Part 13 (1/2)

Then I had to laugh again, recalling Lillian's skeptical look at what I was wearing. ”What you doin' in that getup?” she'd asked, looking up and down at Etta Mae's white scrub suit that had served me so well in the Mill Run hospital.

”Don't ask,” I'd said, glancing down at my high waters, which revealed stockinged ankles between the end of the scrub pants and my stacked-heel Ferragamos.

Before long, though, I was sleeping like the dead, but was awakened too early by an awful racket banging somewhere in the house. Thinking the worst, I crawled out, put on a robe and stormed out to see what was happening.

”It's that carpenter,” Lillian said as I got to the kitchen. ”He start in hammerin' back in the sunroom, buildin' them cabinets and shelves you wanted. He worked all day Sat.u.r.day, too, but not yesterday, it bein' Sunday. He got all that pink wallpaper off in the bedroom.”

”Oh, my word, I'd forgotten about him.” I dropped into a chair by the table, wondering if I should go back to bed or try to stay up. ”Did you get any sleep, Lillian?”

”Yes'm, some. I jus' got here. I got the babies fed so Miss Hazel Marie could sleep in. She happy as a lark, now she got Mr. Pickens back.”

”How was he when you left?”

”Still sleepin'. But Dr. Hargrove say he on his way, an' I 'spect he there by now.”

”And Lloyd? And Latisha? They get off to school?”

”Yes'm. Here your coffee.” She set a cup before me, and I decided I might as well stay up. ”Now tell me what all you an' Miss Etta Mae get up to while you gone.”

So I did, recounting everything that had happened, from attending a snake-handling service to becoming a kitchen aide worker, which accounted for the scrub suit I was still wearing when we arrived home. One might say that it had been a most unusual weekend for someone who was accustomed to slow and gentle days measured by respectable activities.

Lillian was wide-eyed at the telling, asking over and over about ”them snake people,” unable to understand how anybody could believe that fiddling with serpents was an act of faith.

”It's in the Bible,” I told her, ”somewhere, I'm not sure where, but the few verses may have been a later addition. At least, that's what I've heard.”

”Who want to add something to the Holy Bible?” she demanded. ”They's enough in there already to keep me busy all my life tryin' to live up to it. I don't hold no truck with anybody wantin' to put something else in. 'Specially something about snakes.” She shuddered.

”Well, you and me,” I agreed, getting to my feet. ”I better get dressed, Lillian, and try to make it through the day. I declare, I feel as if I've been gone a week with all we've been through. And,” I went on, ”I've got to talk to Coleman because that West Virginia sheriff is sure to be looking for Mr. Pickens. And maybe Etta Mae and me, as well.”

”Y'all in trouble with the law?”

”Well, yes, I guess we are. Which reminds me, I better talk to Dr. Hargrove, too. We'll make a case for Mr. Pickens getting poor treatment in the Mill Run hospital-being overly sedated or something-whatever we can think of that would require an immediate transfer to better facilities. No judge would hold us responsible under such dire circ.u.mstances.”

”No judge 'round here anyway,” Lillian said.

After dressing, I called Hazel Marie to get the latest word on Mr. Pickens's condition.

”Dr. Hargrove just left,” she told me. ”He was amazed at J.D.'s wounds. Said he'd never seen anything like it and J.D. was lucky it's not as bad as it could've been. I couldn't look, but I could picture it, bless his heart. Anyway, he started him on an antibiotic, but wouldn't give him anything for pain. He told me to give him nothing stronger than Tylenol if he really needs something.”

”Is he awake?”

”Who? J.D.? About half awake, I'd say. I've told him twice how he got home, but he doesn't remember anything about last night.”

”My goodness,” I said, wondering how something so deeply etched on my memory could be blanked out of his. ”What about his wounds? Etta Mae was afraid one of them had opened up. You know, when he fell off the seat.”

”He fell off the seat!”

”Well, see, a deer crossed the road in front of us and Etta Mae had to slam on the brakes. Mr. Pickens tumbled off the backseat. He thought he'd fallen off the bed.”

”Oh, my poor baby. Anyway, Dr. Hargrove cleaned it and put on a fresh bandage. He said he thought it'd be all right.”

”That's good. Now listen, Hazel Marie, if a certain Sheriff McAfee from Mill Run, West Virginia, happens to call, just refer him to Coleman. Don't tell him anything else, not even that Mr. Pickens is there, or anything.”

She didn't respond for a few seconds. Then she said, almost whispering, ”You think he'll try to get J.D. back?”

”He might. But if he does, we'll put Mr. Pickens in our hospital under our sheriff's orders, and give Sheriff McAfee a taste of his own medicine.” Try as I might, I couldn't see that lanky sheriff sneaking through our hospital as a kitchen aide worker.

Chapter 25.

After tracking Coleman down to let him know we were back and had Mr. Pickens where he belonged, I had to go into detail about how we'd sprung him from Sheriff McAfee's clutches.

”You did what?” Coleman asked in some amazement.

So I told him again, then asked, ”Now, Coleman, the big question is this: What's that sheriff going to do? Will he try to extradite him? Will he arrest me and Etta Mae? And by the way, Mr. Pickens was not under arrest. I specifically asked if he was, and was told by Sheriff McAfee that he was not, so we did not aid and abet an escape. It's important to remember that in whatever dealings you have with him.”

”Me?”

”Yes, of course, you. I figure you'll be the one he'll contact-he knows where to reach you. I think the best recourse would be to firmly remind the sheriff that Mr. Pickens left of his own free will and will happily return to testify when and if he is needed. At least I a.s.sume he will-you can never tell what Mr. Pickens will do. You might also remind Sheriff McAfee that by that time Mr. Pickens should have all his marbles back in place and be able to testify because he'll no longer be so heavily medicated he doesn't know up from down.”

”What?”

I was beginning to wonder about Coleman by this time. ”Let me put it this way,” I said, taking it slowly so he could follow my line of thought. ”Etta Mae thinks they kept Mr. Pickens under heavy sedation. We know they kept him isolated, and we know they tried to keep us away from him. That to me smacks of unlawful imprisonment. Or something. So I think when that sheriff calls you, which he surely will, you ought to at least intimate that he is in big trouble, which I won't mind bringing down on his head.”

”Ah, well, let me think about it, Miss Julia. First thing, though, I ought to talk to J.D. Get his take on what happened.”

”Good idea. And lots of luck making sense of what he says. But go on and see for yourself what they did to him. Actually, that reminds me: I'm going to talk to Dr. Hargrove about defrocking whatever doctor took orders from a sheriff who's never been to medical school. I think steps should be taken against him. And I think I'd better get Binkie on board for me and Etta Mae. It never hurts to have a good lawyer on hand.”

”Okay, you do whatever you want about that and I'll get my ducks in a row for when the sheriff calls.”

After that satisfactory call, I went upstairs to see what Adam Waites, one of the carpenter's sons, was doing. The sunroom was in a mess, I can tell you that, with a table saw set up in the middle of the room, lumber stacked around, and sawdust everywhere.

”Mr. Waites,” I said, as he removed his safety gla.s.ses, ”tell me how you're progressing.” From all the noise he'd been making, I'd thought he would've been further along than he was.

”Mornin', Mrs. Murdoch. It's a beautiful day that the Lord has made, isn't it?”

”Yes, yes, it is,” I said, waving away the distraction. ”Now, catch me up with what you're doing.”

And what it amounted to was the building of the framework for the cabinets under the windows.

”Now, right here,” he said, pointing to the middle window, ”I thought I'd build a desk, then ...”

”No, Mr. Waites, no built-in desk. Sam needs room to spread out, so I'm putting a table desk in here for him. Just build a straight wall of cabinets like the ones I drew out for you on the plan. Please don't add anything extra without checking with me first.” Mildred hadn't warned me that Mr. Waites would have ideas of his own, but now that I knew, I'd have to watch him carefully. ”And one other thing, we'll need to have a number of electrical outlets for the lower cabinets and around all the walls. You know, for his printer and copier and telephone and all the other gadgets he has.”