by Ann B. Ross
“Granny . . .” Etta Mae said with a sidewise glance as she demonstrated to Hazel Marie how much a large pinch of oregano probably was.
“Hush, Etta Mae,” Granny said without looking at her. “I already got this feller’s number, but they’s no harm in listenin’ to him. And what I’m hearin’ still sounds like faith healin’ to me, includin’ a praise band to get folks ginned up. I’ll tell you what’s a fact, mister—I don’t hold with guitars an’ bass fiddles an’ washboards playin’ toe-tappin’ music in a worship service. Toe-tappin’ is right next door to dancin’ in my book, an’ that’s something I don’t do, even if David did.”
“Oh, we won’t have no dancin’,” Brother Vern assured her. “All you’d be doin’ is just what you’re doin’ for Brother James and me. An’ you know, sister, if you don’t use a gift like you have, you’re likely to lose it.”
“Well now, you just listen to me real good, Preacher Puckett. I don’t claim no gift. My doctorin’ is all natural. Anybody can do it, ’cause I use the old tried-and-true remedies. So, take note right now—there won’t be no layin’ on of hands from me.”
“Oh, I completely agree, sister,” Brother Vern assured her. “In fact we can call it the Lord’s Soup Bowl and Medical Mission. That way there won’t be no misunderstandin’. The only time I’ll mention faith is in my preachin’.”
“’Bout time you mentioned preachin’,” Granny said. “You got to bring the Lord in somewhere or they’s no use doin’ it.”
“So you’ll join me?” Brother Vern was elated. “I’m on my way to a meetin’ with Miz Allen, and I can’t wait to tell her. I know she’ll be thrilled.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but, then, I never knew what would strike Mildred’s fancy.
“Granny . . .” Etta Mae warned again, then, turning to Hazel Marie, handed her a bottle of wine. “Pour in about a cupful. Now, Granny,” she went on, “we need to talk about this.”
“Don’t get in a uproar, Etta Mae,” Granny said offhandedly. “I’m not sayin’ yea nor nay. I’m just sayin’ I’ll study on it.”
Brother Vern suddenly jerked around and yelled, “Hazel Marie!” He startled her so bad that she dropped the wine bottle into the Dutch oven, splashing tomato sauce all over the stove.
“What? What?” Hazel Marie cried, then her face crumpled as she looked at the mess she’d made.
Quick as a flash, Etta Mae grabbed a potholder and fished out the bottle, holding it over the Dutch oven so the sauce would drip back into the pot. “It’s okay, Hazel Marie,” Etta Mae said, rinsing the bottle at the sink. “No harm done.”
“But what’d I do?” Hazel Marie said. “I mean, before I dropped the bottle.”
Brother Vern commenced an interrogation. “What was in that bottle? Was it what I think it was? Don’t you know better’n to have that stuff in your house? An’ put it before me to eat? I swan, Hazel Marie, you act like you don’t have a lick of sense. You musta been behind the door when it got passed out.”
Hazel Marie turned her back to us, lowered her head, and put her hand over her face. That did it for me. I had taken as much as I intended to take. I rose up from the table and opened my mouth to lay Vernon Puckett low. I was too slow.
Granny took two steps and got right up in his face. “‘Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake,’ Preacher, First Timothy, chapter five, verse twenty-three, or don’t you know your Bible? An’ I’ll tell you another thing. As long as you’re puttin’ your feet under Hazel Marie’s table, you better lay off her an’ be thankful she’s givin’ you a roof over your head.” Then Granny poked her finger at him. “You got some nerve, mister, talkin’ to her that way. I don’t hold with such rantin’ an’ ravin’ as you been doin’ to your own kin, so you can count me out of doin’ one blessed thing in your, your . . .” At a loss for the name of his enterprise, Granny flapped her arms. “. . . whatever it is.”
Etta Mae said, “You go, Granny.” But it was Brother Vern who went. Seeing three pairs of angry eyes glaring at him, he turned on his heel and left the room, beaten but unbowed.
But Hazel Marie was hardly consoled. She wiped her eyes, leaned over to look into the Dutch oven, and whispered, “I guess I ruined it.”
“No, you didn’t,” Etta Mae said, smiling, as she put her arm around Hazel Marie. “In fact, a little extra wine will make it all the richer. J.D.’s going to love it.”
Chapter 29
I lingered after Etta Mae and Granny left, waiting for a good time to tell Hazel Marie about her beautification session with Velma on Monday. In the meantime, the babies were up, so she was getting ready to feed them. Granny had wanted to stay and help, but Hazel Marie, still suffering from the shame of her uncle’s words, insisted that she had things well in hand. I knew her heart was hurting—anybody’s would be after such a public dressing-down—so I busied myself with fixing lunch for her and James.
As I crossed the yard with a tray for James, it crossed my mind that, even more than needing an appointment at a beauty parlor, Hazel Marie needed an appointment with a therapist who could help her develop some backbone. Somehow or another, she had to learn to stand up for herself, but how she was going to learn it, I didn’t know.
I did know this, though: The more criticism you take, the more beaten down you get. After a while, you begin to believe you’re worthless. I didn’t want that to happen to Hazel Marie because her worth to me was far above rubies. From that moment, years before, when she’d walked over to comfort me in my living room, thinking I had lost my mind as I unbuttoned my bodice in public to fish out Wesley Lloyd’s last will and testament, my heart had gone out to her. And it had stayed there.
Carefully balancing the tray, I carried it up the stairs, tapped on James’s door, then pushed on through. “Lunchtime, James,” I said, noting how quickly he threw the covers over the papers on the bed. “It’s not much, just a couple of pineapple sandwiches, but supper will make up for it. You wouldn’t believe how good it’s already smelling.”
I chatted with him a few minutes, then, seeing a stack of stamped and addressed envelopes on the table beside the bed, I pointed at them and said, “If you want those mailed, James, I’ll be glad to do it.”
“Well, uh,” he said, his eyes darting around, “Lloyd, he say he’d mail ’em for me. I ’spect I better wait on him.”
“That’s fine, except it might be tomorrow before he can do it. He has some kind of meeting today after school. Spanish Club or some such, so he’ll be late getting home.”
James frowned. “I sure hate to wait till tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to. I can drop them off on my way to the bank this afternoon, if you’d like.”
“Well, yessum, I guess I do, then.” He didn’t sound too sure about entrusting his mail to me, but the need to get them off seemed greater than any doubt of my ability to get them to the post office.
After gathering his breakfast dishes to take to the kitchen, I picked up the stack of envelopes and prepared to leave. “How’s that foot coming along, James?”
“It jus’ about well,” James said, his face coming alive. “That Miss Granny, she sure know her doctorin’. I almost can get to the bathroom without holdin’ on to the wall.”
“That’s good to hear. Now, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll be going. Hazel Marie needs all the help she can get.”
“Yes, ma’am, she cert’ly do.”
When I got back to the house, Hazel Marie was spoon-feeding the high-chaired babies. As I entered the kitchen, she wiped her face with her sleeve. Sliding James’s envelopes under my pocketbook so I wouldn’t forget them, I pretended I didn’t notice.
“Etta Mae left this kitchen spotless, didn’t she?” I said. “And what about this rice she left? I didn’t know you could boil it in its own bag. What will they think of next?” Just talking to give her time to compose herself. “Listen, Hazel Ma
rie, I have an idea. When you finish there, why don’t we put the babies on a quilt in the living room and let me watch them for a while? It is so nice outside—Indian summer, I guess—so it would be a good time for you to take a walk. It would do you good to get out by yourself, breathe the fresh air, and just wander around for a little.”
“I ought to go to the grocery store,” she murmured. “I could do that if you don’t mind staying with them. I wouldn’t be long. We could take a walk when I get back.”
That didn’t sound like much, but it was. It was the first time she’d seemed willing to leave the babies alone with me. And even though I was leery of having total responsibility of two infants, it wasn’t at all bad. The babies cooed and played with rattles and watched a mechanical whirling toy, while I sat on the sofa and watched them. The only times I had to intervene was when one rolled on top of the other or when they began to scoot off the quilt. And when I had to rescue Lily Mae, who had crawled to her daddy’s chair and pulled herself to her feet, then wailed because she didn’t know what to do next.
When Hazel Marie got back from the store, she immediately checked on her little girls. Reassured, I think, that they’d suffered no damage while she’d been gone, she quickly put away the groceries.
As we strapped the babies into the twin stroller for a walk, Hazel Marie said, “Oh, guess who I saw at the store—Lillian. She is so sweet, kept asking how I was doing and if she could help in any way. But, you know”—Hazel Marie stopped—“she looked really worried about something. You know how she’s always smiling? Well, she wasn’t today. Is anything bothering her?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I said, wondering if, with my concern for Hazel Marie, I’d neglected Lillian. “I’ll talk to her when I get home. But now, let’s get outside and enjoy one of the last pretty days.”
Our walk wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind—I’d wanted Hazel Marie to have some time to herself—but she told me that she’d never realized how calming and serene the aisles of a grocery store could be. I’d never considered grocery shopping an enjoyable pastime, but I guess doing it without two babies filling up a cart would be a change.
As we strolled along the sidewalk, I ventured to say, “What do you think about Brother Vern’s soup kitchen?”
Hazel Marie shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve only heard bits and pieces, but it won’t happen. Uncle Vern has lots of big ideas, but not much follow-through.”
“He may surprise you this time. He has Mildred involved with it, and if one cent has passed from her to him, she’ll be after him with a horse whip if he doesn’t follow through.”
Hazel Marie smiled at the thought. “That would be something to see.”
“And I don’t know if you know this, but their agreement requires him to be on the premises all the time. There’s an apartment above the soup kitchen just waiting for him to move in.”
She stopped pushing the stroller and looked at me. “Really?”
“Yes, really. And to make sure he actually moves in, I’ve told Mildred that I’ll help fund the mission only on the condition that he lives there. All we have to do now is get him there.”
“That would be wonderful,” Hazel Marie murmured almost to herself. Then turning back to me, she tentatively asked, “But what about his blood pressure? What if he’s not able live by himself? And do all that work? His doctor said he needs rest and the right food and someone to take care of him. I’d feel terrible if something happened to him. Maybe he ought to stay with us.”
“Hazel Marie,” I said firmly as we stood in the middle of the sidewalk, “I grant you he’s getting a lot of rest in your house because he hasn’t turned his hands to anything since he first rang your doorbell. As far as the right food is concerned, he doesn’t eat it when it’s offered or else he eats too much of it. And all that work? Don’t make me laugh. That’ll be done by volunteers, while he sits behind a desk. Hazel Marie, you have got to let him try this. He can’t live on you forever, which I have a feeling he’d like to do. My advice is not to give him any reason to stay and every reason to move out. And do it as soon as humanly possible.”
“It would be nice,” she said dreamily, as if picturing what it would be like in a house empty of Brother Vern. “I’ll see what J.D. thinks.”
“You know what he thinks. Frankly, it’d be better for all concerned if Brother Vern moves out on his own than for Mr. Pickens to throw him out. Which it may come down to if you get wishy-washy about him leaving. And,” I went on as we began to stroll again, “speaking of Mr. Pickens, I think the two of you deserve a night out together. Maybe a weekend at the Grove Park Inn.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. Who’d watch the babies?”
“I would. And Sam and Lillian and Lloyd and Latisha.”
She smiled. “I might not even worry about them with all of you there. And J.D. has mentioned that he’d like to see a movie or something.” Then she frowned. “But I look so awful these days. Seems I never have time to fix myself up. Just look at this hair—the color’s gone and it’s full of split ends. And I’ve lost so much weight that nothing fits. He probably wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”
“Well,” I said brightly, “I have just the ticket for that.” And went on to tell her that, come Monday, when Velma got through glamorizing her, she would have recaptured every bit of her pre-baby allure.
Chapter 30
“Lillian,” I said as soon as I walked into the house, “prepare yourself to babysit on Monday. I’ve talked Hazel Marie into keeping her appointment with Velma. Now,” I went on as I put my pocketbook and James’s letters on the table and slid off my coat, “if only she doesn’t change her mind. Oh, and by the way, she told me she’d seen you at the grocery store and that you seemed concerned about something. Is anything wrong?”
I make it my business to know what’s going on in the lives of the people I care about and to do what I can to help. I don’t call that meddling. I call it my Christian duty.
“I don’t know if it’s anything,” Lillian said, turning her back to me as she worked at the kitchen counter, “so I ’spect I get over it sooner or later.”
That got my attention. “What? What is it? If something’s bothering you, tell me and let’s do something about it.”
“You know I don’t like to talk about folkses’ business. It’s theirs an’ not mine, so I best stay out of it.”
I walked over and stood beside her so that she had to look at me. “What is it, Lillian? If it’s enough to concern you then it’s enough to let me help.”
“It’s not my place to be carryin’ no tales.” She carefully dried her hands with a paper towel, taking pains to wipe each finger, and in the process to delay revealing her problem.
“Is it something about Latisha?”
“No’m.” She shook her head.
“Sam?”
“No’m.”
“Lloyd?”
She shook her head again.
“Well, who?” I asked. “Hazel Marie?”
“You gettin’ close, but I can’t say no more.”
“James? Brother Vern? Who else is there?” Then my eyes widened as I knew as well as I stood there who she meant. “Mr. Pickens,” I stated in the firm conviction that I was right.
“Oh, Miss Julia, I don’t wanta think what I been thinkin’, but I saw him in his car with a black-haired, bushy-headed woman an’ they was parked way back under a tree in that Lutheran church parking lot, an’ it not even Sunday.” I thought Lillian was about to cry.
“They Lord,” I moaned and walked over to the table to find a chair. I didn’t think my limbs would hold me up another minute. Propping my head on my hand in near despair, I asked, “What were they doing?”
“Jus’ talkin’, it look like, but I didn’t get a chance to see much. I passed the church on my way to the store, so I jus’ catch a quick look. But I’d know that ca
r of his anywhere, ’less somebody else drivin’ it, which I don’t think he let anybody do. I tell you the truth,” Lillian went on as she joined me at the table, “I like to run off the road when I seen what I seen.”
“It couldn’t have been a black-haired man, could it? I mean, lots of men have long, bushy hair.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. They was parked at the back of the lot like they didn’t want nobody to see ’em, an’ I wouldna seen ’em if I hadn’t cut down that back street from the dry cleaner’s to get to the grocery store.” Lillian rubbed her hand across her mouth. “An’ I don’t think if it was a man, that it look any better than if it was a woman. Maybe look worse.”
“Oh, my word, Lillian, I didn’t mean that. I meant that it could’ve been a client wanting an investigation that was really private.”
We sat there for a few minutes saying nothing, as we thought of all the ramifications of what she’d seen. I was feeling sick to my soul at the thought of Mr. Pickens on a cheating spree.
“They was another car parked right next to ’em,” Lillian said. “A big ole car like what Brother Vern drive, but black, not orange, like his. Nobody settin’ in it that I could see.”
“So he didn’t just pick her up somewhere. They’d arranged to meet there, which means he’s known her for a while.” I hung my head, wanting to cry. “No telling for how long, which makes it even worse.
“Lillian,” I said, reaching over to put my hand on her arm, “I wasn’t going to say anything because I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. But I saw him with a woman, too—a big-headed blonde—and they were in the parking lot at the mall just the other day. And I’ve been heartsick about it ever since. And now, to hear that he’s fooling around with another one in another parking lot, I just don’t know what to think.”