Miss Julia Hits the Road (12 page)

“Sam,” I said, “Lillian’s clothes are packed up somewhere in there. Have you or Coleman come across them?”

Sam stopped and looked at Coleman, the one who’d been helping Lillian pack. Sam said, “I’ve not seen any clothes, except a couple of sweaters that were hanging in the closet. Have you, Coleman?”

“I sure haven’t. What were they in, Lillian?”

“I don’t much ’member,” she said. “All them boxes you brung me look alike. But if you find anything for me to wear, I ’preciate you let me know.”

“Don’t worry about it now, Lillian,” I said, turning her toward the house. “Hazel Marie’s getting some things for you.”

She smiled as she reached for the screen door and, with a touch of her usual humor, said, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I helped her get her coat off and said, “Why don’t you go up and lie down for a while?”

“No’m, I think I’m gonna make us a cake. Or a pie. Or maybe both.” And she headed for the sink to wash her hands.

“You don’t need to be doing any cooking, much less making a pile of desserts. I think you need to rest.”

“Cookin’ help me rest, Miss Julia,” she said. “It take my mind off all them troubles. I jus’ hate to do it in my church dress, though. ’Course, it my
only
dress, since no tellin’ where the rest of ’em be packed up.”

“Not for long,” I told her. “If I know Hazel Marie, she’ll come back with an armload.”

Lillian took an apron from the pantry and wrapped it around herself, tying it in back. Then she brought out three cake pans from a cabinet under the counter. “I’m gonna make us a three-layer white cake with pineapple fillin’ and seven-minute frostin’, an’ that’ll take up half the day. After that, I’m gonna use them Granny Smith apples I got yestiday an’ make a apple pie. Or maybe that lemon pie what Coleman like so much. By that time, maybe this first day of havin’ no house be done an’ over with.”

“Oh, Lillian,” I said, clenching my fists. “Believe me, something will be done about this, and I’m going to start in right this minute.”

As I turned to leave, we heard the truck start up, and Lillian said, “Coleman comin’ in.”

That handsome young man walked in, looking considerably different in his blue jeans and flannel shirt than he did when he was in his uniform, with his law enforcement paraphernalia strapped everywhere around him.

He walked over to Lillian and put his arm around her. “Lillian, I know that moving’s no fun under any circumstances, but this way is just . . . well, I just hate it for you.”

Lillian patted his arm. “I be all right, Coleman. Don’t you worry ’bout me. I got so many frien’s I can’t even count ’em all. Why don’t you call Mr. Sam in here, an’ let me fix you something to eat.”

“I can’t, Lillian,” he said. “I’ve got a wife so pregnant that I’m afraid to linger anywhere. Now, Lillian, since I’m the one who didn’t pay attention to the boxes, you’ll need some clothes. Let me help you with that.” And he reached for his wallet.

“Hazel Marie and I are taking care of it,” I told him. “But we’re putting together some plans to raise money to get new homes for all those people, so we’ll be contacting you and Binkie pretty soon. Then you can open up that wallet.”

“Great,” he said, hugging Lillian again. “Just let us know. I’ll be around, Lillian, if I can do anything for you.”

And with that, he left to check on his heavy-laden wife. And I left to go upstairs, just as heavy-laden with money-raising schemes running around in my head.

Reaching my bedroom upstairs, I sat down in the easy chair by the window and pulled the telephone close to dial Sam’s number. I couldn’t figure why he hadn’t come in with Coleman, unless he was in a hurry to help the rest of the Willow Lane folks so he could get on that motorcycle again.

As I listened to his phone ring, I thought again of how much I depended on him—his good common sense, his reasonable approach to every problem, and his indulgence of me when I began to bounce off the walls. I knew that in his current condition, in spite of the good front he’d put up the night before in the church, I might not be able to depend on him. But like always, he was the first one I turned to.

But not today, for James, when he answered the phone, told me that he didn’t know where Sam was or when he’d be back.

“I know where he is, James,” I said. “He’s helping the Willow Lane folks. But didn’t he tell you how long he’d be?”

“No’m, I jus’ seein’ after Mr. Wills and Mr. Washington, what spend the night here. Mr. Sam, he tell me to feed ’em good an’ he be back sometime.”

“Thay Lord,” I said. “Well, tell Mr. Sam when he does come home that Lillian’s making cakes and pies right and left, and that we’ll expect him to come over tonight and help us eat them.”

“Yessum, I do that.”

“Oh, and James,” I said, right before hanging up. “I am so glad that you didn’t live on Willow Lane, and therefore don’t have to look for a place to live.”

“Yessum, me too. I been livin’ over Mr. Sam’s garage a long time now, ever since he retired. But I sure do hurt for Miss Lillian. You tell her that for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will, and I know she’ll appreciate it.” Again, I almost said my good-byes, but another thought came to me. “James, have you noticed any changes in Sam lately? I mean, anything that we ought to be concerned about?”

There was silence on the line, and I prepared myself for a dire diagnosis. Then he said, “No’m, I don’t see no changes, ’cept for that motorsickle he got out there, what pop an’ growl an’ carry on loud enough to wake the dead. But he like it, so I get used to it, too.”

“Ah, well,” I said, knowing I shouldn’t say more and put ideas in his head. “I worry about him falling off the thing, but just give him my message, James, and I’ll talk to you later.”

I did get off the phone then, and sat for a minute trying to decide what to do next. I knew what I should do, which was see if Clarence Gibbs would sell the property instead of erecting a bottling plant on it, which, if you want my opinion, was the most foolish idea I’d ever heard. There was no way I could see that he’d ever get a return on his investment. He needed to have that pointed out to him, so he’d listen to an offer to purchase.

But before tackling Clarence Gibbs, I looked up Helen Stroud’s number and called her.

“Helen, this is Julia Springer,” I said. “I have a proposal for the garden club, and I hope you’ll give it serious consideration. Now, I know I’m no longer a member, but I left in good standing, so I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

“Why, Julia,” she said, just as gracious as she could be. “Of course not. We do miss you, but I know you have your hands full now.” Then she quickly moved past that since she was, like so many people, uncomfortable with bringing up Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd and how they came to live with me. “Now, what can we do for you?”

I told her about the soon-to-be destruction of Willow Lane, which she already knew about from a number of other telephone calls, and about my idea for starting a rebuilding fund for the people who’d lived there.

“Oh, it is just so unfair,” Helen said. “You wouldn’t believe how upset people are about it. Why, Marlene Nixon called a while ago, practically in tears because the lady who does her washing and ironing is moving to Brevard to stay with family over there, and Marlene doesn’t know what she’s going to do about her laundry.”

“Well, I think we need to set our sights a little higher than Marlene’s laundry problems,” I said. “Now, Helen, if people want to help, and I certainly hope the garden club does, here’s one way we can do it.”

I told her about the home tour that Hazel Marie and I had come up with, and she was just delighted with the idea. “Oh, Julia, I love that idea. I’ve long thought that the club ought to be doing more for the community than just planting bulbs at the Town Hall.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, much relieved that maybe this would be one thing I wouldn’t have to do. “I know that the club will do a marvelous job, and I can leave the planning, the ticket sales, the advertising, and the actual tour entirely up to you. In the meanwhile, I’ll see that one of the banks sets up an account for the fund, so it’ll be ready for all the deposits we’ll have.”

I’d probably said enough, but then thought I’d better let her know what else I expected from the club. “Oh, and Helen, I don’t know which houses you’ll want on the tour, but I was thinking that the Whitaker house would be good, and that modern thing somebody famous is building up on the mountain. And, of course, my house would be available. You know, I’ve completely redecorated the living and dining rooms since the garden club met here a few years ago, so everything is fresh and very different from what it once was. I know people will want to see it.”

She thought those were great ideas, as I’d known she would. We finished our conversation and I was able to turn my mind to other things, knowing that the home tour was now in good hands. One thing I’ve learned in my years of volunteer work, if you want something done and done right, give it to a group of women to do.

As I finished my task I heard Hazel Marie drive in and car doors slamming, so I went downstairs to see what she’d bought for Lillian. I probably should’ve stayed where I was.

“Just wait, Lillian,” Hazel Marie was saying as I entered the kitchen and saw her dump a pile of boxes and shopping bags on the table. “Wait till you see what I got you. Now, of course, if something doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, I’ll take it back.”

Her eyes were sparkling at having had a successful shopping trip. I’d never considered shopping anything but a chore, but Hazel Marie enjoyed it ever so much now that she had the wherewithal to do it.

She turned to me. “Come look, Miss Julia. I got her the prettiest things I could find, and I want you to just see the lingerie I bought.”

Lillian stood by the kitchen counter, frowning at the pile on the table.

“I don’t know ’bout no lingerie,” she said. “I usually jus’ wear underwear.”

“Oh,” Hazel Marie said, laughing, as she began to dig into the boxes and bags. “That’s what I mean. But there’s no reason not to have on something pretty underneath. It makes you feel so, well, nice.”

“I don’t know I want no underwear makin’ me feel that way,” Lillian mumbled, still standing some way from the table.

“Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, paying little attention to Lillian’s hesitancy. “I went by the uniform shop, too, but they were out of white ones in Lillian’s size. They’ll call us when they come in. They had her size on file, but I’d already done most of my shopping by the time I got there, so I might’ve gotten things a little on the small side. But,” she quickly added, “we’ll exchange whatever doesn’t fit. Now, Lillian, I want you to try everything on so we can see what needs to go back.”

“Well, I better watch these cakes I jus’ put in the oven,” Lillian said. “I don’t want ’em to burn.”

“I’ll watch them,” I told her, going over to her and placing my hand on her arm. “Lillian, you know you need clothes, so let us do this for you. You see the pleasure Hazel Marie is getting from this, and we want you to enjoy it, too.”

She turned away, saying, “I know, Miss Julia, and I ’preciate it more’n I can say. It jus’ do me in that I too worriet to know what I was doin’ when I packed ever’thing.”

“I’d have been just as bad, or worse,” I assured her. “But run on, now, and try them on. And don’t hesitate to say if you don’t like something.” Then, in an effort to lighten her up, I went on, “I’ll tell you the truth, I’d hate to have Hazel Marie picking out clothes for me. She’d probably come back with a miniskirt and a halter top, and wouldn’t I look a sight then?”

The picture I conjured up brought us all to laughter, which was what I’d intended. Hazel Marie handed Lillian an armload of boxes and shopping bags and, taking some herself, they left to go upstairs for a formal fitting. I glanced through the glass door of the oven at the cake layers that were just beginning to rise, then began to rinse the mixing bowls Lillian had used, wondering what else I could do to lift her spirits.

Hearing Hazel Marie and Lillian coming down the stairs, I quickly put the last mixing bowl in the dishwasher, and prepared myself to witness Lillian’s new wardrobe. Hazel Marie was chattering on in a reassuring way, telling Lillian as they passed through the dining room that she shouldn’t worry, she’d exchange everything. Lillian was uncommonly quiet.

“I declare, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said as they came through the swinging door. “I can’t believe how far off I was. Lillian always looks so slim and trim that I thought I could guess her size.” She laughed, trying to put a good face on the fact that Lillian had been considerably larger than all of Hazel Marie’s selections.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true, for as Lillian trailed in behind her, I heard a swish with every step. My mouth dropped open as she came into full view. My word, she was a sight in one of those nylon sportswear suits that people run around town in, trying to sweat off their extra pounds. It was navy blue with a red stripe down the side of each leg and a zipped-up top. The expression on Lillian’s face made me close my mouth and try to pretend that such a getup was perfectly normal for her size and shape. I gaped again, though, as I noticed the huge tenny-pumps on her feet. They looked like boats, but then, they did on everybody else who wore the things, too.