Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel (18 page)

I arose the following morning, rested and relieved that Mildred would be handling Brother Vern from henceforth. Once she had money invested in him, she would have him dancing to her tune. If he thought I was hard on him, he hadn’t seen anything yet.

So that was one down for me, but as I turned to the next problem, I could feel my nerves beginning to strum along whatever paths they traveled—my whole being becoming as tight and edgy as a stretched-out rubber band.
Mr. Pickens and another woman!
And him married barely a year—it beat all I’d ever heard.

I took a deep breath to calm down. Why had I thought that his marriage to Hazel Marie would be any different from the two or three others he’d engaged in? Well, for one reason, he’d chased her for years. She hadn’t just dropped in his lap, as I assumed his other wives had. And for another reason, none of his previous marriages had resulted in issue, that is, not just one baby but two. You’d think that would be enough to settle him down, but no. What I’d seen with my own eyes proved that.

Well, I couldn’t stand around dawdling all day. I’d just struck off one item on my list by clearing the way to oust Brother Vern from the house. It might take a few days to be completely rid of him, but with all he’d have to do to ready his soup kitchen, his days would surely be full enough to get him out from underfoot.

So the next thing to do would be to make an all-day, full-service, complete do-over appointment with Velma for Hazel Marie. And did she ever need it! Bless her heart, she had let herself go simply from lack of time to do any better. Which was all the more reason for me to step in whether she liked it or not. She’d thank me once it was done.

Even though she didn’t know it, there was no time to waste with another woman already in the picture, but when to do it? The next day was Friday, so I knew Velma would be booked solid. Her Thursdays and Fridays were always full with everybody getting ready for the weekend. Of course more than half of her regulars never went anywhere over the weekend, but they wanted to be prepared in case something came up.

And, I suddenly realized, tomorrow was Etta Mae’s day to show Hazel Marie how to cook that untried chicken dish of hers. I couldn’t very well cancel that, especially since Lillian had already bought all the ingredients and had them waiting in Hazel Marie’s kitchen.

And Granny Wiggins would be there, too, which would be fine. I’d take her aside and enlist her help by reassuring Hazel Marie that the babies would be well taken care of when and if I could get her an appointment. And of course I’d be there with her and, to tell the truth, I was more leery of spending several hours in Granny’s company than I was about taking care of two infants. Granny tired me out with all that running around and talking and housecleaning and whatever else struck her fancy. But for Hazel Marie’s sake, I would weather it.

Tired of just standing there, I sat down to think through what had to be done. My first inclination was to tell Sam what I’d seen in the mall parking lot. My second was to confide in Lillian, maybe even Etta Mae. But no, there would be nothing worse than for Hazel Marie to learn sometime in the future that so many people had known of her husband’s lack of fealty while she had been totally in the dark. I knew how that felt and it hadn’t been good. While Wesley Lloyd Springer, my unmourned first husband, had been cavorting with his other woman, I had been the town’s laughingstock. The humiliation I’d suffered had not been forgotten, although I am pleased to say that eventually I had been able to forgive most of those who had trespassed against me.

But I wouldn’t put Hazel Marie in the position of being talked about and laughed at behind her back—because the word would get around. Not that I didn’t trust Sam and Lillian and Etta Mae—they would never spread gossip—but just as soon as you tell one person a secret, it will spread like wildfire. I don’t know why that is—maybe the walls have ears to hear and mouths to leak—but the only way to keep a secret is to keep it. So I’d keep what I’d seen to myself and work behind the scenes to ensure that Hazel Marie could give that Texas big-haired blonde a run for her money.

I lifted the phone and dialed the number of the Cut ’n’ Curl beauty shop. Finally getting Velma on the phone after waiting for her to put someone under a dryer, I explained what I wanted.

“Hazel Marie needs a complete makeover, Velma. She’s been so tied down with those babies that she hasn’t been able to make or keep her appointments—you should see the roots in her hair. She needs everything—the works—so that she comes out of your shop looking like a million dollars. It’s something I want to do for her. When do you have an opening?”

“Not anytime soon, Julia,” Velma said, sighing as if she were worn to a frazzle. “I am booked way into next week with perms and colors and so forth. What you want will take several hours, and I can’t just cancel these people. Maybe sometime in November? Early November, before everybody’s getting ready for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “She can’t wait that long. You can imagine the shape she’s in. Hazel Marie hasn’t had time to take care of herself. She really needs you.”

“I really am sorry,” Velma said. “I would love to do her, but we have a new stylist who’s very good and she doesn’t have a lot of clients yet. Maybe she could do Hazel Marie.”

I knew what that meant. A new stylist was someone just out of beauty school, which meant she wouldn’t know what she was doing. I would never turn a new stylist loose on Hazel Marie. She needed an old hand, a professional who knew how long to let color set up so that she didn’t walk out looking like something from a Hollywood freak show.

“No,” I said, “that won’t do. I know you’re busy, Velma, but if you can’t do her, I’ll try a salon in Asheville. On second thought, though, it might be better to make a trip of it and take her to Atlanta. You know, to one of those high-fashion beauty salons where she can get the full spa treatment plus everything else.”

I knew there was no way in the world that Hazel Marie would leave those babies and go to Atlanta, but Velma didn’t.

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” Velma said, just as I hoped she would. “Hazel Marie is so sweet, I know we can work something out. Let me look at my book.”

I waited as Velma checked her schedule, listening to the noises of the shop in the background.

“I tell you what, Julia,” Velma said as she picked up the phone again. “Can she come in Monday?”

“This Monday? I thought you took Mondays off.”

“Well, usually I do, but I come in now and then to straighten up and check inventory. Hazel Marie has been a good client and, of course, you are, too, and to tell you the truth, I’m eager to get my hands on her. I love a challenge.”

“Velma,” I said with heartfelt gratitude, “I will dance at your wedding. Thank you, thank you. I’ll have Hazel Marie there at nine o’clock Monday morning.”

“Tell her to plan to spend the day. If you want the works, I’m putting her down for a mani, pedi, facial, some waxing and color, trim, and styling. Anything else?”

“Well, if you can manage a massage, you might as well add that, too.”

Hanging up the phone, I felt a warm sense of accomplishment wash over me. Two items—getting rid of Brother Vern and getting a last-minute appointment with the busiest hairstylist in town—were checked off my list. Now for the most difficult one of all—getting Hazel Marie to leave the babies and into the Cut ’n’ Curl for what I knew would be most of the day.

I hoped Granny Wiggins was up to babysitting that long. Well, actually I hoped
I
was up for it, because neither Hazel Marie nor I would be willing to leave Granny alone with them. You’d think that the two of us could handle two babies, but as I thought about what that would entail—feeding, cleaning, rocking, changing diapers, picking up, and holding—I wasn’t sure we could do it all. We were going to need more help.

I got up and walked to the kitchen. Pushing through the swinging door, I said, “Lillian, I have a proposition for you.”

It occurred to me that I was spending more time at Hazel Marie’s house than at my own, yet there I was again bright and early on Friday morning. But none too early, for Etta Mae and Granny weren’t far behind me—Granny with her arms wrapped around her big canning pot with a little canvas duffel bag stuffed inside and Etta Mae with an eager smile on her face.

“We are ready to do some cooking,” Etta Mae said as I led them through to the kitchen. “I can’t wait to see how this recipe turns out. You can’t go far wrong with chicken, though, can you?”

Well, yes, I could, but I didn’t bring that up, just welcomed them and hoped for the best. “Hazel Marie is putting the babies down for their nap,” I told them, “but she shouldn’t be long. Etta Mae, let’s get the ingredients out so everything will be ready.”

Granny plopped her little duffel bag on the kitchen table, then headed for the back door with the canning pot. “I’m goin’ up to soak that feller’s foot again. This’ll be the third time and it’s really doin’ him some good. Just like I knowed it would.”

I had to agree, for James could now stand on that hurt foot even though he couldn’t yet put enough weight on it to walk on his own.

“Does he have a stove up there, Granny?” Etta Mae asked. “I don’t want you carrying a pot full of hot water up those stairs.”

“He’s got everything I need. Just the cutest little apartment you’d ever want to see. And, Etta Mae, I know better’n to try to tote a heavy load up them stairs, so quit worryin’ about me.”

“I can’t help it,” Etta Mae said. “I never know what you’ll be doing next.” But Granny didn’t hear it because she was already out the door.

As Etta Mae began to lay out the ingredients for her recipe on the counter, Brother Vern presented himself in the kitchen. I was taken aback because not only was he fully dressed, he was fairly nicely dressed in a shiny gray suit, a florid tie, and highly polished oxfords. His hair was combed, his face freshly shaved, and a cloud of aromatic aftershave floated around him.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said, glancing around the kitchen. “It’s a beautiful, though chilly, day the Lord has given us. Where is everybody?”

“Well, we’re right here,” I said, and in an effort to shame him went on to point out that Mr. Pickens had already left for work. “And Hazel Marie is busy with the babies and James is in his apartment soaking his foot.”

“And your dear grandmother?” Brother Vern asked of Etta Mae. “Is she coming today?”

“She’s helping James,” Etta Mae said somewhat shortly, keeping her eyes on the recipe. I could see how leery she was around Brother Vern. He might try to baptize her again.

“Ah,” he said, nodding, “always with the helping hand. The Lord blesses those who help others. Well,” he went on as Granny came through the back door, “here she is now. Good morning, sister, how is your patient today?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” she announced. “Almost. I’m gonna have him walkin’ in a day or two. And I’m glad to see you, Preacher, ’cause I hear you’ve got problems, too. You just set down over there and let me dose you up. I come prepared to do just that.” She unzipped her duffel bag and brought out a glass bottle. “Now this,” she said with authority, “you won’t find a doctor in the land that’ll prescribe it, but it’s been used for hundreds of years and it’s just what you need to bring that high blood down to normal.”

Etta Mae’s semi-nursing experience immediately put her on guard. “Wait, Granny. He’s on medication from his doctor. You can’t be dosing him with just anything. What is that?”

“Well,” Brother Vern said as he took a seat at the table, apparently willing to be dosed, “I have to admit that I’m not on medication at the moment. I decided against getting that prescription filled. I’m just gonna put my trust in the Lord. He’s still in the curin’ business if we just trust Him enough to let Him do it.”

My eyes rolled back in my head. I knew why he hadn’t had his prescription filled—he’d used the money Hazel Marie had given him for other things.

I started to say something, but Granny gave out a cackle and said, “The Lord helps them that helps themselves, brother. Don’t you know that? Besides, this is natural medicine straight from the Lord’s hands. And quit worryin’, Etta Mae—apple cider vinegar won’t hurt a flea. Now, Brother Vern, I’m gonna mix this up and I want you to take it down and do it every mornin’ from here on out. An’ you’ll get added benefits, too, if you happen to be sufferin’ from constipation or dandruff.”

She measured out a dose of vinegar, dumped it into a glass, then added a spoonful of honey “to cut the taste.” She filled the glass with warm water, stirred it briskly, then, handing it to Brother Vern, said, “Down the hatch.”

He docilely accepted the glass and drank the concoction, shuddering as he handed the empty glass back to Granny.

“This fine Christian sister,” Brother Vern bravely announced, “has started me on the road to good health. And what she’s done for Brother James just confirms it. He’s about to take up his bed an’ walk.”

“Well,” Granny said with a slight blush as she modestly ducked her head, “I wouldn’t go that far, but I have had some success in the healin’ business.”

Etta Mae, ignoring Brother Vern and Granny, beckoned Hazel Marie to the counter and set her to work chopping bell peppers and onions, while she unwrapped the chicken. Butter and olive oil were sizzling in the Dutch oven on the stove.

“The healin’ business is exactly what I want to talk to you about,” Brother Vern said excitedly as he stood up. “I’m about to open up a soup kitchen for all those lost souls out there, and it come to me that what many of ’em need besides a bowl of soup is a healin’ ministry. They’re sick in soul
and body,
and, sister, you have a gift from God that’s badly needed. Would you be interested in joinin’ up with me in the Lord’s work?”

Etta Mae jerked around and opened her mouth to say something, but Granny was already speaking. “Why, I don’t know about that. I never thought plain ole common sense was any kind of gift. Besides, I don’t hold no truck with faith healers. So if you got that in mind, you can count me out. Ever’ one I seen just wants to get on television an’ be a big star ridin’ around in a Cadillac.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Brother Vern piously agreed, as if he’d never had similar aspirations. “It’s a cryin’ shame how they carry on, and I know you don’t have a cravin’ for the big time. But let me tell you this—I had a sign yesterday that the Lord is behind this one-hunnerd percent. I wasn’t even lookin’ for a cook yet, but one showed up anyway. She’s a big, hefty woman and a little long in the tooth, but she knows her stuff. Been cookin’ for crowds for a long time down in Florida, so you wouldn’t even have to help her ’less you just wanted to.”

“I don’t do no cookin’ for the unwashed,” Granny said, setting him straight. “I run a clean kitchen.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t ask it of you, but if you’d join up with me, you’d really help my soup kitchen get off the ground. The
Lord’s
soup kitchen, I mean.”

“I’d have to know more about it,” Granny said.

“Granny . . .” Etta Mae said with a note of warning, handing Hazel Marie the large can of tomatoes she’d just opened. “When the chicken is just golden,” she told her, “pour this in.”

“Absolutely,” Brother Vern said eagerly. “I want you to know all about it. We’ll set down an’ make our plans an’ it’ll be like nothin’ else around here. I’m even thinkin’ of havin’ a praise band playin’ while folks come in and eat. That band and the two of us—one ministerin’ to the hungry an’ the other to the ailin’—why, we’d be bringin’ in the sheaves by the armful. We’d put your gift to work an’ there’d be blessin’s showerin’ down on us.”

“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.”