Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel

by Ann B. Ross

  Lloyd stood up then, saying he was going to his mother’s to see if she had any jobs for him. “I’ll tell everybody I’m open for business,” he said. “Thanks, Miss Julia. I feel a whole lot better now that I can help get James back on his feet.”

  I couldn’t help but smile to myself, pleased first of all that I’d made the right suggestion and amused as I thought of Lloyd and Granny Wiggins both helping James get back on his feet—one with payments and one with Epsom salts.

  I could hardly wait to tell Sam about the afternoon’s revelations, but he hadn’t yet come in. So I went to the kitchen to tell Lillian.

  “Can you believe that, Lillian?” I said after telling her all the ins and outs of James’s forms, donations, and lottery winnings. “You would think that he—and Lloyd, too, I admit—would know not to be taken in by something so outlandish.”

  “Yes’m,” Lillian said, frowning, “but how you know it wasn’t real? It coulda been.”

  I gave her a sharp look. “Don’t tell me that you would’ve been taken in.”

  “I think it might be hard to tell. If it look real an’ act real an’ somebody nice say it real, then how you gonna know?”

  “Lillian, you don’t really think a complete stranger would just up and give you almost two million dollars, do you?”

  She laughed. “If they did, they wouldn’t be a stranger long.” She leaned over and put a pan of cornbread in the oven. After giving a pot of beans a good stir, she said, “But it could happen. ’Member that man on TV long time ago? He went ’round handin’ out a million dollars here an’ a million dollars there. For all we know, he could still be at it.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for him,” I said. “And let me know if he knocks on your door, but with federal taxes and state taxes and health-care taxes, take it from me, Lillian, a million dollars is not what it used to be.”

  Chapter 39

  “There’s another thing I want to know,” I said to Sam that evening after I’d told him of James’s loss and Lloyd’s determination to help rebuild his savings. When I described how the both of them had been taken in by a worldwide lottery scam, it was the first time I’d ever seen Sam’s eyes roll back in his head. Since then, we’d been sitting in a dazed silence, thinking over how easily unconscionable people—not a scruple among them—could take advantage of the unsuspecting.

  At my continued silence, Sam said, “What is it you want to know?”

  “Just this: Why hasn’t Brother Vern moved into that apartment he was bragging about? The whole purpose of helping him with the soup kitchen was to get him out of the house. There’s no telling how much Mildred has spent on fixing that place up, and what’s he doing? Showing up night after night at Hazel Marie’s like he still lives there.”

  “Good question,” Sam said, laying aside the book he was reading—one of those books on the Roman Empire he was so fond of. I’d once picked up a book about the rising and falling of same and couldn’t get past the first two pages. It was full of long, involved, and convoluted sentences, plus footnotes that took up half of every page. “I’m surprised that Pickens hasn’t bodily removed him. I’ve sensed a whole lot of tension there. Have you noticed it?”

  “Oh, yes. Sometimes you could cut it with a knife, yet Brother Vern acts as if he belongs in their house. And all the while Mr. Pickens is just smoldering. Of course Hazel Marie is so taken up with those children that she doesn’t notice a thing. I sometimes think I should say something to her, but,” I said somewhat primly, “it’s not my place to interfere.”

  “Right,” Sam agreed. “We’ll help when we can and stand by to pick up the pieces if it comes to that.”

  “Of course,” I went on, ignoring Sam’s stand-by-and-wait suggestion, “even if I said something to her, what could she do? She’d never turn Brother Vern out and, as far as keeping Mr. Pickens happy, I’ve done my best by arranging cooking lessons and getting her made over. I don’t know what else I can to do.”

  It was true that I didn’t know what else I could do, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t giving the matter a lot of thought. There was always the possibility of simply confronting Mr. Pickens and demanding an explanation for all that consorting with strange women he was doing. But because I couldn’t foresee what his reaction would be—I mean, there was no telling what he would do—I was leaving that as a last resort.

  “Oh, by the way,” Sam said, his eyes sparkling, “are you going trick-or-treating tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow night? Is it Halloween already? I haven’t bought a thing to hand out, and Poppy will be at Hazel Marie’s in the morning, so that’ll take up half the day. I declare, there’s always so much to do. And no, Sam,” I said, giving him a backhanded tap on his arm, “I’m not going trick-or-treating.”

  “What about Lloyd? Has he said anything about a costume? I can take him after school tomorrow if he wants to get one.”

  “You know,” I said, frowning as I thought about it, “he hasn’t said a word. He may think he’s too old for that now, or maybe his mother has put something together for him.”

  “I doubt she’s had time to think about it. You ought to say something to him, Julia. We can work up a costume if he wants to dress up.”

  The first thing I heard about when I got to the kitchen the next morning was Halloween. Lillian was full of it and, unbeknownst to me, had been making plans with Lloyd and Latisha. Obviously, I had been too taken up with Hazel Marie’s problems to notice that life was proceeding along without my help. It seemed that Lloyd had agreed to take Latisha down to Main Street, where most of the shops would be open to hand out candy to all comers, and Latisha wanted to be first in line.

  “That chile,” Lillian said, “she already change her mind half a dozen times ’bout what she gonna be. First it was a princess and ’bout the time I figured out that costume, she say she gonna be a Indian, an’ now all of a sudden it’s a witch. I tol’ her she couldn’t change her mind another time, so she’s goin’ as a witch, ’less she want to put that tinfoil crown on her head, too.”

  Witch, I thought, wondering if Latisha had heard James and Lloyd talk about their night visitor. She certainly wouldn’t have heard it from me.

  “What about you, Lloyd?” I sat down across from him at the table, squeezed Sam’s hand, and began to eat breakfast. “Have you decided on a costume?”

  “No’m, I’ll probably just put on last year’s mask and not dress up. We’re not going to really trick-or-treat anyway, just go up and down Main Street, then come home.” If I wasn’t mistaken, Lloyd didn’t appear all that enthusiastic about Halloween. Maybe he was too old for it, or maybe having Latisha along was taking the fun out of it.

  “Sooner the better,” Lillian said, setting down a plate of hot toast. “That misty rain already set in for all day and Latisha gonna be so full of candy she can’t walk nohow.”

  Sam laughed, then, looking at Lloyd, said, “I saw something the other day that would be perfect for you. You won’t even have to dress up, just put it on and nobody’ll recognize you. Why don’t I pick it up for you today, then when you see it you can decide.”

  “Really? What is it?” Lloyd said, showing a little more interest.

  “Well,” Sam said, “it’s just a bunch of hair all in one package. There’s a black wig—not too long, but straggly—and thick black eyebrows that stick on and a huge black mustache. Oh, and a black eye patch. I figure your raincoat and my old fishing hat on top of that wig would make you look like a gunslinger out of the Old West.”

  Lloyd laughed. “That sounds easy. I’ll see what the other kids are wearing first, though.”

  “Oh, I don’t blame you,” Sam agreed. “But I’ll get it so you’ll have it, just in case.”

  I arrived at Hazel Marie’s house just as Poppy was getting out of her car. We carried groceries through the drizzle and on into the house. Hazel Marie met us in
the hall, still in her gown and robe, walking back and forth with a whiny, snuffling baby on each shoulder.

  “Oh, I should’ve called you both,” she said, her face drawn with fatigue. “I just haven’t had time for anything. We’ve been up most of the night and . . .”

  Granny Wiggins’s rattly old truck drowned her out as it pulled into the driveway, but I didn’t need to hear the rest of it. It was obvious that Hazel Marie was in no shape to have a cooking lesson.

  “Let’s just get these things to the kitchen,” I said to Poppy, and led her on through the house. As we put the groceries on the counter, I went on. “We may not get much cooking done today. Those babies look sick to me.”

  “Me, too,” Poppy said, “but I think I’ll go ahead and get started. At least Hazel Marie will have supper done, even if she doesn’t have a lesson.”

  Granny Wiggins popped through the back door and I introduced her to Poppy. “A preacher of the Gospel?” she said, squinching up her eyes at Poppy. “You’re the best-lookin’ one I ever seen, an’ I’ve seen a bait of ’em. ’Specially Methodists—all of ’em men, though, an’ ev’ry last one of ’em preachin’ for sprinklin’ an’ against backslidin’.”

  “Well.” Poppy laughed, not at all offended. “That’s Methodists for you.”

  “Mrs. Wiggins,” I said, lowering my voice, although I didn’t need to because the babies were tuning up, “Poppy and I think the babies may be sick. Will you look at them?”

  “Mighty right I will.” And off came her coat and off she went, with me right behind her.

  Granny went right up to Hazel Marie, took one of the babies from her, and put her hand on the baby’s forehead. “Fever,” she said. “I recognized the cryin’ soon as I heard it. Let me feel the other’un.” That forehead was tested, too, getting a nod from Granny. “Miz Pickens, these young’uns need a doctor. I ’spect it’s nothing more’n a earache, but they’s medicine that’ll cure that right up. Give that other baby to Miz Murdoch an’ get your clothes on. I’ll go with you to the doctor’s.”

  “I’ve already called him,” Hazel Marie said, “but he hasn’t called back.”

  “Typical,” Granny said, shooing Hazel Marie up the stairs. “Get some clothes on. We’ll go set in his office. That’ll get him movin’.”

  Hazel Marie was back downstairs within minutes, barely put together and almost frantic. She had two heavy baby blankets, which she and Granny used to swaddle the babies against the cold rain. “Miss Julia,” she said, taking the baby from me, “if J.D. calls, tell him I’ll call him when we get back. He had to leave early this morning, and I couldn’t reach him when I tried a little while ago. Brother Vern’s still sleeping, so he won’t be a problem. I hate to leave you and Poppy, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry about us. We’ll take care of things here, but I can go with you if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, opening the front door. Granny, with a swaddled baby held close, hurried out. “I think we can manage.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so worried. They’ve never been sick before.”

  I tucked a flap of the blanket over the baby’s head, patted Hazel Marie’s shoulder, and told her that I was sure they’d be fine. As she scurried across the porch and out into the rain, I thanked the Lord that we were living in the age of antibiotics.

  Chapter 40

  “I’m going to hurry with this,” Poppy said when I returned to the kitchen. “I’ve already cooked and cut up a turkey breast, so it’s just a matter of putting it together. Maybe when they get back, Hazel Marie and the babies can have a nap. She’s not going to want to be fiddling around over a stove.”

  “You’re very understanding, Poppy, but I’m sorry she won’t have the benefit of your expertise.” I checked the coffeepot and found it hot and full. “You have time for a cup?”

  “Sure,” Poppy said. “I’ve just put the water on for the spaghetti, so I have to wait for it to boil anyway. By the way I’m going to leave a note for Hazel Marie telling her to always put a nice pat of butter or some Wesson oil in the water when she cooks pasta. That’ll keep it from boiling over.”

  I set two cups and saucers on the kitchen table, found the cream and sugar for Poppy, and pulled out a chair. She dried her hands and sat down as well. Poppy was a fine figure of a woman, luscious, even, with creamy skin and thick hair. She was just at that point before tipping over from full-bodied to overweight. I’d describe her as healthy-looking.

  “So,” she said, stirring her coffee, “how have you been doing, Miss Julia?”

  “Oh, you know,” I replied, wondering if I dared open myself up for some counseling, “staying busy with one thing and another. What about you?”

  She looked down, a wry smile on her face. “Well, to tell the truth, I’ve been having a case of what-might-have-been, wondering if I’ve made the right choices. You see,” she said, turning her cup around on the saucer, “my old boyfriend just got married, so I’m feeling a little blue. Not,” she went on hurriedly, “that I want him back. It’s just that I can’t seem to help wondering what might have been if it had worked out.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” I assured her, realizing that we were having a counseling session, but with the roles reversed. “I think it’s normal to have some second thoughts when something like that happens. It’s as if a door has closed forever.”

  “Yes, except I thought I’d closed that door years ago, but I guess I didn’t lock it.”

  “You must’ve had a good reason for closing it.”

  “Oh, I did.” Poppy looked up at me, then away. “He couldn’t accept my going to seminary. His family was quite fundamental and the idea of a woman in the ministry was ludicrous, completely unscriptural, to them. And to him.” Poppy attempted a laugh, but it came out wrong. “He quoted all kinds of Scripture at me, pointing out verse after verse that proved I was wrong to think I had a call to the ministry.”

  I knew what she was talking about because Pastor Ledbetter had made sure that his congregation realized the spiritual peril of having a female in the pulpit, in spite of what the General Assembly decreed. And, I admit, I’d pretty much agreed with him—until I met Poppy.

  “Goodness,” I said, “he had some powerful ammunition on his side. But if you were able to withstand that, I’d think it proves your call was a true one.”

  “Well,” she said, smiling, “I couldn’t match him verse for verse, but I had one he couldn’t refute. Remember when Jesus had just risen from the dead and he told the two women who were at the tomb to go tell the disciples? Which means that the very first ones he sent with the good news were women. That, more than anything else, opened the way for me.”

  “That’s a powerful testimony, Poppy, and the fact that your friend couldn’t accept it just proves that he wasn’t the right one for you. But the right one will come along sooner or later.”

  “You think?” Poppy didn’t seem very sure about it. “They may all feel as he did. He said he didn’t want people calling him the preacher’s wife, of all things.”

  “That man had a lot of problems,” I pronounced, “and you’re better off without him. But, Poppy, I tell you, when I look around at some marriages, I wonder how any of them survive.” I was hoping to ease into asking her professional opinion about a certain marriage that seemed headed for the rocks—without, of course, telling her which one it was—but the sound of flushing and footsteps in the house stopped me. Brother Vern was up and so was our counseling session.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “That’s Hazel Marie’s uncle. Just overlook him, Poppy—there’s no telling what he’ll say.”

  She laughed. “I’ve had plenty of practice doing that. My water’s about to boil away, so I’ll finish up here.” She went to the counter and began dumping spaghetti noodles into the pot.

  “Well, well, well,” Brother Vern said expansively as he stood in the doorway
. “Another cook an’ more cookin’. Any hope of breakfast around here?”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said, looking at my watch. “Since it’s midmorning, the breakfast bar is closed.” Then I introduced him to Poppy but neglected to tell him that she was a minister. He would have either gushed over her or insulted her, and I didn’t care to find out which.

  “Well, then, I guess I better get on to work.” He rubbed his hands together as if preparing to pitch in. “Big day today. Yessir, a real big day. All my tables an’ chairs’re coming in, so maybe I better stop on my way an’ pick up some breakfast. A man can’t work on a empty stomach.”

  If that was meant to make me feel bad, it failed. “Good idea,” I said. “But I’m surprised to find you still living here. I thought you told us that the apartment is all fixed up, and very nicely, too.”

  “Oh, it is. You wouldn’t believe how nice it is. But,” he said with a heaving of his shoulders, “we can’t be selfish, now can we? My two workers—both of ’em slavin’ away every minute of the day—didn’t have a place to lay their head, so I give it up to them.”

  I couldn’t help it. I gasped at the gall of him. “You mean, after Mrs. Allen fixed that place up for you, you’ve given it to someone else?”

  He straightened himself and deigned to smile. “The Bible says, Mrs. Murdoch, that if a man asks for your coat, give him your cape, too, an’ that’s what I’m doin’. An’ Miz Allen don’t need to know about it till I’m ready to tell her. Besides I don’t need that apartment, long as I got a bed here.” Then, without a gracious word to Poppy or me, he said, “I got to get goin’,” and left.

  By that time I was beside myself, realizing that he had no intention of leaving Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens in peace. Which meant that all my careful planning was tumbling down around me. The soup kitchen was supposed to have been the means of getting him out of their house, but now it seemed to be an excuse for him to become even more entrenched. Which meant that Mr. Pickens would stay away longer and more often, and Hazel Marie was in greater danger of seeing her marriage go up in smoke.