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Miss Julia Knows a Thing or Two: A Novel - Softcover

Buch 21 von 22: Miss Julia

Ross, Ann B.

 
9780525560531: Miss Julia Knows a Thing or Two: A Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 052556053X ISBN 13: 9780525560531
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

The delightful new installment of the beloved and New York Times bestselling Miss Julia series

Miss Julia has decided to turn over a new leaf -- it's time to stop meddling in other peoples' lives. But her hands are full before long! Mildred is sent into a tizzy when a grandchild she's never met shows up on her doorstop. With her husband fighting a mysterious illness, she's all on her own. Meanwhile, Etta Mae is worried about losing her job now that the retirement care center is closing. Luckily Miss Julia has experience dealing with children dropped on doorsteps, and sweeps in to lend a hand. But there's something just a bit strange about the child, and Miss Julia can't quite put her finger on what it is.

As always, hijinks ensue as Ann B. Ross delivers this delightful and entertaining installment in her bestselling Miss Julia series.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Ann B. Ross is the author of more than a dozen novels featuring the popular Southern heroine Miss Julia, as well as Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day, a novel about one of Abbotsville's other most outspoken residents: Etta Mae Wiggins. Ross holds a doctorate in English from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and has taught literature at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. She lives in Hendersonville, North Carolina

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Chapter 1

After taking a good, long look at myself, I've realized that I may be a little too outspoken in putting forward my opinions, just a bit too quick to judge others to their detriment, much too inclined to think I know what's best for someone else, and entirely too skeptical of every claim to better my life made by salesmen of all stripes, including politicians. So I've decided to turn over a new leaf, and I intend to do it before I get so set in my ways that I can't turn over anything.

And here's the cold, hard truth: I am in danger of becoming a crabby, sharp-tongued old woman who has allowed her worst attributes to become her defining characteristics.

I have, however, recognized the danger in time to do something about it. I well recall being a student in what was then called a Health class in high school-this was long before those classes were enlivened by the use of vegetables as visual aids. During a period on personal hygiene, the teacher informed us that when we begin to smell ourselves, we have been noticeably reeking to others for four days.

That makes me wonder if the same holds true in different situations. I mean, even though I've only just recognized some unbecoming traits in myself, is it possible that they've been obvious to others for much longer?

One never knows how one is judged, so it behooves each of us to be prepared for the worst assessments and get ourselves ready to deal with them. So for me, that means strengthening my better impulses and diminishing those that are unseemly in a lady, and if that term puts me back into an archaic age, then so be it. Actually, no one seems to think that being a lady is worth anything these days. What is now wanted is to be WOMAN-a status that affords all the perquisites of ladyhood plus the benefits of manhood as well.

But I'm off the subject.

After taking that hard look at myself, I didn't like what I saw. So I have determined to smile more, compliment others more, allow others to have disagreeable opinions without consigning them to idiocy, be more sensitive to the needs of others without wondering why they don't help themselves, and refrain from questioning any and all motives that issue from the mouths of people trying to sell me something I don't want or raise funds for something I've never heard of, or run for office, be it local, state, or federal.

And what brought on this change of heart? You may well ask, and my answer is two-pronged. One occurred when I picked up a book that Sam was reading and a short sentence jumped out at me. It was a sentence attributed to Saint Augustine, who lived a long time ago but who could've been speaking directly to me. "Pride," he said, "lurks even in good deeds." Now, I'm sure that he didn't speak in English, certainly not with a southern accent, so I am relying on an unknown translator as most people of faith have to do anyway. But that sentence went straight to my heart, and I think it was that word, lurks, that had the sharp point. It means to lie in wait, to be concealed-unseen and unsuspected.

Reading that forced me to recognize the pride I took in my opinions-so much better informed than most-and in my actions-so much more appropriate than most. Pride, in fact, had ruled my life and it had done so by lurking, unseen and unsuspected, in every thought and deed.

I'll tell you, that was enough to shake the very foundation of my life, and I have resolved to do something about it.

But the second thing that contributed to my change of heart was witnessing what happened to Mildred Allen, my next-door neighbor and longtime friend.

Chapter 2

Mildred is a law unto herself, and she doesn't mind who knows it. In fact, she glories in it. Having been brought up an only child in a privileged household, she had been her father's darling. He had raised her in great wealth and to assume both the freedom and the burden of great wealth when he was gone. He had, in fact, reared her as he would have reared a son-teaching her to read financial reports, to understand stock options, to play the futures market, and to manage the Ed and Eleanor Beasley Foundation that seemed to exist solely to sponsor British television shows on PBS. I could be wrong about that, for I certainly did not know the extent of Mildred's financial interests. All I knew was that her father had taught her well, which put him years ahead of his time in my estimation.

But in the doing, he had also put her in the unrealistic position of expecting an entire life of ease with every desire fulfilled and every problem resolved before reaching her. You may wonder, as I occasionally had, what in the world a woman like that was doing in a small, almost rural, town like Abbotsville. She could've been living among the beautiful people of California or New York-even, for goodness' sakes, of Paris or London. Well, apparently at times in her youth she had, if the occasional offhand reference to her early life was any indication.

Now, though, a yearly shopping trip to New York which included a few Broadway shows was the extent of her travels. By the time of which I'm speaking, she seemed perfectly content to stay home and queen it over our local society, such as it was, and do exactly what she wanted to do-which was next to nothing because she had Ida Lee to take up the slack. Ida Lee was a New York-trained professional housekeeper, personal manager, and hand holder who ran Mildred's household with unfailing competence, while Mildred fiddled with stock portfolios, various charities, and rewriting her will.

I liked Mildred and enjoyed her company, but not every day. Even though we were next-door neighbors, we weren't the constantly visiting kind. We could go for days, even weeks, with no contact at all, yet know that the other was available when needed. We got along well because we were on the same wavelength about most things in spite of her being an Episcopalian, although not a very faithful one. "I can't do all that kneeling anymore, Julia," she'd told me, "and I hate to just sit there while everybody else is bobbing up and down."

Not a very good reason to skip Sunday services, if you ask me, but then, we Presbyterians are known for our upright stance on any number of things. I could understand Mildred's problem, though, for she had over the years put on a good bit of weight. To be frank, she was a large woman who blamed her size on a nonexistent glandular condition. But then, we all find excuses of one kind or another for our lapses, so I accepted hers for being as good as any.

Mildred's other half, who often seemed only a fraction of that, was Horace, a man of few words but of attentive service. I never knew what to think of that marriage since Mildred so obviously ruled the roost, but of course it wasn't up to me to judge. I couldn't help but wonder, though, why Horace put up with having to dance to her tune. Frankly, I thought the less of him for it, but gradually came to realize that he was not only amply compensated, but perfectly suited to the role.

He often wore an ascot and occasionally spent a week or so at a gentlemen's spa somewhere in Arizona, getting high colonics and a suntan. In spite of Mildred's easy-come, easy-go attitude about most things, she kept him on a fairly tight leash.

And even more so since he'd recently suffered a heart attack which, according to Mildred, had left his memory slightly impaired. He had no recall of the days spent in intensive care or the weeks in a physical rehabilitation facility. By now, though, he seemed his old self with no concern about the gap in his memory. The only symptom that something was slightly off was his obsession with his little red Boxster car which he was no longer allowed to drive, but which he visited every day out in the garage. Other than that, he was his same pleasant self, impeccably dressed...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2021
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
052556053X
ISBN 13 
9780525560531
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
336
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Purmerul LTD
https://strengholt.nl/en/

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