Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle (23 page)

As soon as I heard Lillian plod downstairs, I went around waking Lloyd and Latisha for school. By the time I got to the kitchen, one baby had tuned up from the back bedroom and the other quickly joined in.

“Morning, Lillian,” I said, as I walked to the coffeepot to watch it finish perking. “I didn’t sleep too well last night, but I didn’t hear the babies. Did they sleep through?”

“Yes’m, pretty much. I hear Miss Etta Mae down here in the kitchen ’bout four o’clock, an’ I start to get up to help her. But she poke them bottles in they mouths an’ I didn’t hear another peep.”

“I didn’t hear any of that,” I said, wondering at how deeply I’d slept after such restlessness earlier. That, I assured myself, came from having made a decision and figured out a plan of action. I had determined sometime in the night that I would not sit around twiddling my thumbs while Sam pondered the state of our marriage. Who knew what conclusion he’d come to if he was left to ponder alone?

As soon as the pot stopped perking, I poured a cup of coffee for myself and one for Lillian before sitting at the table. She laid strips of bacon in a black iron skillet, then set it aside and joined me.

“I know why you not sleepin’ so good,” she said, cocking an eye at me. “You got yo’ mind whirlin’ ’round Mr. Sam an’ what you can do to get him to come on back home. An’ I hate to hear what you got cooked up. I know you got something goin’ on, ’cause I see it in yo’ eyes.”

I heard little feet stomping around upstairs and knew that Latisha would be down soon. I had to talk and talk fast before the kitchen was full and the time for talk was past.

“I certainly do have something cooked up,” I said, my face tightening as I leaned toward her. “You didn’t think I’d take this lying down, did you? Just let my husband walk out without raising a hand to stop him? No, ma’am, he’s got it all wrong, and I’m going to find out what’s been going on and prove to him that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. Then he can beg for
my
forgiveness, instead of my begging for his.”

“Oh, Law,” Lillian said, raring back. “Now you on a rampage, and nothin’ good gonna come of it.” Then she hunched forward and looked me right in the eye. “You better think twicet ’fore you go messin’ with Mr. Sam, gettin’ him all riled up an’ even madder than he already is. If he even mad at all. Sound to me like he got hurt feelin’s more than anything else.”

“Well,” I said in my defense, “he hurt mine first—not believing me and walking off the way he did. Look, Lillian, the only thing I know to do is show him that I was not mixed up with Richard Stroud or Thurlow Jones, and the only way to do that is to find out what
they
were mixed up in. That makes sense, doesn’t it? ”

“Maybe to you it do, but maybe not to Mr. Sam. Maybe he want a helpmeet that stay home an’ keep outta trouble.”

“Then he married the wrong woman, and I don’t believe that for a minute.” I reached over and put my hand on her arm. “I need help, Lillian, somebody to go with me and be a witness. Will you do it?”

She jerked back in her chair. “How I’m gonna do that? Miss Hazel Marie need me, an’ I got dinner to cook an’ lunch to get ready jus’ as soon as I get breakfast on the table. An’ they’s clothes to wash an’ beds to change an’ I don’t know what all.” Then she squinched up her eyes at me. “What you gonna do, anyway?”

“Just make a few visits, that’s all. Maybe take a casserole or two with us. Or a cake, whatever’s easiest, because I know you have lots to do. But I’ll help you—I promise I will. I’ll put the clothes in the washer and whatever else you need done.”

“Who you gonna visit?”

“Miss Petty, for one, but we’ll have to wait till this afternoon when school’s out. But we can see Thurlow this morning . . .”

At her gasp, I hurried on. “It’s important, Lillian, because LuAnne told me that Miss Petty stayed the whole night with him when we lost power. I haven’t said anything about that because I didn’t want to gossip, but we need to know what’s going on with those two. Then the last, and maybe most important visit, will have to be to that toolshed.”

“No, ma’am, no, ma’am,” Lillian said, rising from her chair. “Neither you nor me is gonna go snoopin’ where some ghost be hoverin’ ’round.”

“We have to, Lillian. We have to see if Mr. Stroud was in there because of Miss Petty or because of Thurlow, or just in there because he had no other place to go. And there won’t be any ghosts. In fact, you won’t even have to go inside. You can stand outside and be the lookout. Your eyesight’s good at night, isn’t it?”

“At
night
! ” Lillian screeched so loud and jumped back so quick that I thought she’d bring everybody running to see what was wrong. “No, ma’am,” she said firmly, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “No, ma’am, no, ma’am.”

“Then I’ll do it by myself. Tonight, after everybody’s asleep, especially the babies. I’d like to have some company, but . . .” I shrugged my shoulders. “If that’s the way it is, so be it. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring my precious husband home where he belongs.”

“What you think you gonna see in the dark anyway?” Lillian asked, giving me a hard look. “Why don’t you go in the daytime like normal people?”

“That’s just it, Lillian,” I said excitedly because she was finally understanding what I was up against. “Richard wasn’t acting like a normal person, and of course Thurlow never does. That’s why we need to go at night so we can see what Richard saw. That’s the whole point of it. And I promise, you won’t have to put a foot inside. Just stand beside the door and let me know if anybody’s coming.”

“Well,” Lillian said, somewhat grudgingly, “lemme think about it.”

“Oh good! I’ll wake you around two if, that is, the babies stay on schedule. If they don’t, well, we’ll have to see, but I’m going to do it, come what may.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lillian said, as she put the skillet of bacon over a flame. “Whatever that ‘come what may’ might be, an’ when it start comin’ down on us.”

Later in the morning, after the children were off to school and Etta Mae and Hazel Marie were washing babies, I sidled up to Lillian in the dining room. She was vigorously polishing the table with lemon oil and the scent nearly brought me to my knees because it reminded me so much of Sam. His aftershave had a much lighter aroma, of course, but still, everywhere I turned I was reminded of his absence.

Taking myself in hand, I whispered, “I’ve changed my mind about visiting anybody today. We need to see that toolshed first—tonight—then we’ll know how to lead the conversation.”

“I’m not leadin’ nothin’,” she said, rubbing the table harder than it needed. “I might go with you an’ I might not, but everything else is your little red wagon.”

“Oh, I know, I don’t expect anything more. But to put off the visitations until tomorrow gives you time to fix something for us to take. Nothing fancy, Lillian, just something to get a foot in the door.”

She grunted, mumbled something that sounded like, “My foot,” and kept polishing what was already the shiniest table in town. I left her to it and went upstairs.

There I went through the closet and laid out the warmest clothes I could find to get me through a late-night reconnaissance: a woolen dress, two sweaters, heavy cotton stockings that Hazel Marie called tights, a pair of cashmere socks, fur-lined gloves, galoshes to keep my feet dry, and a heavy coat. The weather had turned almost balmy for January in the last few days, but the temperature would be at its lowest in the dead of night.

Taking no chances on freezing, I slipped into Lloyd’s room and snatched up two toboggan caps to keep our heads warm. Back in the pink bedroom, I laid everything out in a chair so they’d be ready to go when I was.

As I studied the layout, desolation swept over me again, and I had an urge to run to Sam and beg his forgiveness. Or call him, just to hear his voice. He might be just sitting at his desk waiting for me to make the first move. When the telephone rang at that moment, my heart lifted. I ran to the bedside table to answer it, then the little pride I had left made me hesitate as Lillian picked up downstairs.

She called me in a loud whisper from the foot of the stairs. “It’s yo’ pastor,” she said when I leaned over the bannister. “An’ we need to fix up something where I don’t have to yell an’ wake up them babies every time the phone ring.”

The bottom dropped out when I heard that it wasn’t Sam calling, and I sighed at the thought of what the pastor would want from me. If he’d somehow learned of the rift in our household, I hoped to goodness he didn’t intend to suggest a counseling session. I knew too much about the state of the pastor’s marriage to think he had anything to offer us.

When I answered the phone, Pastor Ledbetter said, “Miss Julia? I’m calling around to see if we’ll have a good turnout today. Will you be there?”

“Be where, Pastor?” I didn’t recall any meeting or service planned for the day and was momentarily disconcerted that something had slipped my mind. Surely he hadn’t gotten together a
group
counseling session. That would be the last straw.

“The funeral. Or rather, the graveside service. I thought you would’ve received an invitation.”

“An invitation to a funeral?” I was more than momentarily disconcerted at the idea of invitations being extended for a committal.

“Well, I don’t mean an official invitation, exactly, although some people do it that way. I assumed that Helen would want you and a few others to be there.”

“Helen? Oh, you mean
Richard’s
funeral.” Funny, I hadn’t thought of the fact that Richard would need a burial, but of course he would. “I must say, Pastor, that I’m a little taken aback that Helen is arranging this. I thought they were divorced.”

“Now, Miss Julia, you know I don’t believe in divorce. I had a few counseling sessions with Helen and encouraged her not to go through with it. Once married, always married, I always say, and besides, there may have been some financial considerations for keeping the marriage intact, Social Security and so on—I’m not really sure. But there are all kinds of benefits, spiritual and otherwise, when you decide against seeking a divorce. So because Richard had no other family, she’s assuming the responsibility. And under the circumstances, I commend her for selecting a graveside service and not a funeral in the sanctuary. Even so, I’m afraid that few people will be there, given his recent troubles, so I thought I’d call around with a reminder. Helen will certainly need the comfort of her friends during this trying time.”

After getting the time, two o’clock, and the place, Good Shepherd Cemetery, of the service, I promised to do my best to be there. Hanging up the phone, I considered what I’d heard. So Helen had not followed through with the divorce—that was a surprise. But it was his words, “once married, always married,” that rang in my head. I was well aware of the pastor’s antipathy toward divorce, but hearing it again made me wonder if it would do any good for Sam to hear it, making me slightly more amenable to being counseled. But then I had to wonder if the pastor’s belief in “once married, always married” meant that I was still married to Wesley Lloyd Springer, and if so, how things would work out in heaven if I had two husbands to contend with. And think of all the widows and widowers who’d also remarried. Why, when you consider all those once-and-future husbands and wives milling around, either trying to get back together or trying to avoid each other, heaven would be a place of complete turmoil.

Well, of course there’d be no marrying or giving in marriage in heaven, so I thought maybe when we all got there, the Lord would issue a Great and General Divorce Decree, in spite of the pastor’s disbelief, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it.

Hearing the commotion start up again downstairs, I went down to offer my help. Etta Mae was preparing bottles while the din got louder in the bedroom.

“Can I help?” I asked, but hesitantly because I’d pretty much stayed out of the way ever since the babies had taken up residence.