Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind (27 page)

SPENDING HIS MONEY
and enjoying it is mostly what we’ve been doing for some time now. Lillian still comes by the day, and Binkie’s in and out, although Deputy Bates spends a lot of time at her place. They ought to be thinking about making it legal, and I aim to tell them so if they don’t soon come to it themselves.

We haven’t heard from Brother Vern, but he’s still feeding the flame on television. I sent him twenty dollars a few weeks ago, and got back a book he’d written about the end of the world. I couldn’t fathom it, since it was all about the Book of Daniel and Russia and Revelation and blowing hot and cold.

Pastor Ledbetter doesn’t visit much. His time’s mostly taken up with his retirement-home ministry now, and he’s over there most days ministering to the sick, the demented, and the dying, none of which applies to me. He’s very solicitous of me, though, greeting me mournfully each and every Sunday, like he understands how hard I’m having it. He’s still leery of Hazel Marie, as she is of him. Or rather of the Presbyterian way of worshiping. She’s not used to our sedate ways, but she goes with me and holds her head up high.

LuAnne Conover still can’t get over our living arrangements. She told me that she could never bring herself to be friends with a woman Leonard took up with. I thought to myself it was unlikely that any woman would ever take up with Leonard, but I didn’t say anything. She’s visiting a little more now since Hazel Marie showed her how to backcomb her hair.

I’ve adjusted to living with a house full of people better than you might think. I moved my bedroom downstairs to what used
to be Wesley Lloyd’s study, and gave what used to be our bedroom to Hazel Marie. I threw out the bed I’d shared with him, and bought new ones for her and for myself. I’m cutting off as many untoward associations as I can.

This house is big enough to have privacy when we want it, and when Deputy Bates moves on we’ll fix up that area as a sitting room for Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd. With the back staircase, she can entertain privately if she wants to. So far, she’s shown no inclination toward entertaining anyone, in spite of one or two widowers in the church casting their eyes in her direction. I think she’s like me, once burned, twice shy—especially since it was a man like Wesley Lloyd Springer doing the burning.

But for now, she’s good company to me, and I’m learning a lot from her. She’s going to do my colors as soon as the scarves come.

Sam is Sam, and I like him that way, which is all I’m going to say on that subject.

On second thought, I might as well say one more thing. Sam asked me not long ago if there was anything I wanted to tell him.

“Like what?” I asked, wondering if he’d guessed or heard something about my awful secret. I thought I had my problem pretty much under control, if I had a problem at all, since with all the men I’d been around recently, not one had created any inner disturbances.

Well, to be honest, I’d felt the condition stir around a little whenever Sam smiled at me.

“Ledbetter kept hinting that something was wrong with you. Are you sick, Julia?” He put both hands on my arms and said, “If anything’s wrong, I want to know about it.”

I shook my head, feeling the tears well up at his concern. “No, you don’t,” I whispered. “It’s too awful.”

“Tell me. And let me help you with it.”

“It’s incurable, Sam, at least that’s what the pastor said.” All the secrets and shame that I’d locked up inside seemed to rush out on his shoulder as I leaned against him. “He said it’s a sin I have to guard against all the time, and I don’t know whether he was right about it or not. And, Sam, I’m so tired of praying about it, I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t imagine you having a sin that bad, sweetheart.” He put his arms around me and pulled me close, not realizing what danger he might be in.

“You better turn me loose, Sam,” I said, unable to leave him under my own steam. “Pastor Ledbetter and Dr. Fowler said I’m suffering from”—I lowered my voice, hardly daring to say the word but wanting to protect Sam from the consequences—“
nymphomania
.”

“Wha-at?” He started laughing and he laughed so hard, I tried to pull away from him so I could run hide in a dark corner somewhere. “Oh, Julia, why didn’t you tell me you were suffering from this condition?” He ran a finger down the side of my face and said, “Don’t you know I’ve got the cure for that?”

And he does, and that’s really all I’m going to say on the subject.

The rest of us have been getting along fine together, too. Little Lloyd has filled out some and he’s taken on more of his mother’s looks and, Lillian tells me, some of my ways. Which will undoubtedly be of help to him in the future. Sam opened a small checking account for him, and I’m teaching him to write checks and reconcile his bank statement. I must say, he’s taken to it right smartly and does it well. You’re never too young to learn to handle your money. Or too old, either, as I’m living proof of.

I’ve learned a lot through all these ups and downs, and the greatest of these is not to live a lie. Wesley Lloyd did, and look what it got him: a heart attack brought on by the stress of it and
two women who hardly ever give him a thought. I was tempted to live a lie, almost did it, and look what not doing it got me: a real, though unrelated, family and a conscience that’s as clear as a bell. I declare, that’s worth half of Wesley Lloyd’s estate any day of the week.

M
Y THANKS TO
all the Wordwrights, but especially to Elizabeth, Katie, Susan, Sally, and our fearless leader, Ted; to Boyd B. Massagee, Jr., Charles Waters, and Sharon Alexander, attorneys-at-law, all of whom proffered advice not always taken (so don’t blame them); to Marion for his forbearance; and to Marian, Claudia, and John for never failing in their encouragement and support. My thanks also to the friend whose name I confiscated and, most especially, to Jennifer Robinson, Delin Cormeny, and Katharine Cluverius.