Miss Julia Lays Down the Law (2 page)

Hearing Lillian bustling around in the kitchen, I hurried down to discuss the morning’s events with her. As soon as I pushed through the door from the dining room, she said, “Miss Binkie call you this mornin’ right after you left.”

Binkie Enloe Bates was my curly-haired attorney, one of the feistiest lawyers around—anyone who tangled with her came out of it beaten and bedraggled. Married now to Sheriff’s Sergeant Coleman Bates, she was the mother of little Gracie, which I kept hoping would serve to domesticate her to some extent.

“Oh, my,” I said, suddenly concerned about the state of my finances. Binkie, along with Sam, took care of both halves of Wesley Lloyd Springer’s estate that Lloyd and I shared, and every time she called I had visions of stock market crashes, lawsuits, bursting bubbles, and bankruptcies. “What did she want?”

“She don’t tell me. Jus’ say she gonna be in court most of the day, an’ she call back later.”

“Well,” I said, pulling out a chair at the table, “that makes one more thing to worry about. Not that I don’t have enough on my plate already. I declare, Lillian, some people don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

She turned, frowning at me. “You talkin’ ’bout Miss Binkie?”

“Goodness, no. Binkie has more sense than is good for her, but that’s just my opinion. Nothing would do but she had to keep that law practice going, leaving little Gracie to be raised by someone else, and working when Coleman is off, and being off when he’s working. I wish she’d put more of that good sense into her home and family.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Of course if she did, I’d be left high and dry, so I can’t wish it too hard.”

Just as Lillian was pouring coffee for the two of us, the phone rang. Hoping it was Binkie so I could stop worrying about my economic well-being, I hurried to answer it. It wasn’t, but it was a welcome call, nonetheless.

“Julia?” Mildred said, “I’m so mad I’m about to pop. Come over and have lunch with me. I need to vent.”

“I’ll be right there.” And, telling Lillian where I was going, I headed next door to Mildred’s large Federal house. I, too, was dealing with a head of steam. Something needed to be done about newcomers who, with nothing but compassion in their hearts for the unenlightened, condescended to instruct us on how everything had been done better in New York, Boston, New Jersey, and Switzerland, and how if we tried harder we might eventually become a beacon in the South to every well-heeled shopper, tourist, and developer looking for a place to spend their money. As if that were what we all longed for.

Mildred met me at the door—a sure indication of her state of mind, for generally her excellent housekeeper, Ida Lee, was the greeter.

“Get in here,” Mildred said, “and calm me down.” Easier said than done, because she immediately went on. “I have never in my life been so insulted in such an insidious way that I didn’t even realize it at the time. What was wrong with us, Julia? Nobody said a word. We just sat there and listened to her run us down, and not only us but the entire town.” She took my coat, threw it on a velvet bench in the foyer, and led me into the dining room.

“Tell me about it,” I said in agreement. “I’ve been in a state of shock ever since. I mean, no one has ever criticized a whole group of people
to their faces
like she did.” I took the chair that Mildred indicated at the table, and she took her own. Ida Lee had already prepared our lunch, and our filled plates were waiting—open-faced Reuben sandwiches and, as a nod toward Mildred’s ongoing diet, tossed salads on the side.

Mildred lifted her fork as a signal to me, took a quick bite, and said, “I was offended as soon as she opened her mouth. She started right in by assuming
we
were the culprits, and it was our fault that the town looks the way it does. Julia,” Mildred went on, waving her fork, “none of us is on the town council, and I don’t know anyone who
wants
to be. I resented every word that came out of that woman’s mouth, and I had a good mind to get up and walk out.” She chewed for a minute. “I wish I had.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I agreed. “But, Mildred, just what did she want us to do? It was such a mixture of criticism on the one hand and rah-rah enthusiasm on the other that I wasn’t sure whether she wanted us to hide our heads in shame or organize and take over the town.”

“It’s all so silly. Our main street is not Fifth Avenue and never will be. Does she not have any idea what it would take to make downtown into a—what did she call it?—a shoppers’ mecca or a bustling hive of activity? Where would people park, for one thing?”

“Yes, and how does she expect to get store owners to fall in with her plan? I mean, if she wants to give the street a face-lift—which I admit it could use—who’s going to pay for it?”

“Well,” Mildred said, pursing her mouth, “she was right about one thing. There’re an awful lot of closed and empty shops, but if she expects me to go into the retail business, she can keep expecting. I’m not interested.”

“Nor am I. But did you catch it when she said that with the pitiful state the town is in, it wouldn’t matter what kind of businesses we had as long as all the storefronts were alike and we had gas streetlamps?”

“I did!” Mildred let her fork fall to the plate. “Tattoo parlors, massage parlors, pool parlors—can you believe it!
Anything
that would draw people downtown. Well, what kind of people, I ask you!”

Ida Lee silently pushed open the door from the kitchen to see if we’d finished eating, then just as silently closed it. We were doing more talking than eating.

“What she should do,” I said, “is go over to Tennessee and take a look at some of those tourist towns. Every shop is filled with tacky stuff from Taiwan. And after you’ve bought one Smokey Mountain bear trinket made in Taiwan, who would want another one? And you know that area around the lake at the foot of the mountain—it caters to motorcycle gangs. Sam and I drove down there one Sunday afternoon last summer, and the roads were packed with swarms of motorcycles. And we couldn’t even find a place to eat for all the motorcycles in the parking lots. I won’t even mention the horrendous noise those things make.”

“Oh, I know,” Mildred said. “But it stands to reason that a town will draw the kind of people who want what that town has to offer. But what happens when
we
don’t want
them
?” Mildred carefully sliced a cherry tomato on her salad plate. Then she said, “Now, she did mention antique shops, which I might could agree to, but that was in the same breath as bars with dance floors. And, Julia, you know as well as I do that we have street dances every Friday night in the summer. That’s enough dancing as far as I’m concerned, and if you mix in liquor, you’ve got problems.”

“I know,” I said, sighing. “She didn’t seem to realize it, but her big ideas couldn’t possibly be implemented in a town this size. How in the world could we ever compete with Zurich or Bern or even Gatlinburg, for that matter? Fountains with sprays of water, marble statues, copper flower boxes, and riverboats in the middle of town—how do we do that? Divert Mud Creek so it’ll flow through Main Street? It all sounded too grandiose and, frankly, too expensive. I know of only one small town that was completely made over like she was talking about, but it took a Rockefeller to do it. And all we have is a town council that goes into shock at the mention of more trash receptacles.”

“Well, that’s where we come in, according to Connie. Remember, she said with our combined assets, we could turn this town upside down.” Mildred contemplated her plate, then looked up. “I guess that means we should open our pocketbooks. And she said we should organize, put a combined force before the town fathers, and demand they do something to rehabilitate the town. She forgets, or doesn’t know, that most of us are past the idealistic age. And the fantasy age, too. But did you catch that about how we should ensure that the town is in harmony with the universe? How’re we supposed to do that?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t even know that the universe carried a tune. I don’t keep up with musical groups, anyway.”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to ease my rising temper at the memory of Connie Clayborn’s scathing critique of our town and, even worse, of us. “I tell you the truth, Mildred, I’m at the age where I feel I’ve done my part. I’ve been to more committee meetings over the years than I can count, and I’m tired. If it wasn’t community work, it was church work, and nobody was ever satisfied. They always wanted more—more volunteers, more money, more of your time, more, more, more.

“But,” I went on, getting more exercised as I went, “what got to me most was when she scolded us for not using our gifts effectively for the benefit of others. Gifts, ha! What she meant was our time and money, without knowing one thing about what we do or don’t do. She called us lazy, self-serving, and burdened with too much leisure.”

“Yes,” Mildred said, “and I plead guilty to all three. What I do with my
gifts
is my business and not hers.”

“Amen to that. And she kept saying that it was our responsibility to
give back
. Give back to whom, I ask you! The only person I could give
back
to is Wesley Lloyd Springer and he’s dead. What she meant was simply
give,
not give back.”

“You said it, Julia. Just because I don’t volunteer for whatever somebody dreams up doesn’t mean I’m not contributing in my own way. And contributing
heavily
.”

“Actually,” I said, “I’ve done it all and more in my day. Well, I was never a runner, but nobody else was, either. But there was a time when I volunteered for everything that came along. I worked for the Literacy Council for years. I helped with Vacation Bible School, taught Sunday school classes to kindergartners, brought covered dishes to Wednesday night suppers, collected used clothing for those without and bought new clothes and toys for Christmas, donated to every project that helped children, gave to every fund-raising group that rang my doorbell or sent me a pledge card. And to tell the truth, I’ve had enough of it.”

“It never stopped, did it?” Mildred said, recalling the activities of our younger days. “And now she wants us to take on the town council! Why, Julia, can you imagine what that group of men would do if we showed up and started demanding copper flower boxes? I’ve got better things to do than cause strokes and heart attacks.”

“Well, speaking of better things to do,” I said, “you are going to Sue Hargrove’s tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes, although my fingers are still sore from last week. I’m not much of a seamstress, but I do enjoy that group, and the ornaments we’re making are just lovely. Of course my snowman has bloodstains on it from sticking myself so much. But why don’t I pick you up and we’ll go together?”

“That’ll be fine,” I agreed. “I enjoy that group, too, although I expect Connie will be the number one topic. We’d better remind them that the Christmas sale is only a few weeks off, and we have to do more sewing than talking.” I took my last bite of salad, thinking of the only fund-raiser I was presently involved with. Every year a compatible group of women—usually the same ones—got together throughout the fall to make felt Christmas ornaments which we then decorated with seed pearls, sequins, and whatever else we could sew or glue on. Some were quite attractive, while others only the makers could love. Yet we sold out every year at the County Christmas Sale because we always chose a widely favored cause to receive the proceeds.

After a brief period of silence in which I had pleasant thoughts of Christmas, images of Connie intruded again. “You know, there was a time when, if you didn’t have a nine-to-five job, you were expected to be a full-time volunteer. And we both just about were. So it makes me doubly irate to hear Connie belittle and berate us. There she was, coming in here from up north or Switzerland or wherever, criticizing us when she knows absolutely nothing about us!” At the thought of it, I wanted to grind my teeth. “I’d like to give something back to
her
!”

“That’s the thing, Julia,” Mildred agreed. “She thinks she
does
know us. In fact, it was her holier-than-thou, know-it-all attitude that got to me the worst. And if somebody has invited her to the sewing group, I’m turning around and leaving. I’d like to snatch that woman bald-headed, and I just might do it if she starts in on us again.”

“You and me both,” I agreed, but what neither of us had touched on was the awful mortification that I had personally suffered throughout Connie’s tirade. Mildred was too careful of my feelings to bring it up, and my feelings were still too tender for me to say anything. But I still burned with resentment, and appreciated the fact that Mildred was letting me know whose side she was on.

I’d barely stepped into my house after my lunch with Mildred when the telephone rang. Hoping it was Binkie, I hurried into the library to answer it, waving to Lillian as I passed. She was scrounging around in the pantry, mumbling about being sure she had another sack of flour somewhere.

As I picked up the phone and almost before the word
hello
was out of my mouth, Emma Sue Ledbetter started talking, and kept talking, hardly taking a breath.

“Julia, I’m so upset. I know I’m the worst of all Christians and I try to do better, I really do. I get up every morning and ask the Lord to lead and guide me, to show me what He wants, to prevent me from doing or saying anything that will hurt my witness, and, you know, to just be with me all day long. I try to watch what I say and what I do, knowing that He has His eye on the sparrow, and other people do, too. Because, as a minister’s wife, I’m under special scrutiny, to say nothing of the fact that our Father in heaven sees us as we really are, and . . . and . . . I just don’t know what else I can do.” Emma Sue began to cry, sobbing piteously over the phone.

“Oh, Emma Sue, please don’t cry,” I said, uneasy, as always, when she lost control of her emotions. “Listen. Emma Sue, listen a minute. Has something happened? Or are you talking about what happened at Connie Clayborn’s this morning?”

“Ye-es,” she sobbed. “It just seemed so unfair, because I’m doing the best I can. I go from morning till night every day of my life, except when I have a migraine and can’t get out of bed. Oh, Julia, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Not another thing, Emma Sue,” I said emphatically. “You already put everybody in the Presbyterian church to shame, and frankly a lot of us wish you’d slow down a little. You drive yourself too hard and take on everybody’s problems. It’s time you took care of yourself for a change.”

“Oh, I do,” Emma Sue said, sniffing. “It’s just that so many need so much, and I do so little. . . .” And the crying began again. “In fact,” she said as the breath caught in her throat, “I’ve been thinking I should give up working in the city park because I enjoy it so much. I could deliver more Meals on Wheels if I did. But now my heart’s just not in anything.”

“Emma Sue,” I said, almost losing patience, “stop running yourself down. I’m telling you that you don’t need to do another thing. Forget Connie Clayborn. And stop worrying about that park. It doesn’t need weeding in the wintertime. Mildred and I have already decided that Connie doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And she has some nerve excoriating us like she did!”

“But, Julia, she’s so intelligent. And she’s been all over the world, and she’s educated, and, and she’s, well, I guess she can’t help but compare us to other places she’s seen. And I know we fall short, especially
me
.”

“For goodness sakes, Emma Sue! She thinks she knows it all, but actually she’s as ignorant as a post. Just because she’s traveled farther than Edneyville doesn’t give her any special knowledge about us or what we do—or should do. You can’t let her get to you like this. And I’ll tell you another thing, I don’t think she’s so intelligent, because no intelligent person would have done what she did this morning. And I think she’d better watch her step before she really offends somebody. She might get taken down a notch or two.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Emma Sue said. “I think it behooves us to at least listen to criticism and use it to examine ourselves for flaws and ways to improve.”

“I’ve already done that, and I passed with flying colors. And so have you. There is no room for improvement as far as what you do for others. In fact, there’s no room for you to do anything else, period. You don’t have time for it. You’re an example to us all.” I said that to make her feel better, but the truth of it was that she made me tired. She was always so busy doing good—often for people who wished she’d leave them alone—that her days were filled with frenzied activity until a migraine struck her down.

“Well,” she finally conceded, “I guess I’ll just have to pray about it. But, Julia, it really hurt when she called the city park an eyesore, and laughed—
laughed
—at our idea of what a park should look like.” Emma Sue had to stop as a sobbing fit overtook her. “I know I’m not a landscaper or a horticulturist, but I try so hard. And what she said was like a knife to my heart, because you know it was my design the garden club used.”

“I understand, Emma Sue,” I said, trying to be of comfort, because I did understand—it had hurt me, too. Of all the crushing things Connie had said, her harangue about the city park had been the worst. A few years back, after the town had demolished the old courthouse and built a new one some blocks away, a developer had wanted to construct a high-rise condominium building on the Main Street site. That hadn’t worked out so well since the town had an ordinance against high-rises, and nobody could afford his condominiums anyway. I won’t go into all the problems we had with that, so suffice it to say that we were left with a huge empty lot, excepting the rubble from the destruction of the old courthouse and a tin replica of Lady Justice salvaged from the top of the dome. That’s when the garden club headed by Emma Sue had taken over. The site was now a lovely garden spot, with Lady Justice taking pride of place in the middle of the park in the middle of town.

And it had all been Emma Sue’s doing, with a few checks and suggestions from me, because Emma Sue had won the park design contest, and had since been the leading force in the care of the plantings, the paths, the gazebo, and the benches for weary shoppers. That park was the only thing I could think of that Emma Sue did that wasn’t first and foremost what one would think of as a purely church-related activity. I thought it was good for her.

“Emma Sue,” I said, sharply enough to get her attention, “listen, that park is a jewel. People use it and enjoy it, and it’s all because of you. If Connie doesn’t like it, she doesn’t have to. A lot of other people do.”

“Well, but, Julia, she said our Lady Justice is t-t-tacky and ought to be scrapped.” And Emma Sue dissolved into tears again. “And everything else, too. And did you hear what she said about spring bulbs? She said they ought to be outlawed because the foliage is so unsightly after they bloom. And I just bought two hundred tulip bulbs to plant along the paths—thanks to your generosity, Julia—and now I don’t know what to do with them.”

“You’re going to plant every one of them and enjoy them when they bloom. The park will be beautiful when the tulips and the pear trees are in bloom, and everybody will thank you.”

“Well,” Emma Sue said, sniffing, “well, I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter what I do, since Connie thinks it’s already so awful. And maybe she’s the Lord’s way of telling me there are more important things He wants me to do. There’re so many lost and needy people in the world, and I’ve been frittering away my time on weeding and planting and raking and deadheading and first one thing after another, and ignoring my true calling.”

“Listen, Emma Sue, think of this. Who was it that gave us flowers and trees and grass? Who gave us gardens, for goodness sakes—think of where Adam and Eve lived! And what were they given to do? Tend the garden, that’s what! So it doesn’t matter what Connie thinks. You can’t let her get to you like this. You are doing the Lord’s work every time you put a bulb, annual, or perennial in the ground. And you’ve put in a lot of them.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Emma Sue stopped and blew her nose. “Maybe Larry could speak to this in one of his sermons.”

I rolled my eyes, but said, “That’s a good idea. But, Emma Sue, don’t let what Connie said bother you for another minute. She doesn’t know it yet, but she has stirred up a hornet’s nest. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets stung pretty badly one of these days.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

“It’s just a saying,” I said tiredly, because Emma Sue was always so literal. “But it’s been my experience that when someone goes out of their way to antagonize people, what’s said has a tendency to come back and bite that someone. And in the case of Connie, I’m looking forward to having that happen.”

“Oh, no, Julia, we must pray for our enemies, not wish them harm.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call her an enemy, Emma Sue. It’s just that after this morning, I don’t care for her company, and I intend to avoid her from now on.”

And that started Emma Sue off on our Christian duty to love the unlovely, feed the hungry, visit the sick, and so on. By the time I got off the phone, I felt as if the whole day had been given over to my personal failures and horrendous shortcomings.

 • • • 

I stood for a minute holding the phone after Emma Sue had said good-bye, giving some of Connie’s comments serious thought. I hadn’t mentioned it to Mildred and had barely touched on it to Emma Sue, but I was not only hurt but also
incensed
by the cavalier way Connie had dismissed the park as an amateurish attempt at beautifying the town. She’d sneered at Lady Justice, unaware that I, along with Etta Mae Wiggins and Poochie Dunn, had risked life and limb to rescue her. Connie had also told us it was time to put aside old antagonisms by removing and discarding the marble marker to the Confederate war dead. Why, what a travesty that would be! And a slap in the face to all the old families in the county whose names were inscribed on it.

And if Connie thought that marker indicated leftover antagonism toward Northern invaders, she had done nothing to lessen it. In fact, for my money, she and her ilk were worse than the original invaders, but we’d all been too polite and
sensitive
to her feelings
to have put a stop to the enumeration of our deficiencies.

So I didn’t know if my sudden sinking feelings were because I’d not stood up for myself and our town—which I had been too stunned to do—or if they were a result of my having been made aware of my failures.

I wished Sam would get home so I could count my blessings, starting with him.