Miss Julia Hits the Road (33 page)

Sam raised his eyebrows, acting as if he wanted to delve further into how much I knew of Thurlow’s particular ailment, which I had no intention of discussing with him. It crossed my mind to tell him about the remarkable alteration of Lillian’s snowball bush, but I didn’t think I could bring myself to describe it.

But Sam let the matter drop, hung his helmet on the handlebars, and walked over to join the group around Mr. Pickens, who was now behind a table by the front door. I watched as riders lined up to register, receive maps, and draw cards from a deck on the table. Mr. Pickens and his helpers busied themselves sorting and writing down the results, then directing the various groups to their starting places. Then my attention was diverted from the mingling crowd by the unholy din of a half-a-dozen or more cycles revving up at the same time.

The racket increased to ear-shattering proportions as the first wave of riders roared out of the parking lot onto the highway. I gasped at the sight of LuAnne in her white outfit, clinging to a mountain of a man in a camouflage suit. His girth was such that she couldn’t reach all the way around him. Big Bill Beasley, without a doubt.

Before the roar of that wave diminished to any appreciable extent, the next wave blasted my ears. Putting my gloved hands over my helmet, which didn’t do a bit of good, I thought I recognized the Baptist preacher and his wife on their shiny purple machine, which Hazel Marie’d told me about.

Noticing a commotion at Mr. Pickens’s registration table, I strained to see what was going on. Lord, it was Emma Sue and Norma raising a ruckus, unhappy about something. I started to climb out to see if I could help get them started, but a glimpse of Thurlow Jones kept me in my seat.

Before long, though, Sam and Little Lloyd dodged between the waiting riders and approached our parking place.

“What’s going on, Sam?” I said, raising my visor.

Sam laughed. “Norma thinks her helmet’s too small. She’s worried about her hair.”

Little Lloyd chimed in. “And Mrs. Ledbetter wanted to change partners. Mr. Pickens put her with Deputy Jim Daly and she said he wasn’t old enough to be able to make wise decisions, and she wanted somebody with some experience to him. I think she hurt his feelings.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, chuckling at the thought. “And then half a dozen others volunteered, claiming all kinds of experience that I don’t think Emma Sue understood.”

“And then,” Little Lloyd said, “when she looked at the choices, she didn’t know what to do. But Deputy Daly told her that he might be young but he was a Christian, and Mrs. Ledbetter said that was a sign, so she’d ride with him.

“Oh, and Miss Julia,” he went on as Sam handed him his helmet. “Coleman’s here, too. Did you see him? He’s not riding, just helping out with traffic duty, ’cause he might have to cut it short if Binkie pages him.”

“Lord,” I said, picturing the monumental mound on that girl, “let us hope that nothing happens till we get back.”

That was an empty hope, for just then Coleman ran to his patrol car and took off out of the parking lot like he was going to a fire. As he passed us, headed back toward Abbotsville, he had both hands gripping the steering wheel and he was mortally flying.

“Uh-oh,” Little Lloyd said. “I bet Binkie’s in labor.”

That shook me more than Coleman’s abrupt departure. “What do you know about going into labor?”

The child’s eyes darted back and forth. “Well, not much. I just heard you and Mama talking about it, and I figured that’s what happens when a baby comes.”

Sam started laughing as I glared at him. “Well, you’re right, Little Lloyd,” I conceded. “But it’s not something you discuss in mixed company. Now, Sam,” I went on, “I am absolutely torn. I need to be with Binkie in her hour of need, yet the other ladies might quit if I leave. What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to stay right where you are,” he said, giving me no room for argument. “Everybody’s counting on you to go the distance. Besides, Binkie and Coleman will be all right by themselves.”

If I could’ve flounced while sitting down, I’d have done it. He didn’t have to remind me of what I’d gotten myself into. Now, I’d have Binkie, on top of everything else, to worry about every minute I was entrapped in the sidecar.

Another wave of riders took off, almost drowning out Little Lloyd, who yelled over the roar that he’d drawn the king of spades for me, but only the two of diamonds for himself.

“You can have my card if you want it,” I said during a brief lull between waves of riders.

“No, Miss Julia, that’s not the way you play. But guess what Mr. Sam drew—the queen of hearts, and he said if he was Mrs. Ledbetter, he’d take it as a sign.”

“Oh, Sam,” I said. But I had to smile at his foolishness in spite of myself.

Sam winked at me as he handed me a slip of cardboard with lines on it. “Hold on to this, Julia. Thurlow’s going to want to see it. Look, J. D.’s written in the king of spades on the first line, and initialed it. We’ll get that done at every stop.”

I put the card in my pocketbook, which rested on my lap.

Then Sam said, “Fasten your helmet and hop on, Little Lloyd. We’re about ready to go.”

Hoping that the motorcycle had enough power to pull the three of us, I took the time while they mounted to consider what Thurlow Jones had said about Clarence Gibbs and some fat boys lurking along the way. It was a worrisome matter, but I couldn’t bring myself to get too excercised about it. I had too many other things on my mind, one of which was what Binkie was going through right at that minute, and Thurlow’s threat that he wouldn’t pay up if I didn’t complete the course. That just made me so mad. There were a lot of things that could happen, acts of God and the like, that I had no control over. It was the intent of the heart that should count in such cases, but from what he’d said, Thurlow had no intent to give me any benefit of the doubt.

Another thing that burdened my mind at the moment was the sight of the same Burberry-coated man who kept turning up everywhere I looked. He’d just emerged from the restaurant, still in that nice raincoat, but in no way dressed to ride—not unless a suit and tie had become the order of the day. Just spectating, I guessed, but why anybody in his right mind would come out to watch a bunch of people he didn’t know ride off on motorcycles was a mystery to me.

Just then a familiar car turned into the lot and pulled up just beyond us. I poked Sam and pointed at Pastor Ledbetter, who climbed out and jerked his coattail down before striding off toward the registration desk. He didn’t speak to a soul, just scanned the crowd and found Emma Sue just as she was about to mount up behind Deputy Daly.

The pastor marched over to her, took her arm, and walked her back to his car. She didn’t look too happy about the treatment, but she stood listening to him. I don’t think he gave one thought to who else might be listening, as we certainly were, since they were hardly a stone’s throw from us. But then, he could hardly recognize us, for one helmet-covered head looked pretty much like another.

“Emma Sue,” the pastor started out, “get in the car. This is no place for you, and I’m taking you home.”

When I heard that, I nearly came out of the sidecar. Sam put his hand on my shoulder to hold me down. “It’s her decision, Julia,” he said.

Well, I knew that, but we couldn’t afford to have Emma Sue back out just because her husband thought riding a motorcycle would ruin her testimony. In fact, her testimony was at an all-time high, for almost every elder and deacon in the church had paid up to sponsor her, but only on the condition that their names not be made public. They knew the pastor’s view on the subject and didn’t want to cross him.

So I couldn’t do anything but sit there and wait for Emma Sue to decide whether to obey her husband or make a decision on her own for a change. All I could think of was that if she got in that car, we’d be seeing all those sponsorship dollars—plus Thurlow’s ten thousand—flying out the window.

Emma Sue squinched up her mouth, then blew out her breath. I knew it was her moment of truth, for she’d never bucked his authority in all their years together. I clenched my hands, waiting to see what she’d do. I think I even prayed that she’d work up a little gumption.

“I’m going to ride,” she said, and seemed to gain some backbone just by saying it.

“You are not,” he told her. I sucked in my breath when he reached in his car and pulled out his Bible. He leafed through it, then jabbed his finger at it. “You are told to submit yourself to my authority, which is given to me as the head of the household. Do you deny that, Emma Sue? Do you?”

“Not exactly,” she said, but I thought she was beginning to waver. Then she called upon some unsuspected strength. “I just don’t think it’s relevant in this situation.”

“Not relevant! What’s happened to you, Emma Sue?
Everything
in Scripture is relevant. See, already your mind’s been twisted from this association. Just look at yourself, Emma Sue. Here you are, parading around in tight pants and leather boots. What kind of witness do you think that is?”

Emma Sue glanced down at herself, taking in the corduroy pants she’d so proudly run up on her Bernini and the leather ankle boots that Hazel Marie had loaned her. I thought she was about to cry, and I wanted to give her some encouragement so bad I didn’t know what to do. But Sam’s hand was still on my shoulder.

Then she surprised me, and Pastor Ledbetter, too. She drew herself up tall, looked him in the eye, and said, “Oh, why don’t you just stuff it.” Then she swung around and marched back to Deputy Daly’s machine. I watched her climb on without even a glance at her dumbfounded husband. He crawled back into his car and sat with his head bowed. Praying for her, I expect. I hoped he’d manage a mention of me, as well.

“Did you hear all that, Sam?” I asked, so proud of Emma Sue that I wanted to run over and give her a hug. But she and Deputy Daly were roaring out of the parking lot.

“Sure did. Little Lloyd, take a lesson, son. Don’t ever tell a woman what she has to do.”

Sam looked down at me and smiled, and Little Lloyd said, “Yessir, I see what you mean.”

Sam made sure that the boy was ready, then he started the motor, letting it idle in a low rumble that I could feel more than hear. Wave after wave of riders roared out of the lot, heading west, so that there was a noticeable decrease in the number of people left. Most of those still milling around seemed to be spectators, neither being attired nor strutting around in the manner of your typical motorcyclist.

Mr. Pickens waved his hand, motioning to us, and Sam released the brakes of our machine. I heard Sam say, “About time we hit the road. We’re the last ones.”

As we moved over to the group we were riding with, Little Lloyd reached down and patted my helmet. I looked up at him, perched behind Sam, and we grinned at each other. At least I tried to. To keep his spirits up, you know. Lord, I hoped we were still able to smile by the time the afternoon was over.

As Sam moved us over to the group that we were to ride with, a black motorcycle with orange stripes zoomed into the parking lot at full speed. The black leather-clad rider brought the motorcycle to a careening stop, pivoting so that the back tire skidded around in a half-circle, kicking up gravel behind it. It was certainly a show-off’s entrance, aimed to catch everybody’s attention, which it did.

The driver dismounted, took off the helmet, and shook out a shock of orange hair. I gasped at the woman and her get-up—the stripes on her motorcycle and on her leather suit exactly matched the color of her hair. Halloween colors, but I doubted that she’d prove much of a treat.

And when I saw Mr. Pickens’s face and heard Little Lloyd draw in a breath, I knew I was right.

“Is that who I think it is, Little Lloyd?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s Tammi,” he said, looking around with a worried frown. “I wonder where Mama is.”

I wondered, too, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off that woman, nor could any man there. She was eye-catching—I’d give her that much—and she knew it. I could tell by the way she switched that head of hair around and by the way she swayed her hips as she walked over to Mr. Pickens.

She didn’t come to a stop until she was right next to him. If either one took a deep breath, they’d be rubbing more than shoulders. Then the little hussy cocked her face up at him and smiled. We couldn’t hear what she was saying, but any fool could understood what was happening. Tammi was talking and smiling, teasing him by running her hand over his chest, as he kept glancing up at the door of the restaurant. He should’ve backed off, but Tammi had him penned against his motorcycle.

Then of course Hazel Marie had to walk out of the restaurant, just at the most inopportune time. She took one look, turned on her heel, and slammed through the door on her way back inside. Mr. Pickens scooted sideways, jostling his motorcycle, and left Tammi in mid-sentence, so to speak. He ran into the restaurant after Hazel Marie.

“Uh-oh,” Little Lloyd said. “Mama might not ride now.”

“She better,” I said, ready to come out of the sidecar and go after her. “I’m not doing this by myself.”

“Stay here, Julia,” Sam said, in that easy way of his. “They’ll work it out.”

I settled back in, none too anxious to hike up my dress and crawl out, then crawl back in. And sure enough, Mr. Pickens came out with his arm around Hazel Marie, who looked too rigid to move without help. He walked her over to his motorcycle, his mouth going ninety miles an hour, using, I guessed, his usual sweet-talking methods. Hazel Marie wasn’t giving an inch, and she made that clear by glaring at Tammi as they passed. Tammi, in turn, just stood and watched them, a sly smile on her face. That woman was just asking for it, if you ask me.

Above the rumbling of the six motorcycles in our group—the last ones to leave—I could see Mr. Pickens’s mouth still working—talking, talking, talking at Hazel Marie. She wasn’t buying much of it, but she climbed into his passenger seat, crammed on her helmet, and folded her arms across her chest. She was determined not to touch him, I guess, in case he hadn’t noticed how furious she was.