Miss Julia Hits the Road by Ann B. Ross Page A

Mediterranean, I guess, which, come to think of it, was probably closer to the real thing than any picture I’d ever seen before.
    My thoughts of artistic license came to a sudden halt as the Reverend Abernathy stepped to the front of the church, standing below the podium where he was close to the pews. It pained me to see how frail he looked. He was thin and small in stature, with a lined face and a ruffle of white hair around his head. He had always seemed to me to be in need of a stout arm to lean on, but I remembered that he’d not looked any healthier at Binkie and Coleman’s wedding. And he’d handled that just fine.
    The Reverend Abernathy looked around at the meager showing, wondering, I should expect, why the rest of his congregation hadn’t turned out in support. I was certainly wondering that.
    Before speaking, the reverend lifted his hand to quiet the soft murmuring as the people talked among themselves. Worried faces quickly turned toward him, some with hopeful gazes, others looking as if they’d already lost everything they had. Which they just about had.
    “Before we begin, I’d like to extend a warm welcome to our visitors,” he said in his quiet, unassuming way. He smiled at Hazel Marie, Little Lloyd and me. “Now let us look to the Lord for the guidance we all gonna need.”
    We bowed our heads as the reverend offered thanks for any number of blessings before finally asking that these precious lambs be led to make good and wise decisions. It was very close to a Presbyterian prayer in its length and coverage of every contingency anybody could think of.
    When he allowed us to look up and get on with the business at hand, I glanced around to see if Sam had slipped in.
    “Where you think he is?” Lillian whispered to me, for she was looking around for him, too.
    “I don’t have any idea,” I whispered back. “But I don’t like it, Lillian. I hate to think that it’s slipped his mind.”
    She sighed as her face drooped in disappointment. I patted her hand as an elderly man took his place beside the reverend and began recounting what everybody already knew, namely, that Clarence Gibbs was evicting everybody and they didn’t know what they were going to do.
    A woman’s voice interrupted him. “I think we need ourselves a good lawyer, is what I think.”
    “Now, sister,” Reverend Abernathy cautioned. “Lawyers cost money, and that’s the one thing we don’t have.”
    Lillian gathered herself, took a few deep breaths, and, taking hold of the pew in front, pulled herself to her feet. I saw her coat trembling in her nervousness at speaking in public. “Reverend,” she said, “Mr. Sam Murdoch say he gonna be here to help us, an’ I don’t know why he not here. I already talked to him, an’ he say he won’t charge us. An’ he’ll help us, I know he will, ’cause he always a friend to the downtrodden.”
    Having had her say, she sat, and I put my hand on hers. Such loyalty, I thought. Then thought that I could wring Sam’s neck for getting her hopes up, only to disappoint her by forgetting where he was supposed to be.
    “Thank you, Sister Lillian,” the reverend said. “We appreciate your remarks, and we look for Brother Sam to come walkin’ in any minute and give us the help he’s known far and wide for.”
    As I was mourning Sam’s decline, the door at the back of the pews flew open, and a gust of wind blew through the church. I turned with a gasp and saw Sam closing the door behind him. Everybody turned to stare at him, and I thought to myself that I’d never seen him look so frazzled. His white hair was windblown, his lined face drawn, and his shoulders slumped with weariness. I started to rise as my heart went out to him in his confused state.
    “Reverend,” Sam said, as several others rose from their seats. “Sorry I’m late, but I’ve just come from meeting with Mr. Gibbs and, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get anywhere with him. He’s bringing in the bulldozers