America's favorite "Woman of a Certain Age" returns to find that her newfound wedded bliss isn't always a stroll in the park
Hoping to settle down to many happy and peaceful days together, Julia and Sam are stunned by the return of Hazel Marie's troublemaking uncle, Brother Vernon Puckett, who claims to have conclusive proof that Little Lloyd is not the son of Julia's late husband, Wesley Lloyd Springer. And furthermore, he declares that Hazel Marie has known it all along, meaning, as Julia quickly understands, that her makeshift family has been built on a pack of lies. With DNA testing as the only way to settle the matter, an exhumation of Wesley Lloyd looms as a distinct possibility ' until Lillian comes to the rescue.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
April 06, 2006
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Miss Julia Stands Her Ground by Ann B. Ross
"Hazel Marie?" I walked up a couple of stair steps, craning my head to see if she had heard me. "Hazel Marie, are you up there?"
I could hear her footsteps as she came out into the hall and poked her head over the bannister. "I'm here, Miss Julia. Come on up."
"I'm trying," I said, using the handrail to pull myself up the stairs, and thanking the Lord that I didn't have to do it a dozen times a day. To be free of that arduous climb and perilous descent was the result of having moved down to Hazel Marie's old room on the first floor, once Sam and I were firmly married.
Hazel Marie had said the exchange of rooms was to give us privacy, and it did that, but I now think that she was more concerned with the preservation of life and limb. My life and limb, that is, since I wasn't getting any younger, which was more apparent every day I lived, what with stiffening joints and wobbling limbs and people deliberately mumbling instead of speaking up as they should.
I finally gained the second floor and followed her into the room that Wesley Lloyd Springer and I had shared for forty-something years. Shared doesn't exactly give a clear picture of what went on there, however, because it's true that we slept in the same bed, but that joint enterprise had been more like two strangers who happened to end up next to each other on a train trip. He, however, had reached his destination, while I was still traveling.
But that was neither here nor there, for many things had changed since my first husband shucked off these mortal coils, and I'd learned to stand up for myself and do pretty much as I pleased.
"Whew," I said, relieved to sink down into an easy chair by the front window. I caught my breath and surveyed the changes in the room. "Hazel Marie, you've done a lovely job in here. I wouldn't recognize it as the same room, and it pleases me to be able to say that."
"Oh, I'm so glad you like it. I just love it." Hazel Marie turned slowly around, her eyes shining with pleasure at what she and Opal Nixon, Abbotsville's correspondence course decorator, had wrought. The room was done in pink, and when I say done in pink, I mean pink wallpaper, pink bedding, pink carpet, pink upholstery, and pink fixtures in the bathroom. But to give the two of them credit, there was nothing frilly or girlish about the decor. It was elegant, with gold fringes and gilt mirrors and gilt picture frames and a great deal of texture in the use of silk and taffeta and plush this, that, and the other.
It wouldn't have been my choice, but then, I'm much more conservative and traditional in my decorative choices than Hazel Marie. So I was happy that she liked it and, since the room was quite unlike the rest of the house, comforted by the fact that hardly anybody else would see it.
"Hazel Marie," I said, heaving a sigh to indicate that I had something more on my mind than bedroom decor. "I am just sick at heart over Little Lloyd."