With down-home Christmas music by Aaron Neville, Alabama, and Mannheim Steamroller blaring, voices and laughter got louder, especially when Callie’s husband looked out a window and announced that it was snowing in Dixie.
When a danceable song came on, Sam took my hand and led me to the foyer, where other couples were already swaying to the music.
“Umm,” Sam said, leaning his head against mine as we two-stepped almost in place, “you smell so good.”
“Thanks to you,” I whispered, and hoped he’d remember that the year and my Chanel were both nearing the end.
A good hour or so into the party, I was able to corner Lisa Hudson in the dining room, where she was getting a second helping of Ida Lee’s congealed salad. As we both edged toward the foyer, I casually asked about the local real estate market and got the usual answer from a Realtor—everything was down, nothing was selling, people were delaying listing properties, and so on.
“It’ll pick up in the spring,” I said to encourage her, but then turned and saw Pastor Robert Rucker and his wife, Lynette, being welcomed by Mildred. They were slipping off coats in the foyer and laughingly making their excuses for being late.
“We got caught at the Homes for Teens,” Pastor Rucker told Mildred, as if that would be a perfectly acceptable excuse to her. He didn’t notice the way she squinched up her eyes and tightened her mouth. “You understand, I know,” he went blithely on. “A pastor’s work is never done.”
“Well,” Mildred said, quite graciously, “I hope my party doesn’t count as more work for you. But I’m glad you’re here. We’re still serving, so go right on to the dining room.”
“Oh,” Lynette said, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowded rooms, “it’s not at all work to come here. Your home is just so elegant, and Robert and I could hardly wait to get here.”
I held my breath, hoping that Mildred would let that pass without reminding Lynette that all they’d had to do was make a choice.
Being reminded by the Ruckers of the reason for our parties on this particular day, I took note of the number of young, smart, and capable professional women who were enjoying Mildred’s hospitality—every one of whom was generous with her financial support of worthy causes. I also noted, in comparison, my contemporaries, also smart, capable, and generous, but whose activities had been limited to keeping house, volunteering for church and civic responsibilities, and rearing children. I knew that Madge would’ve loved to have attracted anyone from either group to her project.
Mildred and I had successfully forestalled that, at least temporarily, but somehow I didn’t feel so good about our success. On the other hand, I always felt a glow of satisfaction, and maybe a tinge of pride, after a social event that had gone smoothly. And now Mildred and I each had another one to our credit, although I wasn’t feeling so proud of either of us.
It wasn’t until I thought again of how Madge was continuing to arrogantly defy the zoning ordinance that I was able to justify my pleasure in Mildred’s lovely party.
Chapter 31
Sam and I braced each other as we walked home across Mildred’s lawn, the snow-tipped grass blades crunching under our feet. The snow had stopped, having left a glistening coat of white on bushes and lawns. A few drifting clouds moved across the moon as we picked our way home. The hour was late, for we had stayed until all the guests had left so we could discuss the day.
“I think we did what we set out to do,” Mildred had said, summing up my feeling as well. “I talked a little with Lynette Rucker, and I’ll have to say, Julia, that your preacher’s wife has a lot to learn. She’s either unaware of what’s going on or she has no tact. I asked her straight out about Madge’s tea, and she raved over the house and what they’ve done to it. She even said to me, ‘You should’ve been there.’”
“Oh, my,” I said, rolling my eyes just a little. “She just doesn’t think before she speaks, or maybe the pastor hasn’t told her anything. Did she say how many were there?”
“She mentioned a number of pastors who dropped in—”
“Probably from the seven churches.”
Mildred nodded. “Probably. Lynette said they were to be commended because a pastor’s Sunday afternoons are usually reserved for a nap.”
“Well,” I said, laughing, “Sundays are their busiest days, but I expect they’d rather not have their naptimes known. Who else was there, did she say?”
“Hardly anybody. She said Madge was teary-eyed when they left because, Madge said, the town had turned its back on children who had no place to lay their heads.”
That just flew all over me. How like Madge to denigrate the town—specifically Mildred and me, I knew—instead of acknowledging her own responsibility by choosing an unsuitable location.
Sam interrupted my recollection of our debriefing session by saying,
