JU03 - Miss Julia Throws a Wedding Read online

  “It’s probably a meeting of some kind. Where’s last Sunday’s bulletin? That’ll tell us who scheduled a meeting. Not that it matters to me who goes and comes.”

  Lillian frowned as I walked past her on the stairs, then she followed Little Lloyd down. “I never seen no meetin’ over there like this. An’ I don’t think yo’ bulletum tell you nothin’ ’bout it.”

  The evening in early June was just at that time between daylight and dark when things slow down and people sit on front porches to call to neighbors walking by. But nobody was sitting out or walking by. Instead, all I could see when Lillian pointed out the front window was a group of shadows on the far side of the street next to the new brick wall of the Family Life Center. As we watched, the group broke up and individual dark figures moved slowly across the street to regather on the sidewalk by my driveway.

  “See there,” Lillian said, “what’d I tell you?”

  “Who are they? I can’t make out any faces, but they sure don’t look as if they’re going to the church, do they?”

  “No’m, when I first noticed ’em a little while ago ’fore it got so dark, they looked like some of them workin’men that work so hard over there ev’ry day. But why they come back at night jus’ to stand around? Don’t make no sense to me, when they could be home restin’.”

  “I wish we could see them better,” Little Lloyd said, as he stood in front of Lillian and me gazing out with us. “Oh, there go the streetlights. Now we can.”

  But we couldn’t. The nearest streetlamp was on the corner, so it just threw the middle of the block into deeper shadow. All we could make out was a group of people, maybe eight or so, milling around.

  “Go out on the porch, Lillian,” I said, “and see if you can hear what they’re saying.”

  “I’m not goin’ out on no porch. This white uniform’d show up like a lightbulb. They’d know I was out there, listenin’ to ’em.”

  “I’ll go,” Little Lloyd said, and before I could stop him, he slipped out the screen door and stood beside a porch post.

  Keeping one eye on him and the other on the mass of shadows that I was beginning to see were mostly figures of men, I tried to think of reasons why they’d be there.

  “You don’t suppose they’re waiting on someone, do you? I mean, at this time of night who would they be meeting?”

  “Maybe they a search party,” Lillian said. “Out lookin’ for that ole Dixon Hightower.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, straining to distinguish any familiar faces. “If they were a search party, there’d be some deputies with them. And besides, Dixon’s long gone if he has any sense. Which, come to think of it, isn’t very likely.”

  Little Lloyd eased the screen door open and came back into the living room. “Miss Julia,” he whispered, “I couldn’t hear much, ’cause they’re mostly whispering. And they’re doing it in Spanish. One of them might be Señor Acosta. He’s the foreman on the bricklaying crew over there.”

  “I declare, Little Lloyd,” I said, looking at him with interest. “I didn’t know you knew any of the workmen.”

  “I don’t, really,” he said. “But Señor Acosta came and spoke to our Spanish class ’cause his son’s in it. So I kinda know him and he’s real nice.”

  Lillian said, “I’m thinkin’ we ought to call Coleman. Jus’ in case.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I said, trying to calm her concern. “Not if Little Lloyd knows one of them. Besides, Coleman’s got better things to do, at least I hope he’s doing them, since the time is drawing nigh.”

  “Look,” Lillian said. “They’s two of ’em walking off down the sidewalk. I think they leavin’.”

  “I believe you’re right. You know, if they’re some of the workmen on the building, maybe they’ve just come by to admire what they’ve wrought. Although I certainly wouldn’t be able to take pride in the thing.” I bit my lip as I strained to see, then said, “They could also be new arrivals who want to apply for jobs.”

  “At this time a night?” Lillian said.

  “I guess you’re right, that couldn’t be it.” Then as another possibility occurred to me, I went on. “Oh, Lord, I hope they’re not teenagers up to some mischief.”

  “No’m,” Little Lloyd said. “I don’t think that’s it. Señor Acosta wouldn’t be with anybody who’s up to any mischief.” Then as we continued to watch, he said, “I’m maybe getting a little worried, anyway.”

  Lillian said, “I think we better call the sheriff.”

  “No, look,” I said, as the group began to disperse, with one or two more drifting off down the sidewalk. “They’re all leaving now. I think it’ll be all right, but let’s keep an eye out in case they come back.”

  “I’m going to lock the doors,” Little Lloyd said. “Now that I think about it, my stomach’s not feeling too good.”

  “Lord, Lillian,” I said as he headed for the back door. “That child scares too easily. We have to keep our heads, even when we’re concerned about something ourselves.”

  “Well, don’t do no harm to keep the doors locked,” she said. “You got all that silver settin’ out in plain sight an’ somebody might want some of it.”

  “I know it. But it’s just as Coleman said about Dixon; we should take sensible precautions. And that doesn’t mean booby-trapping the stairs again, either. So keep the pots and pans in the kitchen.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute, then we both started laughing, remembering how Mr. Pickens had tumbled head over heels down the stairs, swearing worse than a sailor.

  * * *

  By Thursday morning, I’d not seen Coleman or heard him come in during the night, so I didn’t know how well his campaign was coming along. Far be it from me to wish for someone to fall into sin, but I had hopes that he’d spent the night with Binkie. Of course, they wouldn’t be falling into sin, since it was a settled fact that they were pretty well mired up in it already.

  I’d just gotten dressed for the day when the phone rang with news of the first crisis. It was Emma Sue Ledbetter calling from the church and she was in a state. You’d think she’d’ve wanted to avoid me after the stunt she pulled with those bumper stickers and pamphlets and such. But Emma Sue operated on a different plane from most people. A fact that she herself would tell you in a minute.

  “Julia,” she gasped. “You’ve got to come over here. You’re the closest church member, and I need some help. Drop what you’re doing and come over as quick as you can.”

  That’s all she said, just hung up before I could tell her I was still hot about her ill-conceived home mission project. But I welcomed the prospect of telling her face-to-face, and I determined to do it even if it meant laying her low with a tongue-lashing in the church itself.

  Calling out to Lillian to tell her where I was going, I headed out, working up a righteous anger as I went. Workmen on the building had already started their day, so I had to run the gauntlet to the tune of half a dozen portable radios sitting around on sawhorses and windowsills. The mixture of country western and what Little Lloyd called salsa, which I’d thought was something to eat, was enough to give me a headache.

  When I went into the Fellowship Hall of the church, I didn’t see anyone. It was too early for Norma Cantrell to be there, and for the first time I wondered what Emma Sue was doing there so early, herself.

  Walking back toward the pastor’s office, I called softly to Emma Sue. A church with nobody in it can be a pretty spooky place, so I glanced through each door as I passed.

  “Julia!” Emma Sue sprang out of a side hall, scaring me half to death. “You won’t believe what’s happened!”

  “What! Lord, Emma Sue, don’t jump out at me like that.” Then, getting my breath back, I rounded on her. “Now, listen, this is as good a time as any to tell you how I feel about all this public witnessing and street-corner preaching and ringing people’s doorbells just when they’re sitting down to supper. And I want you to know I don’t appreciate you getting Littl
e Lloyd involved in it.”

  Emma Sue stared blankly at me, as if she hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Then she blinked and said, “She’s been at it again.”

  “Who?”

  “Norma! It’s got to be her. She’s the only one around when Lance Petree does visitation and Larry’s not here. I know it was her.”

  “What’s she done?”

  “I want you to come here and look. Just look.” Emma Sue took my arm and pulled me toward a pantry-like room in the short hall between Pastor Ledbetter’s office and Pastor Petree’s. She threw open the door and said, “Look at that! Have you ever seen anything to beat it?”

  I looked, and all I saw were black ministerial robes hanging from a rod and a row of shelves stacked with pastoral oddments. My eye was taken with a stack of the round silver servers that held in slots the tiny glasses we used for communion. The first time Hazel Marie took communion in our church, she’d leaned over to me and whispered that they looked like miniature shot glasses. I set her straight, you may be sure. On another shelf there was a stack of silver plates the deacons used for passing around the loaves of communion bread. Various other odds and ends like candles, old bulletins and dog-eared books filled the other shelves.

  “I don’t see a thing, Emma Sue, except what’s supposed to be here.”

  “You’re not looking,” she said. And pointing to the floor under the shelves, she went on. “See that?”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Exactly! It’s gone, and now what’re we going to do?”

  “Emma Sue, don’t get yourself in an uproar. Is something supposed to be there?”

  “Yes! The wine for communion!”

  I stared at her. Wine? In a Presbyterian church?

  But she was plowing on, paying no attention to my startled look. “We had almost a whole case of it, and it’s gone! I know it was Norma; she has a key to the closet. It had to be her, and Communion Sunday’ll be here before you know it, so what’re we going to do?”

  “Well, I don’t see what the big upset is. Just go out and buy some more; there’s plenty of time. I don’t know why you’d think Norma took it. Doesn’t it make more sense that we used it all last time, and it just wasn’t replaced? After all, it’s a long time between Communion Sundays, and what with Pastor Ledbetter getting ready to go to the Holy Land, he might’ve forgotten it.” In our church, we only took communion four times a year, once every quarter, which was four times too many for some people who resented the lengthy time it took to pass around the sacramental elements.

  Emma Sue lowered her eyebrows at me. “He’d never forget that. Besides, I know there was a whole half a case here. Julia, you’re just not getting the enormity of this. Now I know, theoretically, that it’s not holy wine until Larry blesses and consecrates it, but it was bought for that purpose and ought to be held sacred.” She patted her chest, as if she was having trouble getting her breath, and her eyes began to fill.

  I stood there, wondering how far off the deep end she’d let herself get to. “Emma Sue, first off, I know what it’s supposed to represent in the communion service, and that’s miracle enough for me. But I doubt that even Pastor Ledbetter has the power to turn Welch’s grape juice into wine, whether it’s holy or not. I mean, what we’re talking about here is something you can get at any grocery store in town.”

  Our church had always held firmly to the belief that its members shouldn’t be encouraged in the evils of strong drink. And for that reason, along with not wanting to give recovering alcoholics the least little taste of it—which was all they could get from those tiny glasses, anyway—we’d always substituted grape juice for what the Bible called for. Which was wine, as anybody who could read knew. We’d had a preacher one time who wanted us to switch to the real thing, but it caused such an outcry, especially from the ones who proclaimed the absolute literal nature of the Scriptures, that he’d had to forgo it.

  “Julia!” Emma Sue cried, her eyes bulging out at me. “It was not just any grape juice, much less Welch’s! It was nonalcoholic communion wine ordered from the Church Closet Sacred Accouterments catalog at the discount price of forty dollars a case!”

  I stepped back from the onslaught. “Well, if that’s the case . . .”

  She dabbed at her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. “Maybe now you see why I’m so upset. Well,” she went on, as she looked at me through teary eyes. “I guess I’ll have to buy the ordinary kind, but I tell you, Larry is not going to like it. But, Julia, why in the world would Norma take it? You reckon she had a party or something?”

  “Oh, Emma Sue, I don’t think so. But I do think that you’re jumping to conclusions again. There’s no reason to suspect Norma of doing this, and I say that even though I don’t like her and never have.”

  “There’s nobody else who could’ve done it.” And out came the damp Kleenex and down came the tears again. “Oh, Julia, if it’s not one thing it’s another, isn’t it? I hope you’ll join me in prayer about this.”

  “Well, not now,” I said, determined to forestall a prayer meeting. “And don’t get me started on that subject. You need to pull yourself together, Emma Sue, and lock this door up again. It’s not the end of the world, and there’s plenty of time to buy more. But I caution you, don’t be going around accusing Norma of taking it; you could be wrong. Just don’t do anything until the pastor gets back. He’ll handle it without getting the church sued within an inch of its life.

  “Now, I’ve got to go. I’m looking forward to you being at the wedding where you can cry to your heart’s content. I may even shed a few tears myself.” Especially, I thought, if Binkie doesn’t show up.

  Chapter 22

  I left Emma Sue to her suspicions and headed for home. Before crossing the street, I had to wait several minutes on the corner by the Family Life Center to let a slow stream of traffic pass by. A number of pickups and vans with three or more people crowded onto the front seats crept by, as well as several cars filled front and back with people sitting on top of each other. None of the vehicles was moving very fast, but every time I almost stepped off the curb, another one turned the corner.

  Finally, a shiny, red sedan with the tail of some animal hanging from the antenna slowed and stopped, the driver kindly motioning me to cross in front of him. As I waved my thanks, I noticed how similar he and his passengers were to the waiters in the restaurant where Little Lloyd and I had first met Mr. Pickens that time he ingested a whole pitcher of beer. I’d almost not hired him because of it.

  I knew a lot of the hard-working people from south of the border had moved to our truck-farming county to pick beans and apples during the season. Local employers were eager to have them, and they’d blended right into the community. As I got to my side of the street, it suddenly struck me that I was one of those local employers. Raymond had been cutting my grass and pruning my boxwoods for almost two years now, and I hardly ever thought of him as a foreigner, except for the fact that I couldn’t make head nor tails out of half of what he said. He seemed to understand me, though, nodding his head and saying “Sí” to everything I asked him to do, and then doing it. Little Lloyd was taking Spanish in school, so he made use of the time to practice his skill whenever Raymond came to the house. It seemed to me that Raymond enjoyed the boy’s efforts because he laughed a lot as Little Lloyd tried to converse with him.

  “Hazel Marie,” I called as I got into the house and walked back to her room.

  “Ma’am? Come on in. I’m trying to decide if I need to press my bridesmaid’s dress.”

  Our dresses had been altered, delivered and carefully unpacked the day before. She had hers hanging from the closet door, and I had another swift palpitation at the brevity of it.

  “You won’t believe what Emma Sue has to cry about now.” And I told her about the missing grape juice, and we laughed at Emma Sue’s propensity to drop a tear at the drop of a hat.

  “Harriet, from the florist, just called,” Hazel Marie said. “She wants to b
ring the ferns for the porch tomorrow morning, and some potted plants to line the front walk. She said she’d fill the arch with greenery at the shop, and bring it, too. She’ll put fresh flowers in it early Saturday morning.”

  “That sounds fine, just so nothing wilts or dies between now and then. Oh, Hazel Marie, I just hope and pray that we have somebody to stand under that arch. Binkie’s worrying me to death. If I thought her mother and daddy could do something with her, I’d send them plane tickets to get up here and do it. But from what she’s said, they’re not in any shape to make any headway with her. Of course, they weren’t able to even when they were in good health.”

  “Have you heard from Coleman?” Hazel Marie asked. “Maybe something’s changed, if he’s done what you told him to.”

  “Not one word. And, frankly, I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what he’ll tell me. What I’m planning to do is go right on with our plans and, if I don’t hear from them, I’ll call Binkie Saturday at the last minute and tell her to get herself over here for her wedding. Maybe that way, she’ll be too ashamed to tell me she won’t do it. I mean, look, Hazel Marie, she hasn’t told me that the wedding’s off. And it’s her place to do it, if she means it. As far as I’m concerned, if I hadn’t happened to see Coleman when he came in, saying it was off, I wouldn’t know anything about it, would I?”

  “That’s one way to look at it, I guess.” She stopped and gazed off into space. “Yes, you’re right. It is Binkie’s place to tell you, and follow it up with a handwritten note and some flowers. She can’t expect you to cancel everything, just on the groom’s say-so. Unless it was his decision, which we know it wasn’t. It would be the courteous thing for her to do.” Hazel Marie’d been reading the etiquette book again.

  I turned toward the front door as somebody rapped on the screen door. “Who could that be?”

  As I walked toward the front, LuAnne Conover let herself in. “Julia, I’ve had the most wonderful idea, one I bet you haven’t even thought of since you’ve been so busy, and I want to do it for you.”