So then I had to tell him about the double parties that Mildred and I were having, as well as exactly why we were having them. In the telling, though, I was afraid he’d think the less of me for deliberately spoiling Madge’s tea, which of course was exactly why I was doing it.
“I’m not very proud of myself,” I admitted, “but Mildred and I decided we just couldn’t let the town assume that the Homes for Teens, or whatever they’re calling themselves now, is worth their time and money. We wanted to make a statement to express our displeasure and our determination not to support them in any way at all.” I paused to allow him to express his displeasure if he had any. “You may feel differently and, if so, you can join those who’ve called us biased, unchristian, and selfish. Or you can support them yourself as the church has seen fit to do.”
Sam smiled. “You amaze me. There’s nothing biased, unchristian, or selfish in expecting others to obey the laws. And if that area is not zoned for a group home—which sounds like what it will be regardless of what they call it—it shouldn’t be permitted. I’d probably have pushed the legal angle a little more if I’d been here, but I can still do that. So I say to you ladies—have at it.”
“Good!” I said, relieved that Sam understood my need to do something, even if it was slightly on the petty side. “Let’s go to the basement and bring up some boxes.”
Chapter 30
By noon the next day, we had the tree, which I’d had delivered to the garage the day before Thanksgiving, standing in the front windows with several strings of lights already glowing on it. Lloyd had helped Sam bring it in and get it into the stand, while I’d untangled the lights.
Now it stood, looking about half dressed, waiting to be draped with tinsel ropes and hung with ornaments. It was the first time I’d put up a Christmas tree in November, so that was another thing to lay at Madge Taylor’s feet. It would probably be a scrawny, needleless memory of itself by the time Christmas morning rolled around, and that would be another black mark against her, too.
By evening, which came so early this time of year, the tree was finished, electrified candles were in the windows, and silver trays, awaiting party food, were arranged on the dining table. At one end, we’d placed the large container, heated by sterno, and a ladle for serving oyster stew. The silver coffee urn was on the sideboard and my silver punch bowl waited on a round table, both with cups ready for filling. I’d had second thoughts about serving the champagne punch that I’d once had when Etta Mae was on the verge of marrying well. She hadn’t quite made it, but that’s another story.
But deciding that I’d gone this long without serving alcohol, I saw no reason to start now. Besides, everybody knew that it would flow freely at Mildred’s, so there’d be few who wouldn’t be eager to go on to her house. So eager, I hoped, that they’d forgo even a courtesy call at Madge’s tea.
To tell the truth, though, I seemed to be only going through the motions. As happy as I was to have Sam back, I went about preparing for the party with a heavy heart. What I’d done to Helen and what she was doing in return, to say nothing of Ken Whitman’s condescending manner to me, put a pall over not only an insignificant party but also the whole Christmas season.
In fact, it dawned on me that there had been nothing but a series of tit-for-tat retaliatory events ever since Madge Taylor had been inspired by another of her bright ideas. After that, one thing had just led to another.
Had it all been my fault? Should I have shrugged my shoulders and overlooked Madge’s transgression of the zoning ordinance? Or had I simply been determined to deny a home, illegal though it was, to those who had none?
I declare, I didn’t know, but it was something to think about. And to pray about.
—
Sunday morning, the day of our parties, and I couldn’t bring myself to go to church. Maybe that was all the more reason to have made the effort, but I convinced myself that there was too much to do at home that morning. Besides, I thought, who would miss me? Sam decided to go alone because he’d missed so many services, so if anybody cared, he’d be there to represent us both.
So I poured a third cup of coffee at the kitchen table and perused the Sunday paper, paying my usual attention to the classifieds. Lillian came in early, even though I’d told her to take her time. The party wouldn’t start until two o’clock, and we were already well prepared. But I was glad to see her, because she lifted my spirits with her excitement. Bless her heart, she loved party days even though they meant more work. They also meant a larger paycheck as well, although she enjoyed parties so much that a bonus seemed to be merely a nice by-product. In my current atoning state of mind, though, I intended to make this bonus more than a mere afterthought.
“Miss Julia,” Lillian said as soon as she hung up her coat in the pantry, “the Lord givin’ you a perfect day for a party. Jus’ look out there at them clouds down low. An’ the wind’s pickin’ up right smart, an’ they’s a little bit of ice in the air.”
“That doesn’t sound so perfect to me,” I said, looking worriedly out the window.
“Oh, yes’um, it is, ’cause that’s Christmas weather. We been havin’ too many summer days too late in the
