“Emma Sue,” I said, a note of concern in my voice, “what have you done?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Julia,” she said, with a delicate sniff. “I haven’t lost my mind. I’ve just put my foot down, that’s all.”
That didn’t reassure me, as I recalled a certain Poker Run motorcycle race in which she’d also put her foot down, her defiance of Pastor Ledbetter’s wishes nearly giving him a stroke.
“Look over there,” she went on, pointing across the lawn where the pastor sat alone almost hidden by the drooping limbs of a crepe myrtle. “See him? He’s over there, sulking like a two-year-old because he’s not getting his way. Whenever my feelings are hurt, he tells me how unattractive it is to mope around. But that’s exactly what he’s doing, and it is unattractive. I’ve told him so, too.”
Not wanting to get in the middle of a marital disagreement, I carefully asked, “Would this be about his call to Raleigh?”
“Well, what else?” she said blithely, trying to act as if she didn’t care. But a certain frantic look in her eyes betrayed her. “Julia, I told him. Listen to what I said and see if you don’t agree. I reminded him of the advice he always gives to seminary students. He tells them that whenever a minister thinks he’s received a call, but his wife hasn’t, then the minister can be sure that the call is not from God. And I told him that I’ve had absolutely no communication from anybody.” Her eyes darted from one side to the other. “Don’t you think that would be enough to make him at least think twice about going to Raleigh?”
“Yes, I would, Emma Sue. Especially since you’re so adamant on the subject.”
“He’s not seen adamant yet,” she said with renewed determination. “If he’s so bound and determined to pick up lock, stock and barrel and move across the state, then that’s just what he can do. I’m staying here. I told him that, too.”
“Oh, Emma Sue, you can’t mean you’re divorcing him!”
“Of course not, Julia. You know we don’t believe in divorce. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I’m just not going to live with him. He can go to Raleigh if he wants to, but I’m staying here in my own house.” Her eyes narrowed as she lowered her voice. “Then we’ll see how bad that new church wants him when he shows up without a wife.”
“Well,” I said, hardly knowing what to say, “I’ve heard of couples who live apart but never divorce, so I guess it could work.”
“It’ll have to because that’s what I’m going to do. And, Julia, when you look at it, it’ll be perfect. I’ll stay in our house here, and when he’s ready to retire, he can move back. Thank goodness we bought our house and didn’t accept a church-owned manse. And we did it that way, Julia, only because Larry said we’d stay on in Abbotsville after he retired. So all I’m doing is holding him to his word.” She jerked her bodice up again. “Don’t you think?”
“Well, yes, but I can’t imagine that he’s happy about it.”
“Oh, he’s not, believe me. He’s so used to making all the decisions that he’s just miserable now.” She sidled closer to me and whispered, “Julia, do you think the church would hire me? I mean, pay me a salary to keep doing what I’m doing?”
“Lord, Emma Sue, if we paid you for what you do in that church, we couldn’t afford you.” Emma Sue taught Sunday school, organized activities for the youth, led the Bible study in our circle, worked in the kitchen when we had covered dish suppers, fed and put up guest preachers, visited newcomers, the sick and the bereaved, held a minor office in the Presbytery, set up vacation Bible school for the little ones and held an open house every Christmas for the entire membership.
“I wouldn’t ask for much,” she said wistfully. “Just enough to tide me over. Keeping two households will be expensive.”
“The only thing I see wrong with it is if Pastor Ledbetter leaves, we’ll have to call another preacher. And if that preacher has a wife, which he’s bound to have or we wouldn’t call him, then that wife would be expected to take your place. I’m not sure the deacons would be willing to pay you for what they could get free from her.”
“They’d better not count on that,” she said. “Things have changed since we came along. The young wives today already have jobs or professions. They’re not so willing to be unpaid help in a two-for-one deal.”
“I’m sure you’re right, and more power to them,” I said. “But I’ll tell you what, Emma Sue. If you want to apply for the job you’re already doing, I’ll write a supporting letter for you. And Sam will speak for you, too, I’m sure. He admires you so much.”
“He does?” Tears welled up in her eyes, surprising me for being so late in coming. Emma Sue was known for crying at the least little thing.
“Everybody does. You may feel unappreciated, but you’re not. We all know what you do, and I, for one, think that the pastor is foolish if he goes off and leaves you.”
As I searched my pocketbook for a Kleenex to hand to her, I felt an obtrusive presence beside me. “Good evening, ladies,” Arthur Kessler said, glancing briefly at us, then sweeping his gaze across the milling crowd. He removed a folded handkerchief from his ecru linen jacket and mopped his forehead. He’d dressed for his idea of a southern soiree and was now suffering from it. I saw the tail of the tie he’d removed sticking out of a pocket. “Lovely evening for a wingding, isn’t it?”
“It’s hardly a wingding,” I said coolly, as Emma Sue clutched her stole closer and turned aside to blot her eyes.
“Well, whatever you call it,” he said, not the least abashed. “I’m always interested in local customs, so this is a treat for me.”
Uh-huh, I thought, you’ve come to observe the natives. And went on to realize that even if he hadn’t already torn down the courthouse, our soiree wouldn’t have deterred him one iota. All my efforts had been of no use, and here I was, stuck at a hot, sweaty and futile pig pickin’ that ordinarily I would never have attended at all.
Mr. Kessler’s eyes flicked my way. “You know what goes on in this town, Mrs. Murdoch. So I have a question for you.”
“I’ll be happy to answer it if I can,” I said coolly, offended at the implication, “but I assure you that there are any number of things that go on, of which I know nothing.”
“Be that as it may,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Have you heard anything about what happened to my statue?”
I stood very still. “What statue?”
“My statue. The one on the courthouse dome. That was on the dome, that is. It wasn’t there yesterday morning when I got on site. I reported the theft to the police as soon as I saw it was gone.”
“Theft? Why, why, Arthur,” I said, swallowing hard to keep from strangling, “you said you didn’t want it. You said the town could have it if it survived the demolition.”
“It didn’t have a chance to survive anything. Somebody climbed up there during the night and stole it. They took something that belongs to me. That’s pure theft in my book.”
“But, Arthur, how can it be?” My heart was fluttering in my chest at this turn of events. “You wouldn’t have it anyway since you were willing to let it be destroyed when the building came down.”
“But,” he said, rounding on me, “whoever took it didn’t know that, did they?”
“Well, no, I guess not.” Poochie certainly hadn’t.
“If you hear anything, you let me know. I don’t want anybody in this town thinking they can steal from me and get away with it.”
“I certainly will,” I murmured, wondering how I could politely but quickly move away. Then wondered why I thought it had to be done politely.
I was saved by LuAnne Conover who came bustling up to us. “There you are!” she chirped, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Mr. Kessler. Then she came to an abrupt stop, her eyes popping out at Emma Sue. “Oh!” they both gasped, staring at their identical sundresses.
“Well!” LuAnne said, attempting to laugh it off. “I guess we both went to Dillard’s, didn’t we?”
Emma Sue’s face turned red and tears flowed copiously. “I’m so sorry, LuAnne. If I’d known, I never would’ve bought it.”
“Don’t be silly,” LuAnne said, a bit sharply. “No one will even notice.” She was wrong. Whispers would seep throughout the female contingent at the soiree, and every one of them would have to look to see for themselves. “It looks much better on you,” LuAnne said in an attempt at graciousness. Of course, with her well-rounded and slightly plump little figure she could afford to be kind. She had enough to keep her bodice up without hiking it up every time she took a breath.
“Oh, Arthur,” LuAnne said, turning her full attention on him, although he had turned away to survey the crowd. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been looking forward to this so much. It’s such a lovely evening, perfect weather and everything, and everybody’s in such a party mood. I’m glad you’re here to enjoy it with us.”
“Very interesting,” he said, as if he were making an anthropological observation. He barely looked at her, his head continuing to turn from side to side, as if he were searching for someone or maybe something. Like a missing statue.
But maybe it was Leonard he was keeping an eye out for, and as I looked past LuAnne’s bare shoulder, I saw Leonard lumbering through the crowd, his eyes boring in on her. LuAnne glanced back, aware, I assumed, that he was on her trail. She hooked her arm through Mr. Kessler’s and said, “Let’s get closer to the music, Arthur. Who knows? We might decide to dance a little.”
My eyes rolled back just the least little bit as they moved away. LuAnne could go overboard on occasion, and this looked to be one of them. I saw Leonard change course and continue to follow the wife he’d discarded and now wanted back. At the same time, I caught a glimpse of Granny Wiggins over by the tent, tapping her foot in time to the music. I stretched a little to see if Etta Mae was near her—we really needed to talk now—but all I saw was Thurlow Jones doing a buck dance, so I quit looking.
“Oh, Julia,” Emma Sue said, giving in to a quiet crying fit, “I’m so embarrassed.”
“I am, too,” I said, seeing LuAnne give Mr. Kessler a slight bump with her hip. “Oh, you mean the dress. Don’t let it concern you, Emma Sue. It happens all the time, especially at large gatherings. Nobody’ll think a thing about it.”
We both knew that was untrue, but what are good manners, except a lot of pretense? You compliment the hostess when you can hardly get her food down your throat and when you think her home has had the worst decorating job in town and when you know you’ve never seen a tackier outfit on anybody. You save up what you really think for when you get home.
“I think I’ll go inside,” Emma Sue said. “Maybe no one will notice if LuAnne stays out here. Besides, Tina’s going to sing “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” and I want to hear that.”
Well, Lord, I didn’t, so I said, “I’ll just mingle out here a while and wait for Sam to get through helping Robert. Come find us, Emma Sue, when you’re ready, and eat with us.”
She gave me a grateful, but teary, smile and moved toward the house. I moved out to continue my reconnaissance of the yard, edging around and peering into clusters of people, speaking but not stopping, as I searched for Etta Mae and Poochie Dunn. One thing was certain, there would be no great and wonderful unveiling of Lady Justice at the soiree. She had to stay under wraps for the foreseeable future or one or more of us would end up in jail. And with Arthur Kessler so determined to catch a thief, even the Atlanta pen wasn’t out of the question.