Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel (26 page)

After getting Poppy off, Hazel Marie dragged herself up the stairs to bed, leaving Granny and me to ourselves. I was ready to go home, but decided I should take lunch to James before leaving.

Putting on my coat, I said, “Mrs. Wiggins, there’s no need for you to go out in this weather again. I’ll take a couple of sandwiches to James on my way home, if you don’t mind fixing something for yourself.”

“Don’t mind at all. I’ll do it just as soon as I get some wax on this dining room table. It could stand a good polishin’. But,” she went on, “you don’t need to fix him anything. I took a whole mess of biscuits and country ham up to him yesterday. All he has to do is heat ’em up in the oven, an’ he can do that left-handed or he can eat ’em cold.”

“How thoughtful of you. I know he’d like that better than anything I could fix. I’ll run up and be sure he’s all right anyway. And Mrs. Wiggins,” I said, “call me if the babies get sicker or if Hazel Marie needs anything.”

I ran across the backyard and up the stairs to James’s apartment, making as much noise as I could so I wouldn’t startle him. It was Halloween, after all.

A man with defeat all over his face opened the door before I could tap on it. “Come on in, Miss Julia,” James said. “I ain’t feelin’ much like comp’ny, but I ’preciate you droppin’ by.”

“I wanted to see how you were doing, James. Lloyd tells me that things haven’t worked out as you hoped, and I want you to know how sorry I am.”

Limping more noticeably than he had the last time I’d visited, James offered me his easy chair. Then, taking a straight chair from the table, he mournfully said, “That’s real nice of you, Miss Julia, but you might as well say ‘I tol’ you so,’ too.”

“Not for the world, James.” I started to add that I was sorry he’d been taken for a ride, then, thinking better of that, started to switch to being sorry that he’d lost all his savings, then switched again to being sorry he’d been so foolish—none of which was suitably sympathetic. So I settled for: “I am truly sorry for all you’ve been through. It might be helpful if you considered asking Mr. Pickens for a raise when you’re able to go back to work.”

He lifted his head. “You think I could?”

“I don’t see why not. Call it extra pay for hazardous duty, maybe, or the cost of living upstairs.” I had a tingle of pleasure in putting Mr. Pickens on the spot for a raise. If increasing James’s salary made for more investigative work, maybe it would keep him out of parking lots.

“Lemme write that down.” James got a pencil and paper, sat back down, and looked up expectantly. “Say that again, Miss Julia, so I can get it right.”

So I did, then added, “And I don’t mind if you tell Mr. Pickens that I suggested it.” Reaching into my pocketbook for a notepad and pen, I went on. “Now, James, I know you’re upset over the loss you’ve suffered and probably find it hard to think of anything else. But I wonder if you could see your way to sharing a recipe for the book I’m making for Hazel Marie.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding, but with a lack of the enthusiasm I had expected. “I guess I can just about manage that. But I can’t do no cookin’.”

“Oh, I realize that. Later on you’ll be able to show her how to make whatever you give me. We won’t worry about a demonstration now, but, James, there has to be at least one recipe from you. The book wouldn’t have the same value to her if you were left out.”

He managed a weak smile at that, then seemed to think better of it. “You right, Miss Julia. If I don’t put one in, she might think my cookin’ not worth bein’ in it.”

“She would never think that, nor would I. You’re an excellent cook, James, and I am so thankful that she—well, that the whole family—has you cooking for them.”

He shook his head. “I ain’t no good for ’em now, though, all broke up and cripplin’ around. No use thinkin’ ’bout no raise. I ’spect they fire me soon enough.”

Lloyd had been right—James was certainly down on himself, deeply disappointed that his jackpot hadn’t come through and probably scared because his savings were gone. It was up to me to encourage him and lift his spirits, so I set out to do just that.

“Fire you! I’d like to see them try. Why, James, you’ve been looking after Sam’s house and doing his cooking for I don’t know how long. Do you really think they’d fire you, knowing how much he thinks of you?”

“No’m, maybe not. But Miss Hazel Marie got that Miss Granny now, an’ she cleanin’ house like nobody’s business, an’ first thing you know, she gonna be in my kitchen, too. No’m, Miss Julia, I already give outta steam an’ might as well move on, which I aim to do soon as this cask is off.”

“James! You can’t do that. What would we do without you? You’ve got to stop thinking that way and look on the bright side. You’ve almost recovered from your fall and Lloyd is going to help you replenish your bank account. You can’t just give up.”

“Might as well,” he said, mournfully. “I knowed bad luck was comin’ down on me soon as I saw that witch.”

“What witch?”

“That witch that showed up at my door. I tol’ Lloyd I thought it was something else, so he wouldn’t be afraid. But I know a witch when I see a witch, an’ I knowed it was a sign that bad times was comin’. I jus’ hoped I’d get my jackpot before they got here. But it never come, an’ here I am all stove up an’ ’bout to get fired.”

Well, they Lord, I thought, sprawling back in the easy chair. I never thought that I would be an omen of bad luck or evil times or anything of the like. I so wanted to tell James that he’d lost the jackpot because he’d been foolish enough to trust the wrong people and that he’d fallen down the stairs because he’d been clumsy. But I could do neither. He felt bad enough without my laying it on any thicker.

So there was nothing to do but tell him the truth, and the truth was that the witch had been neither the bearer of bad news nor the sign of worse to come. But, Lord, I hated to do it.

“James,” I said, gathering my courage, “listen to me. That witch had no meaning at all. It wasn’t even a witch—it was me, and I hope to goodness that I’m not an evil omen.”

He lifted his eyes and stared at me. “What you mean?”

“I mean that I saw Lloyd slip out of the house on a dark and stormy night and I followed him because I was concerned for his safety. I came up those steps out yonder to see if he—and you—were all right, and he opened the door just as I got to the head of the stairs. He didn’t recognize me because I’d been ravaged by the wind and we scared each other to death. So,” I said, hoping I’d put his fears to rest even as I’d just given up my own dignity, “I hope that will reassure you about witches in general.”

“That was you?” James was still staring at me.

“It was and, believe me, it taught me a lesson about running around in the middle of the night in a windstorm.”

He leaned back in apparent relief. “Then they ain’t no more bad luck comin’?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Although you know that we all have our ups and downs. Nobody’s immune. So you need to think more positively, and you can start by giving me a recipe so I can get this cookbook done.”

“Yes, ma’am, I can do that.” James had a brighter look on his face now that I’d laid his witch worries to rest. “But I don’t have no recipe, jus’ some d’rections, but I know Miss Hazel Marie like ’em both ’cause she told me so.”

“That’s just the kind I want,” I said and prepared to take down directions.

“Well, both of ’em has to do with dippin’, so they easy to do. Here’s what you need for the first one.” I wrote it down exactly as he dictated it.

“First, you take a package of plain ole brown-and-serve rolls an’ ’bout a half a stick of butter, melted real good.

“Then you mix 2 tablespoons of grated orange peel with 1 cup of sugar in a little bowl, and add jus’ enough orange juice to wet your sugar.

“Put your melted butter in a little bowl an’ take an’ dip the top of each roll in the butter, then you turn that top ’round and ’round in the sugar mixture till you get a lot on it. Then you put all the rolls on a buttered cookie sheet, so they won’t stick, and bake ’em the way you us’ ally do, an’ that’s it. Count two rolls for ev’ry one person eatin’, an’ that’s how many it feed.”

“Well,” I said, “that sounds easy enough.”

“Yes’m, they tasty, too. An’ if you got room in that book, I got another one jus’ about as easy.”

“I’d love to have two recipes from you. Let’s have it.”

That smug, pleased-with-himself smile bloomed on James’s face as he crossed his legs and leaned back, readying himself to give dictation. I was fairly sure that the witch’s spell had been thoroughly broken by then.

“If you ready, Miss Julia, here’s what you need.” Again, I copied it down.

“Have enough chicken breasts to go around, salt an’ pepper ’em good. Then maybe ’bout one an’ a half sticks of butter, melted, an’ a pile of Pepperidge Farm cornbread or herb stuffin,’ whichever one you want, crumbled up fine, an’ some Parmesan cheese.

Then roll each piece around in the butter, then in the stuffin’, so they covered all over. Then you lay ’em in a bakin’ dish an’ give ’em a right good sprinklin’ of Parmesan cheese. You might oughta butter or spray your bakin’ dish first. Then you bake ’em ’bout an hour with your oven on 350. They’ll be nice an’ crunchy an’ real good eatin’. It’ll feed however many chicken breasts you fix.”

“Goodness, James,” I said, “that does sound good. And a nice change from fried chicken. Well,” I went on, closing my pad and reaching for my pocketbook, “I should be on my way. Oh, before I forget, Lloyd and Latisha are going downtown tonight to trick-or-treat. But I expect they’ll come by here, too, so be prepared if you hear little footsteps on your stairs. And just so you know, I think Latisha is going to be a witch.”

“Law, that chile,” James said, shaking his head. “I wisht she wouldn’t do that. No tellin’ what might get stirred up on a night like tonight.”

“James, really now,” I said reprovingly. “They’re just children who’ll do you no harm. And there’re no such things as witches anyway.”

“Uh-huh, I reckon. But if it was you that come that night it was stormin’, then they was somebody else out there with you, ’cause I know what I saw an’ Lloyd seen it, too.”

I just shook my head and prepared to leave. You just can’t talk some people out of anything once their minds are made up, and James was one of them. To his detriment, I might add.

Supper was a hurried affair that Halloween evening, with Sam preparing to go to Hazel Marie’s and Lloyd trying to glue on facial hair and Latisha so excited she couldn’t sit still.

“I can’t eat no more,” she said when Lillian told her for the third time to sit down and eat her supper. “I got to save room for all that candy.”

Lillian rolled her eyes, murmuring, “An’ you gonna be throwin’ up all night, too.”

Sam pushed back from the table and helped Lloyd get his eyebrows and mustache pasted on. When he put the wig on Lloyd’s head with the fishing hat on top of that, the boy looked almost like a Hollywood extra—a short one, but still.

“I need a better raincoat,” Lloyd said. “Mine’s yellow, so it won’t work.”

“Try mine,” I said, and went to the pantry to get my old Burberry raincoat. It was perfect, reaching to his ankles and turning him into a Wild West gunslinger.

“Lloyd, you look real good,” Latisha said, as she watched the transformation. “But I don’t look like no witch I ever seen. I need something else ’sides this ole long black dress.” Lillian had made her put two sweaters on under it, which helped with the fit and would keep her warm, but also turned her into an unusually chubby witch.

Then her face lit up. “I know what I can do. Great-Granny, le’s undo all these pigtails so my hair’ll stick out all over my head. That’ll look real witchy.”

“Law, chile,” Lillian said, “you know how long it takes me to put your hair up like that? An’ now you wanta take it all down? Well, I won’t never hear the end of it, so come on over here.” She did, and Latisha was correct—she was a scary sight with her unplaited hair in stiff wavy strands.

“Now,” Latisha said, as she admired herself in a mirror, “I need one of them eyebrow pencils like Miss Hazel Marie has to make me some wrinkles.”

“You two come on with me,” Sam said. “I’m going to Hazel Marie’s. She’ll make you some wrinkles and you can trick-or-treat her while you’re there. Then I’ll run you downtown. Julia,” he went on, “you know how uneasy Hazel Marie can get, so I’ll stay with her until Pickens or Brother Vern gets home. There’re always some older boys who like to come around late, so somebody needs to be there.”

“Good idea, Sam. If she’s by herself, she won’t go to the door, and no telling what kind of trick they’d pull. Lloyd,” I cautioned as they began to troop out the door, “don’t forget James. But, Latisha, be sure and tell him who you are. He’ll be scared to death when he sees you.”

She grinned with complete assurance that she would indeed give him a good scare.

Lillian and I looked at each other, relieved that the children were on their way and the house was now quiet. It was still early but already darkening outside. The rain had turned into a misty fog, making halos of the street lamps and turning the evening into a shadowy scene of ghostly possibilities.

“Le’s have another piece of pie,” Lillian said. “That doorbell gonna start ringin’ any minute.”

I had already placed a large bowl of wrapped candy on the hall table and had turned the porch light on, as well. We were ready for any trick-or-treaters who wanted to brave the night.

After a second piece of apple pie—mine with a slice of cheese and Lillian’s with a scoop of ice cream—and some discussion of James’s predicament, Lillian said, “I guess they down on Main Street by now. If it wasn’t so nasty outside, I’d like to go see all them dressed-up chil’ren goin’ in an’ out of the stores. But, tell you the truth, I’m jus’ as glad to be settin’ here warm an’ dry.”

“Me, too,” I said, then, glancing at my watch, I went on, “I don’t think we’ll have many visitors, so what we’ll do with all that candy, I don’t know.”

“We better hide it from Latisha,” Lillian said, laughing, just as the doorbell rang.

We both went to the front door to see the costumes, most of which lacked any originality, having come out of a ready-made package from Wal-Mart or the like. Still, it was moderately entertaining to open the door to all the science-fiction and political masks and pretend to be frightened. There was a run of costumed children—with parents waiting in the shadows—for almost an hour, then it grew quiet. Lillian decided to sit with me in the living room, in case, she said, a real spook mixed in with the made-up ones. So we talked while I worked on my needlepoint and she read the paper, both of us yawning occasionally as we wondered when Lloyd and Latisha would tire of Main Street.

Looking at my watch, I wondered how long Sam would stay at Hazel Marie’s. Obviously, since he was still there, Mr. Pickens hadn’t come home, and that added another demerit to the Pickens account. I sighed at the thought, considered bringing up his failings to Lillian, but decided I didn’t want to talk about him. So I changed the subject.

“Lillian, have you noticed how Hazel Marie has really taken to Granny Wiggins? As leery as she was at first about having her around the babies, she now seems to trust her completely.”

“Yes’m, I seen that, too, an’ I’m glad she fin’ly found some help. Though I notice Miss Granny don’t do much cookin’. She do everything else, but she pretty much stay outta the kitchen.”

“Well,” I said, smiling, “we all have our likes and dislikes. So long as she’s safe with the twins, I don’t care. Besides, I’m hoping Hazel Marie will soon know how to cook and she should, what with all the demonstrations and my recipe book.”

We both jumped when the doorbell rang, then hurried to fill the bag of a late caller. But when Lillian opened the door, Lloyd, his face free of extra hair, walked in without a word and headed straight for the staircase, my raincoat dragging along behind him.

Hauling her full Halloween bag with her, Latisha came in behind him. “Lloyd don’t feel good,” she announced. “He throwed away his eyebrows an’ mustache, but he give me his candy. See,” she said, holding up the bag, “I got enough to last me awhile.”

Looking toward the stairs, I said, “I’ll go up and see about him. Don’t leave yet, Lillian, if you don’t mind.”

“No’m, I got to wash them wrinkles off Latisha’s face anyway. Let me know how he’s feelin’.”

I hurried up the stairs, went to Lloyd’s closed door, and tapped softly. “Lloyd? Are you all right?”

Hearing a murmured response, I opened the door and hesitated. One lamp on the desk was on, leaving most of the room in shadows. The boy was sitting stiffly, his hands clasped between his knees, in the room’s one easy chair.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” I walked over to him, pulled out his desk chair, and sat beside him. “You have a stomachache? Your head hurts? Tell me, so I can give you something for it.”

His shoulders slumped as he shook his head. “No’m, I’m all right. Just . . . just not feeling good.”

“Maybe you caught something from the babies.” I reached over and felt his forehead. “You don’t feel hot. In fact, you may be chilled. Don’t you want to get in bed and get warm?”

“No’m, not yet. I guess I’ll just sit here for a while.”

Not knowing what to do, I sat there for a while, too. Then I said, “Maybe a dose of Pepto-Bismol will help. I’ll run down and get it.”

As I moved toward the door, not only to get the medicine but to ask Lillian’s advice, I heard Lloyd whisper, “Miss Julia?”

Turning back, I answered, “Yes? What do you need?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Returning to the chair, I leaned toward him.

In a voice heavy with sadness and so low I could barely hear it, he asked, “Where would we live if Mama and J.D. got divorced?”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it to reconsider. Finally, I said, “Why, you’d live right here with Sam and me. But, Lloyd, that’s so unlikely to happen that I’ve never even thought about it.”

“I have. That’s all I’ve been thinking about. But we couldn’t live here. There’s not enough room for me and Mama and my sisters. I don’t know what we’d do.”

“Well,” I said decisively, “if it came to that, you could continue to live in Sam’s house or we’d just build a bigger house for us all. Now, Lloyd, honey,” I said, putting my hand on his arm, “that’s the last thing you should be worrying about. So why are you? What’s going on?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer, because the fact of the matter was, I’d been worrying about a marriage breakup myself. Why else had I been harboring such enmity toward Mr. Pickens?

Lloyd sniffed and brushed his face with the back of his hand, almost breaking my heart. “I saw J.D. tonight and he . . . he was driving a lady around.”

So, I thought, it’s come to this—the very thing I didn’t want it to come to. “Where did you see him?”

“He was crossing Main Street and we were waiting at the curb. He didn’t see us, I don’t think. He didn’t wave or anything. Just drove by with . . . that lady.”

“She could’ve been a client, Lloyd. Have you thought of that?”

“She didn’t look like one. She was laughing real big, like she was having a good time.”

I sat for a few minutes, running over in my mind what I could say to both relieve and reassure him. And me, as well.

“All right,” I finally managed, “here’s what we’ll do. There’s no need to worry yourself sick when there’s very likely a simple explanation. We’ll just ask him.”

His head came up sharply. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask him. I don’t want to know.”

“Well, I do and I can.” Standing, I went on, “You go on to bed, Lloyd, and leave this matter with me. I’ll get to the bottom of it as soon as I can, and . . .” I stopped before I said too much. “And then we’ll know that you’ve been worrying for nothing.”

Lord, I hoped that was true, but after I picked up my Burberry and casually left the room, I rushed down the stairs, anger toward Mr. Pickens almost blinding me. How could he drive around town with such impunity? Didn’t he know he’d be seen? Well, he had been—by me, by Lillian, and now, worst of all, by Lloyd. And the child was sitting up there, mourning that cheating, unfaithful excuse of a husband who, I also realized, had the gall to set himself up as the boy’s father.