Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (28 page)

That evening at the dinner table, there were only Sam, Lloyd, Etta Mae and myself. Hazel Marie had called earlier in the afternoon and, as I had expected, said they would stay at the Grove Park Inn until Sunday. I didn’t blame them. Why come home on a Friday when you could have the weekend for another massage or two?

Etta Mae was noticeably subdued and anxious now that she’d committed herself to staying with us to look after a patient who was off gallivanting around. She’d had time to think about Lillian’s claim that I needed looking after, and she wasn’t buying it. At least not totally.

When she’d come in that afternoon and gotten her bag unpacked in the sunroom, she’d tried to fulfill her duties by suggesting I lie down and take a nap.

“You need to rest, Miss Julia,” she’d said. “You’re probably just run down and a little anemic. I’ll ask Lillian if she’ll fi x you some calf ’s liver for supper.”

“Don’t you dare,” I told her. “I don’t need a special diet, and certainly not calf’s liver. Look, Etta Mae, there’s nothing wrong with me except that I have these little spells now and then. So when I have one, you can jump in and prescribe all you want to.” I was walking one of those fine lines again, juggling Etta Mae’s need for a justifiable salary, Lillian’s claim that I was puny, Sam’s expectation that I’d be going to an enriching session or to a doctor and my determination not to do either one without telling him why.

Lillian had just come in to clear the table before serving dessert, and Etta Mae slid out of her chair to help her.

“I’ll do it,” Lloyd said, jumping up with his own plate in hand. “You sit down, Etta Mae. Miss Julia doesn’t want guests to do anything.”

“Well,” Etta Mae said, hesitating, “I don’t mind helping. I could scrape the plates and stack them. Wash ’em, too, if Miss Lillian wants me to.”

“Both of you set back down,” Lillian commanded. “I don’t need no help, nor want it neither. You jus’ get in my way, though I thank you for the offer.”

They sat, with Lloyd grinning and Etta Mae looking chastened for committing what might have been a social blunder.

“Don’t worry, Etta Mae,” Lloyd said, leaning toward her and cutting his teasing eyes at Lillian. “She’ll put us to work sooner or later. She’ll work our fingers to the bone.”

Lillian laughed as she picked up Sam’s plate. “I see them bony fingers where you been workin’.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, smiling at the byplay. Then he sobered somewhat and said, “While we’re all here, I have something to say and I want you all to listen good.” He turned a serious look in my direction, then glanced at the others. “As you know, Julia wasn’t well earlier this week, and ever since she’s been having these little episodes. I’m worried about her, and I want us all to keep an eye on her.”

“Sam—” I started but stopped as he held up his hand.

“That’s why I’m here,” Etta Mae said, looking a little sprightlier as an immediate need for her services was confirmed. “Lillian’s worried about her, too. I’ll watch her, Mr. Sam, and keep on doing it even when Hazel Marie gets home.”

“Good,” Sam said, laying his hand on my mine and looking me in the eye. “Now, Julia, you keep putting off seeing the doctor, but that has to stop. I’m making an appointment for you the first of the week. But the next little twinge you have, you are going right then. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, and I have to take you to the emergency room. We are going to find out what’s wrong.” He squeezed my hand, then looked around at the others. “I’m putting you all on notice. Keep your eye on her, and let me know anything that happens.”

They all nodded, their faces sober and serious, taking to heart everything he’d said—even Lillian, who was the one who’d started it in the first place.

Then Lillian had the nerve to glare at me as if she’d had nothing to do with worrying him to death. “You hear what he sayin’, don’t you?”

I was the one who nodded this time, for what could I say? Either I was sick or I wasn’t. If I wasn’t, I’d be going to Dr. Fowler’s class, and if I was, I’d be going to Dr. Hargrove’s office. One would immediately recognize me as the woman on the green velvet love seat, and the other would have me on an examining table without a stitch of clothes on.

Saturday morning, and another beautiful fall day as the sun turned the yellow leaves of the trees to gold. If I’d been into walking, I’d have gotten’ out and enjoyed it. That’s what Etta Mae was doing, only running instead of walking. But before she’d left on her run, she’d insisted that I sit still to have my vital signs checked.

“We’re going to do this every morning and evening,” she said as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “And I’ll keep a record of it so we can chart your progress. Your doctor will be able to see, for instance, if your temp goes up in the afternoon. That could be the case, you know.”

Then she’d gotten bossy enough to tell Lillian what I should eat and shouldn’t eat. And to add insult to injury, she’d asked me questions about my constitutionals. And wrote it all down! It was a great relief to see her put on her running shoes and leave the house.

So, while hoping that Hazel Marie would soon be home and divert Etta Mae’s attention from me, I sat with Lillian at the kitchen table and talked with her. She’d come in for a little while, even though it was a Saturday and I’d told her she didn’t need to.

“I got to change them sheets on Miz Pickens’s bed,” Lillian said, “then I go on back home.”

“Why, Lillian, you just changed them when they left, and nobody’s been in the bed since.”

“Yes’m, but that bed been layin’ there gettin’ all musty smellin’. If they comin’ home tomorrow, they need clean sheets. ’Sides, Latisha wanted to come see Lloyd, an’ it easier to come to work than play playhouse with her all day.”

I laughed. “Well, she’s well entertained now, with Sam taking both of them to the boat show. I just hope they don’t come home with one of those noisy motorboats.”

“No’m, Mr. Sam won’t do that. Maybe one of them trollin’ boats, though, for when he fish.”

“It’s a good thing he kept his house, then. He can just park it over there. I declare, Lillian, what with my car and Sam’s car and Hazel Marie’s and yours, and now Etta Mae’s, where’re we going to put Mr. Pickens’s?”

She’d gotten up to head for Hazel Marie’s bedroom, but on her way out of the kitchen, she turned around. “I hate to say this, but I ’spect we don’t have to worry much about that. Mr. Pickens liable to be gone most of the time on one of his ’vestigatin’ jobs. An’ Miss Hazel Marie not gonna be too happy ’bout that.”

“I know, and it worries me, too. Still, the man has to make a living. Just think of all the mouths he’ll have to feed.”

She laughed and went on to the linen closet to select the sheets she wanted. And just as the door swung to behind her, the telephone rang.

“Julia? Is that you?” Emma Sue Ledbetter asked, as if she’d expected somebody else to answer.

“Yes, Emma Sue. How are you?”

“Much, much better, I’m happy to say. I just had to tell you that I’ve done what we agreed had to be done.”

My heart lifted. “You got rid of Dr. Fowler.”

“I certainly did. When I told Larry what that man talked about at Mildred’s the other night, he was just as outraged as you and I were. See, Larry thought he was going to teach that passage in Ephesians—you know, the one about the husband being the head of the household and the wife being submissive to him. He didn’t know Dr. Fowler was going to get into the
specifi cs
of submission. So he agreed that such things shouldn’t be discussed in a church setting. Anyway,” Emma Sue said, after stopping to take a breath, “he prayed and prayed about it, because there’re lots and lots of couples in our church who need to hear these things. I tell you, Julia, you wouldn’t believe who they are, but, of course, Larry doesn’t confide in me—pastoral confidentiality and all that. But I’m not dense. When somebody keeps calling him here at home at all hours of the night, crying and sobbing, needing to talk to him, well, I can put two and two together. And Julia, the two biggest problems in any marriage are money and, well, you-know-what.” Emma Sue couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“In-laws?” I asked innocently.

“No, Julia, not in-laws and not children, either. Dr. Fowler’s subject, the thing we’ve been talking about. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“No,” I said, almost laughing. “I was just teasing you.”

But Emma Sue didn’t take too well to teasing, so she ignored me.

“Anyway,” she said with a patient sigh, “there’s so much about it on television and in the movies these days. I mean, it’s just glamorized and glorified everywhere, and Larry says that modern couples have this idea that everybody knows more about it than they do, so they’re eager to hear what they’re missing out on, which is exactly what these sessions supply. So Larry and I are of one mind. In spite of Dr. Fowler’s subject matter and the graphic way he teaches it—Julia, you ought to see his books—we think there’re plenty of people who need to hear it, and hear it from a Christ-centered point of view. Just not in the church.”

“How’re you going to manage that?”

“Why, they’re just going to meet somewhere else. Larry’s decided to ask Mildred if she’ll let them meet at her house every Monday evening. She has that huge drawing room, you know, and Larry thinks with the spurt of interest that’s come about, we’ll fill it up.”

“Well, that seems a good solution, and Mildred is known for opening her home for worthy causes.” Actually, which I didn’t mention, that solution could work out well for me. Sam might not feel as obligated to go, because the classes would no longer be under the auspices of the church.

“But I tell you, Emma Sue,” I went on, “I was hoping we’d seen the last of Dr. Fowler. He just doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

“To me, either, but I admit that he has some fascinating things to say, I mean, to read, because I’m not going to those meetings, regardless of where they have them. I told Larry that it wouldn’t do to have everybody in the church wondering about the state of our marriage, and I’d just study those books and follow the instructions. I figure that I can stoke the marital embers just as well as somebody who hears it in person.”

“I wish I had your excuse,” I said, thinking for the first time ever that there might be some benefits in being a minister’s wife. “Sam never worries about what people think of him. He’d just laugh if anybody wondered about our marriage and say it was none of their business.”

“Well, we can’t do that. There are twelve hundred church members who make everything we do their business.”

“I know, Emma Sue, and it’s a shame. I don’t know how you stand it sometimes.”

“I just try to do the Lord’s work, Julia. That’s the only thing that gets me through. And speaking of the Lord’s work, do you know where Francie Pitts lives?”

“Francie? Why, yes, she lives on Woodchuck Lane out at Mountain Villas—number eight, I think. Why? Are you going to visit her?”

“I thought I would. She’s had a hard time, I understand, and she was a member of our church at one time. After losing so many husbands and getting attacked the way she did, she may be ready to return to the fold. Monday’s my day to visit new-comers anyway, so I thought I’d drop by. Of course, she’s not exactly new, and she hasn’t exactly come to church recently, but she’s just gotten out of the hospital, so I think she qualifies for a visit.”

“I expect she does,” I said, but hesitated as I wondered how to warn Emma Sue about Francie’s propensity to cast blame where none should be, namely, at Etta Mae Wiggins. “But let me caution you, Emma Sue. Francie may still be suffering the ill effects of that attack. I know for a fact that she’s thrown around some wild accusations that the evidence does not bear out. So be careful about believing everything she says.”

“Oh?” Emma Sue’s interest perked up. “What’s she saying?”

“It doesn’t bear repeating, although you’ll probably hear it. Just take whatever she says with a grain of salt.”

“You know I will, Julia. We must all properly discern the word of truth. And since I do pastoral work, too, I take confidentiality seriously. Well,” she said in a wrapping-it-up tone, “I must get busy and get some things done. Oh, and Julia, I’m going to look through Dr. Fowler’s books one more time, then I’ll pass them on to you. But I want them back. I might need them for future reference.”

“Has the pastor read them?”

“Well, he sorta skimmed them until he got to the illustrations, which is when he decided they weren’t appropriate for the church.” Emma Sue paused, then went on. “Julia, if you’ll take it in the right way, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

“I’ll do whatever I can, except visit Francie with you. What is it?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s, well, I hope you won’t be offended, but I wish you’d stop referring to Larry as the pastor and calling him Pastor Ledbetter.”