Miss Julia Meets Her Match (17 page)

“I’d like to know, myself, to tell the truth.”

“Well, then, ask him.”

“I might just do that. Now, Julia, if you’ll finish up your lunch, we need to talk about a wedding date.”

I threw up my hands, almost losing the sandwich in one of them. “You have a one-track mind, Sam Murdoch. I need your help, here—the whole church does. And I’m not studying anything else until this mess gets straightened out.”

“I guess I’d better straighten it out, then,” he said, but I wasn’t sure that he was taking the matter with the seriousness that it warranted. He covered my hand again. “After that’s done, will you talk to me about setting a date?”

“There’re a lot more things going on than you know, so I can’t promise anything at this point.”

“Well, tell me what they are, and I’ll take care of them, too.”

I wished he could, but how could he, or anybody, protect a child from the repercussions of a philandering father? I opened my mouth to tell him about Monique Mooney, but I quickly closed it again. I couldn’t bring myself to admit my double failure as a wife. The natural shame a woman feels when her husband makes it plain that she is an unsatisfactory wife made me keep my own counsel and my mouth firmly closed.

Besides, I was counting on Mr. Pickens to come up with something that would discredit the woman to such an extent that nobody in their right mind would give her the time of day.

For the next several days, it felt as if the whole town had closed down. People went about their business, and all was quiet. I had heard not one word from Mr. Pickens, and you’d think, wouldn’t you, that he’d let his employer know what he was up to. He’d always been too independent for his own good, and I couldn’t help but worry about him, out there with that straggly bunch doing who knew what.

And I hadn’t heard from Sam, either, which was just as worrisome in its own way. Had he talked to Pastor Ledbetter? And would that open the pastor’s eyes to the danger his wife was in? And, if it did, what would he do—lock Emma Sue up in a closet where she couldn’t do any harm, or would he run Sam out of the church for being the messenger?

Lord, so much was going on in my mind that I could hardly stand the anxiety. I kept looking at Little Lloyd, wanting to bundle him up and get him out of harm’s way. I was in such a state that I’d begun to think that a boarding school in Virginia would be the safest place for him. To all outward appearances, I was my usual serene self, but I was so distraught that it was taking all I could do to keep myself together.

It was with a great effort of will that I helped Hazel Marie address the invitations to our open house for Tonya Allen. I’d had them printed, and every time I looked at one I hoped to goodness it would do its part in sidetracking the gossip that lay heavy on my heart. But, even so, with what I already had to contend with, I was not in a party mood.

Yet once you go so far as to make out a guest list and have the invitations in hand, you might as well go through with the rest of it. I opened one invitation and read the handsome script:
then the date, time, and place, so they’d know when and where to come. I had, of course, telephoned Tony to be sure that he was willing to be put on display but, thank goodness, he wasn’t at home when I called. Mildred assured me that he was thrilled, but I was just as glad that Hazel Marie answered the phone when he returned my call.

“Miss Julia,” she said, “she was so nice and didn’t sound at all like a man. At one point I thought she was going to cry, she was so choked up. She said she’d always thought the world of you, and she’ll never forget what we’re doing for her.”

“They Lord, Hazel Marie,” I said, “I hope this whole thing doesn’t get out of hand.”

“One thing’s for sure,” she said, “this party’s going to be the talk of the town.”

“That’s . . . ,” I started, almost saying
the idea,
but caught myself in time. “. . . the way it goes. You can’t do anything in this town without it being hashed and rehashed. You just have to let it roll off your back, like I do.”

But the truth of the matter was that I’d lost my zeal for the idea of entertaining someone who had been one thing one day and another thing the next. But I purely did not know what else to do to distract the town from the news of Wesley Lloyd’s latest escapade. The latest to come to light, that is, for who knew what, or who, else lay in the offing?

By the end of the week, responses to the invitations were coming in like I’d never seen before. Sara Bennett called and said she was supposed to have surgery to remove a plantar’s wart on the bottom of her foot on the day of the party, but she’d rescheduled it so she could come. And Kathy Morgan put off going to see her new grandbaby in favor of coming to see the new woman in town. I’d never seen such enthusiasm for a party in my life.

So, with Hazel Marie’s help and in spite of Lillian’s grumbling that no good could come from such a wrongheaded excuse for a party—in many ways, she was more uptight about what was appropriate than I was—we made our plans. I ordered a centerpiece for the table from The Watering Can, and told them to fix arrangements for the two tole urns that would replace the girandoles on the mantel. Between the three of us, we planned the food we would serve, and Hazel Marie placed orders with Katie of Katie’s Kuisine, who did lovely trays of finger sandwiches in spite being unable to spell. Lillian, relieved of the last-minute sandwich preparation, would do the sweets and make the coffee and tea. Hazel Marie volunteered to do a fruit tray, saying she could hardly mess up something that didn’t need to be cooked.

“So that’s it, I guess,” I said as she and I checked our lists for the last time. “All we have to do now is wait for the day. I hope it doesn’t rain.”

Lillian said, “You better hope them ladies don’t start faintin’ on you when they see what they comin’ to see.”

Hazel Marie started laughing. “Maybe we ought to have an ambulance standing by, just in case.” Then she frowned and went on. “We’re not through yet, Miss Julia. What’re we going to wear?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something nice and summery, I guess, if this constant rain doesn’t cool things down too much. I hope the azaleas’ll be blooming in the yard. They’ll make it so much more festive, and we may need all the festivity we can get.”

Hazel Marie dithered for days, trying to decide what to wear. She brought out her spring and summer clothes and tried on one after the other, worrying herself to death about it.

“I’ve got to have just the right thing,” she told me. “I may have to shop for something.”

“Why, you have things you’ve never worn, Hazel Marie,” I said. “Nobody’s going to be looking at us, anyway.”

“I know, but Tonya will. You know he will, and he’ll be dressed in the latest style. I want to impress him, so he won’t think we’re backwoods hicks.”

I just threw up my hands. “He grew up here, Hazel Marie; he knows what we’re like. And he’ll be trying to impress us, not the other way around.”

With all that going on in the house, you’d think I’d have my hands full and my mind occupied. But, no, all I could think of was when the other shoe would drop. No one, other than LuAnne, of course, had said a word to me about the Mooney woman, but I’d noticed some long, speculative looks aimed my way whenever I went to the bank or the post office. People were talking, I could tell, about me, but not to my face.

Nobody was telling me anything, which is usually the case when you’re the main topic. I couldn’t stand not knowing how far and how detailed the talk had gotten, so I gathered myself and went to see LuAnne.

I never liked going to her house, or rather to her and Leonard’s condo. They’d sold their house in town a few years back, and moved up on the side of the mountain to a two-bedroom unit that was too cramped for the both of them, and even worse when they had visitors. Yet she was always extolling the virtues of condominium living, which I was not interested in hearing, having no plans to move into one, myself.

I’d called, of course, before wending my way up the twisting roads and parking in front of their home.

“Come in, Julia,” LuAnne greeted me. “I’m so glad to see you, and I’m so excited about the reception you’re having for Tony. I can’t wait to see him. Or,” she giggled, “is it her?”

“Everybody asks me that,” I said, handing her my umbrella, “and I’ve yet to have an answer.”

As we walked down the short hall to their living room, LuAnne whispered, “Leonard’s here. I tried to get him to go off somewhere so we could talk. But he stays glued to the television, keeping up with the news, he says. You wouldn’t believe what comes on that Fox channel, Julia. They’ll say anything in the world on some of those programs. I’d be worried about him, except he sleeps through most of it.”

Leonard roused himself from his recliner enough to speak to me, but it seemed such an effort for him to rise that I told him not to bother making it.

“In here,” LuAnne said, guiding me through the dining area and into the kitchen, where she moved an ironing board out of the way. “Excuse the mess. I’ve been ironing curtains.”

She closed the door behind us and pointed to a small table with a chair on each side of it. “We can talk in here. He won’t hear a thing. Want some tea? I have Red Zinger.”

“That’ll be fine,” I said, taking a seat at the table.

When we were both settled with cups of hot tea before us, I forestalled LuAnne’s running commentary on the perils of living with Leonard, and said, “LuAnne, I have to know, and you’re the only one I can ask. Have you heard any more talk about the Mooney woman and Wesley Lloyd?”

“Oh, Julia,” she said, busying herself with stirring her tea. “I don’t know whether to tell you or not.”

“That means there is. So let’s have it.”

“I don’t know why you want to know. It’ll only upset you.” She wasn’t meeting my eyes, so I knew I’d have to drag it out of her.

“I’m not worrying about being upset, LuAnne. That man’s already done all the damage he can do to me. It’s Little Lloyd I’m concerned about. Now tell me, so I’ll know what I’m up against.”

“Well,” she said, and scooted up in her chair, released from any bonds of conscience she’d had. “I heard that Monique and Wesley Lloyd used to go at it hot and heavy right there in the bank. I mean, right
inside
the bank. After hours, of course, with the blinds closed, but still. Can you imagine?”

“On the marble floor? That’s hard to believe.”

“No, in his office,” she said, a smile playing around her mouth at the thought of it. “The way I heard it was that when the bank was dark and empty, he’d stay late or come back after everybody had left, I don’t know which, and he’d leave the front door unlocked.”

“My word. Leave the bank unlocked?”

“Yes, somebody said they liked the danger.” LuAnne’s eyes glittered. “Anyway, I heard that what he liked her to do was come in and lock the door behind her. Then she’d start taking off her clothes, leaving them in a row through the lobby and go back to his office, where she had to knock on his door and tell him she was the cleaning lady. Then she’d walk in,
stark naked
. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“No, and I don’t believe it. How would anybody else know, if nobody was there but them?”

“Well, that’s the thing, Julia. It’s all coming from people who used to work at the bank. Because, see, Monique told it on herself while it was going on. I mean, it would have to come from her, wouldn’t it? Who else would know but Wesley Lloyd, and he sure can’t tell.”

“Oh,” I moaned, wanting to hide my face, but refraining from it. “And in his office, which I decorated for him.”

“That’s not the only place. I heard that they used several other places, too, like the loan officer’s desk and that big sofa in the lobby. Margaret Wood said she wouldn’t ever put a foot in that bank again, she didn’t care who owned it now.”

I’d heard all I could take, and soon took my leave. I drove home in a daze, realizing that the gossip was getting worse and it wouldn’t be long before some child at school told Little Lloyd what a lecherous old man his father had been. I decided, then and there, that if I didn’t hear from Mr. Pickens soon, I’d have to try to track him down. And if he hadn’t found a way to get rid of that loose woman, we might have to seriously consider sending the child off to school for his own protection. Lord, I hated to think of it. The thought of that sweet child in an Army uniform with his hair shaved off and a fierce glint in his eyes from being brain-washed into dashing blindly into danger on the orders of a bunch of big-talking bullies who’d never picked up a gun in their lives except to shoot at little birds, just made me sick to my stomach.

My nerves were acting up so bad, I would’ve quarrelled with a doorpost if it got in my way. I couldn’t concentrate, and I couldn’t sit still. Even Hazel Marie commented on my restlessness. “Uh-huh,” she said, nodding as if she knew something, “you know what a young man’s fancy turns to when Spring comes around, don’t you? I wouldn’t be surprised if a woman’s fancy doesn’t take the same turn. You better get Sam over here to straighten you out.”

I just smiled agreeably, and let her think what she wanted to, but I thought it was the most foolish thing I’d ever heard. Sam hadn’t done a thing to straighten out the pastor, as far as I could see, so how was he going to straighten me out? I knew, though, that he’d use a different method of straightening the pastor than the one he might use on me, but he seemed to be falling down on both jobs.

Not that I was longing for Sam, you understand, because I’d put him behind me as far as I was able to do. But the thought of Sam—of losing him or of getting him—kept my system in an unsettled state. My sleep was badly disturbed. My mind kept flitting from one thing to the next. I was hungry, and then I wasn’t. Lillian said I was getting picky in my old age, and I thanked her to keep her opinions to herself.