Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle (41 page)

“Oh, Hazel Marie, what is it? ” I asked, immediately concerned that I’d said something to hurt her. Either that or she still had hormones close to the surface. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No’m,” she sobbed, her hands over her face. “Not that. It’s all my fault because I didn’t want him dunked in that filthy river and I’ve never done anything about it, and he’s already half grown.”

Etta Mae and I looked at each other, trying to understand what she was talking about.

“Who, Hazel Marie?” I asked. “And what haven’t you done?”

She took her hands down and looked up at us, her face red and blotched from crying. “Lloyd, my precious Lloyd. I’ve never had him baptized,
or
christened, and I’ll probably go to hell for it too.”

“My goodness,” I said, sinking down on the side of the bed, the wind suddenly taken out of my sails. “Well, Hazel Marie, I’m just as much at fault as you, and maybe more, because I just assumed . . .” I stood up, patted her shoulder, and said, “Stop crying now. We’ll take care of it. Nobody’s going to hell in this house—not if I have anything to do with it.”

As Hazel Marie dried her tears and began to dress for our Sunday afternoon visitors, I left her to it and went to the living room to think over what could be done. Maybe we could have Lloyd christened at the same time the babies were, or if the rites were the same, we could baptize all three at once. Thank goodness we Presbyterians believe in baptism by anointing—or sprinkling, as some call it—which can be done on infants without fear of damage. If we’d belonged to a church that believed in total immersion—or dunking, as some less-than-pious folks called it—we’d have drowning to worry about. In that case, we’d be forced to wait until the babies were old enough to hold their breath.

Sitting there thinking it over, I felt done in by my own slackness in not seeing to Lloyd’s eternal welfare before this. To have assumed that he had had the benefit of baptism in or out of the cradle was to have assumed more than I should have. Hazel Marie had been a single mother, and a kept woman at that, so it made perfect sense that she would’ve been less than eager to stand before a congregation and present her misbegotten infant for the sacrament of baptism.

There was only one thing to do. Well, two things. The first was to make arrangements with Pastor Ledbetter to have Lloyd baptized as soon as possible, although I knew it couldn’t be right away. The pastor would require Lloyd to attend a catechism class and then pass an oral test concerning his beliefs and understanding of the faith—all of which would take time. The second thing to do was to cover the gap between then and now, and I intended to take care of that.

With that decided, I turned to the other matters that were crowding my mind. Walking into the kitchen, I found Lillian alone at last as she finished cleaning up from dinner.

“Lillian, I want to tell you something, but you have to keep it quiet. I have at last found out what Richard was doing in Miss Petty’s toolshed and it will be the talk of the town as soon as I can tell it. The problem is, I can’t tell it without admitting how I discovered it, and how I discovered it doesn’t make me look very good.”

“Then,” she said, “if I was you, I wouldn’t tell it.”

“Well, but I have to, at least to Sam, so he’ll know that none of it had anything to do with me. Once he hears what I saw last night, he’ll understand that.”

“Last night!” She put the last pan in the dishwasher and looked at me in amazement. “You mean to stand there an’ tell me you went out to that toolshed
again
? By
yourself
?”

“I didn’t intend to, Lillian. I just ended up there to keep from getting picked up by a deputy, and you were right to be afraid of it. That place
is
haunted. You won’t believe this, but I actually saw Richard Stroud’s ghost. And I am still a bundle of nerves, because you know I don’t believe in ghosts. But I saw the thing and I ran right through it as if nothing were there.”

“Oh, Law,” Lillian said, her eyes wide. “What you do then?”

“Well, I got picked up by a deputy after all and was glad of it. The only problem with that was he thought I was deranged and out wandering around because I was lost, and I had to pretend to be my friend who really was senile.”

She squinched up her eyes at me. “What?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, waving my hand. “What does matter is this: Richard was spying on either Helen or Thurlow—I haven’t figured out which one yet. Could’ve been both, I guess, and found out that they’re seeing each other—and I mean
seeing
each other—and it shocked him so bad that he had a heart attack. Can you believe that?”

She shook her head. “No’m.”

“Well, me either, except I saw them with my own eyes.
Eye,
I mean, through that knothole and through Thurlow’s kitchen window. And there’s no mistake—they are an item. And Sam needs to know that, but how can I tell him without admitting I was looking for Helen’s car in his garage? Which means that I was the one who was his prowler. You know, the one that James called the deputies about.”

Her frown got deeper as a look of concern swept over her face. “You feelin’ all right, Miss Julia?”

“I’m feeling fine, Lillian, better than fine since I learned what’s really going on.” I turned as the front doorbell rang. “That’s our company. The first of it, anyway. Lillian, if you’ll put out some pound cake slices and fill the coffee urn—oh, and maybe put a pot of spiced tea on the dining room table—we’ll let everybody help themselves. Then I want you to go upstairs and stretch out on the bed and rest. Or just go on home whenever Latisha will let you.”

She rolled her eyes. “That might be never. She think she got to watch them babies.”

By the time I got to the living room, Etta Mae had already welcomed LuAnne in and was taking her coat, If Etta Mae hadn’t caught the coat, I think LuAnne would’ve let it fall to the floor, she was so thrilled to see the babies. And they were a sight to see: both babies were dressed in long pink dresses and little white socks with lace on them; they wore pink ribbons in their hair. Hazel Marie sat in a wing chair, holding them and smiling proudly as if she were holding an audience.

A fire was burning brightly in the fireplace, all the lamps were on, and someone had picked up the Sunday papers. The room was beautiful, but Hazel Marie and her lapful made it even more so.

LuAnne went into raptures, talking a mile a minute and exclaiming over the wonders of twin babies. Of course she wanted to hold one, so as soon as she arranged herself on the sofa, Etta Mae handed one to her. Hazel Marie watched every move, eager enough to show off her offspring but not all that happy about having them passed around.

I sat beside LuAnne, guiding her hand behind the baby’s head, hoping that my proximity would ease Hazel Marie’s fears. Though she might have appreciated my help, LuAnne didn’t.

“You don’t have to show me, Julia,” she said. “I know how to hold a baby. I had two of my own, you know.”

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang again and Etta Mae answered it. She ushered in Helen Stroud, looking as neat and tidy and composed as she always did. We all greeted her, although it was all I could do to reconcile her present appearance with what I’d seen the night before. Her classic suit and sensible heels just did not compute with that filmy red negligee. As she oohed and aahed over the baby in Hazel Marie’s lap, I kept seeing her in Thurlow’s arms and wondering again what she saw in him.

“Could I hold her?” Helen asked, as she sat in a chair next to Hazel Marie. “Just for a minute?”

Etta Mae handed the baby to Helen and arranged it in her lap. A glow came over Helen’s face as she looked down at the baby. Like me, Helen had never had children, but unlike me, she’d never had anyone like Lloyd to fill that empty space. Unless it was now filled by Thurlow, who certainly needed better raising than he’d had.

With her arms empty, Hazel Marie sat back in her chair, her eyes going from one child to the other, always watchful.

“Here, Hazel Marie,” Etta Mae said, putting a cup and a dessert plate on the table beside her. “Have some tea and cake. Oops, there’s the doorbell again.”

And in came Binkie and Coleman, Coleman holding little Gracie. All three were smiling and talking, as Gracie squirmed to be put down. I stood to greet them, as Binkie threw her arms around Etta Mae, then hurried to Hazel Marie to do the same.

As pleased as she was to see them, Hazel Marie became even more alert, concerned, I knew, about Gracie having a cold or some other infectious disease. But Gracie wasn’t interested in the babies. As soon as she saw Lloyd, she toddled straight to him, everybody else, including her parents, forgotten.

“Come on, Gracie,” Lloyd said, “want to go play in Mama’s room?”

And down the hall they went, Lloyd leading the way, Gracie following, and Latisha right behind her, trying to pick her up.

Binkie sat on the other side of LuAnne on the sofa, and LuAnne reluctantly gave the baby to her. Then they both began to examine the baby’s little feet and hands, exclaiming over the tiny gold bracelet that Hazel Marie had put on the baby’s arm.

“Which one is this, Hazel Marie?” LuAnne asked.

“That’s Lily Mae and Helen has Julie.”

“I don’t know how you tell them apart,” LuAnne said. “They look just alike.”

Hazel Marie just smiled, content in a mother’s knowledge of her own babies.

Binkie said, “Look, Coleman, see how darling this little precious thing is?”

“I see it,” Coleman said, “and I see you lookin’ real natural, holding it.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Binkie said, laughing.

Coleman looked at me. “Sam around?”

“He should be home any minute,” I said, hoping that was true. “He and Mr. Pickens are looking over Sam’s house.” Then, hearing the sounds of entry from the kitchen, I went on. “That may be them now.”

And it was. Sam and Mr. Pickens came in, and Coleman stood up to shake hands. Etta Mae, ever helpful, brought in some dining room chairs. Sam, in his usual genial way, walked around the room, speaking to Binkie, LuAnne, and Helen. When Sam got to Helen, I watched carefully for any silent communication as he greeted her. I couldn’t help being suspicious because, notwithstanding his stated intent to return home or her nightly visits to Thurlow, I couldn’t forget the private luncheon they’d had.

Mr. Pickens followed Sam’s lead, though not with the same social ease that came so naturally to my husband. But if the setting had been a bar or a juke joint instead of my living room, it would’ve been a different story.

But Mr. Pickens handled himself ably enough, considering the disreputable elements he associated with in his line of work. In fact, he gazed proudly at his daughters and accepted with grace the praise that was heaped on him. He leaned down and kissed Hazel Marie, then drew a chair next to her and sat down. I was increasingly pleased with how well he was fitting into his fourth marriage and first fatherhood.