Miss Julia Renews Her Vows Read Online Free Page A

short, dumpy little woman, one of those whose figures was a solid block with hardly the hint of a waist. And there was not a bit of comeliness in her face. It was full with stubby features and small eyes, none of which she took any pains to disguise with makeup, other than a little lipstick—that orange Tangee kind—and a great deal of powder. The only striking thing about her was her hair, which she dyed red. No, it was more orange than red, but either way, you couldn’t miss it.
    Well, there was another striking thing about her: her clothes. I don’t know whether she thought she was a leading fashion icon or what, but she had all her clothes handmade by some seamstress in Atlanta. And she made sure that we knew they were of her own design. As if we couldn’t tell. She liked voile and other filmy fabrics that flipped and swayed with every swishing step she took, and in the winter she topped them with wool jackets and furs. And every last outfit I’d ever seen her in had a matching hat—either a turban in the same material or a brimmed hat trimmed with matching fabric.
    And her personality was nothing to write home about, either. She didn’t have any. I’d never known her to make an effort to engage anyone in normal conversation. She simply sat and waited for others to come to her, and even then, her conversation was no more than a litany of complaints.
    How she’d attracted so many husbands was beyond me, but, hearing Hazel Marie stirring in her room, I put Francie aside and went in to speak to the new Mrs. Pickens.

Chapter 4

    Tapping on Hazel Marie’s door and hearing her response, I breezed in, determined to be bright and cheerful. “How’re you feeling, Hazel Marie? You have a good nap? How’re you liking married life?”
    “Well, so far,” she said, covering a yawn, “it’s pretty much like single life. Where is he, anyway?” Hazel Marie had gotten out of the pinned-up skirt of her wedding outfit and put on another of her sweat suits, or whatever they’re called. They were the only thing she could comfortably wear because they had elastic in the waist, but elastic can stretch only so far and sooner or later other arrangements would have to be made. It was a marvel to me that she had so many workout outfits, because Hazel Marie was not at all athletically inclined. But they had certainly come in handy as her waist continued to expand, seemingly on a daily basis.
    “He and Sam and Lloyd are over at Sam’s house, packing Mr. Pickens’s suitcase to move over here. But goodness, they’ve had plenty of time to get back, so I don’t know what they’re doing. Probably sitting over there talking to give you some quiet time.”
    I sat down in an easy chair by the window and waited to see what her mood was going to be. Expectant mothers are at the mercy of their hormones, don’t you know. She should’ve been filled with happiness, for she’d wanted to marry Mr. Pickens almost from the first day she’d met him, and that had been some while ago. But now that she had him, she didn’t seem to be taking a whole lot of pleasure in it. Mr. Pickens had been a hard man to pin down, and with good reason. As I’ve said, he was gun-shy when it came to taking a fourth wife, which in my opinion spoke well of him because it indicated that he was able to learn from his mistakes. The reason he’d given for resisting marriage—and this in spite of so obviously adoring Hazel Marie—was Lloyd’s sizeable inheritance from Wesley Lloyd Springer. Hazel Marie greatly benefited from it and would continue to do so until Lloyd reached maturity, and even then I couldn’t imagine that the boy would allow his mother to live in penury.
    Mr. Pickens, to his credit, did not want, in the first place, to live off another man’s wealth, and in the second place, he would not consider being supported by a stepson. That commendable mind-set would certainly create problems, because Hazel Marie had become accustomed to benefiting