is to tell an outright lie.”

  “I ain’t worrin’ ’bout lyin’, I’m worrin’ ’bout goin’ to jail,” she said.

  Little Lloyd said, “I don’t want you to go to jail, Miss Lillian.”

  “Don’t you worry,” I said. “Nobody’s going to jail, least of all Lillian. I mean, if anybody goes, we all will.”

  “My mama, too?” Panic washed over Little Lloyd’s face as he clutched at Lillian.

  “Miss Julia, you scarin’ this chile, an’ me too.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud. Now, let’s get ourselves together. Lillian, do you think Miss Puckett would be able to get along by herself?”

  “She can’t hardly get outta bed by herself. You not aimin’ to put her out, are you?”

  “No, no,” I said, waving my hand. “I thought, if she could manage it, I’d take her and Little Lloyd off somewhere till this all blows over.”

  “This ain’t gonna blow over,” Lillian reminded me. “’Specially since they got the police in it. How you reckon they knowed to be lookin’ for him?”

  I was afraid she’d ask that. “Well,” I said, “the fact of the matter is, somebody down there reported it. Claimed the boy’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped!” I was surprised they didn’t hear her down on Main Street.

  “Shhh, not so loud. Now, look, it’s not so bad—”

  “Don’t tell me it’s not so bad. It can’t get no worse!”

  “Actually, it can. They have a description of you as the one who kidnapped him.”

  “Oh, Jesus!” She grabbed Little Lloyd and hugged him to her, almost suffocating him in the process. “What we gonna do, Miss Julia? You know I ain’t no kidnapper. I jus’ get this baby back to his mama where he belong. Oh, Jesus!”

  “Lillian, Lillian. Listen to me now. This is certainly an unexpected turn, but we’re going to handle it. They don’t know it was you, just somebody like you, and they don’t know that Little Lloyd is here, or his mother, either. They’re not even thinking of looking here for either of them.”

  “They gonna be lookin’ for me an’ this chile ever’where an’ they not gonna stop till they find us.” She wiped her eyes with her apron, then clasped Little Lloyd again. “But don’t you worry, honey, you worth all this worry an’ then some.”

  He didn’t look convinced. And I certainly wasn’t.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said, with more assurance than I really felt. “Much as I hate to do it, I’ll have to get Sam over here, and Binkie.”

  “How Miss Binkie gonna get us outta this mess?” Lillian asked. “They say she smart, but I went in an’ got this chile an’ you drove the getaway car, an’ this the evidence right here in front of us.” She rubbed her hand across the head of the “evidence.”

  “You forget, Lillian, that his mother is right upstairs. How can he be kidnapped if he’s with his mother?” I stopped, remembering Lieutenant Peavey’d said that Brother Vern had claimed to be Little Lloyd’s guardian. If that was true, and who knew what legalities Wesley Lloyd had entered into, then Hazel Marie could be a party to kidnapping, too.

  Surely not, I assured myself; Wesley Lloyd wouldn’t’ve had anything to do with somebody like Vernon Puckett. I groaned, because I’d never thought he’d have anything to do with somebody like Hazel Marie Puckett, either.

  “Little Lloyd, were Brother Vern and your daddy friends with each other?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Well, I mean did they visit together? Talk about things together? Anything?”

  “No’m, ’cept one time right before Brother Vern went off to California, he was talking to my daddy out in the backyard.” He untangled himself from Lillian’s arms and pushed his glasses up.

  “Well,” I said, “what did they talk about?”

  He squinted his eyes and gazed off above my head, thinking hard. “I heard Brother Vern say my daddy ought to take everything into account. And my daddy told him it wasn’t any of his business, and that he’d make arrangements when he got ready to. Or something like that.”

  “Sounds like Wesley Lloyd,” I mused aloud. “So, as far as you know, they weren’t what you’d call friends?”

  “No’m, Brother Vern didn’t come see us much ’cause he was always preaching somewhere. And my daddy worked real hard and couldn’t be home much, either.”

  Lillian and I looked at each other over his head, and I shook mine at the way this child had been raised.

  “Sooner or later,” I said to Lillian, “the lies have got to stop. But not till we know what we’re up against. If anybody finds out we have Little Lloyd, the police will send him right back to Brother Vern or to social services, one. And I’m not going to let that happen, even if it means lying my head off.”

  “HE SUSPECTS US, I know he does.” Hazel Marie lay in bed, her hair a mess of brassy tangles on the pillow. The bruises on her face had faded to near the same yellow tint. Still swollen, though, around her eyes and mouth.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Lieutenant Peavey might be wondering a little, since he picked up on the Puckett name. However,” I said as I tucked in the sheet at the foot of her bed, “if they’re treating this as a kidnapping, we could be in big trouble. I just wanted you to know what we’re up against now.”

  “I don’t think I can stand anymore.” She turned her face away as the tears started again. “I don’t know how it could be kidnapping when he’s my own little boy. I’m about at the end of my rope.”

  “Get hold of yourself,” I told her as I snatched a Kleenex from the box and handed it to her. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all this, it’s that you have to stand up for yourself. Nobody else is going to do it for you, least of all the people you ought to be able to depend on.” That was as close as I wanted to get to discussing Wesley Lloyd.

  “You are so strong, Miz Springer,” she said, dabbing at her sore face with the tissue. “I wish I could be like you.”

  I snorted at that and told her to get some rest. As I walked downstairs, it came to me that I was strong, if that’s what I was, only because I had the money to back it up. If I’d been like Hazel Marie, without a penny to my name, I’d be overwhelmed and ready to give up, too. A pitiful commentary, but there it was.

  I stopped on the stairs as my knees began to tremble. Money wasn’t going to protect me from my sickness, or sin, or whatever it was as long as Pastor Ledbetter held it over my head. Regardless of Wesley Lloyd’s estate, I wasn’t any stronger or safer than that poor, pitiful woman in my guest bed. In fact, I might even’ve been worse off because of it.

  IN SPITE OF the fluorescent lights overhead, the kitchen had begun to take on a greenish glow by late afternoon. An ominous growl of thunder swelled overhead as a swirl of limbs from the nandina bushes scraped against the window behind the table. I looked out to see the light green undersides of leaves on the poplars as the wind swept through the branches.

  “It’s coming up a cloud,” Lillian said worriedly. “No tellin’ what gonna happen next. Honey,” she said to Little Lloyd, “don’t you get close to the windows, lightnin’ be coming with that wind.” He
moved a chair beside the pantry and sat very still, his hands clasped between his knees.

  “It does look bad out there,” I said, and cringed as lightning clicked close by. Thunder boomed around the house barely a second later. “Close,” I said. “I better unplug the television.”

  From the front window of the living room, I could see a sudden downpour of rain falling like a sheet, streaking the panes. Lightning continued to pop around the house, while thunder crashed and rolled. I shuddered and pulled the drapes. As the room darkened, I reached to turn on a lamp, then drew back as another flash of lightning warned me away.

  As I started back to the kitchen, I heard running steps on the front porch and the doorbell ringing. I peeked out the window before going to the door. Too many people had been showing up to hand us more problems.

  “Binkie, what in the world!” I threw open the door and held the screen for her. Her hair and clothes were soaked, and she stood there trying to dry her face with a wet Kleenex. “Come in! What’re you doing out in this storm? Get in here and dry off.”

  “Sorry to drip on your rug, Miss Julia. I’ll just slip my shoes off, they’re wet through.” She was laughing and gasping for breath. In spite of looking like a drowned cat, Binkie had some color in her cheeks, and her eyes were sparkling. “I haven’t been caught in the rain in I don’t know how long! And I haven’t run like that in a long time, either! Wow, I’m wet to the skin! Just look at me!”

  Her skirt and blouse were plastered to her form, making her look even smaller than she was. In fact, she looked more like the young girl who used to ride her bicycle past my house on her way to the picture show. She’d always call out and wave if she saw me in the yard or on the porch. Big personality, that girl, even back then. Since coming back to Abbotsville to practice law, Binkie’d had to work hard to be taken seriously. Everybody wanted to pat her on the head. Patronizing, you know. Some of the locals actually tried it, and ended up with a nub instead of a hand. She called herself Elizabeth T. Enloe now, but she’d always be Binkie to me.