Miss Julia Hits the Road (22 page)

“Julia,” he said, reaching over to take my hand. I took it back. “If you’ll ride with me, you can have anything you want. I’ve been taking a safety course, so you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

“And,” Little Lloyd said, squirming with excitement, “he’s joined the H.O.G.s, too.”

“Please, Little Lloyd,” I said. “Not at the table.”

“Harley Owners’ Group, Miss Julia,” Mr. Pickens said, enlightening me, but not by much.

Sam leaned over and said, “What made you change your mind, Julia?”

“Well,” I said and hesitated. Now was the time for a big, fat lie if there ever was one. I could pretend I wanted to experience that freedom of the road Sam had talked about. But I didn’t think I could pull it off—Sam wouldn’t believe me and Mr. Pickens would laugh. They’d all know I had as much freedom of the road as I wanted, tooling around in my little sports car. “It’s occurred to me that there might be some professional and business people and the like who would be willing to sponsor teams of riders. Especially if those teams were made up of, well, let’s say, unusual combinations. Like, for instance, if women of a certain age and status who wouldn’t ordinarily be caught dead on a motorcycle teamed up with your average biker-type drivers. I’m thinking of LuAnne Conover, for one, if we could find someone for her to ride with.”

“Big Bill Beasley!” Hazel Marie shouted, nearly bouncing out of her chair. “He’d be perfect for her.”

Mr. Pickens almost choked on the cake he was shoveling in, as he began laughing his head off.

“Then,” I said, encouraged by Hazel Marie’s immediate grasp of the possibilities. “We might be able to talk Emma Sue Ledbetter into going with us. If we present it to her in just the right way.”

Mr. Pickens sputtered and finally managed to say, “The club has a chaplain. Maybe she’d ride with him.” Then he broke up again.

“Oh, wow, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said. “The whole church would turn out for that.”

“I sure would,” Little Lloyd said.

My mind was really revved up by then, calculating the ages of my friends, as well as increments of ten thousand dollars. “How about Norma Cantrell? Wouldn’t she be a good one?”

Sam threw himself back in his chair, laughing and wiping his eyes. “Oh, Julia, that’d be great, but how would you talk them into it?”

“Sponsors,” I said. “We’ll challenge the ladies in town to get sponsors. And,” I went on, leaning on the table to better present my points, “and to make it interesting, we could set a minimum, maybe a high minimum, like a thousand dollars they’d have to donate before any lady would get on a motorcycle. And it’s possible that each one would have several sponsors.”

“But what if they don’t play fair?” Little Lloyd said. “What if a lady doesn’t want to ride and she doesn’t even try to get sponsors?”

“I think we could manage that,” Hazel Marie said, her eyes sparkling with insider knowledge. She knew those women almost as well as I did, by now. “All we have to do is advertise the names of the ladies who’ve agreed to this, and sponsors will line up for the privilege. Then they’d have to ride whether they wanted to or not. Miss Julia, I think this is going to be the most fun of anything we do.”

“What about you, Sam?” I asked. “You think it’ll work?”

“You better believe it’ll work. If, that is, the bikers’ wives and girlfriends would be willing to sit this one out.”

Mr. Pickens leaned close to Hazel Marie and whispered something about a little hair-pulling, but she swished her hair in his face and he pulled back, laughing.

“And,” Sam went on, “if you and Hazel Marie can get those ladies to hold up their end of the bargain.”

“They will,” I said. “Especially when they hear that I already have a sponsor. Purely out of the goodness of his heart, Thurlow Jones is putting up one hundred thousand dollars to see me . . . I mean, to make our Poker Run fundraising a success.” I reached in my skirt pocket and pulled out half of his donation and put the check in front of Sam. “You can deposit that. The other half will be handed over as soon as the run is over.” I stopped and bit my lip, and in the silence my announcement had created, I went on. “I guess that means we’ll have to invite him to Red Ryder’s Shop, Stop and Eat for dinner.”

Lillian said, “I thought you not tellin’ how you got that money.”

“I changed my mind,” I said. “It’s always better to be open and forthright, Lillian.”

She mumbled something under her breath, but I ignored her. “Well,” I demanded, “isn’t anybody going to congratulate me? This almost guarantees we can buy that property.”

My eyes slid to Sam and I saw him looking down at the check, shaking his head from side to side. “Julia,” he finally said, “how in the world did you get this much money out of Thurlow Jones? I know he’s unpredictable and about half crazy, but this kind of money is unheard of, even for him.”

“It wasn’t any problem at all,” I told him as coolly as you please. “I just asked if he’d like to sponsor me in a motorcycle card game, and he was ever so agreeable. And deeply concerned about the plight of the people on Willow Lane. Now, Sam,” I went on, taking a deep breath as I prepared for the big one. “I’ve heard the stories about him, but, I must say, I think the man’s misunderstood. His behavior was impeccable. He was a perfect gentleman in every way.”

Lillian couldn’t stand any more. She hopped up and headed for the kitchen, taking not one dish with her.

“Did you go see him by yourself?” Sam asked, his eyes boring into mine, now that I’d found the courage to look at him.

“Why, no. Lillian went with me, and she can testify to the propriety of the whole episode.” There was a crash of pots and pans in the kitchen, right by the dining room door where Lillian was undoubtedly listening. “Now, Sam, quit giving me the third degree. I need to know how to prepare for this road trip we’re taking.”

Mr. Pickens put his hands against the table and tilted his chair back. “Lord help us,” he said, pretending to be awestruck. “Miss Julia’s gonna be a biker chick.”

“Hush, J. D.” Hazel Marie said. “Now, Miss Julia, we need to get you outfitted.” Her eyes were shining with the thought of another shopping spree. “I’ll show you what I’m going to wear—it’s all leather, and that’s what you need, too. And some boots so your feet will stay warm. We’ll be going up on mountain roads where it’ll be chilly, so you’ll need some long underwear. It’ll be fun, Miss Julia, you won’t believe all the different outfits that’re available, but most everybody likes the plain black ones.”

I couldn’t help it. My eyes rolled up in my head at the thought of a leather outfit outlining my lower limbs and various other parts. “Hazel Marie,” I said, “get that idea out of your head right now. I intend to do this only one time in my life, and I don’t need to spend a fortune just to have the right costume. Besides, I’m not in the habit of wearing pants, slacks, or trousers, much less any made of leather, so I’ll just wear an everyday dress and a heavy coat. Since I’ll be sitting in a little car on the side, that should be sufficient.”

Mr. Pickens started laughing, and so did Sam. I gave him a glare but it didn’t stop him. “You ought to reconsider, Julia,” Sam said. “You’ll be much more comfortable in slacks of some kind. You’ll have to climb in and out of the sidecar, you know.”

“I’ll manage,” I said. “Especially since I don’t aim to climb in and out more than one time each. And if I ever get out, I won’t be getting back in.”

Mr. Pickens had leaned his head on his hand, still laughing at my intention of maintaining my dignity in spite of the upcoming indecorous conditions that I’d taken money to take part in.

Little Lloyd said, “We just don’t want you to get cold, Miss Julia. It’ll be breezy, you know.”

“Thank you for your concern, Little Lloyd,” I said, smiling at him. He was the only one besides Lillian, who was still hiding out in the kitchen, who was not finding humor in the situation. “But I’ll take a lap blanket, some gloves, and a head scarf. I’ll be all right.”

Lord, I hoped I would. Here they all were, so worked up over my having the proper costume, while I was worrying about getting home with all my body parts intact. And, I suddenly thought, enduring the certainty that I was going to be the laughingstock of the town.

But I had no intention of being the only one. If I could dare LuAnne, Emma Sue, Norma, and a few others who came to mind to perch themselves behind burly, bearded, and tattooed bikers, nobody’d even notice me.

But even if they did, I reminded myself, it was for Lillian’s sake, and for the sake of all those others who were homeless and helpless. Let them laugh then; I knew my heart was in the right place, even if my person would be strapped to the side of a Harley-Davidson Road King driven by a novice driver whose internal sparkplugs might not be firing as they should.

I came close to being as inhospitable as I’d ever been in my life by practically pushing Sam out the door soon after we finished eating. He’d wanted to linger and quiz me about Thurlow Jones, but I was having none of it.

“Sam,” I said, after he’d taxed my patience by going on and on about how I needed to keep my distance from that crazy man, “give me some credit. I’m not studying Thurlow Jones, and you don’t need to be, either.”

“Well, but he may be studying you, Julia,” Sam said with a worried frown. “I may have to have a talk with him.”

“No, just leave him alone.” I said, fearing that he’d ruffle Thurlow’s feathers and make him go back on his promise for further donations. “He’s not bothering me and, if he does, I’ll take care of him.”

“That’s what concerns me, Julia,” Sam said, showing it by putting his arm around my shoulders. “I might have to call him out.”

I slipped away from him and shooed him out the door, telling him I’d let him know if I needed any help. My mind was so much on our ridge-running plan that I didn’t want to think about anything else.

Hazel Marie helped implement my plan, although she didn’t know it, by reluctantly agreeing to ride with Mr. Pickens to Binkie’s to see how she was doing. I don’t think Hazel Marie would’ve done it if Lillian hadn’t made Coleman’s favorite lemon pie and wanted to get it to him. She was worried that the way Mr. Pickens drove, the pie would end up on the floorboard.

“Well, I’ll go,” Hazel Marie said, flouncing around without a glance at Mr. Pickens. “But just to hold the pie. Seems to me there’d be a better way to get it there.”

Of course there was. Her own car was right out in the driveway, but I didn’t mention it to her. I was too concerned about Coleman being on duty that night, shuddering at the thought of Binkie in the house alone with Lillian’s Lemon Chiffon pie. Believe me, she didn’t need to put on another ounce, even if she
was
eating for two.

As soon as they all left, I shifted into high gear. “Lillian, Little Lloyd, let’s get a move on. We need to check out that spring.”

“It real dark out there,” Lillian said as she looked at her reflection in the window. “We might not ought to go up there, it so dark.”

“It’s not that late,” I said. “Why, it’s barely eight o’clock. We need to do it when nobody’s there, so this is a perfect time.”

“Yes,” Little Lloyd said, agreeing with me. “And remember, Miss Lillian, we saw Mr. Gibbs and some other men up on that ridge while we were digging your flowers.”

“You did?” That just strengthened my intention to get to the bottom of that spring. “Who were they?”

“I don’t know, but some of them looked like they were surveying, and they came out of the woods from the top of the ridge. Then I saw Mr. Gibbs down in the pasture, talking for a long time with another man. I thought it was Pastor Ledbetter at first because he had on a raincoat just like his. You know, the kind with the special plaid lining? It wasn’t him, though, because the man had on a little felt hat, and the pastor never wears a hat. Him and Mr. Gibbs kept walking back and forth, both of them just talking away.”

“Mr. Gibbs and he,” I corrected him, distractedly, as the pastor’s Burberry raincoat came to mind. “I wonder if that means Clarence Gibbs is cooking up some other scheme.”

“Law,” Lillian said. “Look like he have enough on his plate without comin’ up with something else.”

Then Little Lloyd said, “We need to find out what he’s doing. But I don’t think we ought to go in through Willow Lane. Somebody might see us, and the pasture’s full of earth-moving machines. We could break our necks. You think we could come in from the other side of the ridge, the way those men did?”

“Let’s think about that, Little Lloyd,” I said, as I tapped a finger on the counter, trying to picture in my mind what was on the other side of the hill. The streets in Abbotsville were so curvy and winding that it was hard to figure out where you might end up.

“Don’t you be doin’ no thinkin’ an’ get yo’self in trouble,” Lillian said. “They’s nothin’ you can do ’bout that spring ’cept look at it. An’ it too dark to do much lookin’.”