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

what I’d heard—and not for the first time from her. I didn’t know who needed horsewhipping more—Connie Clayborn or Pastor Larry Ledbetter. Or Emma Sue herself for believing such claptrap.

Chapter 10

    Well,
I thought to myself on my way home,
that’s two more who need a good talking-to.
And if I had to take on one at the urging of the other, the pastor couldn’t complain if he was next in line.
The burden he had to bear!
I’d never heard such foolishness in my life. Actually it wasn’t just foolish, it was cruel, and I could just shake Emma Sue for sitting still for it.
    Of course, she wasn’t sitting still, she was lying in bed. And no wonder. If Sam said such a thing to me, I’d probably crumple up and die. But I wouldn’t stay that way. No, sir, I’d be up and out before he could turn around good.
    Yet as I thought about the highly unlikely prospect of my kind husband ever thinking, much less saying, such a thing, I realized with a swift pang that it wasn’t inconceivable that Wesley Lloyd Springer had thought it of me.
    Well, so what if he had? His load had been lifted when he suddenly passed over the great divide in the front seat of his new Buick Park Avenue, gray with power steering and surround-sound stereo, while parked in our driveway some years ago. That’s one way to be relieved of a burden.
    I put those thoughts behind me and began thinking of how best to approach Connie. Dropping in on her wasn’t an option—one doesn’t do that when one is intent on setting a socially correct example. I’d have to call first and say I’d like to talk with her. Then she’d invite me over. At least, that’s the way it worked in Abbotsville, except Connie didn’t know how anything worked in Abbotsville. For all I knew, she’d demand my reason for wanting to visit, or she’d tell me she preferred to talk over the phone, or perhaps not talk at all.
    I should be prepared for whatever response she gave. She was so abrupt and blunt that she would render me speechless or else stumbling around for a reason to visit. I didn’t want to be put off. Face-to-face was the way to get through to her, so I didn’t want her to know my purpose beforehand—she’d be ready to talk me under the table before I could get a word out.
    The more I thought about it, though, the more I dreaded having anything to do with Connie. She was so far from the kind of woman I was accustomed to that she intimidated me even from afar. No telling what she’d do up front and eye to eye, especially since my purpose would be to criticize and rebuke. And, of course, to offer a better way of doing things. She ought to appreciate that, although I doubted she would.
    Have you ever noticed that the very people who like to tell others what to do don’t like the tables to be turned? So I needed to be prepared to talk over her if need be and to say what needed to be said, specifically where Emma Sue was concerned.
    What are friends for if not to defend when defense is called for?
     • • • 
    “Connie?” I asked, when she answered the call I’d made as soon as I got home. “It’s Julia Murdoch. I’m calling to thank you for that lovely coffee you had, and to compliment you on your beautiful home.”
    Well, see, right there I started off with dishonesty. The coffee was anything but lovely, and her home was so stark and cold that I could never feel comfortable in it. Not to my taste, at all.
    She thanked me in return, then said, “I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking that the two of us should get to know each other better. I need to learn more about the local customs so I’ll know what I’m up against. And you’ve lived here so long that I’m sure you know them all.”
    “How interesting,” I said, stung that she would refer to my age. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
More than you know,
I thought. “And I’d be delighted to sit down with you and have a long talk. When would be convenient?”
    “Well,” she