Free Miss Julia Hits the Road by Ann B. Ross Page B

acquainted with Paul’s advice to Timothy concerning his stomach problems. I was also well aware of the dangers in taking verses out of context, which untold numbers of people are inclined to do when they want something they oughtn’t have.
    But this didn’t seem to fall in that category, so I said, “Well, Mr. Pickens, you might be surprised to learn that I am not averse to the proper and cautious use of alcoholic mixtures. I think a teaspoon or two in some sweetened hot water is certainly called for in this case.”
    “I agree, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, taking the bottle from Mr. Pickens. “I can mix a hot toddy that’ll make anybody sleep like a baby.” She patted Lillian’s shoulder, as I wondered where she’d learned so much about the properties of alcohol. “Lillian, this is going to fix you up.”
    She headed for the kitchen, bottle in hand, with Mr. Pickens right behind her. To be sure she fixed it right, I expect.
    “Little Lloyd,” I said, concerned at what lesson he was learning about the use of strong spirits, “when the ox is in the ditch, it takes unusual measures to get it out.”
    “Ma’am?”
    “Never mind,” I said, not exactly sure of what I’d said, myself.

Chapter 9
    Sam never came by, in spite of the fact that I waited up for him until almost midnight, long after the others had gone to bed. On the other hand, I’d thought we’d never get rid of Mr. Pickens. He’d lingered, trying to sweet-talk Hazel Marie, but she was having none of it. She kept slipping away from him, pretending not to notice his efforts, and finally telling him that he needed to be on his way.
    She was playing hard-to-get, which I’d always heard was the way to keep a man’s interest. But, considering the fact that she’d just left his bed and board, it seemed a little late for that tactic.
    But Hazel Marie’s ill-considered living conditions seemed a minor worry in the face of Lillian’s problem. I sat by the fire in the quiet house, turning the possibilities over in my mind and trying to tell myself that something could still be done. I just didn’t know what. That was the sort of thing I’d ordinarily depend on Sam for, but where was he when I needed him? Nowhere to be found, that’s where.
    I settled back in my chair with a sigh, knowing that it was all up to me. I knew I’d see to a new home for Lillian, but that wouldn’t ease her pain at losing what she had, even if she knew it wasn’t worth wanting.
    Trying to keep my spirits up, I kept reminding myself that the big earth- and house-moving machines Clarence Gibbs was bringing in hadn’t been fired up yet. Something might still be done to save those houses. My spirits didn’t stay up long, though, for surely Sam would’ve called or come by to reassure Lillian if he’d thought of some last-minute legal tactic.
    After checking the doors and turning off the gas logs and the lights, I trudged up the stairs to bed, trying to put aside my concern for Sam and focus on the problem I could do something about. One thing I knew for certain: the whole town needed to turn its hand to helping those needy people.
    The churches, I thought, as I readied myself for bed. There were dozens of churches in the county, and more forming every day, it seemed like. Church members in Abbot County were a testy lot, quick to take offense and not at all averse to forming a new congregation at the drop of a hat. It didn’t take much to set them off, either. A few would get mad at a preacher and try to run him off. If he wouldn’t budge, then out they’d go to a new meeting place. Others would be led out by a preacher so exercised by the waywardness of a convention, an assembly or a committee that he’d hear the voice of the Lord calling him to raise money for another church building, free of liberal influences. Many of them declared that they were returning to the ways of the apostles, without ever considering the fact that the apostles never put one brick on