Remembering Miss Julia
Miss Julia was a tiny lady. By the time I was ten years old I was taller than her.
She let me go through a trunk, filled with the clothes of a young woman. It was hard to imagine her as young. Her face was heavily wrinkled and her body bowed under the pain of arthritis. She had been old all my life, but surely she was once young, the clothing in the trunk offered proof.
There were long dresses with lace collars and cuffs. Some of them had bustles. There were lace-up corsets and long petticoats made of cotton with lace on their hems. Looking back on it, I think she must have been a size one or two. The shoes were real leather, high-top boots that laced all the way up the calf. They looked impossible to walk in with their tall, tapered heels. They were so diminutive that at the age of ten I couldn't pull them on. They must have been a size four..... or less. The same was true of her white gloves. They were dwarfed by my childish hands.
Miss Julia was a precious soul. So gentle and kind. She took time to tell the little girl next door her stories and show her the clothing folded away, locked in an old trunk along with her memories. Sometimes when she was sharing her memories, tears would roll down her aged face, especially when she talked about the early days of her marriage to Mr. Noah and when her two sons were children. She lost one son in the war. Mr. Noah was never the same after that. He was angry most of the time and often drunk. I think Miss Julia found comfort in the love of her remaining son, his wife, her grandchildren and me.
She knew how I loved animals, especially the never ending parade of cats passing through her house. I guess animal haters knew where to drop their unwanted cats. Everybody knew how Miss Julia loved them and would take care of them. I took such joy in petting and feeding those cats. The kittens were just a wonderful memory to me and even now whenever I see kittens I think of Miss Julia. She would tell me that Calli or Tabby or whoever, was going to find some kittens.
“Where will she find them, Miss Julia?” I'd ask.
Being true to the modesty of her generation she'd say, “Oh, I reckon she'll find 'em in the barn.”
“Will they have to live in the barn?”
“Oh, no. I'll move 'em out on the back porch. They'll be safe there.”
I was full of excitement and impatience, waiting for the mama cats to find some kittens, and sure enough, in a few days I'd visit Miss Julia and find a beautiful litter or two of kittens curled up close to their mamas in a box with a blanket in it, on Miss Julia's back porch. In a couple of weeks the little, blind, weak babies would be jumping at each other, hissing, slapping, climbing everything and generally raising hell. They would chase a string with a chicken feather tied on the end and jump into the circle of light made by a flashlight. They were a precious delight to me and it was always a sad day when Miss Julia gave them away to their new homes. Soon the cycle would repeat itself and there never seemed to be a shortage of mama cats and their babies at Miss Julia's house.
Time goes by and little girls grow up. In a few short years I was a grown woman, still living next door to Miss Julia. My two sons didn't take the interest I had in Miss Julia or her cats. By that time she was very old and spent most of her time sitting in her sun-room, watching the world go by through its many windows. The cats had moved into the sun-room with her, where she could care for them and enjoy the antics of the kittens. Mr. Noah seemed to calm down in his very old age. He passed away years before Miss Julia. I secretly wondered how Miss Julia felt about it. I was sure she probably loved him, to the end, but maybe she was enjoying those days of peace.
When my elder son was old enough to handle a lawnmower, Miss Julia hired him to mow her very, large yard. He would work and sweat for hours and come home with a long face and anger in his eyes.
“She's living in 1920, Mama. Look what she paid me.”
He'd show me the one or two crumpled dollars, wet with the sweat of his hands. I decided it just wouldn't do to ask Miss Julia for more money but in fairness and respect for his hard work, I paid him a decent wage every time he mowed her yard.
“She probably is still living in long ago days,” I'd always say, “Be kind to the widows, Son and God will bless you for it.”
We moved away before Miss Julia passed away. I wish I could have been there for her funeral. She was a good woman and a dear friend. I'm sure when she arrived in Heaven, The Good Lord had a mansion prepared for her, with a big, back porch populated with an assemblage of sweet mama cats and their mischievous babies.
