Aurora 04 - The Julius House (7 page)

Of course it was all good, but it could have been sawdust and I would still have enjoyed it.

Some women reminisced about their showers and weddings, some asked Sally and Eileen for recipes, others talked about ordinary Lawrence-ton happenings, others asked me about the wedding plans, and a few of the older ladies quizzed me about Martin and who “his people”

were.

As some of the guests were returning their empty plates to the sideboard, a very old lady came to sit in the chair beside me that my mother had temporarily vacated. She had wrinkles like cobwebs gridding her face, her eyes were the color of bleached denim, and her thinning hair was snowy. She was wearing one of those flowered dresses that were the staple of Lawrenceton fashion. This particular example was sky blue with pink flowers, and the lady who wore it was the same thickness all the way up and down. This was Mrs. Lyndower Dawson, christened Eunice, but since childhood called Neecy.

“How are you, Miss Neecy?” I asked.

“I get long pretty good, Aurora. As long as the Lord lets me, I want to get around on my own,” Neecy told me solemnly.

In Lawrenceton, we were a little worried about the Lord letting Miss Neecy get around, since she was still driving and tended to take the middle of the road and ignore little things like stop signs.

“Now, tell me something, Aurora,” Neecy said slowly, and I realized we were getting to the crux, here. “I hear that that young man of yours has bought you the so-called Julius house.”

“That’s right,” I said agreeably, tickled at Martin being my “young man” and curious about what she was going to tell me.

“They call it the Julius house, but of course it isn’t really.”

“Oh?”

“Of course not; those people just lived there a few months. It’s really the Zinsner house, they originally built it and lived in it for oh, sixty or sixty-five years before Sarah May sold it to those Juliuses.”

“Is that right?” Actually, I’d known that, but I didn’t want to dam Miss Neecy in midflow.

“Oh, yes, honey, the Zinsners were an old Lawrenceton family. They got here before my family, even. And the branch that built that house was the last of the family. They built out there when town was two and a half miles away on a poor dirt road, rather than a mile away on a paved one.”

I nodded encouragingly.

“I remember when they were building that house, John L. and Sarah May were fighting like cats and dogs about how to do it. John L. wanted things one way, Sarah May wanted ‘em another. Sarah May wanted a gazebo in the backyard, and John L. told her she’d have to build one with her own hands if she wanted it. Sarah May was one smart woman, but that she couldn’t do. But she had her own way about the porch. After the house was all but finished, she told John L. she had to have a front porch, a big one. Now John L. had already had the roof completed, and he didn’t want to tear it up again, so that’s why the roof of the porch is separate. John L. just put in guttering between the two parts. Then Sarah wanted a two-car garage instead of a one-car, and though they only had one car, John L. added another stall for another car. And then she wanted an extra closet, but John L. and her had a fight and he boarded it up to spite her!” Neecy shook her head as she remembered the battling Zinsners.

“They’re both gone now?” I asked gently.

“Gosh, no, someone as mean as Sarah May takes a long time to kill,” Neecy said cheerfully.

“She’s over in Peachtree Leisure Apartments, a nice name for that old folks’ home on Pike Street, where the old fire station used to be. I go to visit my friends out there from time to time, and I see Sarah May right often, though some days she doesn’t know me. And that woman is out there, too, come to think of it.”

“What woman do you mean, Miss Neecy?”

“That Julius woman’s mother. Got an Italian name. Toti-no. Melba Totino.”

I hadn’t known the family who’d built the house still had living members, and I hadn’t known The Mother-in-law (as she was invariably referred to in local legend) was still living, much less still living in Lawrenceton.

“There, you didn’t know all that, did you?” said Neecy in a pleased way. “Not too many of us around to remember things the way they were.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said sincerely.

“Oh, we old people aren’t much good for anything except remembering,” Neecy said with a deprecatory wave of her hand.

Of course, I protested as I was supposed to, and she ended up happy, which she was supposed to. I thanked her profusely for her gift of scented “guest” soap shaped like seashells, and that pleased her, too.

She got up to go and thought of one more thing to say. “That man you’re marrying, Aurora, is it true he’s from Chicago, Illinois?”

“Well, he moved here from Chicago. Actually, he grew up in Ohio.”

Neecy Dawson shook her head slowly from side to side. She patted me absently on the shoulder and began steering her way over to my mother. I saw her engage my mother in serious conversation.

Later, when we were loading the presents into the trunk of Mother’s car, I asked her what Neecy had been saying. Mother laughed.

“Well, if you really want to know—she asked me if it was really true that you were marrying a Yankee. I said, ‘Well, Miss Neecy, he
is
from Ohio.’ And she said, ‘Poor Aida. I know you’re worried. But there
are
some nice ones. Aurora will be all right, honey.’”

NOW THAT I’D TAKEN ON renovating the Julius house—I just couldn’t think of it as the Zinsner house—the time before the wedding flew by. I got the apartment above the garage finished first. The carpet was laid within three days after the painter finished the trim. I cleaned the furniture I’d bought, positioned it invitingly, relined the kitchen shelves, cleaned the stove, and made the bed. I’d gotten a set of china for four at WalMart, and some wedding gift pots and pans I didn’t need went into the kitchen cabinets. I put towels in the bathroom, hung a shower curtain, and arranged some of the seashell soap in a soap dish. It looked pretty and inviting and clean, and I hoped I’d done Martin’s friends proud.

The work on the big house went slower. Some of the workmen I wanted were busy, and the carpet took longer to come than it was supposed to, and I had a hard time picking out paint and wallpaper. I was frantic to have it finished; my townhouse and Mother’s guest bedroom were overflowing with the wedding gifts and furniture I’d kept from Jane Engle’s house. Martin’s furniture was still in storage at a warehouse closer in to Atlanta, and I made a trip there to see what he had. In between making decisions, fretting over delays, and spending hours worrying, I had to get dressed appropriately and punctually for the remaining parties in our honor.

Now, these are all very pleasant problems to have, I know. But I did begin to get tired, and frayed, and desperate. Martin seemed unprecedentedly grim, too, though his bad mood didn’t seem to have anything to do with the wedding.

So I was really glad to greet the Youngbloods when they arrived from Florida. I was at the Julius house when they drove in at noon one day about a week and a half before the wedding.

Angel Youngblood emerged from the dusty old Camaro first. Her legs swung out and out and out, and then the rest of her followed. I gaped. Angel was easily as tall as her husband. Muscular and sleek as a cheetah, she had pale blond hair gathered up in a ponytail. She was wearing the loose sheeting pants that weightlifters wear when they train, and a gray tank top. She had a broad, thin-lipped mouth, a straight nose, and brilliant blue eyes in a narrow face. She wore no makeup. She looked around her carefully, her eyes gliding right over me and then coming back to note me. We looked at each other curiously.

“I’m Aurora,” I said finally, shaking her hand, which was an experience for both of us. “You must be Angel?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s been a long drive. It’s good to get out of the car.”

She stretched, an impressive process that showed muscles I didn’t even know women had.

Her husband came to stand beside her. He looked even swarthier, his face more pock-marked, against her smooth sleekness.

“Shelby, nice to see you again,” I said.

“Aurora,” he nodded.

The carpet layers, who were carrying in the pad, stopped to stare at Angel. Shelby looked at them. They hastily headed into the house.

It wasn’t that she was pretty. She wasn’t. And her chest was almost flat. She was just very obviously strong and fit and golden tan, and her hair was such a pretty color. It was really just like seeing a wild animal walk into the yard— beautiful and scary at the same time.

“Please come see the garage apartment,” I said a little shyly. “I hope you like it.” I turned to precede them up the steps. Suddenly I reconsidered. “No,” I said, turning. “Here are the keys.”

It was theirs, they should see it alone, without me there to make them feel that they had to admire it. I left to start overseeing the carpet layers.

About an hour later they came to the house, looking about them carefully, like cats examining a new environment.

While Shelby went upstairs at my invitation to finish the tour, Angel put a broad hand on my shoulder to get my attention. I looked up at her.

“It’s the nicest place we’ve lived in years,” she said unexpectedly. “Shelby told me what it was like before. Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome. If you want to change anything, now is the time, with all these home repair people coming in and out.”

She looked at me blankly, as if changing her environment was an alien concept. “Where do you want us to park?”

“Since Martin and I don’t have both cars here, just park in the garage. I don’t know what we’ll work out later after the wedding, but we’ll think of something.”

“Okay. We’ve carried our suitcases up, and we’re ready to start work.”

“Work” sounded more formal than the casual “helping you out” relationship Martin had suggested. But I certainly did need help.

“Let me tell you what I want to do here in the house, and how far I’ve gotten on each item,” I began. To my surprise, she pulled a small ruled pad out of her pocket, and uncapped a pen clipped to it. Shelby was suddenly beside her, listening just as attentively as if I were updating them on a missile launch. Feeling nervous and awkward, I started explaining, room by room, the plans I’d made, and showed them the paint, wallpaper, and carpet samples for each room that I’d sorted into a divided accordion folder. In the section I’d accorded each room was also a list of necessary repairs or changes, and taped to the front was a list of things I had yet to do before we left on our honeymoon. This list included such things as “Start paper delivery. Order new return-address stickers. New library card. Box books in townhouse. New stove will be delivered Monday a.m., be there... .” and it went on and on.

“I think we can take care of this,” Shelby said after a thorough briefing.

“You do?” I know I sounded idiotic, but I was stunned. It had never occurred to me they’d take the whole thing off my hands.

“Of course we can’t sign things for you,” Angel said. “And you’ll want to come see for yourself, at least once a day. I know I would. But I think we can make sure all this happens on time, and I see you’ve got a list of all the phone numbers we might need, taped here to the folder.”

I am capable of organization.

“You’d do that?” I was still having trouble grasping the idea that relief was standing right before me.

“Of course,” Angel said again, surprised in turn. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“When will Shelby start work at Pan-Am Agra?”

“Oh, not until you all are back,” Shelby said. “Martin wanted us to be sure everything kept on going while you were gone, and that’s what Angel and I intend to do.”

“Oh . . . that’s wonderful. Thank you,” I said from the bottom of my heart.

They both looked uncomfortable and glanced at each other.

“It’s our job,” Angel said, with a little shrug. A little shrug on Angel was a pretty large gesture.

I had to relax them before I left. “Now,” I said briskly, “the carpenter building the bookshelves here in the hall is supposed to come this afternoon, but he’ll get his wife to call with some excuse, about 12:30. So tell him that if he doesn’t come in to finish the job, we’ll hire someone else tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Shelby nodded. “And who will we call tomorrow? Or am I bluffing?”

“Bluffing. He’ll come in today, but he just needs prodding. He likes to go fishing.”

“So do I,” Shelby said. “I feel for him. Well, go on if you have something else you need to be doing. We’ll handle things here.”

“Thank you,” I said again, and I meant it just as much.

* * *

After our hellos, we slumped together companionably for a few minutes, thinking our separate thoughts, watching the splendor unfold to the west. Aubrey had a wonderful quality of restfulness, the inner relaxation of a man who is square with the world and its maker.

“Martin’s not early, for once,” Aubrey observed, after a while.

“No . . . guess he had a meeting.”

“I think he usually comes early because he doesn’t want to leave you alone with me.”

“You think so?”

“Could be,” Aubrey said neutrally.

“He knows I love him,” I said.