Miss Julia Knows a Thing or Two

by Ann B. Ross

  “Well,” I said, “we’ll miss Penelope, but of course her home is with you. But, listen, I’ve promised to take her Christmas shopping so she can get gifts for you and Horace. She’s looking forward to it, so let us keep her today, and I’ll bring her home after dinner.”

  “Wel-l,” Mildred said, “I was counting on her reading to Horace this afternoon, which is when he gets so insistent on going out. But then again, I don’t want to disappoint her, so I’ll just give Horace two of those anti-agitation pills the doctor prescribed.”

  “And,” I pointed out, “it’s likely that he’ll be so exhausted from tonight’s excursion that he won’t even think of going anywhere.”

  “That’s true!” Mildred said, as if she’d just realized it. “He should be completely wiped out for the rest of the day, so that’s one thing we can be thankful for. And who knows, I may be back in bed myself. All right, Julia, she can stay one more day so you can take her shopping. I mean,” she said with a laugh, “after what I’ve been through, I’m certainly not up for shopping, Christmas or otherwise. So better you than me, if, that is, you really want to do it.”

  “I really do,” I said even though the night was far gone and I had lost hours of sleep. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Well,” she said, “she’ll need some shopping money, so let her pick out whatever she wants. Ida Lee,” she said, turning to her, “would you run up and get my purse? And maybe look in on Horace while you’re there?”

  When Ida Lee returned with the purse and the key to Horace’s room, she said, “He’s sleeping. I don’t think he’s moved since I put him to bed. And,” she continued, “Mr. Peeples and Miss Freeman just left. I locked up behind them.”

  “Good,” Mildred said as if that was exactly what she’d expected to hear. “Thank you, Ida Lee, but why don’t you run along and get some sleep yourself?”

  Mildred rummaged in her purse, then, thrusting a roll of bills at me, she went on. “If that’s not enough, just let me know and I’ll reimburse you.”

  “Goodness, Mildred, we aren’t going to New York, or even to Atlanta. We won’t need this much.”

  “You never know, and better to have too much than not enough. So,” she said, pushing back from the table, “we both need some sleep, at least for what’s left of the night. Julia, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. There’s no telling what would’ve happened if you hadn’t seen Horace hanging out there. How did you happen to see him, anyway?”

  “Oh,” I said, passing it off as a happenstance, as indeed it had been. “It was one of my ‘couldn’t sleep’ nights. I went down to the kitchen so I wouldn’t disturb Sam and just happened to glance out the one window which gives a clear view of the side of your house—something I’d rarely noticed before.” I cleared my throat and went on. “And there he was. But you need to go back to bed, too, Mildred. You’ve not been well, you know.”

  “I know,” she agreed, “but I think I’ll doze in a chair in Horace’s room. I won’t have him much longer, so I’ll spend this night with him.”

  That seemed quite touching until I recalled, according to her own admission, that it had been a rare night she’d ever spent with him. But I passed no judgment. What worked in one marriage might not in another and either way it was no business of mine.

  Mildred began to rise, saying, “I’ll start calling around for a place for Horace this morning. I’ll start with his doctor first, I guess, but if you have any suggestions, let me know.” Then, turning to me, she said, “Thank you, Julia, for everything, especially for looking after Penelope. With all that’s on my plate right now, it’s good to have one thing not to have to worry about.”

  And perhaps, I thought to myself, even as my heart went out to her, that’s the one thing you should worry about.

  Chapter 44

  Sam and I were late going down for breakfast the next morning, my having taken time to tell him of the night’s escapade through which he had soundly slept.

  “You should’ve gotten me up,” Sam said, amazed that so much had gone on, including, he said, his wife out gallivanting half the night while he was out like a light.

  “My first thought was to wake you,” I told him, “but I was afraid Horace would be down and gone before you could get over there.” I finished with my hair, then said, “I didn’t know about the holding power of pyracantha thorns.”

  Sam gave a short laugh, then shook his head with pity. “If I ever get in Horace’s condition, just shoot me.”

  I put my arms around him and said, “Never, never in this world. I’ll take you in any condition I can get you.”

  When we joined Penelope at the table, neither of us brought up the subject of her grandfather’s escape attempt or his imminent departure for a locked room. That should be left to Mildred, although I intended to stand by, as Lillian would as well, for any comforting that needed to be done.

  To start the day as normally as possible, Sam asked, “Are you two ladies going to Asheville to shop?”

  “Not if we can help it,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Traffic is awful on the interstate. I think we’ll start downtown. I’ve heard good things about that new gift shop on Main Street.”

  “If I was you,” Lillian said as she wiped the kitchen counter, “I’d go to the Dollar Store.”

  “Why, Lillian,” I said, “they haven’t even built a store yet. They just bought land in Delmont.”

  “No’m, there’s another one out on the highway next to Walmart. It may be the Family Dollar or the Dollar Tree—something like that—but it’s got everything anybody could want. An’ Zaxby’s is real close if you want chicken for lunch.”

  Penelope looked up. “I want chicken for lunch.”

  I laughed. “Then that’s where we’ll go. Have you made out a list so we’ll know what to look for?”

  She nodded and off she went, running up the stairs, but coming back not only with the list but with her hair brush, as well. “Will you make me a plait again?” she asked, holding out the brush.

  “Of course,” I said. “Come sit down. Lillian?”

  “Yes’m, I know.” And going to the kitchen catch-all drawer, she drew out a rubber band and a wrinkled, narrow red ribbon. “It needs ironin’,” she said. “No tellin’ how long it’s been settin’ in here.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, quickly plaiting Penelope’s thick hair and fastening the rubber band around the end. When I tied a bow over it with the red ribbon, I said, “Now you look like Christmas.”

  Sam added his compliments and Penelope smiled as she felt the thick plait. I still thought that bangs would’ve set her hairdo off perfectly, but I didn’t bring it up.

  Penelope had been the first one up that morning, clearly excited about going shopping, and now after a larger than usual breakfast and sporting a special hairdo, she was ready to start.

  “Here’s my list,” she said, handing me a slip of paper on which she had printed several names.

  I could barely read it, for spelling words such as grandmother and grandfather were beyond her and almost beyond my ability to decipher. But Ida Lee’s name was correctly spelled and Doreen’s nearly so. To my surprise she had also included Latesha, Miss J, Lilan, Sam, and Loid. We just might need all the money that Mildred had handed over and then some.

  Admiring her attempts at English, I realized that her first language was either Spanish or Portuguese in which my name may have been pronounced Miss Yoolia. Pleased to have been included, however she spelled or pronounced it, I smiled and made no comment. It wasn’t until I sent her upstairs for a last bathroom visit before what she hadn’t listed hit me.

  “Sam,” I said, lowering my voice, “and you, too, Lillian, she doesn’t have Tonya on her list. What should I do about that?”

  “I wouldn’t do nothin’,” Lillian said. “She knows who she wants to give a present to and who
she don’t.”

  “I think I’d leave it alone, too,” Sam said. “Maybe remind Mildred and let her take care of it.”

  That suited me for I was not eager to cast a pall over our outing by reminding the child that she had a mother who needed reminding that she had a child.

  I still had a task to do before leaving, so while Sam prepared to attend a finance committee meeting at the church across the street, I went to the library to telephone Etta Mae. Fearing that I’d left it too late and her phone would ring while she was giving a bed bath to a bedridden patient, I was relieved to hear her answer.

  “Etta Mae,” I said as decisively as I could manage even though I was tingling with nerves, “let’s go ahead and give Mr. Blair our best and final offer just as we discussed. Tell him to send it at eleven thirty this morning and tell him that Ms. Corn has twenty-four hours in which to respond. After that, we’re through.”

  There was dead silence on the phone for several seconds.

  “Etta Mae? Are you there?”

  “Um, yeah, I mean, yes’m, I am. I’m just trying to take it in. This is really it, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my dear, it is.” I closed my eyes, fervently hoping that I had not held out something to her that would now prove unattainable. “We have to stop sometime, and now is the time. But don’t despair if she turns us down. I may have something else up my sleeve.”

  * * *

  —

  I had never before been on a shopping trip the likes of which Penelope took me on that morning. Maybe all children dawdle, I don’t know, but it seemed that she looked at everything on every counter throughout a shop before making up her mind.

  The only exception was our first stop at the new gift shop on Main Street, because there on a rack beside the cash register was a display of key rings. She quickly chose one with a car etched on the fob for Horace, then hesitantly selected one with a tennis racket on it for Lloyd and another with an open book for Sam. She held them out for my approval which I quickly gave, impressed that she had so unerringly picked up on their interests. And impressed also with the speed with which she’d found what she wanted.

  Thinking then that shopping with her was going to be a breeze, we left after she made a tour of the shop with nothing else catching her eye. On to the Dollar Store we went, and that’s where it seemed that she examined every trinket on every counter on every aisle in the store. After straggling along behind her up and down the aisles, I was about to give out when she suddenly chose a fancy paint set for Latisha.

  Then she went straight across the store to a counter where she had lingered on her first lap. She selected two pairs of thick, fuzzy knee socks, one pair pink and the other aqua.

  “These are for Ida Lee,” Penelope said, holding up the aqua pair, “because Doreen likes pink.” Smoothing the fuzzy texture with her hand, she said, “Pink is my favorite color, too.”

  “I’m glad to know that,” I said to be saying something, but inwardly congratulating myself on the choice I’d made in a certain gift already under the tree. “Anything else you want to get?”

  “No, ma’am,” she answered, “but can we go back to the other store?”

  So back to Main Street we went as well as around the block several times before finding a decent parking place. As I prepared to get out and go in with her, she asked if she could go by herself. As I could see the shop door from the car, I smiled knowingly, gave her some money, and told her to take her time.

  And she did, during which I caught a few more moments of sleep. Waking suddenly, I realized how quickly the car had cooled down. Cold had seeped in and my feet were freezing, making me wonder just how long Penelope had been gone. I was just before going in after her when she came out with two large shopping bags. Penelope had finished her shopping, so we put everything in the trunk as she announced that she was ready to have chicken for lunch.

  So back out onto the highway we went, to Zaxby’s, where we joined other almost-last-minute shoppers for lunch.

  “Did you find everything you were looking for?” I asked to make conversation as well as to assure myself we would soon be on our way home where, unaccustomed to being up half the night, I could lie down.

  “Uh-huh,” she said with a small, self-satisfied smile. “I got Miss Lillian the best present of all—some bedroom slippers with a cat face on both of them. She likes kitty cats.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, wondering what else I didn’t know about the people closest to me. “Can you tell me what you got your grandmother? I won’t tell her.”

  “Wel-l, I’m trying to decide which one to give her—the lavender one or the lemony one.” Penelope leaned toward me, her face lit up with anticipation of presenting her gift. “It’s a whole set,” she whispered, “with soap and everything.”

  “Either one would be lovely,” I said, assuming that she’d just told me what my gift would be, as well. “You are very good at finding just the right gifts.”

  She beamed. “There was really something else I wanted to give her, but they didn’t have gerbils at either store.”

  “Well,” I said, swallowing hard at the thought that I might’ve just missed getting a gerbil myself, “she’ll love a soap set regardless of which one she gets.”

  “I think so, too,” she said, then frowning, she went on, “but I wish I’d picked something else for Latisha.”

  “She loves to color, so I expect she’ll really like the paint set.” When Penelope didn’t reply, I asked, “Do you want to look for something else?”

  Her face brightened. “Can we go back to that other store? Her pink book bag has a hole in it, and I saw a purple one there. Purple is her favorite color.”

  “Then we’ll go back and get it,” I said, trying to keep my eyes open. “Will you give her the paint set, too?”

  “I’ll give that to Lloyd’s little sisters. It has enough brushes and paint for both of them.”

  Hazel Marie will love that, I thought, and gathered myself for another tour of the Dollar Store. And by the way, it carried a number of items that cost more than a dollar, including purple book bags.

  Chapter 45

  In the car on our way home, Penelope was noticeably basking with satisfaction over her selections. There was a rosy glow on her face and she kept twisting around to check on the bags, which she’d moved from the trunk to the back seat.

  It was getting late in the day and colder by the minute, and I was not all that anxious for the day to be over for I knew how it would end. But Penelope didn’t, and I realized that Mildred, having left it so late, assumed that I would be the one to prepare the child for a call to duty.

  “Honey,” I said, resigned to telling her what Mildred had not. “Honey, your grandmother wants you home tonight. I don’t know what we’ll do without you because we’re going to miss you so much. But you’ll be right next door and you can come back any time you want.”

  I glanced over at her and saw that she was staring straight ahead, her little face without expression. “When we get home,” I went on, “why don’t you take your presents up to Lloyd’s old room? I have a table set up there and plenty of Christmas paper, bows, and ribbons. You can leave everything there, and nobody will bother them. Then you’ll have a reason to come back to wrap them.”

  She turned away and looked out the window.

  “Your grandmother needs you,” I said, seeking to offer a measure of comfort. “Your grandfather isn’t well, you know. It seems he’ll have to go to a special place where he can be taken care of. And that’s been hard on your grandmother, but you can be a great help to her. I think she’s been missing you very much.”

  Getting no response, I glanced again at her. Her head was still turned away, her eyes on the window or perhaps on the door handle.

  “Oh!” I said. “I just thought of what we can do. I’ll tell your grandmother that I need you to
help me wrap my presents, and we’ll fix a special time for you to come over every day. Would that be all right with you?”

  She nodded as I parked in our driveway, so at least I’d elicited a tiny response. She got out and opened the back door to retrieve her shopping bags.

  “Can I help you take them in?” I asked.

  She hesitated, looked at the two large bags and one small one, and said, “Don’t look.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t. Not for the world.” And in we went, laden with both Christmas surprises and leaden hearts.

  Penelope made two trips up the stairs, carrying her presents to Lloyd’s room. Before she came down the last time, I told Sam and Lillian what had transpired in the car.

  “Oh, that poor baby,” Lillian said. “She don’t want to go back to that big, ole, lonesome house. I don’t know why we can’t jus’ keep her.”

  “I wish we could,” I said, hanging up our coats in the pantry. “But she’s not ours to keep, more’s the pity.”

  Sam said, “She’ll know we’re here, and that’ll help. But I’ll miss having her around.”

  “Well,” Lillian said with a sigh, “at least I got fried chicken for supper.”

  “Why, Lillian,” I said, “we had chicken for lunch. On your recommendation, as I recall.”

  “That little girl likes chicken,” she said as if that was reason enough. And for me, it was.

  Supper was a quiet affair even with Sam’s efforts to draw Penelope into the conversation. I didn’t have much to say, either, and Lillian kept touching the child every time she brought something to the table.

  After supper Lillian took Penelope upstairs to pack her things as Sam and I lingered at the table.