Miss Julia Renews Her Vows (38 page)

“Larry!” he screamed, coming to an abrupt halt as his face screwed up in shock at seeing the pastor. Then, quickly recovering, Dr. Fowler practically threw himself on him. “Just in time, Larry, you got here just in time.”

“What’s going on here?” Pastor Ledbetter demanded, pushing Dr. Fowler away.

“You have to understand,” Dr. Fowler pleaded, his hands scrabbling against the pastor. “She’s crazy, and I’m a PhD, not a physician. I don’t have the tools to deal with her.”

And then there was Francie, standing in the doorway. She smiled at us, tittered and straightened her dress. Her hat, I noticed, was on the floor behind her, and her hair looked the worse for it.

“Why, Pastor Ledbetter,” she said, just as calm and collected as you please. “And Julia. You really should be home resting, dear. Fred and I have been wrestling with my spiritual problems, and he’s been ever so much help.”

“Seems you’ve been wrestling with more than that,” Pastor Ledbetter said. He shrugged off Dr. Fowler, who’d scurried behind him and was nudging up against his back.

All this while, Dr. Fowler had taken no notice of me, mainly because my initial shock at seeing him had made me step back into a corner. And I guess he had enough to handle without bringing up a previous wrestling match.

“It was innocent, Larry,” Dr. Fowler pleaded. “I promise you, it was innocent. Until, until something just came over her. I am just done in. I can’t get my breath. I need to lie down. Cancel the meeting, Larry, I can’t go on.”

“I certainly will cancel the meeting,” the pastor said, his mouth in a firm line. “And you, Mrs. Delacorte, need to go home. The church, after hours, is no place to wrestle with anything. And Fred,” he went on, turning to him, “you go to the inn. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

“Well!” Francie retorted. “I guess
I’ve
been told off. All right, I’ll go, but you can bet I won’t darken the door of
this
church again!” And she tossed her head and began swishing her way toward the elevator.

“Wait, Francie,” I called, so pleased with her banishment that I forgot to stay hidden. “You forgot your hat.”

“Bring it to me tomorrow,” she said without slowing down. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said, half under my breath but not caring who heard me.

Pastor Ledbetter put his hands on his hips and gazed, somewhat scornfully, at Dr. Fowler, who stood trembling and, by this time, leaning against the wall. If I hadn’t personally known how manipulative the man could be, I might’ve felt sorry for him, in spite of the fact that I was seeing more than I wanted to see of white chest hair. But he’d just met his match in Francie, who, unlike me, didn’t have a smidgen of shame in her. Dr. Fowler was left holding the bag, and I didn’t think Pastor Ledbetter could whitewash a second such episode with a widow woman in the bridal parlor.

“Larry,” Dr. Fowler said, suddenly straightening up and speaking more authoritatively than he had any right to do. “You have a severe problem here. You should take note of Paul’s letter to Timothy concerning idle widows who wander from house to house, carrying tales and stirring up trouble. A series of classes on the proper conduct of widows is required to get this church back on track. I’ll be glad to take that on for you.” He slid the knot of his tie up to his collar, even though his shirt was still gaping open. With an effort to sound calm and in control, he added, “I have some experience along those lines, you know.”

Pastor Ledbetter just stared at him, a look on his face of stunned disbelief at Dr. Fowler’s presumption. Then he turned to me and said, “Miss Julia, I think I owe you an apology for a past error in judgment.”

Well, he certainly did, and he made one of sorts, though it humbled him to do it.

Then Pastor Ledbetter motioned Dr. Fowler and me toward the elevator. “The two of you can go on home. I’ll stay and cancel the meeting. In the meantime, Fred, you need to spend some time in prayer. I’ll meet with you in the morning in my office.”

We got in the elevator, each taking a different corner, and rode down in silence. I studied Dr. Fowler, marveling at how the mighty had fallen. He continued to ignore me, and I wondered if he didn’t remember or even recognize me. That was probably it, and here I’d been suffering agonies of shame and regret for years over a terrible lapse of common sense.

When we stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, we heard voices and laughter coming from the men’s classroom, where people had begun to gather.

Pastor Ledbetter said, “I recommend that you both go out the main door, so you can avoid meeting anybody. I’ll tell the group that you’re incapacitated, Fred, and won’t be able to continue the classes.”

“But Larry,” Dr. Fowler declared, “I’ll be able to complete the series. Just let me get myself together tonight, and I’ll pick right up next week. What I have to say about enriching marriages is too important to let fall by the wayside.”

I didn’t think that Pastor Ledbetter’s face could get any grimmer, but it did. “This church,” he said, “has had all the marriage enrichment it can stand. The series is canceled.”

And with that, he stalked off toward the men’s classroom to send the group home. I turned down the corridor, hurrying to get away from Dr. Fowler and go home, too. I wasn’t quick enough, though, for Dr. Fowler was right behind me, and he hadn’t forgotten who I was.

“Mrs. Springer,” he called in a loud whisper, for he wasn’t eager to draw attention to himself from the group who’d gathered to hear his lecture. “Julia, wait, we need to talk.”

I kept on going. “My name is Julia Murdoch—Mrs. Murdoch to you—and we have nothing to talk about.”

“But you can help,” he said, drawing abreast and falling in step as we approached the Fellowship Hall. “All you have to do is tell Larry how easily these things get out of hand, and I am not to blame. Explain to him how widowhood creates a longing for intimacy and how, for some unknown reason, I seem to—I don’t know—just inflame lonely women.”

Walking into the dark Fellowship Hall, I came to a dead stop and turned to face him. “
For some unknown reason?
” I cried. “Let me tell you something,
Doctor
Fowler.
You
are the reason! Now, I grant you that you may’ve bitten off more than you could chew with Francie—she’s a different kettle of fish. But you took advantage of me, and you know it. You deliberately led me on to make a fool of myself. Maybe you did it to help the pastor get his hands on the Springer estate, or maybe you did it to have an example to cite and laugh about in your classes, I don’t know. But I do know this: I wouldn’t help you out of this mess if you were the last man on earth.”

Dr. Fowler’s shoulders slumped, as he said in a sad and dejected voice, “You’re a hard woman.”

“You better believe it,” I said and stomped off toward the door. Then I thought better of it and turned back. “Let me give you some advice: get yourself married. That way, you’ll have a little authority when you teach your classes, and it might keep you out of all the trouble you seem to have with widows.” Then, with sudden inspiration, I went on. “And Francie Pitts Delacorte is the perfect woman for you. She
likes
being married. She has lots of experience with it and she’s actively looking for a husband.” I knew, because she was looking at
mine.
“And furthermore,” I whispered, leaning toward him, while looking around to be sure we were alone, “she is well-to-do, and not only that, she has secret erotic knowledge. Why, Dr. Fowler, she could completely transform your ember-stoking classes.”

I declare if a spark of interest didn’t flare up in his eyes, turning soon into a gleam of speculation. “You don’t say,” he said.

“I certainly do, but I’d get a move on if I were you. Francie gets married at the drop of a hat, and right now she’s between husbands. You should call her.” Then turning to head toward the door, I added, “Maybe you could pick right up where you left off in the bridal parlor.”

Lord, so much had happened in the past hour that I had to take myself in hand to recall the reason I’d been anxious to get home. Hurrying to my car, I went over in my mind all that Dr. Hargrove had told me about dysosmia, that strange reaction to a blow on the head. I’d left the copied pages with Pastor Ledbetter, so I hoped I could recount the information closely enough to convince whoever needed convincing.

Getting in my car to move it off the street, I noted with satisfaction that Francie’s car was gone. I clicked my tongue, just so put out that the woman had no shame. If it’d been me who’d been caught wrestling with Dr. Fowler in the bridal parlor, I’d . . . well, it had been me at one time, and I still cringed at the thought.

I drove the few yards to my driveway, got out and went into the house. The kitchen was clean and quiet, but I could hear voices in the living room. Just as I started to go there, Etta Mae pushed through the swinging door.

“Miss Julia!” she said, then almost ran to me. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been so worried. Are you all right?” Then, lifting her voice, she called, “Hazel Marie! She’s home.”

They all—Hazel Marie, Mr. Pickens and Lloyd, but no Sam—trouped in, exclaiming over my late arrival. After assuring them that I’d been both unavoidably and constructively detained, but that I was perfectly all right, I said, “I’m about to starve.”

Etta Mae immediately went to the oven and brought out a plate that had been kept warm. “Sit right down and eat. We ate hours ago.”

“Sorry I’m late,” I said again, “but I’m glad you went ahead without me.” Then, glancing around, “Where’s Sam?”

Hazel Marie said, “Why, he went to that enrichment meeting at the church, but he almost didn’t go, he was so worried about you. The last we knew you were supposed to see Dr. Hargrove, and he was afraid he’d put you in the hospital or something.”

“I believe I’d have called if that’d happened,” I said somewhat dryly as I took a seat at the kitchen table.

“That’s what we told him, and he finally decided to go on because he thought you might meet him there.”

“Huh,” I said, picking up my fork. “Not likely. Besides, he’ll be back any minute because those classes have been canceled.” I began to eat.

So far, Mr. Pickens hadn’t said a word, just stood there with both hands resting on a chairback, those sharp, black eyes boring into me. “Is it safe to ask what you’ve been up to?”

“Well, my goodness,” I said, somewhat smugly, “why would you think I’ve been up to anything?” But I could hardly wait to tell them what I’d found out both in Dr. Hargrove’s office and in the church. “Let’s wait for Sam, then I’ll tell you. But Etta Mae,” I said, unable to stand it any longer, “your worries are all but over. And that’s all I’m going to say until Sam gets here.”

“Would you like a roll?” Hazel Marie asked, passing the basket.

“Thank you, I believe I would.” Then, glancing at Etta Mae’s anxious face, I decided to take pity on her and give her some relief. “Well, the first thing that happened—Sam made me an unscheduled appointment with Dr. Hargrove. I can tell you that because he already knows it.”

At the sound of the front door opening and closing, I stopped. Lloyd ran out of the kitchen, calling, “That’s him now. I’ll get him. Don’t tell anything till I get back.”

“Julia,” Sam said as he appeared in the room. “Honey, where’ve you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“You shouldn’t have been,” I said, somewhat tartly. “You knew I was at the doctor’s because you made the appointment.” Then, because pity was engulfing me all around, I took some on him. “I’m sorry I worried you, Sam, but I got waylaid over at the church. Come sit beside me, because I have some interesting news.”

By this time, they’d all gathered around the table and, between bites, I began to tell them almost all that had happened since I’d left home that afternoon. I left out my visit to LuAnne because I didn’t believe that was germane to the subject. Although I could assume that LuAnne had happened to mention to Francie that Dr. Fowler had more than a passing interest in her, and that might have sparked her interest in him, which may have led to the wrestling match in the bridal parlor.

But as I say, I left that out and proceeded to explain Dr. Hargrove’s discovery of a certain article on dysosmia. After defining that unusual reaction to head traumas, I had to wait for it to soak in.

“You mean,” Etta Mae exclaimed, “that she didn’t smell
anything
? That it was all in her head?”

“I never heard of such a thing,” Hazel Marie said in some wonder. “It’s kinda scary to think you could smell something that’s not even there.”

“Well,” I said, “it’s a settled fact that nobody was cooking collards in Francie’s house.”

Mr. Pickens took Hazel Marie’s hand, then he said, “Peavey wasn’t interested in collards. He knew that was unlikely. It was the Delacorte woman’s linking an odor to Etta Mae that he was going on—regardless of how it smelled. Although he told me that he couldn’t understand it. He kinda liked your perfume, Etta Mae.”