Miss Julia Paints the Town (17 page)

I caught Etta Mae's flashing eyes in the rearview mirror and if I'd ever thought her heart wasn't in my plan to fix Mr. Kessler's little red wagon, I didn't think so any longer.

The drive back to Abbotsville was marked by a heavy silence which Mr. Kessler seemed perfectly at ease to let lengthen. Etta Mae, however, drove hunched over the wheel, her breath coming in short snatches as if it was all she could do to hold herself in check. She didn't ask Mr. Kessler where he wanted to go; she just pulled to the curb at the courthouse and waited for him to get out.

He had the temerity to behave as if nothing was wrong and the grace to thank us for the outing. Then he said that he looked forward to any other expedition we wanted to make. Etta Mae didn't glance his way, just revved the motor to hurry him on.

Hesitant to step into the middle, I nonetheless said, “There's someone else I'd like you to meet, Mr. Kessler, if you're available later today. Mr. Jones is a member of one of Abbotsville's finest families, and I think you'd enjoy meeting him. The two of you might find a lot in common.”

We made arrangements to meet around three o'clock, and he closed the door and walked away.

Before I could commiserate with Etta Mae, she snatched up the card he'd left on the seat. “Look at this! Just look at it!” Her hand shook as she flapped it in front of me. “Does he think I'm going to change my mind? I'll show him!” She tore the card into little pieces and threw them out the window. “If they charge me with littering, he's getting the bill.”

Then she leaned her head against the steering wheel and laughed. “Lord, I don't know when anything has flown all over me like that. I could've wrenched his head off, and I still might.”

“I don't blame you,” I said, feeling some shame that I hadn't stepped in to put him in his place. “I couldn't believe he would be so crass as to suggest you move your granny out of her home like that. The man has no sensitivity at all. And I'll tell you this, Etta Mae, we've got to get rid of him before he buys up the whole county.”

She lifted her head. “Just tell me what to do.”

I sat back in the seat as the car continued to idle at the curb. “I'm thinking,” I said. Then looking at the courthouse grounds and the shops and stores across the street, I went on. “Just look at this town, Etta Mae. It could be a picture postcard. It is absolutely beautiful, so clean and neat with flower boxes and garden benches and Bradford pear trees lining the street. There's hardly another town like it. And it's filled with just the kind of good and decent people that Mr. Kessler wants to use as advertisements so he can make a killing. He'll exploit this town and eventually turn it into the very thing that all his new people are running away from.” I stopped and bit my lip, thinking about what I'd just said. “I'm as progressive as the next person, don't you know. If it's done right. And I'm not against new people moving in. But we have something special here, and I resent being used by Mr. Kessler for our own eventual destruction. As far as I can see, Etta Mae, the two of us are the only ones standing in his way. And I firmly believe he'll run right over us if he figures out what we're doing. Unfortunately, our plan to introduce him to your grandmother sort of backfired on us. All we did was show him a prime piece of real estate, and the upshot of that was to put it in his head to get it away from her.”

“She won't sell. And he'd better not bring up the subject to me again.”

“What about your uncle?”

“Oh, Lord.” She leaned her head against the steering wheel again. “Boyce would sell in a minute if he could.” She looked out between the spokes of the steering wheel. “If he gets it in his mind that Granny's losing hers, I guess he could petition for power of attorney, couldn't he? Oh, me,” she moaned, “what am I going to do? He's closer kin than I am, so I wouldn't have a thing to say about it.”

I leaned up on the front seat. “You need to get her to a good lawyer and fix it so he can't. She needs a will and she needs to put you in charge. I'd do that as soon as possible if I were you. Before Mr. Kessler gets to your uncle.”

“You're right and I will. But, man,” she said with a sad laugh, “I hate to bring all that up to Granny. She'll have my hide.”

“It's for her own good. Now let's go eat. I'm about to cave in and Lillian'll be wondering where we are.”

As soon as we walked in the door, Lillian looked up and said, “'Bout time you got here. This soup 'bout simmered down to nothing. But 'fore you set down, Miss Julia, Pastor Ledbetter say he got to talk to you. He want you to call him soon as you get home.”

“Well, they Lord, what could he want? Etta Mae, have a seat at the table and let me call him.” As I dialed his office at the church across the street, I kept mumbling to myself. “I know he's going to want me to do something, and I don't need another thing to be worried with. He can just get somebody else. I've done my turn and then some.”

But he didn't ask me to lead this or chair that, all he wanted was to talk to me, “as soon as you can come over,” he said. It was apparent to me that he was agitated over something, and since I'd made it my business lately to steer clear of him, I didn't think he could be upset over something I'd done.

“Let me get a bite of lunch,” I told him, “then I'll run over. But I have an appointment at three o'clock, so we'll have to be finished before that.”

After we ate, I left Etta Mae to rest at my house until it was time to pick up Mr. Kessler. As I went out the door, she and Lillian were lingering companionably at the table while they discussed the merits of thick, fluffy biscuits over thin, crispy ones.

Pastor Ledbetter came out of his office and into the Fellowship Hall to meet me as soon as he heard the back door close. That showed how anxious he was, for he usually sat in his office until Norma announced a visitor. But Norma was apparently still at lunch, because her desk in the outer office was empty, and I was grateful for it. Norma Cantrell felt it her duty to poke her nose into everybody's business, declaring that it was her job to keep the pastor from being bothered with trifling matters. The woman set my teeth on edge.

Pastor Ledbetter led me into the inner office, closed the door behind us and stood until I was seated in one of the damask wing chairs in front of his desk.

As he sat down in his executive chair and looked across the desk at me, I had a sinking feeling. The grim look on his face told me that I was in for a counseling session. It crossed my mind to go ahead and ask forgiveness for what I'd done and for what I'd left undone, whichever was on his mind. Except he wasn't the one I should've been speaking to.

Nonetheless, I prepared myself for the onslaught, sitting stiffly in the chair with my back straight, my feet together and my hands clasped on the pocketbook in my lap. “I hope you're well, Pastor.”

“Thank you, I am,” he said abruptly as if he had to get the amenities out of the way. Then, steepling his fingers, he went on. “Miss Julia, I am deeply disturbed over the troubled marriages of some of our most influential members. I'm sure you know who I'm talking about since they're all close friends of yours. I've made it a point to counsel each one of these women, prayed with and for them, and yet I don't see any movement toward reconciliation. And, from what I hear, you've had a hand in their refusal to listen to reason.” He paused to let that sink in, then he went on. “It seems to me that you'd want to be giving these women more constructive advice, given the success of your current marriage.”

Well, at least he didn't want me to take on another job in Sunday school or vacation Bible school or the Women of the Church or some other organization suitable for women.

“If my current marriage is a success,” I said in response to his last comment, “it's because it's a good one for a change. But let me understand, I assume that you're speaking of Mildred Allen, Helen Stroud and LuAnne Conover, is that right?”

He nodded. “Yes, I've spoken with all three, and they seem to be absolutely unbending in their determination to throw over the traces of their marriages. Against, I might add, all admonition of Scripture and my own counsel.”

I sat forward in surprise. “Even Helen?”
Sam hadn't told me that.

“She's more adamant than the others, if that's possible. Now, Miss Julia, you mustn't think that I'm revealing any confidences from my counseling sessions. I asked each one if I could discuss the problem with you, mainly because they all mentioned you in one way or another.”

“Oh, yes? And just how did I become a topic?”

He waved his hand as if it were of no concern. “They mentioned they'd spoken to you and that you'd given them suggestions they intended to follow. You apparently have a great deal of influence over them, which is why I felt compelled to speak with you and urge you to amend your advice so these marriages can be saved and strengthened, instead of torn apart.”

“Well,” I said, “I must correct one thing. I have spoken with Mildred and LuAnne because they came to me, but I haven't had one word with Helen. She is completely out of touch with anyone. Except Sam, but that'll soon stop, since she has a lawyer now.”

The pastor hunkered over his desk and gazed at me. “Now, see, that's what I'm talking about. As soon as you get lawyers involved, the next thing you know it's divorce court, which is the very thing a Christian woman ought to avoid. Miss Julia, it seems you and I are offering contradictory advice, which can only create confusion. Since these women rely so heavily on you, I want to make sure we're on the same page. It's the family that we should be focusing on. Our duty, Miss Julia, is to support and sustain Christian marriages, not to urge or even tolerate breakups and divorces. What those women need is encouragement to bear up under trying circumstances, to be faithful in sickness and in health, whether rich or poor.” He leaned back and proclaimed, “A woman who would give up on her husband at the least little thing is not much of a wife.”

“And,” I said, my back getting straighter and stiffer, “a man who would take off at the drop of a hat is not much of a husband. Listen, Pastor, it's the husbands you should be going after. You will notice that all these wives are at home, right where they should be. They're not the ones who left, it's the husbands who've walked out, snuck off, committed fraud and embezzled money or whatever each one of them has done.” I gave a sharp nod of my head for emphasis, then went on. “Are you saying that you want me to urge my friends to just sit at home and wait patiently for their wandering husbands to return? And then take them back as if nothing has happened?”

He nodded complacently. “And kill the fatted calf, as it were. Yes, Miss Julia, that's what marriage is all about. It's not a matter of cut and run at the least little stumble. We all make mistakes, and sooner or later Horace and Leonard and Richard will need their wives by their sides. You know what it says in the Book of Ruth. There's even a hymn that's often used at weddings: ‘Entreat me not to leave thee; whither thou goest, I will go, and whither thou lodgest, I will lodge.' I just read that passage to Emma Sue last night.”

I couldn't resist the opening he gave me. “That is a beautiful passage and a worthwhile sentiment, I grant you. But, Pastor,” I said, raising my voice, “Ruth was speaking to her
mother-in-law
! Not to her husband and, in fact, that mother-in-law went on to help her find a new husband. I'm surprised Emma Sue didn't straighten you out about that. She knows her Bible.” And so did I, as I had just so satisfactorily proven.

He didn't like it, but he couldn't refute anything I'd said. “Well, all Scripture is written for our admonition and…”

“Not if it's taken out of context, it's not.”

“I think we may be off the subject,” he said after a long, less than friendly gaze. “I just wanted to talk to you about encouraging these wives to be faithful to their vows so that their marriages will remain intact.”

“How do you do that when your husband is off who-knows-where? Horace Allen has let Mildred think he's dead on a mountainside, and Leonard Conover is off looking for himself, and Richard Stroud is somewhere counting other people's money. I'll tell you this, Pastor, I wouldn't put up with it, and I cannot urge my friends to do something I wouldn't do.”

“But, Miss Julia,” he said, almost smugly, “you did put up with it. Look how you remained faithful to Mr. Springer all those years when he was, well, not being very faithful to you. I admired you for that and often held you up as an example of a virtuous wife.”

That flew all over me, but I ground my teeth and held on. “Don't admire me too much, because if I'd known what he was doing I wouldn't have put up with it. And, since you've brought it up, let me just say that I still resent the fact that you and half the town knew what he was up to and nobody had the gumption to tell me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it wasn't my place to make trouble.”

“Make
trouble
! I'll tell you who was making trouble. It was Wesley Lloyd Springer, that's who. And did you talk to him? Did you go to him and quote Scripture and tell him to honor his marriage vows? No, you did not. You let him go on doing whatever he wanted and making a fool of me. And that brings me to another question: Would you be urging the husbands to hold on to their marriages if it'd been the wives who'd taken off? I seriously doubt it, don't you?”