Miss Julia Inherits a Mess (2 page)

When the phone rang again, I hurried to it, hoping there would be news of Mattie's condition.

“Julia, it's me,” Mildred Allen said, although I instantly recognized her voice. Mildred lived next door in what was the largest house in Abbotsville or, if not the absolute largest, pretty close to that distinction. “I guess you've heard from LuAnne about Mattie Freeman.”

“I have, and I was just sitting here wondering what Mattie will do, now that she probably won't regain her mobility anytime soon.”

“Well,” Mildred said, “I say it'd be a good thing if she doesn't. Julia, she can't hear and she can't half see, yet she drives that old car like she's the only one on the road.”

“Oh, I know. I pull to the side when I see her coming.” We laughed a little at the thought of Mattie's age-old Oldsmobile barreling around town. “I don't think they make those things anymore, and I keep hoping it'll die on her. I doubt she'd be able to get parts for it, so she'd have to park it.”

“We'd all be safer if she did, but let me ask you something,” Mildred said. “I've had her on my mind all morning and started wondering about this. Have you noticed how Miss Mattie's teas keep getting smaller and smaller? I can remember when she'd have about a dozen guests every spring to repay her obligations for the past year. Her teas were always lovely—especially those
luscious finger sandwiches she served. But last year there were just a few of us there. Are people turning down her invitations or is she just not inviting many?”

“Oh, Mildred, I finally figured that out. It took me awhile, but I think I know the answer. You're right, years ago she always invited eleven ladies, making twelve counting herself. That's about all her living room will hold at one time anyway.”

Miss Mattie had lived in a two-bedroom apartment in an old but substantial building near town for as long as I'd known her. The tall, spacious rooms with medallioned ceilings, designed by an architect unaffected by modernism, were filled with furniture of a size and quality that indicated a decline from more gracious surroundings. She entertained once a year—always in the late spring when it was warm enough for her guests to expand into the sunroom through the French doors in her living room.

“Yes, I know,” Mildred said, “but what I'm saying is that she hasn't had that many guests in a number of years. Last spring there were only five of us, six counting her.”

“Well, hold on. I'm telling you why. You know that lovely china she has?”

“Meissen, isn't it? I don't know the name of the pattern.”

I started laughing. “I don't think anybody does. Remember the time LuAnne raised her cup over her head to look at the mark on the bottom?”

“And tilted it so she spilled tea on herself? I sure do—funniest thing I'd seen in ages.”

“Well, anyway,” I went on when we stopped laughing. “It's a beautiful set—so thin you can practically see through it and quite old. It's probably been discontinued by now. But that's the problem. Mildred, I think that over the years, Miss Mattie has suffered some cup and saucer breakage, and as they break, she's had to cut down on the number of guests she invites.”

“Why, that's right. I should've figured that out myself. I remember thinking—what was it, three years ago?—how strange it was that Mattie had invited only seven guests. Such an odd
number, but that meant she was down to eight cups and saucers. And last year she must've been down to six. Oh, bless her heart, that's so sad.”

“It is,” I agreed, “but you have to admire her for keeping up appearances in spite of it.”

“She certainly does that. And woe be to anyone who leaves her off a guest list. Ever since she started using that walker, though, she's a danger to have around.”

“Oh, I know. She almost crippled a visiting preacher one time when a rubber-tipped metal leg of that walker landed on his foot. How old do you think she is, anyway?”

“Older than we are, that's for sure.”

“I guess that makes her fairly close to ancient—speaking for myself, of course.”

“Of course,” Mildred said, laughing. “But, Julia, do you think she'll have to go into a hospice or a retirement home or what? She won't be able to stay by herself, will she?”

“I wouldn't think so, and the way hospitals discharge patients so quickly these days, something will have to be decided fairly soon. Does she really have no family at all?”

“I've never known her to mention any, although generally there's a distant cousin crouching in the background somewhere just waiting for a death notice.”

“Oh, don't even think that. Besides, I expect that even if a distant cousin shows up, he'd be sorely disappointed.” We let a few seconds pass in silence as we thought of Miss Mattie's dire straits. “Mildred, you and I may have to step in if it comes down to it.”

Mildred sighed. “I was thinking the same thing, although I don't want it to get around that we're providing Social Security supplements. No telling where it would end with all the impoverished widows in this town.”

“I'm in total agreement with that. But let's just wait and see how she gets along. For all we know, we'll be dodging that Oldsmobile again in a few weeks.”

_______

After hanging up the phone, I walked to the window overlooking the backyard. It was a beautiful spring day—clear skies and a warm breeze stirring the leafed-out ornamental fruit trees we'd planted a few years back. The forsythia, jonquils, and tulips were about gone, but the wisteria over the arbor and the crape myrtles beside it were just before their full blooming stage.

It was time for Miss Mattie's annual tea party, but there wouldn't be one this year.
Maybe I should do it for her
. That was an inspiring thought, and I congratulated myself for thinking of it. I sat down to think it through.

I would have it here at my house, of course, and Mattie would be the guest of honor. And I would invite more than five or seven or even eleven guests because I had thirty-six unbroken and unchipped cups and saucers. And they would be constantly washed and replaced on the silver tray as guests came and went.

I would seat Mattie in one of the large wingback chairs, not in the living room, which would create congestion at the front door, but here in the new library, where the ladies could line up to be greeted in style. And I'd keep that perilous walker far from Mattie's chair, so she couldn't get up and down, posing a danger to every foot in the room.

Mattie would be in her element—she loved parties and never missed a one. If, for some reason, she did not receive an invitation to a party that she knew someone was giving, she wasn't above calling the hostess with the news that her invitation had been lost in the mail.

But thinking of all that, my mind eventually came back to the question of what was to become of her now. There were at least two large complexes near town that catered to well-to-do couples, widows, and widowers in their declining years, offering both excellent living conditions and lifetime care. One of those would be ideal for Miss Mattie—she would revel in the attention—but I doubted she'd be able to afford either one.

The alternative, as far as I knew, was some crowded government establishment where she'd have a roommate who'd keep her awake by moaning and crying all night, and aide workers who would do the best they could, but which in the final analysis wouldn't be good enough. Shunted aside, that's what it would come down to, and I hated the thought of that.

I might as well be honest here and say right up front that Mattie and I had never been close. She'd been on the fringes of my acquaintances throughout the years, and neither of us had made any effort toward a closer relationship. She had always been so
old,
even years ago when we were all younger. Her hair had always been up in a bun, and her clothes had always been gray or black. For years, she had been a tall, big-boned woman—not particularly overweight, but in the last several years her frame had broadened and become more hunched as her legs bowed from the weight. You wouldn't want to go through a doorway with her.

I smiled to myself recalling the first time Lloyd had seen her not long after he and his mother had come to live with me. He'd thought she was the witch from
Hansel and Gretel,
and he'd kept his distance from the oven as long as she was in the house.

It had been a natural progression for Mattie to go from a limp to a cane to a walker. And now, perhaps, to a chair or a bed for the rest of her life.

I got so sad thinking about it that I had to get up and walk around.

And a convenient move that was, because I could walk right on out of the room as Lillian called me to lunch.

“Tuna fish salat,” Lillian said, motioning to the plate on the kitchen table. “I always think of it when springtime come rollin' 'round.”

“It does look good,” I said, sitting at the table. “Have you eaten?”

Lillian laughed. “I been eatin' all mornin'.” She scrubbed a spot on the counter, then rinsed the cloth under running water. “Miss Julia, did you hear 'bout pore ole Miss Mattie Freeman? Everybody at the grocery store wonderin' what gonna happen to her now.”

“Yes, I have heard, and I've been wondering the same thing. It's so sad to be all alone in the world, which is what we think she is. I can't imagine what she'll do. I don't even know what her choices would be in the way of getting the help she'll need.”

“Well, they's lots of nursin' homes out in the country,” Lillian said. “But they all crowded up with cranky ole people that can't do nothin' for their selves. I wouldn't put my dog in a one of 'em.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, lifting a fork full of tuna salad. “Well, I hope she's had the foresight to designate someone to make those decisions for her if it comes down to it. But,” I went on, “for all we know, she could get over this and be her old self again. Lots of people do.”

“Yes'm,” Lillian agreed, but with little conviction. She busied herself with pulling out various pans and pots in preparation for
dinner. “Oh, I forget to tell you,” she said, turning to me, “I run into that nice Miss Etta Mae in the coffee aisle at the store today. She ast me how you doin'.”

“Well, how sweet of her. I haven't seen her for a while. Is she getting along all right?”

“Yes'm, I guess. She smilin' an' talkin' like she always do. But, I tell you, she have that long, lonesome look 'round her eyes—you know what I'm talkin' about. So all that talkin' an' carryin' on don't fool me. She a sad young woman.”

“Oh, I hate to hear that,” I said, putting down my fork, troubled by Lillian's insight—she was rarely wrong. “I hope nothing bad has happened to her.” I put my napkin by my plate and stood up. “I think I'll call her and see how she's doing. I've been thinking of her anyway, wondering if she might be available to help Mattie when she comes home.”

“Yes'm, Miss Mattie gonna need lots of help, an' maybe Miss Etta Mae could go stay with her like she did when Miss Hazel Marie have her twinses.”

“Well, I don't know about that,” I said, rolling my eyes just a little. “You wouldn't believe what her employer—Lurline Somebody—charged for letting her do private duty. I wouldn't have minded if Etta Mae had gotten it—I mean, she was up and down all night every night with those babies, then taking care of them and Hazel Marie during the day. She earned every penny, but she only got her regular salary.”

Lillian smiled. “I 'spect you make up for it, though.”

I smiled back. “A workman is worthy of his hire, I always say.”

I stood by the table for a few minutes, lost in thought. Then I said, “You know, if anybody else could hear me I wouldn't say this—I'd probably be strung up by wild-eyed feminists. But I think what Etta Mae needs is a man.”

“Law, Miss Julia,” Lillian said, laughing as she cut her eyes at me. “From what I hear, she already have a bait of 'em. I 'spect that the last thing on her mind.”

“Well, I'm talking about a decent, hardworking man who'd
love her and support her as she deserves to be. She's all alone in the world except for Granny Wiggins, who seems healthy enough now, but how long will that last? And it'll be Etta Mae who'll be taking care of her.”

“Well, you know what they say. You spend the first part of your life taking care of chil'ren, an' the last part taking care of your mama an' daddy. An' your grands, too, if you got 'em.”

“That's the truth,” I said, then had to smile because it wasn't the truth for me. “I guess that's the bright side of having no children and outliving all your relatives. I tell you, Lillian, I don't think I'm cut out for taking care of an old person. Not enough patience, for one thing.”

Lillian grunted. “You didn't think you was cut out to take care of no chil'ren, either, and look what been happenin'.”

“Well,” I conceded with a smile, “Lloyd is a different matter altogether. And the little Pickens girls, too. And I guess Coleman and Binkie's Gracie as well. But I'd rather deal with children than with some sharp-tongued old person who's never pleased with anything you do.”

“You got that right, 'less,” she said, stopping to laugh, “it Latisha you got to deal with. She a handful.”

I smiled at the thought of Lillian's talkative great-grandchild. “Well, it's said that the Lord never gives you more than you can handle, but I thank goodness that Sam and I are the oldest in both our families. I don't have to worry about having someone in declining health on my hands for the rest of his or her life.”

“Yessum,” Lillian mumbled as she began peeling potatoes. “The Lord, He know what He doin', all right.”

_______

“Etta Mae?” I said when she answered her cell phone. “It's Julia Murdoch. I hope I'm not calling at an inconvenient time.”

“Oh, Miss Julia! How nice to hear from you, and, no, it's not inconvenient. I'm in my car, on my way to the next patient.”

“Well, good. You're so busy that I always hesitate to call.”

“Oh, don't do that. You can call anytime you want to. I can always stop what I'm doing if you need anything.”

“That's very thoughtful of you, Etta Mae. But what I'm calling about now is to see if you could add another patient to your list.”

There was silence on the line. Then she asked, “Are you having trouble, Miss Julia?”

“Me? Oh, no. My goodness, I'm as healthy as a horse. No, I'm calling about a friend who might need some help.” And I went on to tell her about Mattie Freeman, although emphasizing that I was simply exploring the possibilities.

“Well, sure,” Etta Mae said, although with markedly less enthusiasm than I'd previously heard. “Lurline would have to rearrange the schedules with the other girls, but if you ask for me, I expect she would.”

“Understand, though,” I said, “that I'm not talking about round-the-clock care from you. That would be entirely too much to ask—and I'm not that close to Mattie. And it may not come to needing you at all. For all I know, she's made her own plans, and I hope she has.”

“Maybe so, but you can let me know.”

“Thank you, I will. But, Etta Mae . . . ?”

“Ma'am?”

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, I'm okay,” she said with a sigh. “Just a little disappointed, I guess. I thought maybe you were calling about taking another trip to West Virginia or Florida or somewhere.” She laughed at her dashed hopes.

“I tell you what, Etta Mae,” I said, about to promise something that I'd never thought of before. “When this business with Mattie is settled, we ought to take a trip. But not for the reasons we took the other ones. Let's think about just going somewhere for fun.”

“I would love it,” she said, and from the way she said it, I knew she meant it.