Miss Julia Paints the Town (5 page)

Like Mildred, I had heard the doorbell ring off and on during our stay in her bedroom, and upon reaching the foyer, I saw several people sitting in the living room and others trolling the table in the dining room.

There was a low rumble of voices rising from the visitors, expressing shock and curiosity over what had happened to Horace. They had come with the best of intentions, wanting to offer help and condolences to Mildred, as well as to hear the latest news as it happened.

“People do show up when there's a tragedy, don't they?” LuAnne commented, her eyes narrowing as they swept the gathering. I detected a trace of sarcasm in her voice, but didn't comment on it. I was still stunned at her wishing Horace's fate upon Leonard.

“Julia! LuAnne!” Emma Sue Ledbetter, our pastor's wife, said in a loud whisper as soon as she saw us. She put down a tray of sliced ham and cheese on the table and hurried over to us. Leaning close, she asked, “How is she?”

“Better, I think,” I said, keeping my voice low since others were looking toward us, anxious for the latest word of how Mildred was taking it. “She'll be down in a few minutes. How are you, Emma Sue?”

“Oh,” she said, pushing back the hair that had fallen on her forehead. “Just frazzled. I had a full morning already planned, then when I heard about Horace, I had to drop everything and make my dump cake. It's on the sideboard, so do have some.”

LuAnne began to edge toward the dining room. “I love your dump cake.”

I didn't, so I stayed where I was.

As soon as LuAnne moved away, Emma Sue clamped a hand on my arm and edged closer. “How is Mildred really? I heard they haven't found Horace yet, is that true?”

I nodded. “That's what they told her. She doesn't know any more than we do. Is the pastor here? She'll need him if they ever find Horace.” I paused. “Or if they don't.”

Emma Sue glanced toward the front door. “He's on his way. He had some business to take care of, so I just came on. Listen, Julia.” She took my arm again and eased us under the curve of the staircase, out of the way of people headed for the table. “I need to talk to you. I'm so worried and upset, and I have to talk to somebody. When can we get together?”

“What about now?”

“No, I don't want anybody to get an inkling of this. It has to stay a secret until…well, until it's announced. If it's announced.”

“About Horace?”

“Julia, I don't know a thing about Horace. Why would I? No, it's about something else entirely. How long are you going to be here?”

“I don't know. I'll stay as long as Mildred needs me, I guess.”

“That won't be long. Just look around, she has all the help she needs. We could leave now and she'd never miss us.”

“I don't know, Emma Sue. She doesn't even know you're here, although she would expect it, I'm sure. I'd like to stay until we get some word on Horace, wouldn't you?”

“I guess,” she sighed. “Well, then don't forget. When you decide to leave, let me know. In fact,” she said, her eyes lighting up, “I'll leave as soon as Larry gets here and Hazel Marie can stay in your place. Then I'll follow you to your house and we can talk there.”

So that's what we did, although no word of Horace had come before we left. I felt badly about leaving Mildred in her time of trouble, but I knew that Emma Sue wouldn't be satisfied until I did. And, in fact, Mildred had finally come downstairs to greet the well-wishers and the curiosity-seekers, taking her place in the middle of her living room by the fireplace. By that time, the pastor had shown up and he was sitting by her side with his Bible open. I wasn't sure how much comfort Mildred could accept from him, since she'd still not completely gotten over that sermon he'd preached on the sins of the flesh. In that sermon, he'd covered not only what we usually think of as fleshly sins, but he'd also included cigarette smoking, liquor drinking, card playing, too much clothes buying, overeating and obesity. At that point, Mildred had gotten up from her pew and sailed down the aisle and out the door, with every eye in the church on her. She was outraged, as she'd told me, that the pastor hadn't taken into account her thyroid condition, and he'd had to practically grovel to get back into her good graces.

As Emma Sue and I slipped out the door, I glanced back at the people flocking around Mildred's chair, offering food and drink of various kinds, eager to be called upon to aid the assumed widow. I couldn't help but recall the dazed state I'd been in after Wesley Lloyd Springer's sudden demise. I had hardly known if I'd been coming or going, but at least I'd had no doubt as to Wesley Lloyd's whereabouts—which was the Good Shepherd Funeral Home—while Mildred didn't know whether Horace was among the living or the dead.

I could imagine the turmoil in her mind, swinging back and forth from being a widow grieving over a dead husband to a wife angered over a missing one. But Mildred handled her inner conflict well, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes and accepting the plates of food offered to her. She had chosen to wear a deep purple crepe in which to receive her guests. I thought it a felicitous choice, given the fact that it was close to black, but not quite, reflecting what was known of Horace's location and condition.

I hurried into the house after parking Hazel Marie's car and told Lillian that Emma Sue was on her way.

“They found Mr. Horace yet?” she asked.

“Not yet. I declare, Lillian, it's a mystery to everybody, including Mildred. I hated to leave until we'd heard something definite, but Emma Sue insisted on speaking to me privately. I don't know what could be so important on a day like this.”

As the front doorbell sounded and I started out of the kitchen, I asked, “Has Sam called?”

“No'm, but I 'spect he be in for supper here in a minute.”

I hurried out to answer the door, telling Lillian as I left the kitchen that I wouldn't be long.

“Don't worry about serving anything,” I said. “Emma Sue's not in the mood to be entertained. But if that carrot cake's ready when she leaves, I'll take it back to Mildred's.”

I let Emma Sue in, noting the anxiety that lined her face and the wad of Kleenex clutched in her hand. She'd been crying on her way over, which was no surprise since Emma Sue's tears flowed at the least concern she had, and she had a lot of them.

“Have a seat, Emma Sue,” I said, trying to ignore her red eyes and streaked face. I'd hear soon enough what her immediate problem was and hoped to put off hearing about it as long as I could. “What in the world do you think has happened to Horace?”

“Oh, Julia, I know we're supposed to comfort the grieving and feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and I try, you know I try. But today, I am just so nerve-racked I can't put my heart into it.”

“What is it, Emma Sue?” I switched on the lamp next to my Duncan Phyfe sofa and sat down beside her.

Clasping my hand, she blinked back tears. “It's Larry. I don't know what I'll do if he does it, and I know that a wife has to submit to her husband, but, Julia, I just don't want to. And, and,” she said, a sob catching in her throat, “and Larry says that's what submission means.”

“What does that mean, ‘that's what submission means'?”

“He says it can only be submission when you do something you don't want to because your husband wants you to. It doesn't count when you do something you want to do.”

“All right,” I said, frowning. “I'm not sure I agree with that, but okay.”

“Well, we don't have to
agree
with it,” she said, somewhat forcefully. Emma Sue thought of herself as a student of the Bible and a teacher thereof to anybody who would listen and to some who wouldn't. “We just have to follow it, but, oh, it's so hard.”

“What are we talking about, Emma Sue? What does he want you to submit to?”

“Well, see,” she said, as she blew her nose into a Kleenex that could hardly take any more. “There's this group of people over in Raleigh? And they've pulled out of their church. I hate to call it a split, but that's what it is.” She looked up at me to be sure I was following. “You know how bad some of our Presbyterian churches have gotten—so liberal and all, so I don't blame them. Anyway, this group is forming a new church, kind of based on the Presbyterian order but they won't be affiliated with any denomination. They'll be independent, see, and they've already bought property to build on and everything. Larry says he doesn't know what will happen to their old church, because its most generous contributors are the ones who have left. But he thinks they're doing the right thing.” She began shredding the Kleenex, strewing bits of tissue on her lap. “Well, of course he would, since he can get so exercised over some of the things the General Assembly does.”

“Yes, I know,” I murmured. I wasn't surprised that our pastor would sympathize with the church splitters, since he'd tried off and on for years to get our members to do the same thing.

“Well, anyway,” Emma Sue went on, as she blinked back another gathering of tears. “They contacted him, this group, I mean, and asked him to recommend a sound, Bible-based man to pastor them. They know Larry's as conservative as they come and is in touch with other ministers who're of the same mind, and they thought he could help them find the right man to call.”

“He'd be a good one to ask,” I said, nodding. “He must know any number of ministers who'd jump at the chance to start a new church, especially a well-financed one.”

“That's just it!
He's
jumping at the chance, or at least thinking of it.” Emma Sue's face crumpled and tears spurted out again.

“Thinking of what?”

“Accepting their call, Julia. That's what I'm talking about. He said,” she hicupped, “he said that it was in-incumbent on him to recommend the right one, and he thinks he's it.”

A jolt of joy shot through me. Pastor Ledbetter was leaving—something I'd hoped for and occasionally prayed for more times than I cared to admit. Visions of a new pastor danced in my head, someone who would lead us along a middle way, somewhere in between the wild-eyed radicals on the right and the fuzzy-minded do-gooders on the left. I couldn't wait to see a pastor-seeking committee formed. I would tell them exactly the kind of preacher we wanted.

But for Emma Sue's sake, I had to stifle my hopes for better things to come.

“They may not want him,” I said, trying to offer a little encouragement. “They didn't specifically call him, did they?”

“No, but they asked him to find the best man for the job, and…” Emma Sue could hardly speak for the sobs in her throat, “and he's going to recommend
himself,
Julia.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, taken aback by such overweening self-confidence. Or was it arrogance? “Well, Emma Sue, if he does, they may surprise you and not take him.”

“Oh, they will, I know they will when they find out he's interested. Everybody knows he's a leader in the conservative movement, so they'd take him in a minute.”

“Then I guess you have to look on the bright side. Maybe it would be a good thing. Of course, we'd hate to lose him, but nobody would stand in the way of a better opportunity for both of you.”

“But I don't want to move! He promised me that we'd stay in Abbotsville until he retired, and this is my home now. It's not fair for him to suddenly pull up stakes and move all the way across the state and start something new. Why, Julia, do you know what starting a new church involves?”

“Well, no. Our church has been here for over a hundred years, so we're pretty well settled in.”

“Well, just listen to this. In their letter, they told Larry they want to call someone with a wife who'll work right by his side, organizing the Sunday school and the Women of the Church and vacation Bible school and helping out in the office until they can afford a secretary. And do they offer a salary for all that? No, they don't. And Larry thinks that's perfectly all right. He says most churches figure they'll get two for the price of one anytime they call a pastor. That's why congregations always want a married man.” Emma Sue straightened her back and made one last swipe at her eyes. “And I'm tired of it. I've done my part right here in Abbotsville, and I don't want to start over in another place. But don't tell anybody I said that.”

“Well, I don't blame you.” And I didn't. Emma Sue had never stinted herself when it came to contributing time and effort to church activities. She had always been part and parcel of every mission—home or foreign—that the church supported, so much so that many of us backed away and let her take over.

“So, will you talk to him?” she went on. “You can talk him out of it, Julia. You and Sam, both. He'll listen to you, I know he will. Point out to him that he's too close to retirement to start something new. Tell him it's not fair to me to lose my home. And, and, Julia, I hate to even think of this, much less say it, because you know I'm not mercenary. But if Larry leaves the denomination, he'll lose his retirement pension.”