Miss Julia Hits the Road (31 page)

“Hazel Marie,” I said, noting Little Lloyd’s blue jeans and flannel shirt, “is that child going to be warm enough?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “He has on long underwear, and he’ll be wearing the leather jacket J. D. gave him. You know, the one with the gold stripes and logo to match J. D.’s Softail. It looks so good on him.” Hazel Marie’s fashion sense didn’t always match mine, but I kept my opinion to myself. She turned to the child and said, “And gloves. Lloyd, don’t forget your gloves.”

As for myself, I’d blocked all efforts to get a pair of pants on my lower limbs. LuAnne had urged me to follow her lead after she bought a pair of what she called stretch denims. For my money, they needed a little more give to them.

“Now, Julia,” she’d said as she turned to give me an eye-popping back view, “they’re supposed to be a tight fit so they can hold you in. But my car coat covers what you’re gaping at, so don’t worry about it.”

“I haven’t said a word, LuAnne,” I’d said, but I was thinking a lot.

As for my own attire, I was most concerned about freezing to death. Sam had told me that it would be breezy and that I should wear layers that could be taken off as the day warmed up. Which didn’t make a lot of sense to me, as we were to gather at Red Ryder’s a little after noon, when the day would be as warm as it would get.

My clothing consisted of an extra chemise under my slip, a woolen shirtwaist dress with a full skirt to allow freedom of movement, and a pair of thick cotton tights that Hazel Marie loaned me. As she was somewhat shorter than I, the tights had a tendency to creep down from their appointed place. My everyday winter coat, a pair of leather gloves, and a head scarf completed my open air ensemble. Plus a lap blanket.

As I gathered my things and prepared to go downstairs, I heard the back door slam and the sound of running feet.

“Miss Julia! Miss Julia!”
Lillian’s voice resounded through the house. “Come quick! Hurry, you got to see it!”

Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd ran out of their rooms in response to Lillian’s screams, and I almost tripped in my haste to get down the stairs.

“What is it?” I cried as we met in the hall. “My land, Lillian, what is going on?”

She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the door. “It takin’ over ever’thing, Miss Julia! Hurry, you got to do something ’fore it get away from us!”

My heart thudded as I saw how frightened she was. Her eyes were popping and perspiration dotted her forehead.

“You want me to call the sheriff?” Hazel Marie asked, dithering around behind us.

“We don’t know anything yet,” I said. “Lillian, stop and tell me what’s the matter.”

But she was in no shape to tell me anything, for she pulled me outside and practically ran me to the rear of the garage. Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd followed, but we all came to a sudden stop as we rounded the corner.

“Jus’ look,” Lillian said, gasping for breath and pointing a shaking finger.

“My-y-y Lord,” Hazel Marie said, absolutely awestruck, as was I.

“Goodness sake,” Little Lloyd said, which almost made me laugh in spite of my shocked condition. “What happened to it?”

But I couldn’t get a laugh or a word out; I just stood there and stared with my mouth open at the unprecedented development of one of Lillian’s transplanted bushes. From a winter-pruned stub, the bush had put out one fat, upright shoot that reached all the way to the eave of the garage. Other branches, laden with lush green leaves, had sprung up from the root and now drooped over from the weight of round clusters of white flowers.

“Why, it looks like a banana,” Little Lloyd observed. “Half-peeled.”

“Let’s not be making comparisons.” I forced myself to speak calmly, lest the child think of something else it resembled. “Look at all those blooms. And in October, too. That is the most unnatural thing I have ever seen. Lillian, that can’t be . . . ?”

“Yessum, it is.” Lillian’s head bobbed up and down, her eyes fixed on the phenomenon. “Uh-huh. That my snowball bush what’s growed all over itself.”

“Look at that big stalk,” Little Lloyd said, peering at it closely. “It’s stiff as a board.”

“Don’t touch it, Lloyd,” Hazel Marie said, pulling him back. “No telling what made it take off like that.”

“None of them bushes got fertilizer ’round ’em,” Lillian said. “Not since we dug ’em up an’ put ’em here.”

“Oh, my Lord,” I gasped, leaning with my hand against the garage. “The spring water, that’s what did it. I threw the whole jarful right under that poor bush. Oh, my word, first Thurlow Jones and now this.”

Lillian’s eyes got even wider. “You mean, Mr. Jones, he growed a thing like this?”

I shook my head. “I have no personal knowledge of his ailment, and I certainly don’t want any. But I heard they had to rig up some kind of support for it.” I walked around to view the aberration from the other side. “This violates every law of nature I’ve ever heard of. It is beyond belief.”

Hazel Marie apparently didn’t share my concern, for she stood gazing at the bush with something like admiration. “It sure did grow big snowballs, didn’t it?”

“Hazel Marie, please.” I aimed a pained look at her, but she was too taken with the overgrown specimen to notice.

Little Lloyd said, “I bet Miss LuAnne could use them in her flower arrangements.”

“Don’t suggest it to her,” I said. “Now, Lillian, I hate to leave you with this, but we’ve got to go or we’ll be late. Keep an eye on it, though, in case it keeps growing. I’ll get somebody out here next week to get rid of it. I’m sorry about your snowball bush, but it will have to go.”

“Yessum, I won’t miss it. I don’t want no snowball bush what grow worse’n a weed. An’ a ugly one, at that.”

Reluctant to leave such rampant growth for fear it would get away from Lillian, I nonetheless deemed it time to go. Not that I was that anxious to mount a motorcycle, but I’d made my bed and now had to lie in it. So to speak. So we went back into the house to get pocketbooks, keys, and coats, while Hazel Marie kept on murmuring about the size of those things.

“Lillian,” I said, as we prepared to leave. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“I be out there when y’all get back. Miz Causey, she pickin’ up sev’ral of us, an’ we watch you come in.” She stopped, started to say something else, then decided against it.

I walked over to her and said, “Now, Lillian, I don’t want you to be worried about me. Sam’s promised to go slow and not take any chances.”

“Yessum, I know he take care.” She gazed off into the distance, the way she does when she has something on her mind. Or maybe she was looking to see if that snowball bush had sprouted up again. “It jus’, well, Miss Julia, you think them biker folk know we be out there? They maybe not want us at they party.”

“Oh, Lillian,” I said, dismayed that the reputation of the biking community troubled her. Actually, it troubled me, but not for the same reasons. “Sam and Mr. Pickens both have assured me that all the riders know exactly who and what this fund-raising drive is for. Now, I know that bikers in general have a terrible reputation, but you can put your mind at rest about this particular bunch. They’re all expecting a representative group of Willow Lane residents to be there, and
I
want you there. Who knows,” I said, trying to laugh away my gnawing concern about personal safety, “I may need some help getting home. And remember, Lieutenant Peavey and a lot of deputies will be on duty. Some will even be riding with us. There’s nothing to be concerned about, and I’m expecting you to be there, waiting for me.”

Hoping that I’d reassured her, I followed Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd to the car. Sam had offered to come by for me on his Harley, but I’d said that I didn’t want any more bareback riding than I’d already bargained for. Mr. Pickens had told Hazel Marie that he’d meet her at Red Ryder’s, since he had to be there early to register the riders for the Poker Run.

I drove to LuAnne and Leonard’s condo, where they’d moved when they sold their home of thirty years, and tooted the horn. LuAnne came running out, looking like a snowman in her white car coat and fuzzy white gloves. The legs of her stretch denims were jammed into a pair of white majorette boots with tassels that flipped with each step. I didn’t have any idea where she’d found them; I knew for a fact that she’d never led a band in her life.

As she approached the car, I felt it necessary to caution Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd. “Don’t say anything about that snowball bush around LuAnne. It’d be all over town before nightfall, and we’ve got enough to handle without announcing a botanical curiosity the equal of Thurlow’s medical one.”

“Well, but I still can’t get over the size of those things,” Hazel Marie mumbled.

“Miss Julia,” Little Lloyd said. “I’ll bet you’re glad you didn’t throw that water in the front yard.”

“More than I can say,” I said grimly, thinking of the crowds such remarkable growth would’ve drawn if it had been exposed to public view. Why, the way people are, they’d be looking for seeds and taking cuttings, and we’d have plants looking like half-peeled bananas all over town. “Remember, not a word to LuAnne.”

LuAnne opened the car door and crawled into the passenger seat, which Hazel Marie had vacated for her. “I’m so excited,” she said. “I can’t wait to go zipping along the highway.”

She and Hazel Marie chatted all the way to the Stop, Shop and Eat, while I nervously watched the increasing traffic and the clouds scudding overhead. I should’ve asked Hazel Marie to drive, but I didn’t want to let on how nervous I was.

As we rounded a curve, Red Ryder’s place came into view, along with long lines in both directions of pickups with motorcycles in the beds, pickups with trailers that had motorcycles on them, lots of cars, and more than enough impatient cyclists riding on the shoulders of the road—all trying to turn into the place of rendezvous. And, Lord, the racket of dozens of motorcycles already in the lot was enough to deafen a person. To say nothing of the vendor booths being hammered together, and what passed for music thumping loud enough to cause permanent auditory damage.

“Oh, wow,” Little Lloyd said, straining against his seatbelt to see the spectacle.

I, for one, had never seen anything like it. Motorcycles of all stripes and kinds were swarming in from every direction. Little Lloyd started calling off their names. “Look, there’s some Hondas, and a bunch of Suzukis. Oh, I think that one turning in is a BMW, and, man, look at the Harleys.”

I couldn’t tell one from another, and didn’t care to learn. They came zooming in off the highway, some parking in rows in front of the long, low-slung building with beer signs flashing in the windows. Some machines rumbled slowly in and around the parking lot so their riders could see who else was there, and others were just revving up without going anywhere. Leather-clad people—you could hardly tell a man from a woman—waved and yelled back and forth, trying to be heard over the din. It was the most raucous conglomeration of men and machines I could imagine.

“Oh, my goodness,” Hazel Marie said, with wonder in her voice, as she gazed out at the teeming lot. “Look! There’s J. D. See, right there by the front door.”

I nodded, unable to linger on the group that surrounded Mr. Pickens for fear that I’d clip the cycle that had wobbled into the path of our car. It was loaded down with a helmeted driver, a passenger who was wrapped around him, and what looked like saddle bags strapped to each side of the rear wheel.

LuAnne bounced in her seat with excitement. “LuAnne,” I said, “if you do that once you’re on a motorcycle, you’re going to find yourself sitting on the highway.”

She didn’t even bother to answer, just flipped her hand at me.

A deputy standing in the middle of the road directed traffic, and I had to wait before turning in to let a stream of motorcycles go before me. Two other deputies were in the packed gravel parking lot, motioning cars to the back edge, where I hoped decent vehicles would be safe. Driving slowly through the crowd, toward the back of the building, I saw that the lot spread out on one side, forming a paved gathering place. People were swarming in it and a pall of smoke hung over the area, emanating from a pit that was covered with a sheet of tin. Stacks of firewood stood nearby, ready to keep the fire going.

“Oh, yum,” LuAnne said. “Smell that barbeque.”

“Mr. Red’s been cookin’ that pig since yesterday morning,” Little Lloyd informed us. “We’re going to have a real pig-pickin’ when we get back.”

My nerves were so knotted up by this time that I doubted I’d have the stomach for anything, much less pit-blackened pork.

I began fumbling through my pocketbook as if I were looking for something, but it was an excuse to bow my head and offer up a bargain.

Lord, I prayed, just let me get through this with some measure of grace and no injuries, and I promise to never undertake such a hazardous venture again.