Miss Julia Stands Her Ground (25 page)

“Oh,
no!
” Hazel Marie slammed on the brakes, bringing us to a jolting halt in the middle of Polk Street.

“What? What?” I gasped, as the seat belt almost cut me in two.

“Look, just look at that,” she said, easing off the brakes and pointing to the shiny silver Cadillac parked in front of our house.

“Oh, my goodness. Keep going, Hazel Marie, and maybe he'll leave. “

“I can't. Lloyd'll be home from school any minute, and I don't want him near Uncle Vern.”

“You're right. I didn't think of that. Hazel Marie, we have got to get rid of him.” Scanning the driveway and the street, and seeing no familiar cars, I went on. “And wouldn't you know that neither Sam nor Mr. Pickens is back, so it's up to us.”

“Up to me, you mean. He's my problem, and I'm going to deal with it.” Then she shot me a frowning glance. “Why would J.D. be here?”

“I called him, looking for you. And now he's out trying to find you.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head, a gesture I thought quite uncalled for under the circumstances.

She pulled the car into the driveway and went tearing through
the backdoor. By the time I got into the kitchen, all I saw was the door to the dining room still swinging from her passage.

“What she fixin' to do, Miss Julia?” Lillian said, wringing a dish towel.

“There's no telling, Lillian. She's on a rampage, and I for one don't want to get in her way. How long has Brother Vern been here?”

“I don't know. Not too long, but he say he stay 'til y'all get back.”

“Why in the world did you let him in? I declare, Lillian, we could do without this.”

“What you want me to do?” she demanded, turning up her hands and glaring at me. “He come right in soon as I open the door. Didn't ast me nothin'. Jus' walk right in, an' say he come on the Lord's business. How I gonna stop a man what workin' for the Lord?”

“Oh, Lillian, you know you can't believe anything that man says. Brother Vern can't tell the difference between the Lord's work and his own. They're one and the same to him.”

I tiptoed to the door to the dining room, hoping to hear what Hazel Marie was saying to Brother Vern. Or him to her, whichever it was.

“You better stop that,” Lillian said.

“Hush. I just want to be available if I'm needed.” But I couldn't hear a sound, so I straightened up and asked, “You haven't heard from Sam?”

“No'm, nor Mr. Pickens, neither. I wisht one of 'em come on back here. I don't like that man in the house with jus' us. He might do something.”

“Oh, he won't
do
anything, Lillian, but he could sure
say
something.”

I shuddered at the thought of the words that Brother Vern could be saying to Hazel Marie, and at what those words could
mean to Wesley Lloyd Springer, whose eternal rest might have to be temporarily disturbed.

“Lillian,” I said, walking over to her so I could speak softly. “I want you to prepare yourself. We might have to do something so unheard-of that you won't believe it.”

“What?” she whispered, her eyes getting bigger.

Then we both turned at the sound of a basketball bouncing in the driveway. “Little Lloyd's home! Hurry, Lillian, get your coat and waylay him. Take him to the store. Tell him anything, just don't let him come in. Here's the keys to my car. Now hurry before he comes in.”

She got her coat from the pantry, took my keys, and started for the door. “How long I got to keep him away from here?”

“Until that car parked out front is gone. If you come back and it's still there, remember something you forgot and go back to the store.”

“Law,” she said, on her way out the door, “that mean I got to 'member to forget something.”

I watched out the window as she spoke to Little Lloyd and saw him put away his ball. Then he threw his book bag in the backseat and climbed willingly into the car with her. Such an agreeable child, never a minute's trouble. But, oh, how his problematical origin troubled me.

When the car was out of earshot, I stood in the empty kitchen, listening as hard as I could, but there was no sound from the living room. I paced a few steps, wondering what to do.

After about two paces, I could stand it no longer. I pushed through the door into the dining room and marched myself into the fray. Hazel Marie was going to get my help whether she liked it or not. Even though I'd seen her take on some pretty formidable people in my time, she was no match for Brother Vern.

So I didn't have any qualms about going forward, and it was a good thing I didn't. As soon as I stepped into the living room, I
could see that she needed all the help she could get. She was sitting bent over herself in one of the Victorian chairs, her face buried in her hands and sobbing. Brother Vern stood over her, murmuring on and on, so softly but insistently that as close as I was, I couldn't make out what he was saying.

The Oriental rug deadened my footsteps so that neither of them heard my approach. I stopped right behind Brother Vern, finally picking up what he was drilling into Hazel Marie's head.

“Girl, you know you sinned an' you're still sinnin'. You got to repent and confess, and do it so everbody hears and knows the kinda life you been leadin'. You been away from God long enough, and what kinda mother does that make you? You're an evil influence on that boy with your lyin' and deceivin' ways, livin' all your life with first one man and then another, and if you want to make it right and undo all you've wrought, you'll come clean, Hazel Marie.”

It was remarkable to me, after having heard Brother Vern in full preaching mode when his voice could shake the rafters, to now hear this persistent drone, meant only for Hazel Marie to hear. And hear she was, for he had her so browbeaten and downtrodden, that she was all hunched over, her shoulders shaking and the tears flowing. In a matter of minutes the steel that had shored up her backbone enough to lay Lonnie Whitmire low had been taken right out of her by Brother Vern.

“Repent and confess,” he went on, leaning closer to her. “Repent and confess, girl, that's all you gotta do.”

“Yessir,” she moaned between sobs. “I know I do, and I'm sorry. Sorry for everything.”

“Sorry don't cut it,” he said, as he put his hand on her head and mashed down on it. “You have to give up this easy life you got. That's the wages of sin, and we all have to suffer the consequences. But you don't have to worry about the boy, I'll see he's taken care of, and I won't let you go without, either. It won't be
like you got it now, but it'll be enough so you won't have to go takin' up with another man. Cause I'm tellin' you, Hazel Marie, you got to put away fleshly thoughts and needs and all that wantin' in your heart. They already got you in enough trouble. You ought to be thinkin' of livin' a life of scrimpin' and savin' and sacrificin' from here on out to make up for the kinda life you been livin'.”

I'd heard enough. Brother Vern was still unaware that I was behind him, so I leaned over and raised my voice right in his ear. “What is this?”

He nearly jumped out of his shoes, springing back with his mouth open and a startled look on his face. “Lord amighty, woman, don't sneak up on me like that!”

“I don't sneak up in my own house, and I'll thank you not to take the Lord's name in vain in my presence.” Turning to Hazel Marie, who had half risen from her chair, I said, “Hazel Marie, this man's done all the damage he's going to do. I want you to go upstairs and lie down. I'll be up in a minute, just as soon as I see Brother Vern out.”

“Miss Julia . . .” She could barely get the words out between the shuddering sobs and gasps. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . . I didn't . . .”

“It doesn't matter. Whatever he's said to you, it doesn't matter.”

She sidled away from me, cringing as she passed Brother Vern, and scurried out of the room. By the time I turned my attention to Brother Vern, he'd regained his composure and was puffing himself up again.

“I'm here to tell you, sister, that sin always matters, don't matter whether we know it or not.” He pointed toward the door through which Hazel Marie had gone. “That woman has run a ringer in on you, and you been taken in by him and her, too. That boy that's been livin' under your roof and partakin' of your generosity and become known as the son and heir of your husband—your first husband—is no more kin to him than I am.”

“You are wrong, Mr. Puckett.” I looked him in the eye and stood my ground. “That child is a Springer through and through, and nothing you say will make it any different.”

He pursed his mouth and shook his head. “It's a sorry thing when a woman won't be led by the admonitions of a man of God, so let me lay it out for you plain as I can. Hazel Marie used to flit from one bed to the other, right up to the time Mr. Springer took her in hand. But, and this is a big ‘but,' ” he said, raising a finger in front of my face, “there was somebody else in the picture. And that somebody else was Lonnie Whitmire, and
he
fathered that boy, not Mr. Springer, may he rest in peace. So there it is, plain and simple.”

“Not so plain and simple at all,” I said, glaring at him. “Where's your proof, Mr. Puckett? Just because a man claims a child doesn't mean the child is his.”

Brother Vern's face turned red, whether from the delicate subject matter or from anger, I couldn't tell. With a knowing smirk, he said, “A man knows when the seed he's cast has taken root.”

“No, he does not,” I said, coming right back at him. “All a man can do is cast and hope. Or hope
not,
as the case may be. If the only thing you have to go on is an old wives' tale like that, you might as well pack it in.”

“Listen, Miz Murdoch, I know I'm tellin' you what you don't want to hear, but Deacon Lonnie is willin' to swear that the boy is his and . . .”

“You better check with your deacon. I happen to know that he's just been aggravated into having a change of heart. You'll be hard-pressed to get him to swear to anything.”

That news brought Brother Vern up short, but he shook it off and plowed ahead. “I already got him notarized. He'll stand up and swear he is.”

“And Hazel Marie will swear he's not. So who do you think I'll believe? And I'm the one who counts.”

“No, ma'am,” he said, shaking his head in a sorrowful manner, “you are not. Now listen, I already talked to a lawyer, and that boy is Mr. Springer's true and legal heir, they ain't nothin' nobody can do about that, and it don't matter that Mr. Springer was sufferin' from a delusion, can't nobody take a nickel away from the boy. That will's as good as gold, and it don't matter who his father was, or is. Legally, the money's his'n. I mean, it will be when he's old enough. The real problem is his mother, the one who's lied and deceived and taken you in.
She
don't deserve nothin'. And she's been brought to her knees about it, too, ready to repent and confess and take herself out of the way of raisin' that boy.”

So that was it.
I could feel my eyes narrow and my breath starting to pick up speed. “And who do you think deserves to raise him?”

“Well,” he said, spreading his hands, “ain't it plain? His mother's the next of kin, but I got her on lying and perpetratin' fraud and being a loose woman, so it falls to me to step in. I'm that boy's great-uncle, and that makes me the
next
to the next of kin.”

It was all I could do to stand there and keep a semblance of equanimity, but inside I was steaming and ready to blow. But before I could let him have it, he kept on talking.

“Now, I've give this a lot of thought, and here's what I'm thinkin' of doin'. We'll just let that boy keep on thinkin' his daddy was Mr. Springer, God rest his soul, there ain't no need to muddy up the waters. We'll just keep all this under our hats, so he won't get mixed up. And Lonnie won't be a problem. He don't want to take on a half-growed kid at this late stage, so don't worry about him. Ever'thing'll go right along like it's been doin', only Hazel Marie'll have to step down as one of the trustees.”