Miss Julia Meets Her Match (3 page)

“Behave yourself. Now listen, I’ve got something else to tell you.” And I went on to tell about Emma Sue’s sudden decision to make use of some beauty aids. “That is much more worrisome to me than whatever Norma Cantrell’s up to. As far as Norma’s concerned, I’ve never liked nor trusted her. It doesn’t really surprise me that she’s leading another life underneath that prissy front she puts up.”

“You’re being a little hard on her, aren’t you?”

“Well, you don’t know what I’ve had to put up with. I’ll tell you the truth, Sam, I’ve always thought she had a thing for the pastor.”

Sam threw back his head and laughed. “Larry Ledbetter? Oh, Julia, the things you come up with.”

“Well, he’s human, too. Although sometimes it’s hard to tell he is. But, Sam, Norma acts more like a wife to him than a secretary. She’s very jealous of his time and gives the third degree to anybody who wants to see him. She takes his clothes to the cleaners and picks them up, brings a special brand of coffee that’s just for him, and makes out like he can’t make a decision without running it by her first. What I really think is that if he gave her the least bit of encouragement, she’d fall over backward for him.”

Sam sputtered as he laughed again, though I didn’t see anything funny about a preacher being in peril. “Well,” he finally said, “you may have something there. Maybe that’s why Emma Sue’s so concerned about her looks. Maybe she’s heard that Norma’s seeing somebody, but she hasn’t heard who.”

I jerked upright, poking Sam with my elbow to give myself some room. “That’s what it is! She thinks it’s her husband that Norma’s seeing. Wait till I tell Hazel Marie.”

“Now, hold on,” Sam cautioned. “We’re just speculating here. Let’s not start any rumors.”

“Well, but it fits. Don’t you see, Sam, Emma Sue thinks Pastor Ledbetter’s seeing Norma, who is really seeing Mayor Beebee, but Emma Sue doesn’t know that, so she’s trying to beautify herself so she can win her husband back.”

“I don’t think . . .”

“Well, I do, and you’re the one who brought it up. Sam, that poor, pitiful woman is trying everything she can to save her marriage. And if she thinks she can do it by slapping on a layer of makeup, she’s in pitiful shape. I feel sorry for her, thinking she can keep a man just by improving her looks. Not that I’m against trying to look your best, but when a man’s got eyes for somebody else, it’s too late for a quick fix.”

“All this is real interesting, Julia,” Sam said, as he slipped an arm around my shoulders. “But we’ve been talking about everything under the sun except what I want to talk about, which is when you’re going to marry me. I spend my time going back and forth between our houses, and it’d be easier on my poor feet if we lived in the same place. Then we could talk all the time, and you could keep me up with the latest gossip as soon as it comes in.”

“You know I don’t gossip,” I said. “At least, not to spread it around.”

“Sweetie,” he said, tightening his arm around me and embarrassing me to death with his tendency to use affectionate names. I was so unaccustomed to it, you know, and I didn’t know another soul in the world who would think me sweet, so the word hardly applied to me. “Forget about gossip for now, and tell me what you’re thinking is about us getting married.”

“I don’t much want to think about it, to tell the truth. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Sam, but don’t you think we’d be upsetting the apple cart to change things? Who knows what we’d be getting into, and we’re both too set in our ways to suffer such an upheaval at this time in our lives.”

“Not me,” Sam said. “I’m not set in my ways. I like a challenge, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I’ve noticed a number of things, that motorcycle, for one, which you seem to be trying to kill yourself on.” I picked at my dress, pleating and unpleating it, wishing he wouldn’t put me on the spot, but thrilled, in spite of myself, that he was. “I just don’t know, Sam.”

Sam leaned his head against mine and took my hand. “You do realize what a prize you’d be getting, don’t you?”

I smiled to myself. Of course he was a prize. I just didn’t know if I could handle having one.

“For one thing, I’ve got money in the bank.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“But I want to take care of you, Julia.”

“I’ve been doing fine by myself.”

“I know you have, but you could have a lot more fun with me. And think how people would envy you, getting a catch like me.”

I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. He did love to carry on.

“Now, Julia,” he said in a serious tone, although if I’d looked up at him I knew I’d see his eyes sparkling. “You know I’m a respectable member of the community, and I’m handsome enough to be admired by any number of widow ladies in town.”

Well, I knew that to be a fact. They swarmed around him, which didn’t at all set well with me. How could I ever know he’d be able to resist the temptation to stray? After what I’d gone through with one wandering husband, I didn’t plan to take a chance on another one.

“Besides,” he went on, “you have to admit that I’m a fine specimen of a man with no health problems to speak of.”

“Oh, Sam,” I said, loosening my hand from his to cover my face. I didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or tell him I appreciated knowing that little tidbit, because I certainly didn’t intend to nurse a sick old man.

“And another thing, Julia, in case you’re worried.” He stopped, then lowered his voice as he pretended to reassure me about a serious matter. “I don’t want the state of my virility to concern you for a minute. Believe me, I am as fit as a fiddle and may even be getting better with age.”

A thrilling shiver ran up and down my back at the thought of the state of his virility. But I suppressed it, hoped he hadn’t noticed, and sat up straight. “Listen, Sam, don’t you think the pastor ought to know what Norma’s up to?”

“I’m not thinking about the pastor,” he said, pulling me back against him. “Are you changing the subject?”

“It needs changing, so, yes, I am. What I’m thinking, Sam, is that there’ll be an uproar over at the church if the pastor hears about her. I mean, he had to eat his words several years ago when he hired her in the first place. Remember that?”

“Of course I remember it. I was on the session then, and it was something to hear Ledbetter try to justify having her on the payroll. It was just after he’d preached that series on marriage and divorce—he was for one and against the other.” Sam laughed at the memory, and I was somewhat relieved to have distracted him from his earlier pursuit.

“I remember that,” I said, smiling with him. “Pastor Ledbetter made a big thing of how we shouldn’t encourage divorce by overlooking the sinfulness of it. He reminded us that in days gone by divorced people were all but shunned, that we should be polite and friendly to them, but also let them know that we didn’t approve. And then he up and hired Norma Cantrell, the town’s preeminent divorcée.”

Sam leaned his head against the back of the sofa, a reminiscent smile on his face. “That was the most entertaining session meeting I ever attended. Some of those old-timers were fit to be tied because they agreed with his sermons. So he had a time convincing them that what he’d said in the pulpit didn’t apply to his needs in the office.”

“He got his way, though,” I said, “and she’s been ensconced outside his door ever since. You know, Sam, I think the pastor ought to be told what she’s doing. Especially since it reflects on the whole church.”

“You’re not thinking of telling him, are you?”

“Well, no, but somebody ought to.”

“He’ll find out sooner or later, but it shouldn’t come from us. He’ll be defensive about her and angry toward whoever tells him. Besides, we don’t know for a fact who she’s seeing, or even if she’s seeing anyone at all.”

“Well, I trust Mildred Allen, and if she said Norma came out of a seedy motel room where the mayor’s car was parked, it’s good enough for me.”

“Still, let’s let things run their course. I don’t want the pastor taking out after you.”

“I don’t need looking after, Sam.”

“Yes, you do. Now, where were we?” He drew me close again just as we heard Little Lloyd’s laugh ring out from upstairs.

“I’ve got to get that child in bed,” I said, trying to untangle myself. “He has school tomorrow.”

“Give him a few more minutes,” Sam said against my cheek, and I decided a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt the child. Or me.

The next morning, I awoke with a smile on my face and Sam on my mind. He had a way of filling me with good will toward any and everybody, even those people who vexed me half to death. Maybe it would be worth the risk of marriage to feel this benevolent toward the world for the rest of my life.

Throwing back the covers and reaching for my robe, I sat on the side of the bed, marveling at how well I felt. Even when I stood up, there wasn’t a twinge of stiffness or an aching joint anywhere. Youthful was how I felt. Light on my feet and in my heart. I even twirled around in the privacy of my bedroom, thinking
Mrs. Sam Murdoch.
I’d have to order new stationery and put away all my monogrammed linens, but those were minor considerations.
Julia Murdoch.
Well, it didn’t have the same ring as Julia Springer, but it didn’t have the same baggage as Julia Springer, either.

As I tightened the sash on my robe, the smile on my face widened, and I felt something inside myself click and fall into place. The thought of being Sam’s wife suddenly seemed to be the finest thing in the world.

I reached for the phone beside the bed to call him, then drew back my hand. No, I thought, better to ponder this in my heart a while longer. I needed to try it and test it, and make sure it wasn’t a rash and impulsive decision, one that I would regret for the rest of my days. For all I knew, a poor night’s sleep would make a world of difference in how I looked at such a life-changing decision.

In spite of the surge of joy I felt at the thought of actually marrying Sam, my mind drifted to something Hazel Marie’d said the day before. While I dressed, it came to me that my undergarments could use some refurbishing and replacing. Lord, all I had were plain, unadorned cotton brassieres, slips, and step-ins, without an inch of lace or picot edging anywhere. Maybe, I thought, it wouldn’t hurt to purchase a few lacy, see-through things. Not that I expected anybody to see, or see through them besides me any time soon, but there was always the possibility that I’d be in a wreck and have to be taken to the hospital. And Hazel Marie had once said that pretty underclothing made a woman feel confident and self-assured. I could use a little of both, so if all it took were a few flimsy items, it’d be money well spent. Maybe a silken gown and robe would help, as well. Even though there’s nothing like flannel for warmth, I had to admit that it didn’t do a whole lot for one’s appearance.

I mentally shook myself as I headed down the stairs. Why in the world were such trivial matters cluttering up my mind? I was no Norma Cantrell, nor an Emma Sue Ledbetter, either.

I’d hardly gotten to the foot of the stairs when the doorbell rang, so I veered from my progress toward the kitchen and went to answer it.

A large man, bundled up in a tan raincoat with the hood pulled over his head, stood on the other side of the screen door. He huddled inside his coat, his hands jammed into his pockets, as a blustery wind blew rain across the porch.

“Mrs. Springer?” he sang out. “Sorry for the intrusion so early in the morning. Wonder if I could take a minute of your time?”

I unlatched the storm door and held it open for him. “Come in. It’s awful wet out there.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is that,” he said as he came into the living room and I closed the door behind him. He pushed his hood back, giving me a look at his florid face and brown, gray-streaked hair that was pulled back into a thin ponytail, of all things. His hands were large and chapped, the knuckles lined with grime. As he unbuttoned his coat, I could see his plaid flannel shirt straining at his midsection. A working man, I thought, a laborer of some kind, and I mentally prepared myself to tell him that my gutters had already been cleaned and that it was either too late or too early to do any pruning.

“And you are?” I asked, wondering why in the world I’d invited a perfect stranger into my house. The sounds that Lillian was making in the kitchen and Little Lloyd’s voice talking to her reassured me.

“Name’s Dwayne Dooley, ma’am, and I’m here on a mission to do the Lord’s work in Abbotsville and environs.”

“Well, I say,” I murmured, somewhat taken aback. It was too early in the morning for door-to-door missionaries, and I didn’t ordinarily accept pamphlets, newsletters, or tracts from them any time of the day. But I’d let him in, so it behooved me to at least listen with politeness. “Very commendable, I’m sure. But I support the Presbyterian church across the street, and I’m not interested in donating to any other cause at this time.” To tell the truth, I’d about had my fill of donating to any and every cause, what with all the appeals that had come in the mail and on the telephone right before Christmas, a poor time of the year in my opinion to be asking for money when you had your own family to do for.

“No’m,” he said with a quick grin that revealed yellowed teeth. “I’m not soliciting funds. I’ve come to see you about some property you own south of town, that twenty acres or so right off County Line Road. Now, I’m not in a position to buy it outright, but I was wondering if you’d listen to a lease arrangement.”

Well, if it was a business deal he was after . . . “Have a seat, Mr. Dooley.”

“No’m, I won’t do that. I’m wet and I been out tramping through the woods, gettin’ the lay of the land, so to speak, and I don’t want to set on your fine furniture.” And with that, his milky brown eyes took a survey of the room.

“Well,” I said, “that acreage has been sitting there for years just waiting for the right opportunity. What do you have in mind?”