Also by Ann B. Ross
MISS JULIA WEATHERS THE STORM
MISS JULIA INHERITS A MESS
MISS JULIA LAYS DOWN THE LAW
ETTA MAE’S WORST BAD-LUCK DAY
MISS JULIA’S MARVELOUS MAKEOVER
MISS JULIA STIRS UP TROUBLE
MISS JULIA TO THE RESCUE
MISS JULIA ROCKS THE CRADLE
MISS JULIA RENEWS HER VOWS
MISS JULIA DELIVERS THE GOODS
MISS JULIA PAINTS THE TOWN
MISS JULIA STRIKES BACK
MISS JULIA STANDS HER GROUND
MISS JULIA’S SCHOOL OF BEAUTY
MISS JULIA MEETS HER MATCH
MISS JULIA HITS THE ROAD
MISS JULIA THROWS A WEDDING
MISS JULIA TAKES OVER
MISS JULIA SPEAKS HER MIND
This book is for all the proper Southern ladies—regardless of where they’re from or where they live—who hold to a higher standard of refined manners, elegant teas, Sunday church services, and handwritten thank-you notes. Or at least those who try to.
VIKING
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street
New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2018 by Ann B. Ross
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
ISBN 9780735220508 (HARDCOVER)
ISBN 9780735220522 (EBOOK)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Contents
Also by Ann B. Ross
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
About the Author
Chapter 1
I’m getting old, and I don’t much like it. On the other hand, as Lillian has reminded me, it could be worse. I pulled my sweater closer and smiled to myself as I thought of a bright spot—I certainly wasn’t the only one suffering from sagging muscles and deep wrinkles and aching joints and poor eyesight and you-name-it. Everybody else I knew was getting old, too. Of course, some started later than others, so they’re not yet getting that shock when they look in a mirror first thing in the morning. They think they’ll look that way forever.
They’ll change their tune, though, if they last long enough.
Now, why, you may ask, was I burdened with such dark, unedifying thoughts? Because, I answer, it behooves us all to stop and take stock on occasion, and that’s what I was doing on a warm October day as I sat in a wicker rocking chair on my wisteria-covered front porch.
People used to sit on their porches after supper on pretty days, rocking and cooling off and speaking to neighbors as they walked by. But nobody walks anymore. They’re either zipping past in air-conditioned cars or bent over the handlebars of bicycles—their spandex-covered backsides hiked above their heads—or gasping for air as they pound by on their LeBron James Nike running shoes. Oh, and, by the way, I happened to know that there wasn’t a one of those runners who’d ever played a game of basketball in their lives.
Since no one was taking notice—too caught up in their own worlds—I was content to sit partially hidden by the vine that covered a third of my porch. Wisteria—even the slow-growing kind—offers protection from prying eyes only a few months of the year, and those months were about over, leaving mostly bare twisting stems that ran up to the roof and blocked the gutters.
I’d have to do something about that, but not today. Today was given over to taking stock and feeling sorry for myself. I’d get over it, but I’ve found that when you’re in such a mood, it’s better to go ahead and wallow in it, thereby getting it out of your system, than to let it simmer on for days.
Weeks, in fact, for some people, and for others, well, they seem to never get over it. Don’t you just hate it when an old person gets crabbier and crabbier, and harder and harder to live with? They say that however you are when you’re young, you get worse as you age. And I believe it. I’ve seen it happen time and again. But not in my household, thank the Lord.
Sam is as even tempered and easygoing as he ever was, and for that I will be eternally grateful. Every once in a while, especially when I’m in one of these moods, I wonder what Wesley Lloyd Springer, my late unlamented first husband, would’ve been like if the Lord hadn’t taken pity on me and taken him to his reward years ago. Of course even if He hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been around to witness Wesley Lloyd’s descent into ill-tempered dotage. I would’ve been long gone as soon as I learned what he’d been up to. There’d never been a divorce in my family, but there’s always a first time and mine would’ve been it.
I rocked a little harder as I thought of all I would’ve missed if Wesley Lloyd had continued to live on, getting grouchier by the day. Lloyd, for one, his ill-begotten son, who is the sunshine of my life, and Sam, for another, who is more than I ever dreamed of or deserved in a husband. And I would’ve sorely missed Hazel Marie as well, even though some of my friends still wonder how I can bring myself to love her as I do. So she’d been my husband’s kept woman—think of what despair she must’ve been in to have stooped that low.
“Miss Julia?”
I looked up to see Lillian at the screen door. “Oh, sorry, Lillian, I must’ve been daydreaming.”
“You better come on in. It’s gettin’ a little chilly out here. An’ supper be ready in a few minutes.”
“Yes, all right. Thank you, Lillian. I’m coming.”
With an extra push of my foot,
