Seventeen
Clara Jean Munderson called me at 10:00 sharp on Monday morning. I was sitting at the kitchen table updating my Christmas list for next year when the phone rang.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Beckworth,” a soft, pleasant drawl greeted me. “This is Clara Munderson at Judge Odell’s office.”
“Yes, Clara Jean, I recognized your voice,” I responded affably.
Another of my Sunday School members, the only child of Clarice and Bill Munderson was the consummate professional. Never one to play noisily with the others in her class, Clara Jean was always amiable, always respectful, but not in the least a pushover. It was amazing how she had handled herself as a child and how that translated into the position she had held for the past twenty years. She was gentle and compassionate and a good listener, which led many of her friends to confide in her on a regular basis. And she’d have died before she ever broke a confidence.
I was on the Baptist Women’s Prayer Chain for many years before I got kicked off for telling them to stop using God as an excuse to gossip. I can assure you, if Clara Jean ever betrayed a word of what went on behind Harley Odell’s closed door, I’d have heard about it. And if the door was closed, it stayed closed. God Himself wouldn’t get through to the judge if He didn’t have special clearance or an appointment. Clara Jean never married, leading half the self-righteous old biddies on the chain to speculate that she was keeping far more than Poopsie’s professional business a secret. I knew better than to contemplate such a thing. The thought of ol’ Poopsie in the throes of passion was just more than I could stand.
“Judge Odell wanted me to give you some information about posting bail for Mr. Eldred Mims. You have something to write with?”
“Matter of fact, I do, Clara Jean. Go ahead.”
I took her instructions carefully, repeating them back to her to make sure I had them straight. I could hear Blanche go quiet at the kitchen sink. It’s funny how I did not notice the noise of dishes being washed and the low wordless tunes Blanche hummed until both were abruptly stopped. As I finished my call and hung up, Blanche sat down at the table, drying her hands on the dish towel that hung from the waistband of her wide apron.
“What’s goin’ on with Mr. Mims?” Blanche could be downright blunt when she wanted to know something.
“Well, I was going to tell you about that this morning,” I replied, in no real hurry to do the telling. I braced myself for her reaction and dove right in.
“I’m posting bail for Eddie tomorrow morning.”
“You go'n do what?” Blanche exploded.
“I’m getting Eddie out of jail,” I repeated.
“I heard what you said,” Blanche replied. “What I want to know is what in the world you think you’re doing!”
“I’m helping a friend is what I’m doing,” I looked her dead in the eye and silently dared her to argue with that. Apparently dares didn’t worry Blanche one little bit.
“Eldred Mims ain’t no friend of yours, Miz Ora, and you know that plain and true. Now I want you to tell me what is goin’ on here.”
I stood then and pulled myself up to my full five feet plus three very short inches.
“I am posting bail for Mr. Mims tomorrow morning, after which he will be staying in Walter’s old room. If you have a problem with that, I’ll be happy to get the room ready myself. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
I turned my back on Blanche then and left the room. I could still hear her muttering as I went upstairs to do some paperwork. Bravado aside, I planned to stay out of her way as much as I could that day.
The next morning I stopped by Citizen’s Family Bank and picked up a Cashier’s Check for $50,000, as Clara Jean had instructed. The head teller was Seeley Graves. She’d been at the bank for ten years and was the president of the Junior Woman’s Club. I knew her well enough to know she was a gossip of epic proportions. Seeley repeated the information I gave her with a quizzical arch of one perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“It’s none of your business, Seeley,” I said without humor. “Just cut the check and quit wondering.”
She sniffed disapprovingly, but presented me with the requested instrument in good time.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Beckworth?” Her sincerity was overwhelming.
“As a matter of fact, yes, there is.” I looked her straight in the eye. “You can remember the confidential nature of this transaction and keep it to yourself.”
I slipped the check into my pocketbook and snapped it shut. Then I smiled sweetly at her, but narrowed my eyes and said pointedly, “If I hear one word that even makes me think a mutual acquaintance knows my personal business, I’ll be on Steve Haskins’ doorstep so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
Walter had been on the board of directors at the bank and a frequent golfing partner of the bank president. Seeley knew it was no empty threat.
I knew I was being a bit touchy about the matter, but I felt no regret at my pre-emptive behavior. The older I get, the less I care what people think of me, but I care a great deal about people knowing my business.
I arrived at the Clerk’s office promptly at 10:00 a.m., paid the bail and signed the prerequisite documents. Then I took the stairs to Judge Owen’s office on the third floor of the courthouse. Clara Jean was at the coffee pot when I walked through the door. Either someone tipped her off as to my arrival or she simply counted on my punctuality, because she had an extra cup already poured and in her hand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Beckworth,” she smiled with genuine hospitality and grace. “Cream and sugar, right?”
I was impressed. “Thank you, Clara Jean.” I smiled and took the proffered mug.
“Judge Odell would like to speak with you personally,” she continued. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“I’m in no hurry,” I replied.
She returned to her desk and sat, moving a stack of files to the right, out of her way and out of my sight.
“You all ready for Christmas?” she asked pleasantly.
“Just about,” I answered. “I’m having some company this year.”
“Oh, I know,” she said quickly. “Judge Odell filled me in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You mean Mr. Mims,” I said. “Yes, he’ll be staying with me, too, but I was referring to Blanche and her children. I’ve invited them to have Christmas with me.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” she blurted. “Why, that’s quite a houseful, isn’t it?”
She meant nothing by it, I knew, but the incident with Patrice had put me on alert for bigotry of any kind.
“My house has been empty for years. It will be nice to fill it with family,” I said, trying not to sound snippy, but not succeeding.
“Of course it will,” she smiled. “Mr. Beckworth hasn’t been gone that long. I know how hard it is to be alone sometimes.”
And she did know. I instantly regretted my wariness. Clara Jean came along late in her parents’ lives. Clarice died of breast cancer several years prior and her father had a stroke less than a year afterward. The last I had heard he was still languishing in a nursing home nearby. Sometimes I could just cut my tongue out.
“We would love to have you join us, Clara Jean,” I said gently. “We’ll be having a big dinner Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, thank you for asking, Mrs. Beckworth, but…”
“I understand completely,” I said.
“No, no…” she trailed off again. “It’s just that - I haven’t really told anyone yet.”
She looked over her shoulder at the closed door behind her. I braced myself for the confession of the century.
“I may have a date Christmas Eve.” I swear she giggled.
“A date!” I can be a little too loud when I’m caught off guard.
“Shhhh…” Clara Jean warned, nodding toward the closed door behind her. “He doesn’t know yet.”
“Why would he care?” Lord, I’m nosy.
She looked over her shoulder again and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I don’t want him to worry.”
“Poopsie? Worried?”
“Mrs. Beckworth, I have strict orders to correct you every time you call him that.” Ever on guard, that girl is.
“You know about our deal then.” I shrugged. “Am I allowed to call him Harley?”
“You and you alone,” She said with an amused grin. “Judge Odell has been like a father to me. I don’t want him to know about my date until I see where it’s going.”
That little bit of information put to rest any of the rumors I had ever heard.
I got the feeling Clara Jean wanted to tell someone her news. I suddenly felt maternal. “Well, he won’t hear it from me. Anything else you want to share about this mystery man? I’m all ears and no mouth where you are concerned.”
“Well, I’ve known him all my life, but I hadn’t seen him in years. I ran into him when I took some papers over to the jail the other day. We got to talking about Christmas and how neither of us had plans, and I‘m not sure who even asked who, but suddenly we had a date for Christmas Eve!”
I reached out and put my hand on hers. “Clara Jean, I couldn’t be happier for you. I hope you have the merriest Christmas ever.”
Just then the door flew open and Harley Odell appeared, taking far more than his share of space in the room, as usual.
“Well, if it isn’t the ever-punctual Ora Lee,” the honorable judge boomed. “You ready to take care of this business?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I allowed with more than a hint of resignation.
“Well, come on in and we’ll go over a few details before I release Mr. Mims.”
I followed him into his office and sat in one of the huge leather wing chairs in front of his desk.
“I‘ll get right to the point,” Harley said, more quietly than I anticipated. “Is there anything else I should know about Eldred Mims before I place him in your care?”
“Can’t think of a thing,” I said calmly.
He leaned back then, his massive chair groaning loudly from the shifting weight. Folding his arms across his chest he eyed me curiously through his bifocals.
“Nary a thing, eh?” I swear he smirked then and I hated him for it.
“I don’t have time for games, Poopsie,” I snapped.
“Uh, uh, uh!” he half-grinned. “A deal’s a deal.”
“Old habits die hard,” I grumbled. “I have no idea what you want me to say, Judge Odell! He’s a harmless old man who more than likely was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either release him to me or let me go get my check back to the bank before I lose a day’s interest on it.”
“Something’s not right here, Ora Lee, and I’d be willing to bet my life on that one. But, seeing as how you aren’t talking, I’ll have to just trust my gut and keep an eye out for trouble.”
“I don’t think there will be any trouble, Harley. He’s just an old man,” I repeated with just a hint more desperation than conviction.
“I’ll have Chip Smallwood bring him by your house this evening after dark. I don’t expect any trouble out of Ralph or his deputies; I’ve made sure they know who’s watching them at this point.”
I nodded once in reply.
“I doubt you’ll have any trouble from the townspeople, but I wouldn’t be advertising the fact that he’s staying there if I were you.”
“Hell, they didn’t like it when I was having him mow my yard. Dovey Kincaid will broadcast it the minute she figures it out, and I know that won’t take long.”
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Poopsie sounded concerned this time.
“I’m sure,” I said softly. “Besides, I still have Blanche to help me.”
“She’s a good woman, that maid of yours.”
“She’s my friend,” I said and then repeated, “my friend.”
“As am I,” Harley said, more gently than I’d ever heard him be.
Eddie arrived that afternoon. I watched Chip walk him up my front walk, one hand holding the old man’s elbow, the other carrying a paper sack which turned out to be the sum total of Eddie’s earthly possessions.
Blanche helped me deposit him in Walter’s old room. He looked decidedly out of place in it, uncomfortable even. He looked around for a place to put his hat and then, finding nothing he deemed suitable, folded it in half and tucked in his back pocket.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Eddie,” I said, absurdly. The man had been sleeping in a jail cell for weeks and outside for who knows how long.
“Yes’m, I reckon I’ll be fine,” he nodded.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” I asked, ever the hostess.
“No’m, I’m all right,” he mumbled and fidgeted quietly. “’Cept…”
“Except what?” I asked.
“I wonder could you show me where’s the toilet?” he asked.
“Oh!” I blushed furiously. “It’s down the hall on the right.
He nodded and rocked back and forth on his feet.
“I’m going to put on a pot of tea while you get settled,” I said and left the room quickly.
Blanche had dinner warming in the oven when she left an hour later and Eddie and I took our first meal together in the formal dining room. We sat at opposite ends of the long mahogany table that had once belonged to my mother. Neither of us spoke much. I assume that Eddie felt the same discomfort I did, but I doubt he was thinking the same thing, that the table itself seemed like a river of blood between us. We took all our future meals at the kitchen table.
I had no fewer than twenty calls that week about my “harboring a criminal.” If only they knew who the real criminal was, they’d have called the sheriff and not me. Eddie made himself scarce every time the phone rang. Funny that none of them showed up on my doorstep like I expected. I guess they truly were afraid of Eddie, as unlikely as it seemed to me. But they didn’t know what I knew, so in a way I could understand. I handled the calls as best I could, assuring each caller that I would not be foolish enough to open my home to the man if I had any doubt whatsoever about his innocence. Nothing seemed to make a difference to any of them, though, and eventually I stopped answering the telephone.
I briefly entertained the thought that a few of the townsmen might show up at my door with shotguns and ropes in hand, but I soon chided myself for imagining such drama.