Free Miss Julia Lays Down the Law by Ann B. Ross

grabbed the sack, and headed for her front door. She opened it a bare inch or so. One eye looked at me while one hand reached out for the sack.
    I pushed gently on the door, feeling it give as she stepped back. “I’m coming in, Emma Sue. I’ve brought you something for dinner, and I need to give you directions for heating it up.” I stepped into the hall, muffled a gasp at her dishevelment—a much-washed flannel gown, pale face, bare feet, and stringy hair—and proceeded to her kitchen.
    It was a mess. The remains of a single breakfast were on the table, stacks of unwashed dishes in the sink, coffee grounds on the counter, and an overflowing trash can in the corner.
    “Julia,” Emma Sue said, sounding as if she could barely get the words out. “I’ve been too sick to get my work done. But, well, I’m sorry you have to see this.”
    “
You’re
sorry? Emma Sue, for goodness sakes, there’s a grown man who lives here, too. Anybody who’s old enough to feed himself is old enough to clean up afterward.”
    “It’s my job,” she murmured.
    “Well, now it’s mine. Have you had any breakfast? No, I guess you haven’t. Sit down, and I’ll put on the coffee. You want some cereal? Never mind, you’re getting some.”
    It took awhile to fill the dishwasher, clean off the table and the counters, wipe up drippings on the stovetop, empty the trash can, sweep the floor, and encourage Emma Sue to eat a bowl of Frosted Flakes—the only cereal I could find.
    I poured a glass of orange juice for Emma Sue, a cup of coffee for myself, and sat at the table with her.
    “Drink up, Emma Sue. You need the vitamins.” I sipped the coffee, longing for a dash of cream but fearful of the dregs I’d found in the refrigerator. “Now listen,” I began, “you’ve got to pull yourself out of this. If you need to go back to the doctor, I’ll take you, and if you need me to talk to the pastor, I’ll do that, too. There’s no reason in the world for you to suffer while he’s not turning his hands to anything in this house. And don’t tell me it’s your job—that’s not only ridiculous, it’s out of date.
Everybody
—man, woman, or child—helps when somebody’s sick.”
    “Well, Larry,” she said, picking at her flannel gown. “Larry thinks I’ll get well faster if the house gets bad enough.”
    “
Then
Larry
thinks wrong,” I said. “I declare, even J. D. Pickens changes a diaper now and then. It wouldn’t hurt the pastor to clean this house, cook something for you to eat, and take care of things around here.”
    Emma Sue started crying, not sobbing, just two lines of tears began rolling down her face. “He has a lot to put up with,” she said, her head hanging down. “I’m not the wife he needs and deserves. And he has the burden of so many people on his shoulders, and, and I just pile on more.” Her own shoulders began to heave.
    I reached over and put my hand on her arm. “Emma Sue, you are his
wife
. You should come first.”
    Her reddened eyes glanced up at me. “Oh, no. The Lord comes first.”
    “Okay, second, then, but not the last in line.” I sat and looked at her for a minute. “But listen, I really came over to encourage you to forget about Connie—she’s not worth getting sick over. She’ll get her comeuppance sooner or later, and you don’t have to give her another thought. Drink your juice.”
    Well, Emma Sue really started crying then, sobbing and heaving and gasping. I got up and gave her a paper towel. She grasped it and covered her face.
    “Oh, Julia,” she finally managed, “Connie just put a terrible icing on the cake, making me see what a poor Christian I am, and a poor church member and a poor citizen of the community and a poor wife. Larry is right—I am a burden he has to bear, and I . . . I know I am.” Her shoulders hunched over as she shrunk into herself. “I can hardly bear the thought of it.”
    Well, my Lord,
I thought, leaning back in my chair, just done in by