Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle

by Ann B. Ross

  It took me a minute to understand what he was talking about, then I really could’ve slapped his face. I felt my own face redden, as I gripped the arms of my chair, infuriated that he would make such a personal remark. “I’ll tell Sam that you’re worried about him,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, seeing that you’re such an expert, as old as you are.”

  His smirk grew into a grin, pleased that he’d gotten to me. “Yep, that’s why I know a man has to pace himself. But you’re right. Stroud was in that toolshed for a reason, and although I don’t want to start any false rumors, think whose toolshed it was. Maybe that’s who was with him.”

  “Miss Petty? Why in the world would she meet him in a cold, dark toolshed when she has an entire house to entertain in? That’s ridiculous, Thurlow.”

  “Well, I’m just saying. Don’t ask me what a frivolous woman would do. You’d know better’n me.”

  That just tore me up, and I fumed for a few seconds, trying to think of a comeback that would settle him good. Then I realized how neatly he kept getting to me, distracting me from any sensible discussion. And with that realization, I knew that was exactly what Thurlow intended to do: put me on the defensive and put me off anything of substance. Still, I longed to turn the tables on him and tell him that I knew what Richard Stroud had been doing, and it hadn’t been having a tryst in a toolshed.

  But with effort, I managed to keep my own counsel because I didn’t yet know why Richard had sat on two bags full of fertilizer gazing at the back of Thurlow’s house through a knothole on a cold night that ended up being his last night on earth. And if Thurlow knew the why of it, I knew that as contrary as he was, he would not enlighten me.

  Then it struck me as plain as day: there was no if about it. Thurlow knew.

  So maybe I’d been wrong about Thurlow’s having too much sense to get embroiled in Richard’s moneymaking schemes. If the two of them had been involved, and it turned out that Richard had been caught, whereas Thurlow hadn’t, how would Richard feel? Richard had suffered considerable public shame—his arrest, trial, and conviction had been in the newspapers for weeks—and he’d spent time in jail, while Thurlow stayed as free as a bird. I could just picture Richard steaming and stewing behind bars, then as soon as he was released, coming back to settle a few scores. I could imagine Richard watching Thurlow’s house, knowing Thurlow to be as guilty as he was and plotting some kind of revenge.

  Of course, a toolshed was a poor place to be plotting anything, but what did I know?

  “Well,” Thurlow said, slapping his hands on his thighs, preparing, I hoped, to leave. “Be that as it may, me and Ronnie better get on home. ’Preciate you looking out for him, although I can’t figure out why he ended up here. He’s never left the yard before.” He stared at me as he got to his feet. “I hope nobody enticed him. I wouldn’t like that a-tall, no sir, I wouldn’t.”

  I rose to see him out, carefully avoiding his eyes in case he could see my uneasiness. “I can’t imagine anyone enticing a dog that size. But to be on the safe side, if I were you, I’d keep him inside from now on.” In case, I thought but didn’t say, another visit to the toolshed was required.

  After seeing Thurlow and Ronnie out, I stood by the door and watched as they walked away, Thurlow in his worn coat and baggy pants, and Ronnie shambling along beside him. Two old men, I thought, who, if you didn’t know better, could arouse pity in a tender heart.

  But I knew better and hurried to the kitchen to tell Lillian what I’d figured out and to discuss with her the significance of a particular knothole. In fact, I’d tell her everything except whom I’d slept with the night before.

  Chapter 31

  “We need to talk,” I whispered, sidling up to Lillian as she loaded the dishwasher. “Come to the living room, so the girls won’t walk in on us.”

  “I be there in a minute,” she said, but she didn’t sound all that eager to do it. “I got to get this done first.”

  I waited in the living room, pacing a little as various thoughts and plans flitted through my mind.

  Finally Lillian came in drying her hands on a dish towel. “What we got to talk about?”

  “Well, first I want to thank you for your quick thinking last night when they asked what we were doing outside. What you said was perfect and nobody questioned it.”

  She just grunted because she was as staunchly against the telling of stories as I was, but also like me, she understood that you don’t have to tell all you know when the circumstances are such that the better part of discretion is to say as little as possible.

  “But listen, Lillian, I found out what Richard Stroud was doing in the toolshed, which was what we wanted to do and therefore worth everything we went through. There were two bags full of fertilizer on top of each other that made a seat, like a chair, and they were placed right in front of a knothole. And when I sat down and looked through that hole, I could see right down on Thurlow’s backyard and the back of his house. That’s what I was doing when I saw his lights come on and the door open to let Ronnie out. So you see?”

  “No’m.”

  “Why, Lillian, it’s plain as day. Richard was watching Thurlow. Miss Petty didn’t have a thing to do with it, although Thurlow’s been implying all along that she did.”

  “That what Mr. Thurlow say?”

  “He didn’t say anything this morning, because I didn’t tell him I’d figured it out. There’s only one reason Richard would’ve been spying on Thurlow, and I’m just as sure as I’m standing here that Thurlow was in on Richard’s fradulent investment schemes. But somebody outsmarted somebody and Richard ended up in jail for it. And you know as well as I do that a lot of money was never accounted for, and I think Richard thought that Thurlow has it. And Richard must’ve needed money or he wouldn’t have stolen checks from me.” I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. “So what do you think?”

  “I’m jus’ wonderin’,” she said, frowning, “what all that have to do with you and Mr. Sam.”

  “Why,” I said, flinging out my arms, “it doesn’t have anything to do with us, but that’s just the thing. Don’t you see, Lillian, if I can prove to Sam that I had nothing to do with any of it, he’ll be satisfied and come on home.”

  “Why don’t you jus’ go over there an’ tell him all that an’ ast him real nice to come home? Then you won’t need to go about provin’ nothing.”

  “I already explained and apologized to him until I was blue in the face, and it didn’t do any good. And I’m not going to demean myself by groveling at his feet. Look, Lillian, I know Sam, and an emotional scene would do nothing but embarrass him. He has a logical, analytical mind, which means he’ll respond to sane and reasonable arguments. And that’s what I’m looking to present to him.” Full of self-righteous determination, I ignored her skeptical look. “So now we know what Richard was doing, but we don’t yet know exactly why he was doing it. But a money connection is the logical conclusion, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe so, ’cept what you gonna do about it if it is?”

  “That’s where I’m stuck,” I admitted, sitting down abruptly. “I can’t think what the next step should be. I was going to see Miss Petty this afternoon, but I’m convinced that she has nothing to do with it. It’s just her misfortune to live behind Thurlow.”

  After Lillian returned to the kitchen, I stayed in the living room thinking up and discarding ideas of how I could convince Sam that I was not involved with either Richard or Thurlow. It was still beyond me how Sam could think I was personally interested in either one of them. Then it hit me.

  That wasn’t it at all. Sam was smart enough to have come to a money connection long before I had. After all, I did invest with Richard Stroud and had kept it from Sam. That was what had hurt him so badly: he thought I didn’t trust him with my finances and had gone behind his back to take up with Richard. And then it suddenly struck me: it would seem to Sam that I—who was never careless
with money—had left a checkbook in an unlocked car for somebody to steal a few checks, leaving me seemingly innocent of aiding and abetting. It was an easy jump to assume that somebody had been Richard Stroud. Once Sam came to such a conclusion, one thing had led to another until now he no longer trusted me.

  There was only one thing to do: follow the money. Easier said than done, though, because I didn’t know where to start. The courts had taken everything Richard had to recompense those he’d cheated—everything they could find, that is. There sure hadn’t been anything left for Helen to live on. She’d had to give up her home and, as I’d recently heard, take a part-time paid job at some nonprofit agency. I didn’t think she would’ve done either one if there’d been money stashed away somewhere.

  So maybe Thurlow had it, and Richard had wanted it back.

  Lord, it was too much for me to figure out. Sitting there studying on it until my brain was half addled, I became aware of the noise from Hazel Marie’s room. The babies had revved up again, and she and Etta Mae were bustling around changing diapers and fixing bottles, slamming doors, and talking over the din, with Lillian chiming in from the kitchen. I thought of going back there to see what I could do, but they had a baby apiece and could surely manage without my help. I wondered how long Lillian would be willing to stay day and night without a break. I thought I might suggest that she and Latisha take the weekend off so they could go home and rest. Lillian’s house would certainly be quieter than mine.

  Every time the phone rang, as it just did, my heart jumped, imagining that it was Sam calling to apologize. That was ridiculous of me to even think of, because he wouldn’t call. He would just come walking in, as I’d thought he’d done last night. But I didn’t want to dwell on that little mix-up, so when I answered the phone, I still hoped it would be Sam.

  “Julia?” Mildred Allen spoke with a catch in her voice, almost as if she weren’t sure she wanted to say anything. “I am so very sorry. Are you all right? Can I do anything to help?”

  “I’m fine, Mildred, and I don’t need any help, although Hazel Marie and Etta Mae might. Why do you ask?”

  “Why, honey, I thought you’d be devastated. I mean, I was. In fact, I still can’t believe it.”

  “Believe what? What’re you talking about?”

  “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. I wouldn’t want to either. But the word is getting around, and I thought you needed to be prepared.”

  “Mildred, I’m not following you at all.” All I could think of were the various kinds of word that might be getting around. Images kept flashing through my mind: Lillian and I sneaking around in the dead of night, Ronnie following us home and ending up in my bed, Thurlow insinuating something unwholesome about me, as he’d tried to do about Miss Petty. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, Julia,” Mildred sighed, “I know this is going to do you in, but I heard that you and Sam have separated.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Oh good. I knew it wasn’t true, and I’ll just tell the one who told me that it’s not, and the talk will soon die down.”

  “No, now I want to know who told you such a thing.”

  “Well, I guess she won’t mind my saying who it was, because she didn’t believe it either. In fact, she was indignant toward the one who told her.”

  “Who, Mildred?”

  “Ida Lee, and you know she’s not a gossip. If she was, I’d have to move out of town.” Mildred giggled as much as a large woman can giggle. “But seriously, she’s most concerned about you, and she’ll be relieved when I tell her it’s not so.”

  Ida Lee, I thought, and immediately calmed down. Mildred was right about Ida Lee, who was the most reserved, elegant, and closemouthed housekeeper of all. Well, Lillian was her equal in keeping what she knew to herself, but I’d have to pass on the elegant part.

  “She may be relieved,” I said, “but I’m not. Where did she hear it? Who told her?”

  “James came by last night—I think he may be courting her, but he’s barking up the wrong tree if he thinks Ida Lee would be interested in him. Anyway, he told her that Sam has moved back into his house, and James thinks it’s for good.”

  “That sorry James,” I said, so perturbed I could’ve gone to Sam’s house and wrung his neck—James’s, not Sam’s. I blew out my breath and went on. “Mildred, Sam is staying at his house, but it’s entirely temporary. He’s staying there because he’s at a tedious place in that book he’s been writing for ages, and there’s so much noise and activity here that he can’t think straight. James doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Well, that certainly explains it, and I can just imagine how hectic it must be with two babies and all the extra help you have and everybody milling around. It’s a wonder you haven’t moved out too.”

  “I admit I’ve been tempted,” I said, thankful that she fell in so easily with my explanation. “But you know I just can’t leave Hazel Marie and those babies.”

  “You are so good, Julia. You put me to shame. Well, anyway, I was thinking that you might want to get out for a while and I’m asking a few people over for tea tomorrow morning. Very casual because it’s so last-minute, but Ida Lee is making real spiced tea, the kind with all the fruit juices, not that instant Tang and Red-Hot candy concoction. And,” she went on, “the weather’s been so bad, I’m about to get cabin fever, so I thought a little social get-together would do us all good.”

  “Why, I’d be delighted,” I said, and I was because it would be a chance to face down any tendril of gossip that James had started in any other quarter.

  “Oh,” Mildred said, “and it’s going to be slightly ecumenical because I’m asking that new lady preacher the Methodists have. I’ve heard that she is charming, but that’s because she comes from a good family and went to Duke. It has Methodist ties, you know. And she made her debut at the Terpsichorean Ball in Raleigh and I heard she had a real rush by all the escorts. It’s a wonder she’s not married, but I guess she had a call to the ministry instead.”

  “I hope so,” I said, “given that’s where she is. But how did you meet her?”

  “Oh, I haven’t, but Tonya has and she just thinks the world of her. I wanted to wait till Tonya got back from St. Thomas, but I’m about to go crazy closed up in this house.”

  Tonya, I thought, who was born and raised as Anthony or Tony until he went up north as a young man and been transformed by surgery and hormones. Living next door as he grew up, I’d watched as he became more and more theatrical in his mannerisms and dress, displaying dramatic tendencies like wearing capes and twirling walking sticks. None of it had bothered Mildred—she doted on the boy and figured he’d outgrow his peculiarities.

  But he hadn’t, and something happened after his transformation, for now Tonya was a serene and sensible young woman whom you wouldn’t hesitate to ask to pour at the head of your table.

  “Well, if Tonya likes her, she must be nice,” I told Mildred. “I look forward to meeting her. What’s her name?”

  “Poppy Patterson. I don’t know her real name, because she says to just call her Poppy.” Mildred laughed. “You can tell she was a popular girl with a nickname like that.”

  Poppy? I thought. Pastor Poppy? This should be interesting.

  Chapter 32

  After asking if Hazel Marie would be able to come and being assured that it was still too soon after childbirth for her to be out, Mildred ended her call. She had also included “that baby nurse Hazel Marie hired,” for which I mentally commended Mildred for her comprehensive invitation list. But to leave Lillian alone with both babies? No, that was too much to ask. Of course I did tell Hazel Marie and Etta Mae that they’d been invited and that I had refused for them. Hazel Marie said, “Good, because I’m not going anywhere until these babies are old enough to go with me.”

  I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes because don’t you just hate it when a mother brings along an uninvited child? I mean, what are baby
sitters for, anyway?

  So I had no qualms about having spoken for them. Besides, I was more than ready to be out on my own and away from the havoc the babies were creating in the house.

  It would be such a change, don’t you know, to hear about something other than the number and color of infant evacuations, which baby slept the longest, which one nursed the best, which garments they would wear, how long their nightly colic would last, and on and on. Hazel Marie and Etta Mae discussed nothing but the care and feeding of babies, and Lillian was almost as bad. In fact, she constantly marveled at the number of diapers those two babies used, repeatedly expressing gratitude to whoever had invented the disposable kind.

  “Jus’ think,” she said to Etta Mae, “if we usin’ the cloth kind, that washin’ machine be goin’ all day every day, an’ we be thankin’ the Lord for ’lectricity ’stead of throwin’ away them Pampers.”

  “Yes,” Etta Mae said, “and that reminds me of my granny telling about when she didn’t even have electricity, much less a washing machine. She had to scrub diapers in a tub with a washboard. Imagine doing that. She used Octagon soap and still had to boil the diapers to get them clean.”

  “My mama did the same thing,” Lillian said, settling down at the table to reminisce about the old days. “I ’member helpin’ her hang ’em out on a clothesline when I was jus’ a girl, an’ on the cold days they’d freeze stiff as a board.”

  “Well,” Hazel Marie said, coming into the kitchen in time to hear part of the conversation. “I’m glad we don’t have to do that, but we’re going to break the bank keeping those little girls in Pampers. Etta Mae, I just opened the last pack. Do you mind running to the store?” Then with just a tinge of exasperation, she said, “That’s going to be J.D.’s job if he ever gets back here to do it.”