Miss Julia Lays Down the Law (10 page)

The first thing I did Thursday morning—well, not the very first because I had to wait till eight-thirty—was to call Norma at the church office. I hadn’t heard one word from the pastor, so my full confession of why I went to Connie’s was on hold, and I was still up in the air as to what to do. I’d threatened to tell on him even without a formal release, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to actually do it. So far.

“Norma,” I said as soon as she finished her lilting telephonic spiel of “First Presbyterian Church of Abbotsville. This is Norma speaking. How may I help you?” “Did the pastor get my message?”

“He did. I gave it to him when he came in at five o’clock yesterday just as I was getting ready to leave. It was the first time he’d come back all day.”

“Well, what did he say? I haven’t heard from him, and it’s imperative that I do. Believe me, he won’t like the consequences if I don’t.”

There was dead silence on her end for a few seconds, then she said, “I think making threatening phone calls is against the law, Mrs. Murdoch, especially against a minister of the Gospel.”

“Don’t think, Norma, it’ll get you in trouble because I’m not making threats. I’m just telling you—and you can pass it along to him—exactly what’s going to happen if he keeps avoiding me. Now, what did he say?”

“Well,” she huffed. “He said to tell you that he’s taking Mrs. Ledbetter to a specialist at Bowman Gray School of Medicine in Winston-Salem today, and he’ll see you when he gets back. You won’t be able to catch him—they were leaving about six this morning.” She paused, then went on. “I was going to call and tell you.”

“Thank you for passing it along so promptly,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm as I thought of my sleepless night. “But you could’ve told me yesterday afternoon and spared me some concern.”

“It was after five.”

My eyes rolled so far back I was afraid they’d never line up again. But what can you expect from someone like Norma Cantrell, who treated church members as if they were nuisances who impinged on her time and the pastor’s.

There was nothing more I could do, so there I was, hanging by a thread held by Pastor Ledbetter. I could go ahead and tell what I knew—as I’d indeed threatened to do. But now there was Emma Sue to worry about, because she must have gotten worse or, at least, not gotten any better. I had to concede that taking her to a specialist was certainly reason enough for the pastor to have something other than my quandary on his mind. It looked as if I would have to give him a pass—a temporary pass—and wait for his return before making a clean breast of it.

 • • • 

I walked through the house looking for Lillian and found her changing the sheets on Lloyd’s bed.

“There you are,” I said, going to the far side to catch the sheet that she flapped across the bed. “Talk to me, Lillian. I need something to do besides think about what I’m thinking about.”

“I guess you worryin’ ’bout Coleman like me. Miss Julia, he got no bus’ness livin’ out in the open like that. I wish Miss Binkie’d straighten him out.”

“She can’t do a thing with him, you know that.” I handed her a pillowcase, then said, “But that’s what we can do! Let’s pick up Latisha and Lloyd when school’s out, then ride out there and see him.”

“An’ I can take him something to keep up his strength. Le’s get this bed made so I can make some brownies. I’m glad you think of that, Miss Julia. I feel better when I see how he doin’.”

“You may not see much, Lillian. You know that sign is setting in marshland on the low side of the boulevard, but Coleman said there’s a dry path to walk on. Only thing is, you have to climb over the guardrail to get to the path. I doubt you’ll want to attempt it—I sure don’t. Lloyd will, though.”

“Latisha, too,” Lillian said, laughing. “If it’s somethin’ a little risky, she be the first one to try it.”

I laughed with her, thinking of how impetuous Latisha was. “I can finish up here if you want to start those brownies.”

“I’m ’bout through, but, Miss Julia, I been thinkin’ maybe Mr. Sam or Mr. J.D. ought to talk to Lloyd a little bit.”

I straightened up from spreading out a blanket. “What about?”

“Well, you know I don’t mind doin’ the cleanin’. I cleaned a many of ’em in my day, but Lloyd might need to be told ’fore he marry somebody. Wives don’t much like it.”

“Married? Why, Lillian, he’s nowhere near old enough to think of marrying. What does he need to be told, anyway? I can tell him whatever it is.”

“No’m, he need a man to tell him, somebody that can show him how.”

“How what?”

“Aim better. Miss Julia, he gettin’ up at night without wakin’ up good, an’ he missin’ what he oughta be hittin’.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” I said as we laughed together. “You’re right, that’s not for me to bring up. I’d embarrass him to death. And myself, too. I’ll get Sam to talk to him. No way in the world would I speak to Mr. Pickens about that.”

 • • • 

When the phone rang later that morning, I nearly broke my neck getting to it. At last, somebody wanted to speak to me.

“Miss Julia? It’s Sue,” Dr. Hargrove’s wife said when I answered. “Do you know anything about Emma Sue? I just heard that the pastor’s taken her to a specialist in Winston-Salem, and I’m concerned about her.”

“I am, too, Sue. And, yes, I’ve heard about it, but I don’t know any more than that. I’ve been hoping to hear from the pastor with some details about her condition.” About a few other things as well, but I didn’t mention those. “If I hear anything more, I’ll let you know.”

“Please do. Everybody’s worried about her,” Sue said. “But listen, with Emma Sue out for a while, and Hazel Marie, too, we’re going to be pushed to get our ornaments made in time. I’m thinking that we ought to meet twice a week, or at least a few extra times, so we’ll have enough to sell.”

“That’s a good idea. We’re already behind compared to this time last year. When do you want to meet?”

“Well, tonight? Except I can’t have it at my house—several of Marsha’s friends are coming over to make cookies for the team.” Marsha was Sue’s popular, volleyball-playing teenage daughter. “But I’ve spoken to Mildred and she says we can meet at her house.”

“That’s perfect for me. Sam’s out of town, and it’ll give me something to do.”

“Oh, good. I’ll bring everything with me and see you there.”

So my day and evening schedules were now filled, leaving little time to grapple with worrisome matters like suspicious detectives, slippery preachers, and daring sheriff’s deputies hanging out on windswept billboards.

It wasn’t a simple matter to pick up the children and drive through town to Coleman’s sign. First, I had to call Hazel Marie so she’d know Lloyd wouldn’t be home on time. She was so hoarse with a cold that I could barely understand her, but she said she’d text Lloyd so he’d know to look for my car.

“He can’t use his phone in school, can he?” I asked, not wanting to get the boy in trouble.

“No,” she croaked, “but it’ll be the first thing he looks at when the bell rings.”

Then, while I waited with car keys in hand, Lillian couldn’t make up her mind about how to transport a plate of brownies.

“I don’t guess a silver plate would do, would it?” she said.

“No, we might never get it back. Just put them in a sack, Lillian, and let’s go. The children will be standing outside waiting on us.”

She fiddled around with a brown paper sack, decided against that, then tried a plastic bag and didn’t like that, either. Finally, she placed a stack of brownies on a paper plate and covered it tightly with plastic wrap. “That’ll do it,” she said, finally satisfied, and out we went.

 • • • 

We drove through the pickup line at school and stopped for Latisha and Lloyd to get in. They piled into the backseat, slinging book bags, coats, and Latisha’s artwork all over the place. Lillian made sure they buckled their seat belts and then we were off.

“I sure am glad somebody thought of this,” Latisha said. “I been worryin’ ’bout Coleman all day long. ’Cept when we went through the lunch line, an’ I saw what they put on my tray. All I could worry ’bout then was starvin’ to death.”

His mind on our destination, Lloyd asked, “Miss Julia, do we know where we’re going? I mean, which sign Coleman’s on?”

“No, but we shouldn’t have any trouble finding him. He’ll be the only person sitting on one. But there’re a lot of signs on both sides of the boulevard, so you and Latisha watch for him. You, too, Lillian, because I have to watch the traffic, and there’s more of it than I like.”

We were heading east out of town toward what passed for a mall in Abbotsville on the Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, the four-lane highway that led to the interstate. There was a speed limit, but whatever it was was too fast for me if I had to drive and look for Coleman at the same time. As a result, there seemed to be an uncommonly long line of cars behind me, with any number of them blowing their horns and streaking past us.

Just as I saw an Abbot County Sheriff’s car parked on the paved shoulder just ahead of us, Latisha screamed,
“There he is
!”

“Where?” Lloyd yelled.

“Right there! See?” Latisha bounced up and down, pointing and yelling.

“I see him! Stop, Miss Julia, stop!”

“I can’t,” I said, as two more impatient drivers whizzed by.

A wash of fresh air and the blare of loud music swept through the car as Latisha’s window came down.

“Lord help us,” Lillian said, struggling to unbuckle herself to turn and see what Latisha was doing.

She was yelling at the top of her voice, “Hey, Coleman, hey! Look over here, Coleman! It’s us, it’s us!”

I risked a quick look back and saw Latisha hanging halfway out the window, waving both hands. “Grab her, Lloyd! Get her back in here.

“And close that window,” I said, speeding up to accommodate certain people who were too impatient to sightsee.

“Oh-h-h,” Latisha wailed. “We gone on by, an’ I can’t see him no more.”

“Couldn’t nobody see him,” Lillian said, “what with you ’bout to jump outta the window. Latisha, you got to put that seat belt back on and stay in your seat.”

“Well, that’s what my teacher always say, ’cept she don’t put a seat belt on me.”

“Listen now,” I said, “I’m going to pull off up here at the service station. Then we’ll turn around and go back past him.”

“Won’t do no good,” Latisha said. “We’ll be on the other side of the road.”

“I know, but I’ll turn around again, and we’ll come back on his side. And now that we know where he is, we’ll pull over and stop.”

“Well, now,” Latisha said, “that makes sense.” Lloyd started laughing, while Lillian tried not to.

So we did the sensible thing and finally got parked on the side of the boulevard, some yards from the occupied sign that advertised a rest home:
LOVING CARE FOR YOUR LOV
ED ONES
, complete with three meals a day and light housekeeping. Adorning the corners of the sign were pictures of smiling white-haired couples—some playing golf and others looking as if they’d found true love, though somewhat late in life.

And sitting in a webbed lawn chair on the wooden platform about twenty or so feet above the marsh, Coleman saw us. He leaned over and turned down the loud, driving music that was entertaining most, but not all, passersby. One man, leaning out a car window, yelled,
“Play
on, Willie Nelson, you sonofagun!”
Coleman stood and waved at us and, I guess, at all the other waving hands from passing cars.

Lloyd had the back door open, and he and Latisha were scrambling out. “Hold on to her, Lloyd,” I called, “and stay by the guardrail.” Then at the blast of more horns from passing cars, I said, “Lillian, I’m afraid to open my door. Somebody’ll take it right off. I’m going to stay right here.”

“Yes’m, and now I see that railin’ and how far down the path is, I am, too. Lloyd, you an’ Latisha wanta take these brownies to Coleman?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Latisha said, hopping up and down. “We’ll take ’em, won’t we, Lloyd? Maybe Coleman let us climb up there with him. Come on, le’s go see.”

Lillian handed the brownies to Lloyd, then walked over to the guardrail to watch as the children climbed over and slid down the incline to the path below. She came and sat back down sideways in the open door as we watched them wend their way to Coleman’s sign.

He leaned over the side of the platform to talk to them, but with the cars passing and horns blowing, we couldn’t hear what he was saying. But we watched as he lowered a box with the pulley and as Lloyd placed the brownies in it. Up it went, eliciting a huge grin and a wave from Coleman when he saw what Lillian had sent.

Then Latisha turned and dashed back up the path. “Great-granny! Great-granny! I need some money. Quick, throw me some money! I got to help fill up Coleman’s money bucket!”

Lillian and I both started scrounging in our pocketbooks to make a donation for a good cause. “I should’ve thought this out a little better,” I said. “The wind will blow paper money away, and Latisha can’t catch a handful of change. She’ll be searching the swamp for hours.”

“Here,” Lillian said, pulling out a small pouch from her large tapestry handbag. “Le’s put our money in this, and Latisha can bring it back. I hope, ’cause that’s what I keep my hair pick in.”

While we waited for the children to dump money from pouch to bucket, then watched it go back up to Coleman, I took note of what I could see on the platform. Besides the lawn chair, I saw that he had a small tent—sort of a miniature Quonset hut—at one end, some kind of metal-looking canister that I hoped was a heat source, a stack of magazines that the wind was playing havoc with, and what looked like a boom box with speakers large enough to entertain the entire county. And he had three more days and three nights to go in such rugged circumstances.

After calling the children several times, Lillian finally got them up the path, over the rail, and back in the car. While I waited behind the wheel, I was appeased to realize that all the horn blowing had not been aimed at me but was to draw Coleman’s attention. Just as we drove off, two cars pulled onto the paved shoulder that we’d just vacated. A woman in a head scarf got out of one, carefully carrying a sack as she edged between the cars to the guardrail. More goodies for Coleman and maybe more donations, too. Monkey bars couldn’t be too far in the future.

“Great-granny,” Latisha said in a rush, “you know what that Coleman had on? A big ole sweater an’ shorts an’ flip-flops! If I put them kinda things on, you’d say, ‘Latisha, you not goin’ outta the house lookin’ like that.’”

Lillian agreed that she would say exactly that, and for a few minutes as we drove a couple of blocks before turning around for home, there was quiet in the car.

Then Latisha said, “I don’t guess he goin’ anywhere, so he can wear what he wants to. But what I want to know is where’s he goin’ to the bathroom.”

Lillian said, “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

I said, “I expect he’s thought up some arrangement, Latisha.”

I glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw Lloyd lean over and whisper in Latisha’s ear. She jerked back in disbelief and, staring wide-eyed at him, yelled,
“Over the side?”

Still thinking about Coleman’s personal hygiene situation, Latisha was mostly quiet on the way home. She became more animated, though, when I suggested to Lloyd that he stay over to keep her and Lillian company while I went to the sewing group that evening.

Later, as Lillian was preparing supper, I heard Latisha whispering to him. Busy with the mail, I caught only the occasional “But
how
?” and
“Why?”
Finally, Lloyd had had enough, or maybe he had told all he was willing to tell, for I heard him say, “Latisha, you’ll have to figure that out yourself. I’ve got homework to do.”

Having had no experience in explaining certain anatomical differences, I was glad she hadn’t come to me.