Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle (36 page)

He came over and pulled me to my feet, but not to him. “Julia, listen to me. I love you and I miss you too, but you keep too much to yourself. It’s as if I’m not part of your life, and that hurts. I sometimes feel that Lillian knows more about you than I do. You leave me out of what you’re doing, as if I’m not important enough to be a part of it.”

“Oh, Sam,” I said, leaning my head against him in despair. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I know I’m inclined to go my own way, but it’s not because I want to keep things from you.” I wiped my eyes against his sweater. “Well, maybe I do, but it’s because I’m afraid you’ll think the less of me if you know what I’m doing.”

“It’s for my own good, huh?”

“Well, yes, but now I see I was wrong. I promise, from now on I’ll tell you everything, everything, everything. You’ll get so tired of hearing me that you’ll be pulling your hair out. Or mine, one.”

I felt him laugh deep in his chest. “If you’ll call me ole sweet thing again, I promise there’ll be no hair pulling.”

So I did, and did again, until the back door crashed open and James called, “It’s me, Mr. Sam. I’m back with the groceries.”

We quickly separated as we heard James coming down the hall, telling Sam he’d found the Granny Smith apples he wanted.

“An’ I got a ham an’ some catfish an’ . . .” He stopped dead in the middle of the hall as Sam and I walked out and he saw me. “Why, Miss Julia, how you doin’? I didn’t know we had comp’ny.”

“Hardly company, James,” I said, pulling on my gloves. “We were just speaking of you. I expect you should run on and get those groceries put up, don’t you?”

He gave me a shaky grin and fled to the kitchen.

“Sam,” I said, “we really haven’t resolved anything, have we?” Meaning, of course,
when are you coming home
?

“Oh, I think we have. It’s just a matter of timing now. With Pickens back, I’ll talk to him tomorrow and see when they’ll be able to move in here. In the meanwhile, I’ll get my notes and things packed up to take over to your house—
our
house. I’ll do my writing over there from now on.”

“That would be wonderful. We can move back into the big room downstairs where they are now and fix up Hazel Marie’s old room as an office for you. That way you’ll be where it’s quiet and away from household noise.” I smiled at him. “How do you feel about a pink office?”

He laughed, gave me a very nice kiss, and walked out onto the porch with me. After a few more comments from him, I went on my way, feeling immeasurably better. His last words were, “I’ll see you in church tomorrow,” and I knew we’d be sitting together like always.

Getting in the car and driving back to the house, I came to the conclusion that I had overlooked, or perhaps, never realized, the fact that my husband had tender feelings—feelings that were near the surface and easily bruised. All of this, I thought, because I had done a few trivial things without sharing them with him!

And what were they? Like anybody with sensitive feelings, Sam had built up a stack of them, not saying anything at the time but allowing them to pile up. But how could I have consulted him about going to Florida on the track of jewel thieves with Lloyd and Etta Mae when he was in Russia at the time? And had he wanted me to wake him up that stormy night when Poochie Dunn took Etta Mae and me up on the courthouse dome and we got shot at? And what about the time that Lillian and I, well, we weren’t even married then, so that wouldn’t count.

Still, I’d learned that I’d better start asking him to accompany me whenever I needed to get something done. The only problem with that, and the reason I’d not shared any of my plans with him before this, is he’d try to talk me out of them or put his foot down.

Well, at least Lillian and Etta Mae would be relieved not to be aiding and abetting anymore.

Then I realized something else. Right before I left, Sam had mentioned that he’d spoken to James about staying on to cook for the Pickens family and James had agreed.

I pulled into the driveway at home so fast that I almost crashed into the garage. Slamming on the brakes, the car jerked to a stop, my head wobbling back and forth in the momentum.
That Sam!
He had already been planning to come home even before I made a flirting fool of myself.

I sat for a minute, thinking it over. Was I mad at him for tricking me? Well, no, I was too happy about being back in his good graces. Actually, I kind of admired him for giving me a taste of my own medicine. And, the thought suddenly occurred to me, his trickery could make null and void my promise to consult him about every little thing I did.

Feeling even better than I had when I left Sam’s house, I waltzed into my own, only to find utter chaos. Both babies were screaming, Hazel Marie was jouncing one in her arms as tears streamed down her face, Etta Mae was hurriedly placing the takeout barbecue on the table, and Mr. Pickens, walking the other baby, looked as if he’d been wrung through the wringer.

“Here, Etta Mae,” I said, taking off my coat, “let me do that while you help with the babies.”

She gave me a grateful glance and handed me a styrofoam container of cole slaw. “Lillian’s right about the colic. Every evening about this time, they cut loose.”

Etta Mae took the baby from Mr. Pickens, telling him to go ahead and eat while he could. Instead of sitting at the table, he leaned against a counter, his head bowed, as if he were worn to the bone.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He shook his head. “One afternoon,” he said, running his hand across his face. “And they’ve cried evey minute of it. Is it like this every day?”

“Pretty much,” I said complacently as I emptied the cole slaw into a china bowl. “But, see, we’ve built up a tolerance for it, while you’re coming in cold. You’ll get used to it.”

He just stared at me, a harried look on his face.

“Sit down, Mr. Pickens,” I said, turning him toward the table. “Go ahead and eat. It may be a long night.”

I couldn’t help but ride him a little because he’d been mostly absent during these first hectic days.

As the crying suddenly decreased by half, Hazel Marie stumbled out and collapsed in a chair at the table. Her makeup had long worn off and her hair needed a comb, and she looked in no mood to repair either.

“I’ve given up,” she said, tears welling up-again. “We can’t just let them cry their little hearts out.”

“That’s right, honey,” Mr. Pickens said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If it’ll help, let’s just do it.”

“Do what?” I asked, spooning baked beans onto Hazel Marie’s plate. Then I lifted my head as the other half of the crying abruptly stopped. “What’s Etta Mae doing to them?”

I saw what she’d done when she came walking out, a silent baby in each arm.

“Here,” she said, handing one baby to Hazel Marie and the other to Mr. Pickens. Each one was tightly swaddled and sucking peacefully away on a pacifier. “I don’t want to put them down until we’re sure they’re asleep.”

Hazel Marie gazed mournfully down on the daughter in her arms. “I didn’t want them to have pacifiers. Everybody says it’s so hard to break the habit once they start.”

Mr. Pickens grinned, put down his fork, and reached for her hand. He was getting quite adept at doing everything one-handedly. “So what, if they take ’em to kindergarten? Who cares, as long as they’re happy now?”

“I guess so,” Hazel Marie said, cuddling the swaddled baby closer. “I just don’t want their teeth to come in crooked.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Etta Mae said with some authority. She dried her hands after washing them and came to the table. “You and J.D. have good straight teeth, so they will too. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Good advice, I thought. Besides, crooked teeth could be fixed—a small future price to pay for a little peace and quiet tonight.

Later in the evening, as I climbed the stairs to my lonely temporary bedroom, I wondered how much longer I’d have to wait before my husband was with me. I was more than ready to move back into the spacious room that Sam and I had vacated in favor of Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens when they were first married and Hazel Marie, heavy with child, had been forbidden the stairs. But when would they be ready to move to Sam’s house and be on their own?

Not until those babies were on some sort of schedule and Hazel Marie no longer needed Etta Mae’s help, I realized. That could be awhile. Actually, it would be when, if ever, Hazel Marie could manage by herself. Lord goodness, that being the case, I thought as I closed the bedroom door behind me, Sam might never be back.

Hazel Marie was the dearest person you’d ever want to know—sweet and thoughtful, and always eager to learn and do the right thing. She had been a comfort to me in the years between Wesley Lloyd Springer’s demise and Sam’s advent in my life, and she continued to be a loyal friend and companion. I wouldn’t say a thing against her for the world.

But let’s face it, Hazel Marie wasn’t a take-charge person with the ability to manage two things at once, and why the Lord saw fit to give her two babies at once was beyond me to understand. Of course it was reassuring to know that James would stay on to cook and clean for the Pickens family, but child care? No, I didn’t think so. Hazel Marie was going to need a nanny or an au pair or somebody to help her until those babies were old enough to go to school.

James himself created another problem. I kept telling Sam that he was letting James get by with too much, or rather, with doing too little. I could just envision James intimidating Hazel Marie and running the house the way he wanted to. Hazel Marie would never be able to put her foot down and straighten him out.

Then I smiled to myself. Mr. Pickens could. James would meet his match, and then some, when Mr. Pickens moved into Sam’s house. That would fix James and maybe pay him back for gossiping and trying every way he could to keep Sam and me apart.

With that comforting thought, I began to undress for bed. I put on a long flannel gown and pulled socks onto my feet, all necessary because I would be sleeping alone. My warm husband was still four blocks away and not in my bed, heating it up.

Going to the front windows to open the curtains so the streetlight would cast a glow after the lamps were off, I noticed that the wind had picked up. I shivered, wondering how low the temperature had dropped. Tree branches were tossing and scraping against the house. A paper bag tumbled down the empty street, and the traffic light on the corner swayed on its cable. Just as I adjusted the curtain, a white car eased through the green light, headed on Polk Street away from town.

My mouth opened in a gasp as I recognized the car as the same one that had been going
toward
town in the early morning hours only days before. Somebody was spending Saturday nights with somebody, and I didn’t have to eat my hat to know who one of those somebodies was.

Wrong, wrong, wrong,
I said to myself as I came out of my flannel gown and started dressing. Don’t even
think
that Helen Stroud is on her way to Sam’s house. He would not do that to me, not at any time, but certainly not now after assuring me he’s coming home.