Miss Julia to the Rescue (43 page)

I didn’t go into detail when I spoke with Adam’s father, just said that his son had had a minor accident, and that I and some friends happened to be available to take him to the hospital because he’d seemed a little woozy.

That done, I went to bed, thinking I’d had my fill of going to the aid of grown men who’d gotten themselves into messes they couldn’t get out of—first, Mr. Pickens, and now, Adam. And both had brought me into contact with people who had strange ideas about how and whom to worship. All I could think was that you’d better have a firm foundation when you go out into the world. There’s no telling what you’ll run into.

Sunday morning I was with Lloyd in our usual pew at the First Presbyterian Church and thankful to be there. You can have your snakes and your tambourines, your hooks and screws and electric needles. Speedos, too. Give me the King James Version, a hymnal and Communion every quarter. Even with Pastor Ledbetter’s sermons, I wouldn’t trade a good traditional worship service for all the tea in China.

That afternoon, after Lloyd left to play tennis, I walked over to Hazel Marie’s. Mr. Pickens was in an expansive mood, looking healthier than he had since he’d left Mill Run, West Virginia. Hazel Marie was bubbling over with news that she couldn’t wait to tell me about.

“Ardis and Etta Mae came over this morning,” she said as I silently noted that the visit meant that none of them had gone to church. “And everything’s all right with J.D. No further action needed, Ardis said, because, really, he didn’t witness anything. But, Miss Julia, guess what! We’re going to visit him in Mill Run in a couple of weeks. J.D. wants to go fishing, and I’ve never been to West Virginia, and we’re just so thrilled!”

I looked from one to the other, wondering where their minds were. Mr. Pickens sat there on his eiderdown pillow, looking smug and satisfied, enjoying his wife’s excitement.

“What will you do about the babies?” I asked.

“Oh,” Hazel Marie said, “that’s the best part. J.D.’s going to rent an RV and we’ll take them with us. That way, we can take their stroller and their high chairs and everything they need. Ardis said there’s a campground nearby with a bathhouse and grills and hookups and everything. Won’t that be fun!”

For her sake, I hoped it would be, but if Sam ever came up with a vacation plan like that, I’d take to my bed.

Then nothing would do but that I had to hold each of the babies in turn. They were certainly growing, getting plump and wide-eyed and chewing on anything close to their mouths. I dandled and cooed to whichever one Hazel Marie put in my lap until one of them—Lily Mae, I think—spit up all over me and Hazel Marie relieved me of the honor.

While she took them back to their cribs, I took the opportunity to issue a discreet warning to Mr. Pickens.

“I’m glad to hear that things have worked out,” I said to him. “It must be a relief to know there’s not a warrant out for your arrest. But, Mr. Pickens, I wouldn’t get too involved with that sheriff if I were you. He’s not exactly what he seems.”

“McAfee?” Mr. Pickens’s eyebrows went up. “From what I hear, he was a good man to have around last night.”

“He told you about that, then? So, yes, he was certainly a help and I was glad he was there. But,” I said, leaning toward him and lowering my voice, “has he told you his church affliation?”

“Well, no. The subject hasn’t come up.”

“Well, you just watch out, and whatever you do, don’t take Hazel Marie and the babies to any church he recommends. Mr. Pickens,” I went on urgently, “he goes to
snake
-handling services or, if he doesn’t, he
sends
people to them.”

Mr. Pickens started laughing, but stopped short when he saw my face. “Sorry, Miss Julia. I did hear something about that. The
story I got was that you and Etta Mae went to the wrong church. He feels bad about it, but he didn’t do it on purpose. He’s planning to leave for home this afternoon—if he can tear himself away from Etta Mae—and when he gets there, he’s gonna make you an honorary resident of Mill Run to make up for the mistake.”

My back got as stiff as a board at the thought. That was another honor I could do without.

“But what I want to know,” Mr. Pickens went on, as he motioned to me to come close, “when you went to that church, were you moved to pick up a rattlesnake or a cottonmouth?”

I jumped back like I’d been bitten. “
Neither one!
How could you ask such a thing?” Of course, I soon realized he was teasing me, but I planned to check under the bed before crawling into it every night until Sam got back. Then he could do the checking.

“Julia,” Mildred said when I answered the phone, “you know what a time I have getting a member to lead the discussions at the book club? Well, I just had someone volunteer, and she volunteered not only to lead the discussion, but to select the book, too.”

“That must be a relief for you,” I said. Mildred was president of our book club for the year, and it’d been like pulling teeth to get a discussion leader for each month. Everybody loved the club, but nobody wanted to lead it. “Who’s the brave soul?”

“Well,” Mildred said after a slight hesitation. “It’s not a member, but she wants to be. How would you feel about Agnes Whitman joining us? She’s offered to take the next couple of months because she wants to do that bestselling book everybody talked about, but none of us wanted to read. You know, the one about a dragon tattoo? Agnes says she has a unique perspective that she’d like to share with us.”

I’ll just bet she would
, I thought but remained speechless for so long that Mildred asked, “Julia? You still there?”

“Just considering the ramifications, Mildred,” I finally managed to say. “And I’ve just finished considering them. All I can say
is that I’ve never said a word against anyone who wanted to join us, and I’m not going to now. But if you let that woman in, I’m resigning. And if you want to know why, I’ll tell you whenever you have time to listen.”

“Come on over,” she said, with a low chuckle. “I can’t wait to hear.”

Monday morning, and the hordes descended before Lillian and I had finished breakfast. The brickmasons arrived first, immediately putting up scaffolding to continue, brick by brick, building my big fat Williamsburg chimney. Next came the paperhanger, who had to maneuver his cutting table up the stairs to Hazel Marie’s old bedroom. I followed him up to make sure he had the slightly blush linen paper I’d selected, and not some garish stripe or floral that belonged on someone else’s wall.

“You’ll have this finished today, won’t you?” I asked, after reassuring myself that the rolls of paper were the correct ones.

He adjusted a strap on his white overalls and shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“No, Mr. Bailey. That won’t do at all. My husband returns tomorrow from a trip abroad and this room has to be finished. Now look,” I went on as he began shaking his head again, “there’s no design on this paper, so you don’t have to match anything. Just cut it to the right length and put it up. Surely you can do that in a day.”

“Have to work overtime.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with time and a half. It’ll start at five o’clock if you’ll stay until it’s finished.”

“Four’s my usual quittin’ time.”

“Four, then.”

For the first time he nodded. I nodded back and left him to it.

By that time, the carpenters had arrived and were beginning to put the finishing touches on the beautiful paneling in the new library downstairs. As I walked down the hall to speak to them, I
could hear country music from the radio that seemed to be one of the essential tools of their trade.

Before I got there, Tucker Caldwell came flouncing through the front door in all his summer glory: a blue seersucker suit, yellow bow tie and a third gold stud, but this one was on the side of his nose. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes, but I pretended not to notice. Why else do people do such things but to draw attention to themselves? So if he expected me to express shock, he was going to be disappointed. I’d seen worse over the weekend.

I followed him and stood by the door of the new library, observing as Tucker went over some of the finer points of installing the Adam mantel that had come with the paneling. I hoped they’d do it right, for the paneling had come from a very old house that had to give way for a Walmart Supercenter in an Alabama town, and it had cost me an arm and a leg.

Tucker had done no more than nod in my direction when he first came in, but soon he walked over and edged me toward the living room, both of us stumbling over the rolled-up rug in the hall.

“Uh, Mrs. Murdoch,” he began, his eyes flitting around, “I have bad news for you.” Then he rushed on before I could respond. “You’ll have to do without Adam Waites from now on. He, ah, well, apparently, he’s been through some sort of crisis as a result of working for Agnes—she can be quite demanding, you know. Anyway, I didn’t get all the particulars, but his father called me last night to say that Adam would not be working for some time to come.” Tucker took out a handkerchief and rubbed his nose, then winced as if he’d forgotten the new stud.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, although I wasn’t surprised that Adam was in no shape to work. “Of course, he’d about completed my project, but I expect he’s left Agnes high and dry.” I smiled as sympathetically as I could manage.

“Actually, she’s not taking it well, especially because she thought Adam was making great strides toward a new spiritual breakthrough. She hates to lose a true seeker.”

I held my tongue, although I wanted to point out that Agnes had apparently gained
him,
if the gold studs dotting his face were any indication. But as we all know, some people are never satisfied with what they have.

“And even worse,” Tucker went on with a flick of his eyes at me, “Mr. Waites said that Adam is moving away. He’ll be attending an evangelical Bible institute somewhere in east Texas.” Tucker twisted his mouth. “Studying for the ministry, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I can believe it. It sounds to me as if he’s found what he was seeking, no thanks to Agnes or, I must say, to you, either. You might take note, Mr. Caldwell, that when you start messing with spiritual matters, you might be doing the Lord’s work without realizing it.”