Free Miss Julia Stands Her Ground by Ann B. Ross Page A

the unrealistic side. I mean, if we all did what it says, then every last one of us would sell everything we own and take off for the mission field. And if that happened, who’d be here working so they could contribute to the mission fund for our support? So, I know we have to take a few things with a grain of salt.” I started to climb out, but turned back to her. “My problem is, I don’t know where to salt and where not to.”
    As we walked into the house, I felt more and more apprehensive about telling Hazel Marie what I had to tell her. I didn’t know how she’d take it, and I wanted to have plenty of time and space for her to get it out of her system if she blew her top. As she might well do. I knew I would in her place.
    â€œDon’t forget, Hazel Marie,” I said reluctantly, as we entered the house. “I want to talk with you right after lunch. I’ll come up to your room where we won’t be interrupted.”
    â€œI’m looking forward to it. We can discuss how to get the word out for your campaign, and I want us to decide about Christmas, too. You know, kinda go over who’s going to get what for who. It’s only a few weeks away, and I’m already getting excited.”
    I didn’t say anything, just nodded. But it seemed to me that we ought to get closer to Christmas before we started worrying about gifts. Of course, nobody else did, for Christmas decorations had been up in the stores since Halloween. And about the same time, those Budweiser horse commercials had started airing, making Hazel Marie teary-eyed one minute and ready for shopping the next.
    As it was nearing lunchtime, Hazel Marie and I went to the kitchen, where we were both brought up short. Little Lloyd was sitting at the table, all hunched over, nibbling on a piece of dry toast.
    â€œLloyd!” Hazel Marie cried, running over to him. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you in school?”
    â€œI’m sick, Mama.” And he did look peaked, all white and washed-out looking.
    Lillian walked over to the table. “That school called while y’all was at yo’ circle meetin’, an’ I went an’ picked him up. The teacher say he th’owed up in the class.”
    Little Lloyd nodded his head. “Right in the middle of social studies.”
    â€œHas he got a fever?” I put my hand on his forehead, which felt warm, but as my hand was cold, I couldn’t be sure. “This child ought to be in bed.”
    â€œYessum,” Lillian said. “I was ’bout to take him upstairs, but he say he so empty I thought he need something on his stomick.”
    â€œCome on, honey,” Hazel Marie said, helping him up from thechair. “Let’s get you to bed. Miss Julia, do you think I ought to call the doctor?”
    â€œNo, Mama,” the boy said before I could answer. “I don’t need the doctor. I feel better now, and besides, I wasn’t the only one to get sick. Barry Peterson threw up, too, and Saralynn Hargrove thought she would, but she didn’t. And her daddy’s the doctor, and she didn’t call him.”
    â€œWhy don’t you wait a little while, Hazel Marie,” I said. “Put him to bed and take his temperature, and let’s see if this toast stays down. He needs some fluids, too. It sounds like something’s going around at school, and it may just be a twenty-four-hour bug.”
    â€œCome on, sweetie,” Hazel Marie said, her arm around the boy’s shoulders as she walked him out of the kitchen. “I’ll tuck you in and sit with you. Maybe you can sleep a little while.”
    â€œYessum,” he said, sounding weak and pitiful as they left the kitchen.
    Well, there went my serious conversation with Hazel Marie. But first things first, and the state of Little Lloyd’s alimentary system certainly came first.
    I don’t know how the child got any rest, for if I wasn’t