Miss Julia Rocks The Cradle Part 13

The bed with none beside.

It's a fact that some people can say a mouthful in only a few words, while others can talk all day and never say a thing. I knew many of the latter, but only a few of the former, Sam being the prime example. And did he ever pack a lot of pain and anguish and recrimination in the few words he spoke as he turned and walked off.

How in the world would I ever get through the next several days? Or would it be longer than that? Maybe Sam had come to the end of his rope and the few days would become forever. I couldn't bear the thought, and rolled and tumbled some more.

By the time the sun began to come up and I could rise along with it, I'd set myself a course of action. There was nothing for it but to find out all I could about Richard's postprison visit to town-a place you'd think he'd want to avoid, seeing that he'd flimflammed so many people here. Yet here he'd come, only to end up dead in the most unlikely place-in between Laverne Petty's house and Thurlow Jones's. Must be a reason he'd been there, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the toolshed was at the very back edge of Miss Petty's yard, which put it right next to the back boundary of Thurlow's yard.

We'd all a.s.sumed he'd been visiting Miss Petty, but maybe we'd all been wrong. Maybe it was Thurlow he'd been interested in. But why? As far as I knew, and I pretty well knew the facts, Thurlow hadn't been a part of the scheme cooked up by Richard and the New Jersey developer that had sent both of them to jail. Thurlow was about half crazy in some ways, but he was a wily character when it came to finances. That's why he had so much: he didn't fall for get-rich-quick schemes.

Still, the only thing I could think of to explain Richard's presence on a cold winter night in a toolshed that overlooked Thurlow's house was that he either had something on Thurlow or he wanted something from him.

But why was he in the toolshed? Why hadn't he been in Thurlow's house? Or in the front yard, even? Why in the toolshed as if he had been lurking and watching and waiting for something? Or somebody?

As I smoothed out the coverlet on the bed, I determined that the first thing I needed to do was check out that toolshed. Which house could be watched from it: Miss Petty's or Thurlow's? If, that is, either of them had been the focus of Richard's interest. I couldn't let myself overlook the possibility that the toolshed had simply been a place a sick man had chosen to wait out a sudden spasm that, unfortunately, led to a permanent wait.

But that didn't make sense. Why was he even in that part of town? Logically, Helen was the only one he had reason to want to see and she lived nowhere near his final resting place. And if he'd been walking on a cold night and suddenly become ill, why not knock on a door and get help?

Actually, none of it made sense, but that was because I didn't have all the facts. And now that the sheriff had determined Richard had died from natural causes, the case would be closed and I'd be free to look around for myself.

And that's exactly what I decided to do. If Sam was so concerned about Richard and me or Thurlow and me, it behooved me to straighten him out with the facts. And the first fact I had to make sure he grasped was that my being entangled with either one of those unsavory types-one about crazy and the other a felon-was laughable. Except Sam wasn't laughing, and neither was I.

I knew, of course, that it was currently trendy for older women to take up with younger men. I knew because Hazel Marie had pointed out several examples in the movie magazines she was constantly reading. But I'll tell you the truth: Richard Stroud had been too old to attract the interest of a mature woman looking for a young thing. Certainly not this mature woman, even if I'd had a yen for something fresh and green, which I most a.s.suredly had not, and how Sam could've even considered such a thing was beyond me.

I went to the front windows to open the curtains, longing for a cup of coffee but knowing it was too early to disturb the rest of the house. Looking out the window onto Polk Street, I could see that fog from melting snow had almost hidden the church from view. The steeple, though, the one where pigeons roosted and littered the roof, rose up out of the fog, and I took it as a sign that I was on the right track.

Looking down at the street again, a pair of headlights pierced the fog as a white car eased to a stop in front of the house at the stop sign. An early riser, I thought, on the way to work-maybe to open a shop on Main Street-but as the car pulled silently past the stop sign, I almost lost my breath. If that wasn't Helen Stroud's car, I'd eat my hat.

Chapter 25.

My hat was safe. I could rarely distinguish one make from another when it came to cars, but Helen drove a Volvo, the rarest of cars in a town of American-made sedans and pickups, with more than a few j.a.panese models thrown in. The car suited Helen: neither was flashy and both were sedate and dependable.

So what was Helen doing riding around at daybreak, almost invisible in the fog? Where had she been and where was she going at such an unlikely hour? She had been headed toward town but was coming from the direction in which her husband, or ex-husband, had perished. But as I reminded myself, that didn't have to mean anything. Half the town's citizens resided in that direction. She could've been doing something entirely innocent, such as driving around because she couldn't sleep and just happened by my house at the same time I was up for the same reason.

There also could've been a dozen other reasons for Helen's early morning excursion, but the most likely ones were the few I wanted to look into. Number one, that toolshed: check out what might've drawn Richard to it. Number two, subtly and kindly interrogate Laverne Petty as to her connection, if any, to Richard. Number three, do the same with Thurlow, although not as subtly or as kindly.

I was going to need some help-two visitors with a ca.s.serole would be more welcome and less likely to inspire suspicion than one visitor with no legitimate reason for knocking on a door. Etta Mae came to mind-she'd have been perfect-but she had her hands full of babies, and Hazel Marie needed her. Lillian? Yes, maybe so, except I wasn't sure she'd do it. She, too, was too wrapped up tending babies to give me her full attention. Lloyd? I'd have to think about that. Miss Petty, after all, was his teacher and I didn't want to undermine his respect for her by prying into her personal life. In his presence, that is.

It struck me, then, that Helen might already be doing exactly what I was planning to do. If I'd been in her shoes, I'd want to know more than "natural causes in an unnatural place," especially because Lieutenant Peavey had left a lot of questions unanswered. But after thinking about it, I decided I didn't have the nerve to suggest that she join forces with me to find out what Richard had been up to. For all I knew, Helen could be grieving over her loss in spite of having divorced him, shocking most of us by her immediate cutting of the tie that binds. We'd all thought that she would stand by her man, at least until his prison sentence was up, for no other reason than to at least demonstrate her own fidelity. But she'd surprised us. The cell door had hardly slammed behind Richard before Helen inst.i.tuted proceedings to cut him off entirely.

But who knows what goes on in the heart of a woman? Especially a woman like Helen, who, as far as I knew, had never hung out her dirty linen for all to see. The only one I could account for was myself, and the only reason to pry into other people's business was to prove to Sam beyond a shadow of a doubt that my life was an open book. Except for when I invested with Richard, which I would regret and atone for till my dying day.

As soon as I heard Lillian plod downstairs, I went around waking Lloyd and Latisha for school. By the time I got to the kitchen, one baby had tuned up from the back bedroom and the other quickly joined in.

"Morning, Lillian," I said, as I walked to the coffeepot to watch it finish perking. "I didn't sleep too well last night, but I didn't hear the babies. Did they sleep through?"

"Yes'm, pretty much. I hear Miss Etta Mae down here in the kitchen 'bout four o'clock, an' I start to get up to help her. But she poke them bottles in they mouths an' I didn't hear another peep."

"I didn't hear any of that," I said, wondering at how deeply I'd slept after such restlessness earlier. That, I a.s.sured myself, came from having made a decision and figured out a plan of action. I had determined sometime in the night that I would not sit around twiddling my thumbs while Sam pondered the state of our marriage. Who knew what conclusion he'd come to if he was left to ponder alone?

As soon as the pot stopped perking, I poured a cup of coffee for myself and one for Lillian before sitting at the table. She laid strips of bacon in a black iron skillet, then set it aside and joined me.

"I know why you not sleepin' so good," she said, c.o.c.king an eye at me. "You got yo' mind whirlin' 'round Mr. Sam an' what you can do to get him to come on back home. An' I hate to hear what you got cooked up. I know you got something goin' on, 'cause I see it in yo' eyes."

I heard little feet stomping around upstairs and knew that Latisha would be down soon. I had to talk and talk fast before the kitchen was full and the time for talk was past.

"I certainly do have something cooked up," I said, my face tightening as I leaned toward her. "You didn't think I'd take this lying down, did you? Just let my husband walk out without raising a hand to stop him? No, ma'am, he's got it all wrong, and I'm going to find out what's been going on and prove to him that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. Then he can beg for my forgiveness, instead of my begging for his."

"Oh, Law," Lillian said, raring back. "Now you on a rampage, and nothin' good gonna come of it." Then she hunched forward and looked me right in the eye. "You better think twicet 'fore you go messin' with Mr. Sam, gettin' him all riled up an' even madder than he already is. If he even mad at all. Sound to me like he got hurt feelin's more than anything else."

"Well," I said in my defense, "he hurt mine first-not believing me and walking off the way he did. Look, Lillian, the only thing I know to do is show him that I was not mixed up with Richard Stroud or Thurlow Jones, and the only way to do that is to find out what they were mixed up in. That makes sense, doesn't it? "

"Maybe to you it do, but maybe not to Mr. Sam. Maybe he want a helpmeet that stay home an' keep outta trouble."

"Then he married the wrong woman, and I don't believe that for a minute." I reached over and put my hand on her arm. "I need help, Lillian, somebody to go with me and be a witness. Will you do it?"

She jerked back in her chair. "How I'm gonna do that? Miss Hazel Marie need me, an' I got dinner to cook an' lunch to get ready jus' as soon as I get breakfast on the table. An' they's clothes to wash an' beds to change an' I don't know what all." Then she squinched up her eyes at me. "What you gonna do, anyway?"

"Just make a few visits, that's all. Maybe take a ca.s.serole or two with us. Or a cake, whatever's easiest, because I know you have lots to do. But I'll help you-I promise I will. I'll put the clothes in the washer and whatever else you need done."

"Who you gonna visit?"

"Miss Petty, for one, but we'll have to wait till this afternoon when school's out. But we can see Thurlow this morning . . ."

At her gasp, I hurried on. "It's important, Lillian, because LuAnne told me that Miss Petty stayed the whole night with him when we lost power. I haven't said anything about that because I didn't want to gossip, but we need to know what's going on with those two. Then the last, and maybe most important visit, will have to be to that toolshed."

"No, ma'am, no, ma'am," Lillian said, rising from her chair. "Neither you nor me is gonna go snoopin' where some ghost be hoverin' 'round."

"We have to, Lillian. We have to see if Mr. Stroud was in there because of Miss Petty or because of Thurlow, or just in there because he had no other place to go. And there won't be any ghosts. In fact, you won't even have to go inside. You can stand outside and be the lookout. Your eyesight's good at night, isn't it?"

"At night! " Lillian screeched so loud and jumped back so quick that I thought she'd bring everybody running to see what was wrong. "No, ma'am," she said firmly, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "No, ma'am, no, ma'am."

"Then I'll do it by myself. Tonight, after everybody's asleep, especially the babies. I'd like to have some company, but . . ." I shrugged my shoulders. "If that's the way it is, so be it. I'll do whatever it takes to bring my precious husband home where he belongs."

"What you think you gonna see in the dark anyway?" Lillian asked, giving me a hard look. "Why don't you go in the daytime like normal people?"

"That's just it, Lillian," I said excitedly because she was finally understanding what I was up against. "Richard wasn't acting like a normal person, and of course Thurlow never does. That's why we need to go at night so we can see what Richard saw. That's the whole point of it. And I promise, you won't have to put a foot inside. Just stand beside the door and let me know if anybody's coming."

"Well," Lillian said, somewhat grudgingly, "lemme think about it."

"Oh good! I'll wake you around two if, that is, the babies stay on schedule. If they don't, well, we'll have to see, but I'm going to do it, come what may."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Lillian said, as she put the skillet of bacon over a flame. "Whatever that *come what may' might be, an' when it start comin' down on us."

Chapter 26.

Later in the morning, after the children were off to school and Etta Mae and Hazel Marie were washing babies, I sidled up to Lillian in the dining room. She was vigorously polishing the table with lemon oil and the scent nearly brought me to my knees because it reminded me so much of Sam. His aftershave had a much lighter aroma, of course, but still, everywhere I turned I was reminded of his absence.

Taking myself in hand, I whispered, "I've changed my mind about visiting anybody today. We need to see that toolshed first-tonight-then we'll know how to lead the conversation."

"I'm not leadin' nothin'," she said, rubbing the table harder than it needed. "I might go with you an' I might not, but everything else is your little red wagon."

"Oh, I know, I don't expect anything more. But to put off the visitations until tomorrow gives you time to fix something for us to take. Nothing fancy, Lillian, just something to get a foot in the door."

She grunted, mumbled something that sounded like, "My foot," and kept polishing what was already the shiniest table in town. I left her to it and went upstairs.

There I went through the closet and laid out the warmest clothes I could find to get me through a late-night reconnaissance: a woolen dress, two sweaters, heavy cotton stockings that Hazel Marie called tights, a pair of cashmere socks, fur-lined gloves, galoshes to keep my feet dry, and a heavy coat. The weather had turned almost balmy for January in the last few days, but the temperature would be at its lowest in the dead of night.

Taking no chances on freezing, I slipped into Lloyd's room and s.n.a.t.c.hed up two toboggan caps to keep our heads warm. Back in the pink bedroom, I laid everything out in a chair so they'd be ready to go when I was.

As I studied the layout, desolation swept over me again, and I had an urge to run to Sam and beg his forgiveness. Or call him, just to hear his voice. He might be just sitting at his desk waiting for me to make the first move. When the telephone rang at that moment, my heart lifted. I ran to the bedside table to answer it, then the little pride I had left made me hesitate as Lillian picked up downstairs.

She called me in a loud whisper from the foot of the stairs. "It's yo' pastor," she said when I leaned over the bannister. "An' we need to fix up something where I don't have to yell an' wake up them babies every time the phone ring."

The bottom dropped out when I heard that it wasn't Sam calling, and I sighed at the thought of what the pastor would want from me. If he'd somehow learned of the rift in our household, I hoped to goodness he didn't intend to suggest a counseling session. I knew too much about the state of the pastor's marriage to think he had anything to offer us.

When I answered the phone, Pastor Ledbetter said, "Miss Julia? I'm calling around to see if we'll have a good turnout today. Will you be there?"

"Be where, Pastor?" I didn't recall any meeting or service planned for the day and was momentarily disconcerted that something had slipped my mind. Surely he hadn't gotten together a group counseling session. That would be the last straw.

"The funeral. Or rather, the graveside service. I thought you would've received an invitation."

"An invitation to a funeral?" I was more than momentarily disconcerted at the idea of invitations being extended for a committal.

"Well, I don't mean an official invitation, exactly, although some people do it that way. I a.s.sumed that Helen would want you and a few others to be there."

"Helen? Oh, you mean Richard's funeral." Funny, I hadn't thought of the fact that Richard would need a burial, but of course he would. "I must say, Pastor, that I'm a little taken aback that Helen is arranging this. I thought they were divorced."

"Now, Miss Julia, you know I don't believe in divorce. I had a few counseling sessions with Helen and encouraged her not to go through with it. Once married, always married, I always say, and besides, there may have been some financial considerations for keeping the marriage intact, Social Security and so on-I'm not really sure. But there are all kinds of benefits, spiritual and otherwise, when you decide against seeking a divorce. So because Richard had no other family, she's a.s.suming the responsibility. And under the circ.u.mstances, I commend her for selecting a graveside service and not a funeral in the sanctuary. Even so, I'm afraid that few people will be there, given his recent troubles, so I thought I'd call around with a reminder. Helen will certainly need the comfort of her friends during this trying time."

After getting the time, two o'clock, and the place, Good Shepherd Cemetery, of the service, I promised to do my best to be there. Hanging up the phone, I considered what I'd heard. So Helen had not followed through with the divorce-that was a surprise. But it was his words, "once married, always married," that rang in my head. I was well aware of the pastor's antipathy toward divorce, but hearing it again made me wonder if it would do any good for Sam to hear it, making me slightly more amenable to being counseled. But then I had to wonder if the pastor's belief in "once married, always married" meant that I was still married to Wesley Lloyd Springer, and if so, how things would work out in heaven if I had two husbands to contend with. And think of all the widows and widowers who'd also remarried. Why, when you consider all those once-and-future husbands and wives milling around, either trying to get back together or trying to avoid each other, heaven would be a place of complete turmoil.

Well, of course there'd be no marrying or giving in marriage in heaven, so I thought maybe when we all got there, the Lord would issue a Great and General Divorce Decree, in spite of the pastor's disbelief, and I wouldn't have to worry about it.

Hearing the commotion start up again downstairs, I went down to offer my help. Etta Mae was preparing bottles while the din got louder in the bedroom.

"Can I help?" I asked, but hesitantly because I'd pretty much stayed out of the way ever since the babies had taken up residence.

"You sure can," Etta Mae said. "You can feed one of them while I do the other one. Hazel Marie just washed her hair and she's dripping all over the place. We thought they'd sleep a little longer, but no such luck."

I followed her into the bedroom where she indicated the upholstered rocking chair. "Sit there, Miss Julia, and I'll give you one. Hazel Marie, go ahead and dry your hair, we'll take care of them." And before I knew it, I was given a very unhappy little girl.

"Here's the bottle," Etta Mae said. "Just put the nipple next to her mouth and she'll take it."

And did she ever! "This child acts like she's starved," I said, wondering at the intensity and strength of a pair of little working jaws.

Hazel Marie sat on the side of the bed, toweling her hair, and watched us. "I think the hair dryer woke them up, but they'll have to get used to that-I use it so much." She laughed, but I noticed that she kept her eye on me. And rightly so because I was feeding an infant for the first time in my life.

Hazel Marie let the towel drop as a dreamy expression crossed her face. "I can hardly wait for them to get a little older. I'm going to have so much fun fixing their hair and dressing them. I wish I knew how to smock, I'd make them little matching dresses and embroider some teddy bears or something across the smocking."

"You're already fixing their hair," Etta Mae said, holding up two tiny pink ribbons. "Miss Julia, you should've seen these bows in their hair. We'll put them back in, but they slide right back out when the babies start wiggling around."

After a while, I became accustomed to holding and feeding the baby and was able to relax and let the child eat without staring at her. Etta Mae sat across from me with the other baby, who took to the bottle with loud gulps, working away at it as if it were the last meal on earth.

"Pastor Ledbetter called a little while ago," I said, venturing a conversation while having the responsibility of such an important task as feeding a baby. "He's having services for Richard Stroud this afternoon, and he's afraid Helen will feel forsaken if no one comes. So he asked me to be there. And I'm just not sure I'm up to it."

"Why would she feel forsaken?" Hazel Marie asked, stopping to look out at me through strands of drying hair. "I thought she divorced him."

"I thought she had too," I said, moving my baby-holding arm the least little bit to avoid a cramp. "But apparently he, I mean the pastor, not Richard, talked her out of it at the last minute."

Etta Mae chimed in. "Preachers are always trying to talk somebody into or out of something."

"Well, it'd be the nice thing to do, I guess," Hazel Marie said. "To go, I mean, for Helen's sake. But I can't imagine the church will fill up, not for an ex-convict, anyway."

"I think they know that, because it's a graveside service," I said.

"Oh my goodness," Etta Mae said. "I bet that means they're burying just his cremains."

"Cremains?" Hazel Marie asked. "What's that?"

"His ashes," Etta Mae told her. "What's left after being cremated."

"Yuck, as Lloyd says," Hazel Marie said. "I wouldn't want to be cremated, would you?"

"I doubt you'd know it at the time," I said.

"Well, but still," Hazel Marie responded, scrunching up her shoulders, "the thought of it makes me shiver. I'm going to write that down somewhere: don't cremate me. And, Miss Julia, don't let J.D. do that to me. I want to rise up on the last day all put together, not scattered to the four winds."