Julia 03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding (26 page)

“Judge not, Emma Sue. I expect you know the rest of it.”

“Well, I worried about putting my stamp of approval on such a hurry-up wedding, which I would do if I attended. You know, under the circumstances.”

“Just what circumstances are you talking about?” Although, with a sinking heart, I thought I knew.

She leaned close to me and hissed, “Binkie’s, well, you know,
expecting.
That’s what I’m talking about.”

Oh, Lord, I thought, wishing He’d speak to me. Since no word came from on high, I had to muddle through by myself. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions again, Emma Sue,” I managed to get out, hoping my face didn’t show my sinking feelings. “Where in the world did you hear such a thing?” Then with a gasp and sudden understanding: “Not . . . the prayer chain? Don’t tell me it’s making the rounds on the prayer chain.”

She smiled. “Well, Julia, what’s the prayer chain for but to share our concerns for people in trouble?”

“Who started it?” I demanded.

“You know that young Creasman couple that just joined the church? Well, she’s expecting and she saw Binkie at Dr. Crawford’s office, and all he does is deliver babies.”

“And I don’t suppose,” I said, “that the Creasman woman is a member of the prayer chain?”

“It’s good to get new members involved in church activities as soon as we can, you know that, Julia. But I would’ve suspected it when I heard that Binkie had to run out of court, during a trial, too, to throw up.” A small frown appeared on Emma Sue’s face, then she went on. “You know that I don’t like to talk about people, but everybody but you knows it, which is just as well, since you wouldn’t be throwing this big shindig if you did. Nobody’s blaming you, even though we Christians do have to draw the line somewhere and be careful that we don’t celebrate sin.”

“Emma Sue,” I said, just about done in by what she was saying. “I think it’s a shame to go around carrying stories about people you hardly know, and that’s the main reason I wanted off the prayer chain. It does nothing but pass along rumors, half of them not even close to the truth, and I resent all the talk about Binkie. She’s a good girl.”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Now, I’ve got to be going; I still have to put the hem in the dress I’m making for tomorrow. I really got behind because I had to make that trip to the Winn-Dixie for the communion wine.”

“Welch’s grape juice, Emma Sue.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, it’s locked in the car trunk, so you-know-who can’t get at it.” She slid into the car, saying, as she reached for the door, “I know the Lord’ll bless you for what you’re doing, Julia.”

“I’m sure, Emma Sue,” I said tiredly. “Thank you for bringing us supper. I’m sure we’ll enjoy every bite.” I stood there and watched her drive off, just sick at heart that Binkie’s condition was known to the town. And I got sicker at the thought that even though Emma Sue might be willing to overlook a late wedding, she wouldn’t be so forgiving if there was no wedding at all.

Chapter 26

Trying to ignore the shuffle of feet along the sidewalk as people began to gather for another night vigil, I turned to gaze at my house. A late afternoon in June, a soft light from the setting sun, the smell of freshly cut grass and the glow of white impatiens under the boxwoods, the swept brick walkway lined with potted pink azaleas, and the blessed relief of silence from the building across the street—my heart should have been swelling with pleasure on this wedding eve. My house was clean and shining, ready for guests, and the long-desired culmination of Binkie and Coleman’s romance.

Instead, I slowly trudged into the house, taking little joy in the preparations we’d made.

It didn’t help my state of mind to find Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd less than thrilled at the thought of eating Emma Sue’s supper.

“Oh, no!” Little Lloyd wailed. “I wanted to go out.”

Hazel Marie stood gazing at the chicken and rice casserole on the kitchen table. Then she said, “I bet that’s been frozen a solid month. I know she makes several at a time to have something on hand for covered-dish suppers at the church. It probably has freezer burn.”

Little Lloyd then suggested that we dump it all in the sink, turn on the disposal and go out, as we’d planned to do.

My heart wasn’t in anything. I so wanted to tell Hazel
Marie that the news was out and being broadcast, but I couldn’t with Little Lloyd there to hear it, too.

Just as they were seriously considering scraping Emma Sue’s efforts down the drain, Mr. Pickens called to see if he could drop by. After that, not another word was said about going out to eat. In fact, Hazel Marie busied herself with setting the table with an extra place for him, chattering away with her excitement.

“It’s a good thing we hadn’t already left,” she said. “We’d’ve missed him, and he’s been so busy I hardly ever get to see him. Now, Lloyd, don’t be disappointed; we’ll get pizza maybe Sunday night. Oh, I hope J.D.’ll like this casserole. But he will, I’m sure of it. He’ll eat anything.” Then she laughed, her hand over her mouth. “A good thing, too, since I’m hardly the best cook in the world.”

Mr. Pickens came in with his usual air of energy and good spirits. He hugged Hazel Marie and gave her a big smack, right in front of me and the child. Then he hugged Little Lloyd, asked how he liked being out of school and promised to go hiking with him as soon as he finished Dixon Hightower’s case.

“That rascal’s staying one step ahead of the sheriff’s department,” Mr. Pickens said. Then with a rueful shake of his head, he admitted, “And me.”

“That’s certainly hard to believe,” I said.

He rounded on me, throwing out his arms and saying, “Hey, darlin’. How ’bout a hug?”

“Behave yourself, Mr. Pickens,” I said, stepping back out of hugging vicinity. “Now, let’s sit down and eat.”

“Miss Julia,” Mr. Pickens said, as he pulled out my chair. I was glad to see Little Lloyd follow his lead and pull out his mother’s chair. “I know you’re a woman of some means,” Mr. Pickens went on. “But I didn’t know you had half the county on your payroll.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That crowd out there in front of your house.” He glanced at me with those black eyes, a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, Mr. Pickens,” I said, trying to give back as good as I was getting. “I’ll have you know that after engaging you last winter, I’ve had my fill of the employment business.”

He threw his head back and laughed. Then he said, “Sure enough, though, why’re they out there? I almost couldn’t get through.”

“We don’t know,” Little Lloyd said. “Mama won’t let me go out there, but I wish you’d asked them.”

“In too much of a hurry to see my three favorite people,” Mr. Pickens said, with a wink at Hazel Marie.

Hazel Marie smiled at him and said, “We’ve been too busy to look into it, but we think they’re admiring Pastor Ledbetter’s new building.”

“Admiring’s not the word,” I said. “Dumbfounded at it, more likely. Little Lloyd, pass Mr. Pickens the butter.”

I picked at the food, put off by Hazel Marie’s observation that it had been frozen so long, but Mr. Pickens made a considerable dent in it. Hazel Marie was right; he’d eat anything.

As he took his third helping of the casserole, Mr. Pickens said, “Would anybody object to turning on the TV? I’d like to get the news.”

Well, I did object, since mealtime ought to be filled with pleasant conversation without the intrusion of wrecks and wars, and first one thing and another of unsavory happenings that weren’t fit to listen to while you’re trying to eat. I held my peace, though, so taken up with the burden of my worries that I couldn’t hold a pleasant conversation if I had to.

I reached over and turned on the television set on the counter and switched it to the Asheville station. As soon as the station stopped advertising itself, we saw that the lead
story was Dixon Hightower again. The major news was that he’d not been found. Mr. Pickens grunted.

“We have late-breaking news,” one of the local anchors said with a rush of excitement, as we all turned toward the set. “The Briar Creek House of God in Abbot County has just reported the theft of a box of raffle tickets that were to be sold for a new Silverado pickup, donated by Junior Willard Chevrolet in Abbotsville. We spoke with Pastor Harold Hobbs by telephone, and he told us that any number of bingo prizes in the form of gift certificates, donated by local businesses, are also missing. We wanted to bring you a live report from Pastor Hobbs, but we’re having audio difficulties. Tiffany,” he said, turning to his co-anchor, “can you tell us more about this latest development?”

“Yes, I can, Kenny.” The smiling co-anchor turned from him to face the camera. Then she cut off the smile and frowned at the seriousness of the situation. “Pastor Hobbs reported that no locks or windows in the church were broken, which means, and I quote, ‘We have a good idea who the culprit is. And I want him to know that all our members’re praying for the return of our valuable raffle tickets and bingo prizes.’ Unquote. Back to you, Kenny.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said. “I don’t believe that. What would Dixon want with such things?”

“Probably nothing,” Hazel Marie said. “You know how he is. He just picks up whatever’s in front of him when the urge to take something strikes him.”

“Well, I wish they’d catch him before he’s blamed for everything that happens in the county.” I passed Emma Sue’s rolls to Mr. Pickens, as I mused aloud. “Where in the world could he be?”

The Abbot County sheriff answered me by way of an interview with a cosmetically enhanced television reporter who asked questions like: “Are the residents of the county in any
danger from this desperate man?” with a dazzling smile on her face.

Sheriff Earl Frady stared at her, and I thought for a minute that he didn’t have an answer. He seemed to be trying to figure out what she was so happy about. Then he said, “No, we don’t see him as desperate or dangerous. My guess is he’s left the county by now . . .” He had his mouth open to say something else, but she cut him off. She was looking for something more exciting and found it in several brief prerecorded interviews with county residents who’d reported sightings. One man said he’d seen a man on his roof, hiding behind the chimney. He knew it was Dixon because nobody else could climb that high without a ladder. The camera then panned around the house to show that there wasn’t a ladder in sight.

“I declare,” I said, “people’re crazy, aren’t they? They must sit around all day thinking up ways to get on television.”

“That’s the truth,” Hazel Marie said, standing and beginning to pick up our plates. “But at least the sheriff thinks Dixon’s out of the county.”

“Well, he’s the authority,” Mr. Pickens said. “But I’m thinking that’s just for public consumption. For my money, that ole boy’s still around.”

“You think he’s still here? Close by us?” Little Lloyd’s eyes were about to pop out of his head. “Oh, me, I was hoping he was gone. Now I’m going to start worrying again.”

“Sorry, sport,” Mr. Pickens said. “Didn’t mean to worry you. All I meant was that Dixon’s likely holed up in some unlikely place, but not anywhere close to you.”

“Who wants dessert?” Hazel Marie asked. “J.D., would you like ice cream on yours?”

“Sure, pile it on.”

Little Lloyd shook his head. “I think I’ll pass. My stomach’s not feeling too good.”

“Then you’ve made a wise decision to pass,” I said, recalling
Emma Sue’s remark about a surprise in her dump cake. “Now calm that stomach of yours down. Dixon’s not interested in us at all and there’s no reason to make yourself sick over him.” You do have to reassure children when their little minds are filled with worry.

“That’s right,” Mr. Pickens said, with one of his wicked grins. “Miss Julia knows I’m hot on his trail, so there’s not a thing to worry about.”

Little Lloyd managed a smile, as we, especially Mr. Pickens, concentrated on our plates. Then Little Lloyd’s attention was drawn back to the news, which I’d mentally turned off. “Wonder what that is?” he asked.

“What, sugar?” Hazel Marie said.

We all turned to the television set just as Kenny said, “We’ll have an update on this unusual occurrence tonight on the eleven o’clock news. Tune in then when we’ll have a live report from Abbotsville.”

“Well, I never,” I said. “Wonder what other unusual occurrence has happened in Abbotsville? They’ll probably blame that on Dixon, too. Turn that thing down, will you, Hazel Marie? They’ve got their sports segment on, and I have no interest whatsoever in a southern hockey team.”