Chapter 7

In spite of my good intentions to lay aside the problems of others and tend to my own business, the Lord still had me in His sights. Before I knew it, there I was again—in spite of the prospect of taking ten thousand steps a day and placing one chrysanthemum on a piece of driftwood—with not only Mattie but Etta Mae and Mildred as well weighing heavily on my mind. Did that mean I was supposed to be doing something for them or to them or about them? If so, I wished to goodness I knew what it was.

I knew that there was a fine line between helping and meddling, and far be it from me to meddle in someone else’s business. I would have to watch that and curb my impulse to jump in and help.

I had to double down on my intention to stick to my own knitting and let these so-called burdens roll right off. My first responsibility was to Lloyd and Sam. Then came Lillian, Hazel Marie, and their little ones, and after them would come a number of others. To my way of thinking, I had my hands full, and I intended to remind the Lord that He’d already piled my plate quite high enough.

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“Lillian,” I said, walking into the kitchen for a late morning cup of coffee. “Sam says I worry too much, so I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Uh-huh, I b’lieve it when I see it.”

I turned to look at her. “Do you think I do?”

She laughed. “Miss Julia, you worry ’bout the sun comin’ up.”

“Oh, I’m not that bad. But anyway, I’m putting a stop to it. I don’t have to take on the problems of everybody I know, so I’m not doing it anymore. You want some coffee?”

“Yessum, I can stop for a minute.”

We settled at the table and I watched as Lillian stirred several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. I started to caution her again, but stopped before a word slipped out. She knew I worried about her.

Instead, I looked away and said, “I’ve made up my mind, Lillian. In fact, I’ve already started to fill my time with something constructive, so I won’t have time to worry about things I can’t do anything about.”

“You stop all that worryin’ you do, you better have a whole lot of something else to fill up the time.”

“I know, so I’m thinking about having a party, maybe a reception for Mattie, for one thing. That’s if she gets well and regains her senses so she knows where she is. And for another, I’m going to be counting my steps around here, as well as learning something about putting flowers in a vase. But I need more than that. I’m also thinking of volunteering at the Literacy Council. Lillian, did you know that there’re a lot of people—adults, I mean—who can’t read?”

“Yessum, I know some what can’t.”

“You do?”

“Yes’m, but they get along all right ’cause most things have pitchers on ’em, an’ that’s what they read.”

“Pictures? Like what?”

“Well, like a can of peaches have a peach painted on it, so you know you won’t get beans when you open it up. And signs have pitchers, too. Like arrows pointin’ the way or curves curvin’ one way or the other. An’ I ’spect they learn stop signs and such by heart, so they get along all right.”

“But they miss so much by not being able to read. What about books and magazines and, well, things like medical information?”

“They make do, Miss Julia, an’ likely as not they got chil’ren what can read.”

“Well, that decides it. I’m going to spend some of my time helping someone learn to read. I can’t fathom a life without that ability, and we take it so for granted. Why, Lillian, imagine Sam without a book at hand. He’d be a different person entirely.” I stopped and tried to imagine what Sam would be like if he couldn’t read. Then I discounted that image—he would’ve learned somewhere along the way, either on his own or with the help of someone who could teach him.

And, of course, that’s what people who went to the Literacy Council were doing, and I determined to be one of those someones who offered the help they needed.

I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the sense of well-being that swept over me at the thought of how noble it would be to open up the world to some benighted soul.

Just as I was about to announce to Lillian how I was going to allocate the time I spent worrying to something both constructive and fulfilling, the phone rang.

Lillian was quicker than I, as she usually was. To her, answering the phone was her right and privilege.

“Miz Murdoch’s residence,” she intoned, then cut her eyes at me. “Yessir, she right here.”

She covered the receiver with her hand and held it out to me, whispering, “He say who it is, but I forget. He sound like he mean bus’ness.”

I took the phone. “This is Julia Murdoch.”

“Ernest Sitton, Mrs. Murdoch. Attorney at law. Forgive the intrusion on your day, but I think it’s time to meet so that some urgent decisions can be made. When would be convenient for you?”

“I’m sorry?”

He repeated what he’d said, ending by saying, “I’m sure your time is as limited as mine, so the sooner we get this done, the sooner it can be put to rest.”

My first thought was that somebody was suing me, and my heart rate sped up and my breath caught in my throat. I racked my brain to think of what I could’ve done to incur such a threat.

Clearing my throat, I clasped the phone tighter, and said, “It seems to me, Mr. Sitton, that you might’ve first contacted my attorney, Binkie Enloe Bates. And while you’re rectifying that oversight, I shall be consulting my husband, Sam Murdoch, also an attorney at law, although no longer specifically at law, being retired.”

“Indeed. I only thought that it would be more to your liking for you to tell me what you have in mind so I could begin the proceedings. But it will certainly be a pleasure to see Sam again, and Ms. Enloe Bates as well, if that is your preference.”

That didn’t sound like any lawsuit I’d ever heard of. Since when was a person being sued given a preference?

“So,” Mr. Sitton went on since I was being less than forthcoming, “perhaps you’re still considering the various possibilities, but, having dealt with a number of these cases before, I may be able to help you come to some conclusions. I am simply offering my services, Mrs. Murdoch. Anything I can do to help you, I will be happy to do.”

And since when did a suer’s attorney offer to help the one being sued? Mr. Ernest Sitton had the reputation of being an outstandingly aggressive lawyer, but surely he wouldn’t be offering to represent both sides, would he? I’d never heard of such a thing.

“That’s . . . that’s very kind of you, I’m sure. I’ll talk it over with Sam and Binkie, and let you know.”

“That will be fine,” he said. “But time does appear to be of the essence. Things continue to go downhill, and it is incumbent on you to stay apace. Legally speaking, that is, since you are responsible to the court for any decisions—or lack of same—that are made. Or not made, as the case may be.”

“Ah, Mr. Sitton,” I mumbled, then cleared my throat again. “I’m afraid I’m not following you. I’m responsible to the court? What court? And what am I responsible for? If someone is bringing suit against me, then it would seem that all I’m responsible for is defending myself.”

There was silence on his end now. Then he did a little throat clearing of his own. “Mrs. Murdoch, I know of no one who is bringing suit against you. The court, of course, may become involved if you are unable to meet your obligations, but I’m sure the court will be understanding if you can present a petition with viable reasons for being unable to serve.”

“Oh,” I said with great relief, “I see. You’re calling about jury duty. I can certainly serve if I don’t have a conflict on my calendar. Even though, I think at my age, I would be automatically excused.”

“No, no, not jury duty. And I assure you, madam, I would not discuss a lady’s age for all the tea in China. Mrs. Murdoch,” he said, then paused as if thinking how he should go on, then went on anyway. “Mrs. Murdoch, I am speaking of the power of attorney-in-fact as well as the medical power of attorney that Mrs. Mattie Freeman has granted you, which means that you are in charge not only of directing her medical care but also of making all monetarily related decisions. So I’m urging you to shoulder those responsibilities as quickly as possible. Further delay may prove disastrous. Decisions must be made immediately.”

The phone slid out of my hand and dropped into my lap. Lillian grabbed it and spoke into it, “She be back in touch,” clicked it off, then took me by my shoulders.

“Miss Julia, you all right? You ’bout to slide outta that chair. Come on now, set up straight an’ tell me what he say. Here, drink some of this coffee. It cold, but it don’t matter. There you go, you feelin’ better now?”

“Lillian,” I managed to say after a hard swallow, “I may never feel better. You won’t believe what the Lord has burdened me with now.”

“You set right there,” Lillian said firmly. “Look like this a case for Mr. Sam.”