Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle (30 page)

I sighed and sat down in a leather wing chair. “What’ve you heard, LuAnne?”

“Well,” LuAnne said, blowing out a breath of air as she launched into her tale. “I had to run to the drugstore this morning—that’s why I was late getting here—to pick up some Pepto-Bismol for Leonard. He just suffers with his stomach, and anyway, I saw Velma there—she was getting a refill of her blood pressure medication, and I didn’t even know she had blood pressure. But who wouldn’t, fixing hair all day like she does? Anyway, she asked me what in the world you were thinking of to get involved with Thurlow Jones so soon after Sam moved out. Well! You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I heard that—you can imagine. So . . .” LuAnne collapsed in a chair, her eyes filling with tearful concern. “I am just devastated for you. Is it true, Julia? Is your marriage on the rocks? I’m not even going to ask about Thurlow—I know that couldn’t be true, although Velma said one of her clients told her she saw Thurlow leaving your house with that old dog of his early yesterday morning.”

With an act of will I calmed myself, although if the word was out in Velma’s Hair Salon, I might as well pack up and move out of town. But not before beating that sorry James half to death.

There was nothing for it but to repeat the story I’d given Mildred : Sam needed uninterrupted time to work on his book, which he couldn’t get at home. And then repeat the story that Lillian had given Hazel Marie and Etta Mae: Thurlow’s dog had gotten out, showing up at our house in the middle of the night, and Thurlow was simply retrieving him.

“That’s all there is to it,” I said. “And it is just pitiful the way rumors get started and people believe them. But one thing is certain, LuAnne: our marriage is not on the rocks, and people ought to understand what a household is like with two infants and somebody trying to write a factual history. It just beats all I’ve ever heard the way everybody is so quick to believe the worst.”

LuAnne blotted her eyes. “I am so glad to hear that, Julia. I didn’t believe it in the first place, but to hear you say it relieves my heart. I was hurting for you.”

I believed her, for as often as LuAnne exasperated me, she had also been a dear friend for years.

“Well,” I said, standing up because I was so on edge and it was taking all I had to keep my nerves from completely fraying. “I’m glad you told me. There’s not a thing I can do to stop the talk but live through it and hope it’ll die out.”

“There is something else, Julia,” LuAnne murmured, twisting her hands in her lap. “But it’s so far-fetched that I hate to bring it up.”

“No need to stop now. What is it?”

“Well, I heard last week, and don’t ask me who told me, because I can’t remember, that you had some money invested with Richard Stroud and—now don’t get upset, but there was some speculation that when he ended up dead in Miss Petty’s toolshed, he thought he was at your house, trying to get more money.”

“At
my
house! LuAnne, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. How could anybody—even in the throes of a heart attack—mistake a toolshed for my house?”

“Well, I know, I know. That’s why I didn’t say a word to you. But that just goes to show how people can misinterpret the simplest things.” LuAnne glanced at me, then away. “Of course, they’re wondering how he was cashing your checks around town too.”

“He
stole
them! That’s how he was doing it. At least, that’s what Lieutenant Peavey thinks, because my signature was forged. And I am going to sue somebody at that bank for telling it, and whoever it was ought to be arrested because the forgery is still being looked into, and that constitutes interference with an active investigation if you ask me.

“LuAnne,” I went on, rubbing my forehead where a stabbing pain had started, “I can’t take much more of this. Talk, talk, talk, that’s all anybody does, and why they’re so interested in me, I don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough. It’s because so many odd things happen to you. Just look at what you did after Wesley Lloyd died and left you with Hazel Marie and Lloyd. You came out of that mess smelling like a rose, or rather, with more money than you know what to do with, to say nothing of snaring the most eligible widower in town. And you are outspoken, Julia, so you can’t blame people for wanting to know what’ll happen to you next.”

“They Lord,” I said and opened my pocketbook to look for some aspirin.

I wanted to go home, but it was too soon to take my leave. They’d surely wonder why I was being so unsociable. Then if they heard any of James’s tales, they’d believe them. So I stayed, finding a chair in a corner of the drawing room to wait until I wouldn’t be the first to go.

The guests began to break up into groups of two or three for more personal chats. And a few found chairs, as I had, no longer able to stand for long. Mingling was a thing of the past for me, although at one time I could mingle with the best of them, never getting tired or running out of chitchat.

Now, though, it all seemed so futile, although I appreciated Mildred’s efforts to relieve the winter doldrums.

Sitting there, hoping to be left alone, the conversation with LuAnne kept running through my mind. It had put me so much on edge that it was all I could do to maintain a calm exterior. She would be the first to notice if I became agitated. But agitated I was, and I could only hope and pray that I had put LuAnne’s suspicions to rest.

“Mrs. Murdoch?”

I looked up to see Pastor Poppy standing hesitantly before me. “Yes? But please call me Julia. Everybody does.” Except store clerks and bank tellers, which I immediately corrected if they did.

“Thank you. May I talk with you a minute?”

“Why, certainly. Sit here beside me.” I indicated an empty chair that she drew close.

Having settled herself and pulled down that short red dress as far as it would go, she smiled and said, “I hope you won’t think I’m being intrusive, but somebody mentioned that you know Mr. Thurlow Jones.”

“Everybody knows him,” I said, hoping the tightness in my voice wasn’t giving me away. Why in the world would this woman approach me with a question like that? “Yet nobody really knows him. I, least of all.”

“I’m hoping you know him well enough to give me some advice. I’ve discussed this with my senior pastor but, frankly, he was little help. You see, Mr. Jones has started coming to services at First Methodist, and of course we’re all pleased to have him. I understand that he’s never been a regular churchgoer, but he’s been coming every Sunday for a few weeks now. But this past Sunday, something happened that really distresses me and I’d like to put it right.”

Well, this intrigued me because I’d never known Thurlow to darken the door of any church, and although I’d not noticed any change lately in his demeanor or in his actions, going to church might eventually result in changes to both. At least we’re told it will have that effect.

“What happened last Sunday?” I asked.

She sighed, looked down at her hands, and said, “I had the sermon, only my second since I’ve been here, and I guess I upset him. We’d just finished the presermon hymn and as the congregation sat down, I went up into the pulpit and announced a prayer. Just as I started, Mr. Jones closed his hymnal shut with a loud bang, shocking everybody because it was so quiet. Then he stood up and made his way to the center aisle and walked out, slamming the door behind him.”

“My word,” I said, picturing what that would’ve looked and sounded like in a church where the congregation was on its best behavior. There’d been plenty of times I would have liked to have walked out on Pastor Ledbetter, but good manners and fear of a spectacle had kept me in my seat. “That would be upsetting, but maybe you veered from the usual service in some way? You know how people get so accustomed to doing things a certain way that they can’t adjust if you add a hymn or move anything around.”

“No, ma’am, everything was just the same. But I’m pretty sure it was the prayer I started to read. I thought it was beautiful and inspiring, but I guess he didn’t.” She sighed again. “I was just wondering, because you know him so well, if you would intercede for me. I’d love to talk with him, but when I called to see if I could visit, he told me he’d had a bellyful of women in the pulpit who didn’t know what they were talking about. Of course,” she went on, frowning, “there’s nothing I can do about being a woman. But I thought if he got to know me, he might be more amenable to putting up with my preaching once a month or so. It’s still hard to believe that I could’ve run somebody out of church.”

“Well, Pastor, uh, Poppy, it doesn’t surprise me that he walked out. What surprises me is that he was there in the first place. But let’s think about this. You say you hadn’t gotten into your sermon. So you weren’t actually preaching, just starting with a prayer, which is certainly appropriate and shouldn’t have offended him. But Thurlow doesn’t mind making a scene, so maybe it was something in your prayer that upset him.”

“I really don’t see how. It was beautiful, if he’d only stayed long enough to hear it all. It started out, ‘Oh, Father, forgive us; Oh, Mother, nurture us,’ and went on from there. I found it on the Internet.”

I just stared at her. As lovely as she was in the face, I couldn’t help but wonder what was in her head. “Well, there’s your problem,” I said, thinking that I might’ve been tempted to walk out too if I’d had such as that prayed over me.

“What? You mean because it came off the Internet?”

“No, I mean because of the
Mother
business. God the Father is male, not a female and therefore not a mother. Although,” I added hastily, “he certainly has some female attributes—he would have to because he created them in women. I’m talking about his kindness, compassion, mercy, and, yes, nurturing and caring, all of which women have in abundance but are rarely observed in men. I guess, though, that Thurlow was outraged to have the idea sprung on him like that.”

“You think that was it? That I referred to God as Mother?”

“Oh yes, I’d say so. And what really surprises me is that he was the only one to walk out.” I touched her arm in sympathy because she looked so distressed. “Look, new ideas have to be introduced slowly in a town like this. Maybe give some Scriptural background first—if you can find any.” I patted her arm in an encouraging manner. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, just stay away from family members for a while.” I smiled at her, and she managed a weak one back at me.

“I’ll try, though I just hate the thought of running somebody off. If you get a chance, would you ask him to talk to me about it?”

“If I get a chance, but I assure you that I am not close to Thurlow and usually avoid any contact with him.” And she’d do well to do the same, but I didn’t suggest that. Who knew, she could be the agent of change for him, although I’d believe it when I saw it.

When Mildred came by to ask if we wanted more tea, she stayed to chat awhile. While she and Pastor Poppy talked, I got a glimpse past Mildred of Madge Harris putting on her coat, and across the room I saw Miss Mattie Freeman with a hand clasping each arm of her chair, rocking back and forth to build up enough spring to get her to her feet. That was my cue for leave-taking, so I rose from the chair and made my courtesies.

Shivering all the way home in a frigid car, I was also trembling inside from what I had heard. My name was certainly being linked to Thurlow’s, first by LuAnne, who’d heard it from Velma, who’d heard it from a client, which meant everybody who’d had a hair appointment had probably heard it too. And all because Thurlow and his smelly dog had been seen leaving my house early one morning. And come to think of it, which I did, the same thing had been implied about Miss Petty’s leaving Thurlow’s house early one morning.

I declare, for a confirmed bachelor Thurlow Jones was really making a name for himself by being out so early on two mornings, and if my name hadn’t been involved, I could’ve laughed about it. But I wasn’t laughing, because if Sam heard the latest, his suspicions would be confirmed.

And then there’d been Pastor Poppy, who’d been told that I was close enough to Thurlow to intercede for her. That just frosted me good, and I wished I knew who’d told her that. I couldn’t blame her, for she was so new in town that she couldn’t know the ins and outs of who knew whom, and why and how little they knew them. Or something like that.

As I pulled into the drive at home and crawled out of the car, practically frozen, I decided that something had to be done. It simply wasn’t like me to let rumor and gossip run rampant. It was one thing to ignore the talk if Sam and I could laugh about it together. It was another to allow it to further alienate us. And I’d bet my bottom dollar, if I’d been a betting woman, that if James heard any of it, Sam would soon know it too.

“Lillian,” I said as soon as I walked in the door, “you have to help me.”

“Yes’m, that’s what I always do.”

“Yes, I know you do, but I’m really depending on you now. Where are the girls?”