Miss Julia's Gift: A Penguin Special from Viking by Ann B. Ross

Author:Ann B. Ross [Ross, Ann B.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

Emma Sue Ledbetter, our pastor’s wife, called to ask me to pick her up on my way to our monthly circle meeting, during which there would be a ten-minute Bible study and two hours of arguing about project reports, eating finger sandwiches and deciding where we would meet the following month.

“It won’t be out of your way, Julia,” Emma Sue had said, “and I’ll be ready and waiting when you get here. Actually, since I’m teaching the lesson, they can’t start until I get there, so it doesn’t matter if we run late.”

“We won’t be late. I’ll be by about nine thirty but, Emma Sue, I have to leave as soon as it’s over. So if you plan to linger, it might be better to go ahead and take your car.” Because our circle met in the homes of the various members, some of the group were often reluctant to leave, tarrying to chat and visit with one another until occasionally the hostess felt compelled to offer lunch. Overstaying their welcome, I called it.

“Oh, I’ll be ready to leave when you are,” Emma Sue assured me. “You won’t have to do anything special for me. I’ll just come and go when you do. Because, see, Julia, I’ve decided to Go Green, like I’ve been hearing about everywhere, and the big thing I can do is save gas by not driving. You ought to be doing the same, Julia. Your big car must take gallons just to go to the store. And you know, we all waste so much gas by taking our own cars everywhere we go, so you really should do whatever you can to be ecologically sound.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said drily, but silently fuming because she was saving gas by riding with me while at the same time having the nerve to lecture me for using it.

We were meeting that morning on the second Tuesday—our usual meeting day—at Rebecca Tildon’s home, a split-level ranch-style house in what passed for the suburbs of Abbotsville—in other words, outside of town. There were about fifteen or so of us, all milling around the living room where extra folding chairs had been set up in a circle. Hence the name of the group, I suppose.

Coffee, both regular and decaf, was served and trays of finger food and cubes of fruit on toothpicks were on the table in the dining ell. As soon as Emma Sue and I entered, having left our coats in the front bedroom, we were engulfed by the admiring talk of Janet McDonald’s new diamond tennis bracelet. Everyone wanted to see it, touch it, and exclaim over it, and Janet had worn a short-sleeved sweater to better display it. It was so lovely that not even our worst cynic could think that it might have come from Walmart or Sam’s Club.

“Jim gave it to me,” Janet kept saying, her face flushed with pleasure. “And for no reason in the world. I still can’t believe it. I have to keep looking at it to be sure it’s real.

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