"Oh, I don't think that's true. I think he's suffering. Why, the poor man is in the same situation you are, and you're not happy with it, are you?"

"Well, no, Hazel Marie. Of course I'm not. Being neither one thing nor the other is hard on the nerves, especially when I have to pretend to be happily married in front of other people. Then, I come home and have to get into a single state of mind again."

We sat in silence for a few minutes; then I mustered the courage to say what had been bothering me more and more lately. "Hazel Marie, I'm afraid the Lord is trying to tell me something."

"What?" She looked at me with those big, innocent-though I knew they were not-eyes.

"Maybe I should've never married Sam in the first place."

"It'll work out," she said, as if my words had not penetrated her own cloud of worries. "But I'm not sure this beauty pageant will." We sat in silence for a while longer, too overwhelmed with what we'd each let outselves in for to get up and go to bed. Then she said, "At least I've got Etta Mae now, and you'll always have Sam."

I wasn't too sure about that, but I knew enough to know that Hazel Marie didn't have her mind on my problems. We finally rose and went our separate ways to bed, she to my former room and I to my lonely one. Glancing at the clock as I readied myself for retiring, I wondered when Sam would get in. Although he would not be joining me, I was uneasy when he wasn't where he was supposed to be, which was right upstairs, far from Mr. Pickens's baleful influence. It didn't look good for him to be out all hours of the night, and him a newly wedded man. As far as most everybody knew, that is.

I sighed and crawled under the covers, leaving the bedside light on while I read my daily devotions. I couldn't keep my mind on them, though, for my thoughts went spiraling far from the recommended reading.

So I closed the book and settled back against the pillows, determined to examine all the random thoughts that had troubled me throughout the day.

Ever since this mess we were in started, I'd been recalling my loudly proclaimed reasons for urging Binkie and Coleman to marry. Then there were the many times I'd harped on the unsanctified manner in which Hazel Marie carried on with Mr. Pickens. I'd left no stone unturned in making myself the staunch advocate of legal and church-sanctioned marriages. And now, just look where I was.

I hated to admit it, but if it'd been someone else in my situation, I would've found it amusing, even laughable. Which it certainly would be to any number of people, if the word ever got out. There are always people who take pleasure in seeing the mighty fall. Or, more aptly, seeing those who take the high moral ground, as I was so well known for doing, slide into the common ditch.

And common was just the way I felt. The idea of finally jumping into another marriage, only to find myself in what only amounted to a relationship-and we all know what that means-went against the grain of everything I'd stood for all my life.

Then it hit me. I rose up in bed, stunned by the realization that I was no better than Wesley Lloyd, both of us having gotten ourselves into immoral associations.

Well, Lord, I sighed, taking myself in hand. There was absolutely no comparison. Wesley Lloyd had been legitimately married when he took up with Hazel Marie, but I'd been free as a bird when I went to Sam's bed. Wesley Lloyd had been an adulterer, while I was merely a fornicator. And there was still a chance that I wasn't even that. Besides, there was a world of difference between the two, wasn't there?

I plumped up my pillow and leaned back, trying to get comfortable. Then, being the fair-minded woman I am, I confirmed to myself that there certainly was a difference. In adultery, there was always a third, sometimes a fourth, person who is betrayed and hurt. In fornication . . . Well, who did it hurt, really, when all was said and done?

It hadn't hurt me, and Sam's only problem was wanting more of it. Still, it was a sin according to Paul and Pastor Ledbetter, although the Ten Commandments were notably silent on the matter.

I turned off the light, deciding that, since I was not theologically trained, my interpretation of the difference was as good as the next person's.

"Julia?" Sam tapped lightly on my closed door, just as I was about to drift off. "May I come in for a minute?"

I switched on the bedside lamp and looked at the clock. It was close to midnight, and he was just getting in after viewing some questionable video provided by Mr. Pickens.

"What for?" I answered, pulling up the covers.

I heard a muted laugh; then he said, "Why, for whatever you'll let me."

"Go to bed, Sam. It's late, and I'm in no mood to wrangle with you tonight."

"I don't have wrangling on my mind. I just want to say good night."

"Well, come on in before you wake the whole house." I moved the pillows and sat up in bed, smoothing my gown and the covers in order to be presentable.

Sam pushed open the door and walked over to the bed. He sat beside me and took my hand. "How was the rehearsal?"

"Dismal, Sam, that's the only way to describe it. You wouldn't believe what they have to work with."

"I expect Hazel Marie'll whip them into shape."

"I don't know if she will or not. Sam," I said, putting my other hand on top of his while avoiding his eyes, "Etta Mae Wiggins is helping her. I wasn't too happy about having her around, but after tonight . . . Anyway, I just want to ask you-well, this is hard to say because you know I'm not a suspicious woman."

"Just jump right in, Julia. What's bothering you?"

"You are. And our situation. And Etta Mae Wiggins. Put all those together, and there's plenty to bother me."

His eyebrows went up and his mouth went down. "You're worried about me and . . . ? I think I feel complimented." At my frown, he went on, "But maybe not."

"You shouldn't, because, in spite of what Hazel Marie says, that woman will go after anything in pants."

"What does Hazel Marie say?" He reached up and smoothed my hair.

I turned my head. "She says, and I guess I have to trust her on this, that Miss Wiggins has a high moral character and would never look at a married man."

"So what's the problem? I'm a married man."

"That's the problem. We don't know if you are or not."

"You may not know it, but I do. I'm as married as a man can get. You don't need to worry about me, Julia."

"Well, but what if she finds out that we're temporarily separated? There's nothing to stop her then."

He leaned down and put his face next to mine. "Don't you trust me, Julia?"

"About as far as I can throw you," I said, unable to resist teasing him, since he was getting awfully close and my chaste resolve was ebbing away.

He laughed against my neck. "Just tell me one thing. Why would I want anybody else when I have you?"

I slid away from him. "Now you're being ridiculous. If some young, sexified thing threw herself at you, you wouldn't give one thought to me. I'm not blind, Sam, and I can see the difference."

"I can, too. And I've made my choice." He sat up and looked directly at me. "You don't need to worry about me, Julia, whether we're married or not. And you know that I believe we are, and it wouldn't hurt either of us to live like we are or just go on and ask Ledbetter to remarry us."

"I can't face him, Sam. You know how he gets. Let's wait and see if it works out." Then, clasping his hand tightly, I asked, "You haven't heard from anybody? No word at all?"

He lifted my hand and kissed it. "Not yet. But there're lots of people working on it, since we're not the only ones in this boat. But, Julia, if we find out that the first one didn't take, you will marry me again, won't you?"

"I'll have to think about it." I said it lightly, drawing a smile from him. Deep inside, though, I couldn't help but wonder if the continuing silence from Tennessee was another ominous sign that I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere.

But with his comforting presence beside me, I felt my resolve begin to slip another notch. I took my hand away from him before I fell off the high principled stand I'd taken. "It's time for you to be in bed. Upstairs."

Chapter 16.

The telephone rang as I sat at the breakfast table with Sam and Little Lloyd the next morning. Lillian started toward the kitchen phone, but turned back when she heard Hazel Marie call down the stairs that she was getting it.

"Not long before school'll be out," Sam said to Little Lloyd. "What're you going to do with all that time?"

"First thing I'm going to do is help Mama, if she'll let me." The boy smiled, a dreamy, half-asleep expression on his face. "That Miss Easley sure is pretty."

Yes, indeed, I thought. He'd stayed up too late, showing entirely too much interest in those young women.

Lillian came to the table with the coffeepot and began to refill our cups. I thanked her with a smile, but she wouldn't meet my eyes. Her face looked closed off and tight, filled with troubled thoughts.

I watched her, wondering what the matter was, but Sam distracted me. He reached for the hand in my lap, enclosing it in his warm one, a welcome habit of his, especially since our cessation of otherwise physical contact. But, I declare, it was difficult to butter a biscuit with one hand.

He turned to Little Lloyd. "I'm feeling a great need to catch a few fish. If you're not too busy with beauty pageants, I could use a little help."

Little Lloyd smiled wider. He nodded his head up and down. "That'd be good. Except I don't know how."

"We'll take care of that. The ladies of the house have their hands full, so we men have to find something to keep us busy." Then with a final squeeze of my hand, he stood up. "If you've finished, I'll drive you to school. Julia, I'll be at my house, making some phone calls, if you need me. Maybe I'll have some news for you later today."

He leaned down and kissed me, part of his homecoming and leave-taking routine that I was still trying to accustom myself to. "I'll see you at lunch," he said. "Lloyd, give me a minute. I need some papers from upstairs."

When Sam left the room, I checked Little Lloyd's plate to assure myself that he'd had an adequate breakfast.

"Have a good day, sweetheart," I said, as he checked his book bag. For some reason, terms of endearment to those I cared for seemed to come more easily to my tongue these days. They came naturally and easily from Sam, but I was always surprised when one slid out of my mouth.

"Miss Julia?" Little Lloyd zipped up his book bag, then cut his eyes toward me. "Can I ask you something?"

"May I," I corrected him. Then, "Of course you may. What is it?"

"I thought married people lived together, but you and Mr. Sam don't."

"Why, we certainly do," I said, distressed that the child had noticed our peculiar living arrangements. Of course, given his background with a father who made only weekly visits and a mother who had an on-again, off-again relationship with Mr. Pickens, the child didn't know what a normal family was. You'd think one more unusual pair wouldn't disturb him. But here he was, bringing it up before I'd formulated a good explanation. "Sam lives right here in our house."

"I kinda meant in the same room together," he mumbled, as he made some unnecessary adjustments to his book bag.

Lillian glared at me across the kitchen counter, her look plainly saying, "Le's see how you get outta this."

"Well," I started, fumbling for a reply, "sometimes adjustments have to be made. And this is only temporary while"-truck doors slammed outside and the heavy footsteps of the Pruitts stomped onto the side stoop-"while we have work done on the house."

"Oh. Okay." Little Lloyd turned to greet Luther and Willie Pruitt, his concern about where people laid their heads seemingly put aside, at least for a while. But his question brought me up short. Something had to be done, and the sooner Sam got it done, the better.

In the ensuing confusion of getting the Pruitts through the kitchen and Sam and Little Lloyd on their way, Hazel Marie burst through the swinging door.

"Miss Julia, we have a problem. Morning, Lillian. How are you?" Hazel Marie took a seat at the table and propped her elbows on each side of her plate.

"That was Etta Mae on the phone," she said. "She said one of the girls just called her, wanting to know what kind of bathing suits they should wear. What do you think?"

"Well, my goodness, a bathing suit is a bathing suit. How many different kinds could there be?"

"Dozens. There're maillots, for instance, which we've eliminated since they don't flatter the figure. But the basic question is one-piece or two."

"One," I said.

"Wel-l-l, the problem with them is they're kind of hard to find. The in look is two-piece, and the major pageants allow them now. So, Etta Mae and I think we should, too."

"You mean, bikinis?" I asked, ready to do battle.

"No, no. Not bikinis, and certainly not thongs-"

"I should say not! That's not even a bathing suit. All it is is nasty."

"Well, we're thinking two-piece suits with adequate coverage, but even those will be cut fairly high on the legs. High-rise cut, I think it's called. But listen, Miss Julia." Hazel Marie reached across and laid a reassuring hand on my arm. "That's about the only kind the stores carry now. We have to keep up with the times, you know."

The times were hardly worth keeping up with, in my opinion. But since I wanted to hold the line somewhere, I said, "All right, but no navels."

Hazel Marie laughed. "You might as well prepare yourself. Navels are in, too. Or rather, out, so you'll see plenty of them.

"Anyway," she went on, "Etta Mae's going to come by on her way to work and drop off some catalogs. I have so many things to do today that I'd like to leave them with you. If you have time, would you look through them and mark what you like?"

"What kind of catalogs, Hazel Marie? Lord knows, they're stacked up all over the house now. We certainly don't need any more."

"Oh, these are different. They're catalogs that show various kinds of trophies and things. We'll need some for the winners of the different contests, and something outstanding for the grand winner. And a tiara, too."

She looked off in space for a minute, thinking. "Since there're only six contestants, maybe we ought to give each one a trophy of some kind. A small one, you know."

"Why, Hazel Marie, that would take away from the overall winner. And what are you going to do? Rig the judging so that each girl wins in some category?"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that. I'm just thinking a small trophy engraved with, like, Miss Vice Squad or Miss First Watch. It would be like a keepsake or a memento of their big night."

"Well, I'm glad it's not my decision to make," I said, laying my napkin beside the plate. "But it seems to me that the funds you raise ought to go to the purpose they're raised for."

"They will. Every penny of it." Hazel Marie smiled and ducked her head. "I'm sorta backing the pageant a little."

That didn't surprise me at all. When Hazel Marie threw herself into something, she went all the way.

I was sitting in one of the easy chairs by the window of my room, formerly Hazel Marie's room, leafing through the catalogs that Miss Wiggins had dropped off. I'd never seen such offerings before. There were pictures of everything from trophies to medals to ribbons to sashes to crowns. And they came in every material and for every purpose known to man. You could order athletic trophies, homemaker trophies, Worker of the Week trophies, Salesman of the Year trophies, medals for The Greatest Mom, and sashes for the Miss, Mrs., or Ms. Whatever-in-the world-you-wanted.

I took a pencil and marked a few of the less ornate trophies for Hazel Marie's consideration, then looked up to see Lillian standing in the doorway.

"Miss Julia?" she said, waiting hesitantly on the threshold. "You busy?"

"Not very. What is it?"

"I got to tell you somethin'."

"Well, come on in and tell it." I put aside the catalog, and removed the stack of them from the chair that should've been Sam's, but currently wasn't.