Southern Ghost

Whitney was in law school, there was trouble about a paper. I know his mamma went and talked to the dean and it all worked out. I think it was the next year that Mr. Harmon —that was Miz Amanda's daddy—he gave a big scholarship to the school.' Lucy Jane's smile was dry. 'You know how folks can work things around in their minds sometimes to where what happened didn't happen quite the way it was thought and so everything turns out all right.'

Annie knew. It wasn't only beauty that depended upon the eye of the beholder. Funny how money could magically alter circumstances.

'Then when Mr. Whitney married, he picked a girl he thought the Judge would like, 'cause she cared so much about the old times and families and who married who. Miz Char­lotte'—the cool, thoughtful eyes betrayed no emotion—'she cares more for dead-and-gone people than she does people here today. That's why Miss Harriet ran away. Miz Charlotte never would pay the child any mind. And Mr. Whitney, he was too busy with horses and golf and cards to notice. And when Miss Harriet acted up worse and worse, they just packed her off to school, and one day, when the school wrote and said she'd run away from there, Miz Charlotte was so busy with one of her history groups, she hardly took it in. Mr. Whitney sent Miss Harriet money when she took up living out in California eventhough Miz Charlotte said they shouldn't have anything to do with her until she started acting like a Tarrant should.'

Would the Judge have been pleased with his daughter-in-law's total acceptance of Tarrant mores? Had he been pleased long years ago?

'How did Mrs. Charlotte and the Judge get along?' Annie pictured two faces, the lean, harsh, ascetic face of the man on the bench, the earnest, self-satisfied face of Charlotte.

Lucy Jane gave a mirthless chuckle. 'Thing about the Judge, he was no fool. Ever. He saw through Miz Charlotte easy as pie, the way she simpered up to him, always wanting to talk about the Family and how much it meant to her and Mr. Whitney. The Judge, he knew Mr. Whitney didn't care a fig about the family. All Mr. Whitney ever wanted was to get along.'

'And Milam?' Annie asked.

'Mr. Milam. He's a case, he is.' But there was no admiring tone in her voice as there had been for Ross. 'Lucky thing for him the Judge didn't live to see how he's turned out.' She rose gracefully and brought the coffeepot to refill Annie's cup. 'Course, it's plain as the nose on your face what Mr. Milam's up to. He wants to make people mad. Every time somebody here in town gets huffy over the way Mr. Milam acts or dresses, Mr. Milam's pleased as punch. One more time he's thumbing his nose at his daddy. If all he wanted was to be an artist and live like some artists do, he could pack up and go where folks like that is a dime a dozen. But that isn't what Mr. Milam wants.' She sipped her coffee. 'Even after all these years, Mr. Milam's angry with the Judge.' She looked at the mantel and another set of photographs. 'Sometimes young people get jealous when they see people in big houses having everything, but I always told my children that living in a big house can be a hard row to hoe.'

Annie was struck not only by her wisdom but by the un­dercurrent of sympathy in Lucy Jane's voice. Annie was will­ing to bet few persons exhibited such charity toward Milam Tarrant, who seemed to have a genius for raising hackles.

'What about Julia?' Annie asked.

'Poor, little Miz Julia.' Her voice was almost a croon. 'So sad a lady.' There was steel in her voice when she spoke next. 'I do fault Mr. Milam there. He shouldn't have married, just to marry. But the Judge, as far as he was concerned, a man wasn't grown unless he married.'

It was elliptical to be sure, but Annie thought she under­stood and she felt even sorrier for poor, damaged Julia than she had before.

'So Milam didn't really care for her.' Annie didn't phrase it as a question.

'Poor Miz Julia. Like a little shadow when she came to live at Tarrant House, and then—for a time—she was happy as could be. She loved her baby to pieces. Miss Melissa. Pretty little Missy. That child brought sunshine to Tarrant House. She made everybody smile. The Judge, too. Even Mr. Milam loved Missy. That was before Mr. Ross died. But when he and the Judge died, that was when Miz Julia's face was all pinched and white again.' Lucy Jane reached out and touched the worn Bible that lay on the table beside her chair. 'It didn't take more than a few days after the funerals for her and Mr. Milam to move out to the plantation. I know Miz Julia was never happy with Mr. Milam, but then I don't think she expected to be happy. And she still had Miss Melissa. It was when the baby was lost—almost the same time as Miz Amanda—that Miz Julia almost grieved herself into the grave—it might have been happier for her if she had.'

'So Milam and Julia had a little girl.' Annie frowned, picturing the family trees and remembering Charlotte's sharp insistence that her daughter Harriet was the only Tarrant grandchild. 'What happened to Missy?'

'She fell in the pond.' Lucy Jane didn't elaborate.

So the beloved baby died. That certainly made Julia's pres­ent-day misery easier for Annie to understand.

Julia Tarrant. She had been in Tarrant House the day the Judge was