Well, of course, no one had a problem with referring to a young man as Father-I mean, if you were an Episcopalian or a Catholic to begin with because that's what they call their ministers. Besides, the t.i.tle is hallowed by centuries-long usage, and n.o.body thinks a thing about it.

I don't know the answer, but then I don't have to. We Presbyterians frown on anything that smacks of Romanism-in spite of the ec.u.menical efforts of some-so we'll stick with Pastor, which can go either way. Although as long as Pastor Ledbetter's around, we won't have the problem.

Intellectually, I am all for women doing whatever they want to do and going as far as they can with it. It's the emotional, almost the instinctual, reaction to women in the pulpit that makes me hesitant to accept them without question. I guess I'm of the old school too, which isn't always bad except when it lines me up with Pastor Ledbetter.

I declare, though, as I stood sipping tea and getting my first glimpse of Pastor Poppy, I didn't know what to think. Mildred was right: she was lovely. One of those young women you wouldn't call overweight but who had all the womanly curves anyone could want, and then some. She had her auburn hair in a French twist with little tendrils around her face, which took your eye with its smooth and glowing complexion-aided and abetted by expertly applied makeup. Eyeliner and lip gloss, even! Her brown eyes sparkled as she chatted, managing her teacup with the ease of someone long accustomed to dealing with slippery china. And every time she moved, I got a whiff of Shalimar, another plus in her favor.

Her red wool dress was tightly belted, emphasizing the roundness above and below. The dress was well fitted, almost too much so, as the neckline tended toward a fashionable cleavage, saved by a little strategically placed lace. Sheer black stockings and the highest of heels and-I almost gasped, considering the weather-open toed to reveal bright red polish on her toenails, matching that on her fingernails. Velma was going to love this woman, to say nothing of Hazel Marie.

Pastor Poppy had a bubbly laugh she freely used, drawing others to her. There was an easy social air about her, and nothing at all of an obvious piety that so often puts people off. If I hadn't known beforehand, I never would've picked her out of a crowd to be a minister of the Gospel. Whatever possessed her to become one, I didn't know, but she was as removed from John Wesley and his brother as a preacher could get.

I couldn't help but wonder what the men at First Methodist thought of her. The older men, I mean. I had no doubt that the younger ones would be dancing attendance.

Pastor Poppy greeted Emma Sue and me, turning her sweet and open smile on us. I could feel the tightness in Emma Sue, because even though she railed against some of Pastor Ledbetter's strictures on her as his wife, she had a high view of Scripture, particularly of anything Paul had written about how a church should be run.

"So," Emma Sue said, "you're the new youth minister at the Methodist church? Or is it minister of music?" Trying to fit this young woman into an acceptable slot.

"No," Pastor Poppy said with a pleasant smile. "I'm full-fledged. I'm the a.s.sistant pastor, which I'll be for a few years until the bishop a.s.signs me to my own congregation."

"Oh," Emma Sue said, swallowing hard. "Well, we don't, ah, have bishops so I don't know how that works."

"I hardly do either," Pastor Poppy said, laughing. "I just do what I'm told and try to stay out of trouble."

I immediately warmed to her for the ease she had displayed toward Emma Sue, who could so quickly be hurt and offended. And who could also do some hurting and offending herself.

"And," Pastor Poppy went on, "you're the Reverend Ledbetter's wife, aren't you? I've been wanting to meet you. I've heard such wonderful things about all the work you do in your church and in the community-especially the Homeless Walk you've organized. I'm planning to be there, and maybe we could have lunch afterward. I'd love to know I could turn to you if I need to."

Well, that just melted Emma Sue right there. "Oh yes," she gushed. "Anytime. Anytime at all."

Before I had time to engage Pastor Poppy in conversation, LuAnne Conover bustled over, put her hand on my arm, and whispered, "I have to talk to you. Let's go to the morning room."

Mildred's cherry-paneled morning room, which I would've termed the library and Hazel Marie would've called the den, was behind the central staircase, and LuAnne tugged me into it and closed the door.

"Julia, I can't believe this. What is going on with you and Sam?"

I sighed and sat down in a leather wing chair. "What've you heard, LuAnne?"

"Well," LuAnne said, blowing out a breath of air as she launched into her tale. "I had to run to the drugstore this morning-that's why I was late getting here-to pick up some Pepto-Bismol for Leonard. He just suffers with his stomach, and anyway, I saw Velma there-she was getting a refill of her blood pressure medication, and I didn't even know she had blood pressure. But who wouldn't, fixing hair all day like she does? Anyway, she asked me what in the world you were thinking of to get involved with Thurlow Jones so soon after Sam moved out. Well! You could've knocked me over with a feather when I heard that-you can imagine. So . . ." LuAnne collapsed in a chair, her eyes filling with tearful concern. "I am just devastated for you. Is it true, Julia? Is your marriage on the rocks? I'm not even going to ask about Thurlow-I know that couldn't be true, although Velma said one of her clients told her she saw Thurlow leaving your house with that old dog of his early yesterday morning."

With an act of will I calmed myself, although if the word was out in Velma's Hair Salon, I might as well pack up and move out of town. But not before beating that sorry James half to death.

There was nothing for it but to repeat the story I'd given Mildred : Sam needed uninterrupted time to work on his book, which he couldn't get at home. And then repeat the story that Lillian had given Hazel Marie and Etta Mae: Thurlow's dog had gotten out, showing up at our house in the middle of the night, and Thurlow was simply retrieving him.

"That's all there is to it," I said. "And it is just pitiful the way rumors get started and people believe them. But one thing is certain, LuAnne: our marriage is not on the rocks, and people ought to understand what a household is like with two infants and somebody trying to write a factual history. It just beats all I've ever heard the way everybody is so quick to believe the worst."

LuAnne blotted her eyes. "I am so glad to hear that, Julia. I didn't believe it in the first place, but to hear you say it relieves my heart. I was hurting for you."

I believed her, for as often as LuAnne exasperated me, she had also been a dear friend for years.

"Well," I said, standing up because I was so on edge and it was taking all I had to keep my nerves from completely fraying. "I'm glad you told me. There's not a thing I can do to stop the talk but live through it and hope it'll die out."

"There is something else, Julia," LuAnne murmured, twisting her hands in her lap. "But it's so far-fetched that I hate to bring it up."

"No need to stop now. What is it?"

"Well, I heard last week, and don't ask me who told me, because I can't remember, that you had some money invested with Richard Stroud and-now don't get upset, but there was some speculation that when he ended up dead in Miss Petty's toolshed, he thought he was at your house, trying to get more money."

"At my house! LuAnne, that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. How could anybody-even in the throes of a heart attack-mistake a toolshed for my house?"

"Well, I know, I know. That's why I didn't say a word to you. But that just goes to show how people can misinterpret the simplest things." LuAnne glanced at me, then away. "Of course, they're wondering how he was cashing your checks around town too."

"He stole them! That's how he was doing it. At least, that's what Lieutenant Peavey thinks, because my signature was forged. And I am going to sue somebody at that bank for telling it, and whoever it was ought to be arrested because the forgery is still being looked into, and that const.i.tutes interference with an active investigation if you ask me.

"LuAnne," I went on, rubbing my forehead where a stabbing pain had started, "I can't take much more of this. Talk, talk, talk, that's all anybody does, and why they're so interested in me, I don't know."

"Oh, that's easy enough. It's because so many odd things happen to you. Just look at what you did after Wesley Lloyd died and left you with Hazel Marie and Lloyd. You came out of that mess smelling like a rose, or rather, with more money than you know what to do with, to say nothing of snaring the most eligible widower in town. And you are outspoken, Julia, so you can't blame people for wanting to know what'll happen to you next."

"They Lord," I said and opened my pocketbook to look for some aspirin.

Chapter 34.

I wanted to go home, but it was too soon to take my leave. They'd surely wonder why I was being so unsociable. Then if they heard any of James's tales, they'd believe them. So I stayed, finding a chair in a corner of the drawing room to wait until I wouldn't be the first to go.

The guests began to break up into groups of two or three for more personal chats. And a few found chairs, as I had, no longer able to stand for long. Mingling was a thing of the past for me, although at one time I could mingle with the best of them, never getting tired or running out of chitchat.

Now, though, it all seemed so futile, although I appreciated Mildred's efforts to relieve the winter doldrums.

Sitting there, hoping to be left alone, the conversation with LuAnne kept running through my mind. It had put me so much on edge that it was all I could do to maintain a calm exterior. She would be the first to notice if I became agitated. But agitated I was, and I could only hope and pray that I had put LuAnne's suspicions to rest.

"Mrs. Murdoch?"

I looked up to see Pastor Poppy standing hesitantly before me. "Yes? But please call me Julia. Everybody does." Except store clerks and bank tellers, which I immediately corrected if they did.

"Thank you. May I talk with you a minute?"

"Why, certainly. Sit here beside me." I indicated an empty chair that she drew close.

Having settled herself and pulled down that short red dress as far as it would go, she smiled and said, "I hope you won't think I'm being intrusive, but somebody mentioned that you know Mr. Thurlow Jones."

"Everybody knows him," I said, hoping the tightness in my voice wasn't giving me away. Why in the world would this woman approach me with a question like that? "Yet n.o.body really knows him. I, least of all."

"I'm hoping you know him well enough to give me some advice. I've discussed this with my senior pastor but, frankly, he was little help. You see, Mr. Jones has started coming to services at First Methodist, and of course we're all pleased to have him. I understand that he's never been a regular churchgoer, but he's been coming every Sunday for a few weeks now. But this past Sunday, something happened that really distresses me and I'd like to put it right."

Well, this intrigued me because I'd never known Thurlow to darken the door of any church, and although I'd not noticed any change lately in his demeanor or in his actions, going to church might eventually result in changes to both. At least we're told it will have that effect.

"What happened last Sunday?" I asked.

She sighed, looked down at her hands, and said, "I had the sermon, only my second since I've been here, and I guess I upset him. We'd just finished the presermon hymn and as the congregation sat down, I went up into the pulpit and announced a prayer. Just as I started, Mr. Jones closed his hymnal shut with a loud bang, shocking everybody because it was so quiet. Then he stood up and made his way to the center aisle and walked out, slamming the door behind him."

"My word," I said, picturing what that would've looked and sounded like in a church where the congregation was on its best behavior. There'd been plenty of times I would have liked to have walked out on Pastor Ledbetter, but good manners and fear of a spectacle had kept me in my seat. "That would be upsetting, but maybe you veered from the usual service in some way? You know how people get so accustomed to doing things a certain way that they can't adjust if you add a hymn or move anything around."

"No, ma'am, everything was just the same. But I'm pretty sure it was the prayer I started to read. I thought it was beautiful and inspiring, but I guess he didn't." She sighed again. "I was just wondering, because you know him so well, if you would intercede for me. I'd love to talk with him, but when I called to see if I could visit, he told me he'd had a bellyful of women in the pulpit who didn't know what they were talking about. Of course," she went on, frowning, "there's nothing I can do about being a woman. But I thought if he got to know me, he might be more amenable to putting up with my preaching once a month or so. It's still hard to believe that I could've run somebody out of church."

"Well, Pastor, uh, Poppy, it doesn't surprise me that he walked out. What surprises me is that he was there in the first place. But let's think about this. You say you hadn't gotten into your sermon. So you weren't actually preaching, just starting with a prayer, which is certainly appropriate and shouldn't have offended him. But Thurlow doesn't mind making a scene, so maybe it was something in your prayer that upset him."

"I really don't see how. It was beautiful, if he'd only stayed long enough to hear it all. It started out, *Oh, Father, forgive us; Oh, Mother, nurture us,' and went on from there. I found it on the Internet."

I just stared at her. As lovely as she was in the face, I couldn't help but wonder what was in her head. "Well, there's your problem," I said, thinking that I might've been tempted to walk out too if I'd had such as that prayed over me.

"What? You mean because it came off the Internet?"

"No, I mean because of the Mother business. G.o.d the Father is male, not a female and therefore not a mother. Although," I added hastily, "he certainly has some female attributes-he would have to because he created them in women. I'm talking about his kindness, compa.s.sion, mercy, and, yes, nurturing and caring, all of which women have in abundance but are rarely observed in men. I guess, though, that Thurlow was outraged to have the idea sprung on him like that."

"You think that was it? That I referred to G.o.d as Mother?"

"Oh yes, I'd say so. And what really surprises me is that he was the only one to walk out." I touched her arm in sympathy because she looked so distressed. "Look, new ideas have to be introduced slowly in a town like this. Maybe give some Scriptural background first-if you can find any." I patted her arm in an encouraging manner. "I'm sure you'll do fine, just stay away from family members for a while." I smiled at her, and she managed a weak one back at me.

"I'll try, though I just hate the thought of running somebody off. If you get a chance, would you ask him to talk to me about it?"

"If I get a chance, but I a.s.sure you that I am not close to Thurlow and usually avoid any contact with him." And she'd do well to do the same, but I didn't suggest that. Who knew, she could be the agent of change for him, although I'd believe it when I saw it.

When Mildred came by to ask if we wanted more tea, she stayed to chat awhile. While she and Pastor Poppy talked, I got a glimpse past Mildred of Madge Harris putting on her coat, and across the room I saw Miss Mattie Freeman with a hand clasping each arm of her chair, rocking back and forth to build up enough spring to get her to her feet. That was my cue for leave-taking, so I rose from the chair and made my courtesies.

Shivering all the way home in a frigid car, I was also trembling inside from what I had heard. My name was certainly being linked to Thurlow's, first by LuAnne, who'd heard it from Velma, who'd heard it from a client, which meant everybody who'd had a hair appointment had probably heard it too. And all because Thurlow and his smelly dog had been seen leaving my house early one morning. And come to think of it, which I did, the same thing had been implied about Miss Petty's leaving Thurlow's house early one morning.

I declare, for a confirmed bachelor Thurlow Jones was really making a name for himself by being out so early on two mornings, and if my name hadn't been involved, I could've laughed about it. But I wasn't laughing, because if Sam heard the latest, his suspicions would be confirmed.

And then there'd been Pastor Poppy, who'd been told that I was close enough to Thurlow to intercede for her. That just frosted me good, and I wished I knew who'd told her that. I couldn't blame her, for she was so new in town that she couldn't know the ins and outs of who knew whom, and why and how little they knew them. Or something like that.

As I pulled into the drive at home and crawled out of the car, practically frozen, I decided that something had to be done. It simply wasn't like me to let rumor and gossip run rampant. It was one thing to ignore the talk if Sam and I could laugh about it together. It was another to allow it to further alienate us. And I'd bet my bottom dollar, if I'd been a betting woman, that if James heard any of it, Sam would soon know it too.

"Lillian," I said as soon as I walked in the door, "you have to help me."

"Yes'm, that's what I always do."

"Yes, I know you do, but I'm really depending on you now. Where are the girls?"

"They all nappin' 'cause the babies is sleepin'. They have to get it when they can."

"Well, come sit down and let me tell you what happened. I am just sick about it and something has to be done."

So I told her all the implications I'd heard at the tea about a special relationship between me and Thurlow Jones, getting more and more agitated as I spoke.

She wasn't particularly impressed, saying, "That don't sound like much to me. You ought not let it bother you."

"You don't know the women in this town the way I do," I said, frowning. "Although it was James who started the whole thing by telling about Sam's being gone. And see, that just opened the door. Because it's human nature to figure that if a husband is out of the picture, another man must be in it. But who would've ever believed that they'd put Thurlow Jones in a picture with me?"

"Well, look like to me you jus' have to raise yo'self above it an' make out like none of it have anything to do with you."

"No, Lillian," I said, laying my head on my arm as it rested on the table. "What I have to do is get Sam back home."

I stayed that way for a minute or so, as a wave of despondency swept over me. Then something else swept over me and I raised my head to look at Lillian. "I just realized something, which I should've done a long time ago. I really don't give a rip what they say about me. I am past caring if they think I'm involved with that lunatic Thurlow Jones or that I was financing Richard Stroud or that my hair's a mess or my silver's tarnished or I'm crazy for being Hazel Marie's friend or I have too much money." I sat up and straightened my shoulders. "I don't care if they laugh at me for being a fool over that boy of Wesley Lloyd's or for disapproving of women who wear dresses so short you can see Christmas. Lillian," I went on, as my eyes filled as full as Emma Sue's ever had, "all I care about is having Sam home again, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to convince him of that."

"Now that's the Miss Julia I know," Lillian said with a nod of approval. "You got to put first things first an' let the rest of it jus' pa.s.s you on by."

I stood up, feeling renewed and rejuvenated. A spate of talk by the uninformed, no matter how widespread, was not going to get me down. "I'm going to see Sam."

"Good! That's what you shoulda already done, but 'fore you go," Lillian said, "I got to tell you they's not a spot of tarnish on any silver in this house. It all polished within a inch of its life."

Chapter 35.

After a.s.suring Lillian-several times-that I had meant no offense, that my reference to tarnished silver had been merely a figure of speech, an example of the less-than-monumental worries that often cluttered my mind.

My explanations didn't do much to rea.s.sure her, because she went to the pantry and brought out a bottle of Wright's silver polish. Setting it on the kitchen counter, she mumbled, "I look at it all again, soon's I get time."

Hurriedly putting on my coat before I lost heart, I said, "I wish you wouldn't worry about it. Right now I wouldn't care if every piece of it was black with tarnish. I'm going to see Sam and get this mess straightened out." Just as I opened the door to leave, I turned back. "I just thought of something, Lillian. One thing that'll surely bring Sam home is for Mr. Pickens to get back here."

Lillian looked up from the sandwiches she was making for lunch. "That jus' add to who all's already here. How you figure Mr. Sam wanta be here with a house full?"

"No, I mean it'll be Mr. Pickens who'll want his family in their own house-Sam's house. At least that's the arrangement they've made, which means that Sam will have to vacate his house, and where else will he go except back here?"

Lillian screwed the lid back on the mayonnaise jar, saying nothing until she'd put the jar back in the refrigerator. Then she turned to me and said, "That mean Lloyd goin' with 'em too, don't it?"

Oh, Lord, a pain in my heart stopped me in my tracks and I put a hand on the door to steady myself. "I guess it does," I managed to say. How had it come to this-that I'd have to lose one to regain the other?

Sitting in the car, shivering while it warmed up, I had to resolutely put out of my mind the thought of losing Lloyd. Oh, I knew I wouldn't be losing him-he'd be only four blocks away, but I liked having him around, liked sharing a secret smile with him, liked watching him grow into the fine and decent young man I knew he would be.

But, I sighed, first things first, as Lillian had said, and the first thing was to put my marriage in order. And I was ready to do whatever it took to accomplish that. If it took groveling, then I'd grovel. Somewhere along the way, I'd lost my pride and the high horse I'd been riding on.

Then, as the heater began to put out a little warmth, I felt the onset of a better idea. If there was one thing Sam enjoyed, it was a.n.a.lyzing and solving a problem. He was good at it too. And didn't I have a problem? I certainly did, and what better way to engage his interest than to ask his help in solving it.

That's what I'd do. I'd lay everything on the table-no holding back on anything, even the fact that I'd invested with Richard Stroud, which he already knew anyway. I'd tell him about slipping out at night with Lillian and finding that knothole in the toolshed-figuring out what Richard had been doing would be a fine problem for Sam to solve. I certainly hadn't been able to.