Miss Julia Lays Down the Law Read online

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  I stood for a minute holding the phone after Emma Sue had said good-bye, giving some of Connie’s comments serious thought. I hadn’t mentioned it to Mildred and had barely touched on it to Emma Sue, but I was not only hurt but also incensed by the cavalier way Connie had dismissed the park as an amateurish attempt at beautifying the town. She’d sneered at Lady Justice, unaware that I, along with Etta Mae Wiggins and Poochie Dunn, had risked life and limb to rescue her. Connie had also told us it was time to put aside old antagonisms by removing and discarding the marble marker to the Confederate war dead. Why, what a travesty that would be! And a slap in the face to all the old families in the county whose names were inscribed on it.

  And if Connie thought that marker indicated leftover antagonism toward Northern invaders, she had done nothing to lessen it. In fact, for my money, she and her ilk were worse than the original invaders, but we’d all been too polite and sensitive to her feelings to have put a stop to the enumeration of our deficiencies.

  So I didn’t know if my sudden sinking feelings were because I’d not stood up for myself and our town—which I had been too stunned to do—or if they were a result of my having been made aware of my failures.

  I wished Sam would get home so I could count my blessings, starting with him.

  Chapter 4

  Late that afternoon when I heard Sam come through the back door and stop in the kitchen to talk with Lillian, I hurried out to meet him. Lillian was already pouring coffee, asking if we wanted it in the kitchen or served in the library.

  “Right here is fine,” Sam said, pulling out a chair at the table, then, before sitting, coming over to give me a kiss. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

  “Disturbing,” I said, taking the chair beside him. “Lillian, join us. I’d like to hear what you think of this.”

  She put a cream pitcher on the table along with our cups, then said, “I got to finish supper, so I’ll jus’ listen in.”

  “Well, feel free to join in, too.” Then I turned to my levelheaded, fair, and supremely just husband. “Sam, what do you think of people who move to a town and start excoriating it right off the bat?”

  His eyebrows went up. “Haven’t given it much thought. Why?”

  “Because I went to a coffee this morning at Connie Clayborn’s house, and was told that I, and everyone else, should be ashamed to live in a town that doesn’t have enough pride in itself to install water fountains, matching shop awnings, and public restrooms on the sidewalks.”

  Sam smiled. “And who was the city-planning expert who told you such a thing?”

  “Why, Connie, of course, and apparently, she herself knows exactly what should be done to draw crowds of spenders from all over who’ll boost the economy and put us on the cover of Southern Living. The only thing she didn’t tell us was how to pay for it. We are up in arms.”

  “Oh, I doubt it’ll come to taking up arms,” Sam said soothingly. “The town could use some beautifying, that’s a fact. And anything that would draw people downtown couldn’t hurt.”

  “Well, yes, I expect so, if you don’t mind motorcycle gangs and tattoo artists and barhoppers. I tell you, some of her ideas for updating the town were just plain silly, even outlandish. Why, Sam, she said we ought to get rid of all the grassy areas in our park and spread gravel instead. With clumps of swamp grass and huge boulders here and there, and you know how I feel about boulders.”

  He smiled, for he’d heard me often enough on the subject of big rocks strewn around helter-skelter in a so-called natural landscape. “I do know how you feel, but rocks and gravel would cut down on maintenance costs.”

  “That’s what she said!” I exclaimed. “But that’s being penny wise and pound foolish, because who wants a rock-filled park? Where’s the beauty in that? How would a rock garden draw shoppers downtown? It wouldn’t draw me!” I put my cup in the saucer and looked up at Lillian. “What do you think, Lillian?”

  “I think I better stay out of this. I don’t have much bus’ness downtown anyway.”

  “But listen, Lillian. And you, too, Sam. We can all agree that the town could use some help, but who wants a newcomer with no knowledge of our history or our traditions to come in and start telling us how lax and shortsighted we are, and then to tell us that she’s the answer to all our prayers?” I took a deep breath. “Except she doesn’t believe in prayer, so what can she be an answer to.”

  Sam grinned. “You have a point. But, Julia, if she wants to approach the town council with a few ideas for improvement, tell her to have at it.”

  “Well, yes, and I’d say more power to her if that had been all,” I said with a dismissive wave. “But it wasn’t. According to Connie, it is our moral and civic duty to organize, donate, and move the town forward. I mean, she about worked herself into a frenzy of outrage that we were so taken up with our own selfish interests that we’d ignored the needs of the town. And I’d be willing to wager that she has no idea of what she’s talking about. She hasn’t been here long enough, for one thing, and she doesn’t know us well enough, for another. She just assumed that we’re self-absorbed and uncaring of others, and that it’s her job to lead us forward.”

  I stopped, recalling the intense anger I’d felt toward Connie as she stood before us and told us how backward we were.

  “In fact,” I went on, “she as much as told us how she’d dreaded moving here when her husband was transferred. But then she said she realized what a perfect project it would be to fill her time. Don’t you just hate it when somebody thinks up a project?” I stopped, then thought of something else. “And then, on my way out I overheard her say that what she’d really like to do is take a bulldozer to both sides of Main Street! I can’t tell you how much that attitude upsets me.”

  We all thought about that for a few minutes, then in the silence Lillian suddenly said, “I tell you what upset me, an’ that lady you tellin’ ’bout remind me of it. She sound like somebody I been knowin’ for years that went up north an’ come back thinkin’ she know everything, an’ tellin’ us we got to quit talkin’ like field hands. But I been talkin’ like I talk ever since I been born, an’ nobody have any trouble understandin’ what I say.”

  “They certainly don’t,” Sam agreed. “On the other hand, I have real trouble understanding what somebody from, say, New Jersey says.”

  “Well,” I said, “you should’ve had to sit and listen to Connie this morning. Her voice grated on my nerves so bad that I could hardly sit still. She went on and on until I thought she’d never get through, and, Sam, I’m convinced she, herself, is from New Jersey.” I stopped, tilted my coffee cup absentmindedly, then sighed and looked up. “Well, I might as well tell it all. She publicly humiliated me. And Emma Sue, too, who is just devastated. Oh, Sam, you wouldn’t believe what Connie said about boxwoods, and you know that I donated a mint to buy all those miniature boxwoods to line the paths of the park. And you wouldn’t believe what it cost to transplant those big, old ones that make the park look established.” I leaned my head on my hand. “And everybody knew that the boxwoods were my gift to the town, and everybody knew that the design was Emma Sue’s. And we had to sit there and listen to Connie tell us that the park is a scraggly, poorly designed mess. And I’m so mad at myself for not speaking up, I don’t know what to do. I should’ve said, ‘If you think you can do any better, then do it.’ Except we would’ve ended up with a rock garden edged with wild grasses and reeds. Maybe a puny pond filled with cattails. She likes a natural environment.

  “Oh!” I said, sitting up straight, “you won’t believe what else she wants to do. Make half the park into a parking lot! Can you believe it? Here, we have an entire city block for a green space in the middle of town, and she wants to pour concrete over half of it!”

  Sam said, “Well, I’d vote against that.”

  “Me, too,” Lillian said.

  “Sorry,” I said,
“you don’t have a vote. Connie’s idea is for us—the leading women of the town, according to her—to take the bull by the horns, the bull being the town council, and push the town into the future whether it wants to go or not.”

  “She won’t get far with that,” Sam said, smiling, as he patted my hand. “I know who’s on the council, and I know at least one leading woman in town.”

  “Well,” I went on, “you haven’t heard the rest of it. This just ran all over me. Besides having to endure her scathing personal criticism—although she pretended to speak in generalities—I had to pretend it didn’t bother me. But everybody knew who she was talking about when she started in on the park. They kept cutting their eyes at us to see how we were taking it. Poor Emma Sue, I thought she was going to dissolve on the spot, while my face burned and my back got so stiff I couldn’t get up and walk out.

  “And even worse, it was ‘My God’ this and ‘My God’ that until I wanted to slap her silly.”

  Lillian said, “I thought you say she don’t b’lieve in prayin’.”

  “She wasn’t praying, Lillian. She was using expletives. You know, like ‘My God, that park is awful,’ and ‘My God, what is wrong with you people to put up with a town like this?’ It’s bad enough to have to hear it said all over television whenever anybody likes something or when they don’t like something. It’s ‘Oh, my God’ this and ‘Oh, my God’ that, and no one seems to think a thing about it.”

  Lillian, frowning, gave me a long look.

  “Don’t be frowning at me, Lillian. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s a different matter when I say ‘Oh, Lord,’ or you call on Jesus. What we say is not the same thing at all. They call on God without a thought in the world of getting a response—Connie certainly didn’t think she would. That’s what taking the Lord’s name in vain means. You and I, on the other hand, know we’re addressing someone and, furthermore, we expect an answer.”

  Lillian nodded in full agreement. “Yes, ma’am, and amen, we sure do. That’s what we askin’ for.”

  And Sam looked from one to the other of us. Then that amused smile of his spread across his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, “I’d think the two of you were trained by Jesuits. You may be doing what I’d call a little hairsplitting.”

  Hairsplitting or not, I knew what I knew: Connie had done herself in as far as this town was concerned. She might have had the best intentions in the world to be of help to us and to Abbotsville, but one’s manner of presentation is everything. Regardless of what she’d intended, she’d ruined it by her strident words and superior attitude. And by holding up Emma Sue, bless her heart—and me—to ridicule.

  Chapter 5

  We’d just finished supper when Binkie finally called back. I had begun to think of calling her, but I always hesitated to disturb her at home—she had so little time there.

  “Miss Julia,” she said, after a few perfunctory questions about my health, “have you heard about Coleman?”

  I stiffened with dread of hearing of some dire accident or disease having happened to Coleman. He had come to Abbotsville not long after Wesley Lloyd’s passing, and, at Sam’s urging, I had rented my former sunroom to him. Sam had not wanted me to be in the house alone, although, at the time, I’d not known that Sam himself had designs on eventually keeping me company. But that’s how I had come to know one of the finest young men in town, and it pleased me that Coleman had met Binkie in my house the day she’d been caught in a rainstorm and had come running in drenched to the skin. Coleman took one look and lost his heart.

  “No,” I said, fearing the worst, “what’s wrong with Coleman?”

  “I think he’s lost his mind.” Binkie giggled just a little. “Or else he’s a hero in the making.”

  “What in the world?”

  “Would you believe he’s going to do some sign sitting? And I may need your help to get him down.”

  “He’s doing what?”

  “Sign sitting. He’s got a bunch of his buddies helping him build a platform on one of those big outdoor advertising signs out off the MLK Boulevard. And he’s going to stay up there until he raises twenty thousand dollars for playground equipment for the elementary school. Says those kids are going to have monkey bars if he has to put them up himself.”

  “My word, Binkie, doesn’t he know it’s November?”

  “Tell me about it,” Binkie said, sighing. “But he’s looking at the long-range weather forecast and reading the Farmers’ Almanac. And,” she went on with a laugh, “he’s consulting some old man on the other side of the mountain who claims to predict the weather a month in advance. Something to do with black gum trees, I think. Anyway, Coleman will have an electric heater hooked up to a generator, and he’ll have a thick bedroll. Bought some long johns, too.

  “But,” she said, taking a breath, “that’s why I’m calling around now, asking for pledges. The sooner he reaches his goal, the less time he’ll spend up there. See, Miss Julia, I hate asking for a donation, but I don’t want my husband freezing to death.”

  “Good gracious,” I mumbled, wondering what the world was coming to—if it wasn’t Emma Sue pushing herself to take on more than she could handle, it was Coleman risking his health to sit out in the elements. “Binkie, I’ll pledge the whole amount right now. Just keep him off that thing.”

  “Oh, Miss Julia, thank you, but he won’t let you do that. He likes challenging himself, so he wants to sit up there. He’s hoping everybody in the county will pitch in and get the playground equipped. Right now it only has a couple of seesaws and one of them is broken.”

  “In that case,” I said, resigning myself to the willfulness of some people, “I’ll send him a nice check, but, Binkie, if he starts getting frostbite, let me know. I’ll put him over the top whether he likes it or not.”

  Binkie laughed. “I may take you up on that. And, Miss Julia, thanks for helping me take care of my crazy husband.”

  With a shake of my head, I hung up the phone and stood there, thinking. Here, I’d worried all day about a financial catastrophe, and all it had been was word of another fund-raiser. Since it was Coleman, though, who was doing the raising, I didn’t mind.

  • • •

  The doorbell rang the next morning as I crossed the hall on my way to the kitchen to speak to Lillian. I veered toward the front door, opened it, and stood back as LuAnne Conover rushed in, flapping her hands.

  “I’m a mess, Julia,” she said, heading straight for the sofa in the living room, where she plopped down, straightened her skirt tail, and kept talking. “I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. Did you understand a word Connie said yesterday? I didn’t. First she told us we ought to be proud of our town, then she said we ought to do something about it because it’s in the worst shape she’s ever seen. How in the world can we do both?”

  “Come to think of it,” I said, following her into the living room, “that was one thing she didn’t tell us. But she pretty much covered everything else we’re doing wrong.”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure,” LuAnne said, pulling a sheet of paper from her tote bag and waving it at me. “No matter what she said, I cannot do this.”

  “What is it, LuAnne?” I asked, sitting across from her in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace. “I can’t read it from here.”

  “It’s my instructions—where we’re supposed to meet, a town map, and my time to start. Connie gave it to me before we left. Julia,” she said plaintively, “I don’t know why I signed up. I mean, those sign-up papers started coming around and I didn’t see a thing I wanted to do, but I felt I should do something, so when this one came by, I just signed it and now I’m stuck.”

  “With what? And, for goodness sakes, why did you sign up for anything?” I recalled my sense of outrage when Connie had handed out five or six sheets of paper to go from person to person around the room, each one of wh
ich I’d passed along without delay. A quick glance had told me that they were sign-up pages for assignments to certain committees, like, for instance, the Committee for Listing Derelict Buildings, the Committee for Rejuvenation of Flora, the Committee for Ecological Planning, and, for goodness sakes, the Committee for Town Council Oversight.

  LuAnne leaned back against the sofa and blew out her breath. “I don’t know why I did. Everybody else was signing up, so I did, too.”

  “Everybody else was not signing, I assure you,” I said. “I didn’t, and neither did Mildred.”

  “You didn’t?” LuAnne sat straight up and stared at me. “But how could you not? I mean, Connie was watching us, and after she’d cautioned us against being civic do-nothings—which I don’t think I’ve ever been—I guess I wanted to prove to her how active and willing we are. You know, that we don’t live in some backwater without knowing what’s going on in the world. And she made it plain that we ought to make ourselves useful for the betterment of everybody.” LuAnne frowned in thought as she glanced around the room. “I thought I was already doing that—being useful, I mean.”

  “You are, and I am, and so are the rest of us. And I will continue to do so, but in my own way,” I told her. “And it won’t be because somebody has laid a guilt trip on me.”

  “Well, I wish I’d known you and Mildred weren’t signing up for anything,” LuAnne said with some resentment. “I felt backed into a corner, so I just put my name down so Connie wouldn’t be disappointed in me.”

  “Oh, LuAnne, who cares if she’s disappointed? After she laid us all low yesterday, her feelings shouldn’t even be considered. She obviously had no concern for ours, the way she criticized us. Scathingly criticized us, I might add.”

  “Well, you’re right,” LuAnne agreed. “I just wish you’d told me you weren’t signing. You know me, I don’t like to be the only one holding out.”