Read Miss Julia Lays Down the Law for Free Online Page B

that whatever she thinks of us won’t matter a bit as far as I’m concerned. Live and let live, I always say.”
    “I do, too,” Sam said, probably bored to death with the subject by this time. He folded the paper and laid it aside, then opened a book, as one was never far from him.
    After a few minutes, I thought of something else I hadn’t told him. “Sam?”
    He raised his eyebrows as he looked up from his book.
    “Have you heard about Coleman?”
    He closed the book and put it aside. “What’s going on with Coleman?”
    “I’m not sure. Binkie thinks he’s lost his mind, but she doesn’t seem particularly concerned about it.” And I went on to tell Sam about Coleman’s effort to raise money by sitting on a sign and waving at passing cars. And to do it through rain, sleet, or snow, like a postal worker.
    Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Better him than me.”
    “Well, I don’t think it’s a wise thing to do. He could ruin his health.”
    “Oh, I doubt that,” Sam said. “I expect he knows what he’s doing. He and Binkie do a lot of camping.” He reached for his book again. “By the way, you remember I’m going to Raleigh at the end of the week? You want to go with me?”
    “Oh, you’ll have old friends to catch up with. Lots of gossip about judges I don’t know. I think I’ll pass.” I smiled at him, for Sam knew how proud I was that he had been named to the governor’s Judicial Standards Commission—it had been announced in the newspaper and everything—and that I wanted him to enjoy his time as the governor’s representative.
    “Mr. Sam?” Lloyd walked in, pen and paper in hand. “Could you help me with my paper?”
    “Sure, if I can. What’s your topic?”
    “Supposed to be on the rehabilitation of economically challenged communities, and I don’t even know what that means.”
    Sam started laughing, and I got to my feet. “I think I’ve heard enough on that subject,” I said, smiling at Lloyd. “I’ll leave it with you two to hash out. Sam, Mildred’s picking me up in a few minutes, so I’m off to make Christmas ornaments—a far, far better thing I do for my blood pressure than to go through a civics lesson again.”
     • • • 
    Seven of us sat around Sue Hargrove’s dining room table, covered now by a quilt to protect the finish from scratches. Piles of red, green, gold, and white felt squares; boxes of sequins, pearls, and buttons; pin cushions filled with pins and needles; thimbles; scissors of all sizes; hot glue guns; spools and skeins of thread, braid, and piping; and Santa Clauses, snowmen, angels, and stars in various stages of completion were scattered across the table. An urn of hot spiced tea and a plate of shortbread were on the sideboard, available to anyone who wanted a break. Our rule was to not get bogged down with entertaining as such, nor with visiting with one another, but to
work
. We’d started, as usual, in early September, and our goal was for each member to complete an ornament at each weekly meeting. Mildred was far behind, but she was good company.
    Roberta Smith, who’d started out some years before with flowing red hair that was now a weekly tended coif of rust-colored waves and wisps, shifted her chair as Mildred and I took our places at the table. Roberta was an angular woman of a fairly young but uncertain age, one—well, two—prominent assets, and a generally quiet demeanor—so appropriate in a librarian. She looked up from her sewing, blinked several times, and asked, “Does anyone know where Mrs. Ledbetter is? I hope she’s not ill like Hazel Marie and her family.”
    I, too, had wondered about Emma Sue’s absence. She rarely missed any kind of meeting. “I spoke to her on the phone yesterday, and she seemed fine.” That wasn’t exactly true, but I wasn’t about to repeat the conversation I’d had with Emma Sue. The less said about Connie Clayborn, the better. “Actually,” I went on, “we’re short several