Good Heavens (12 page)

As I was coming back in the house, I heard the phone ringing and ran as fast as I could to answer it. I was surprised to hear Clara on the other end. “Esmeralda, we just wanted to hear from you. How're you doing?”

“Oh, just fine,” I said. “Clara, I want you to thank the W.W.s for all those sheets and towels you sent up here. The girls were tickled pink with some curtains they found in one of the boxes.”

“Well, the towels were old. I hope they're all right.”

“Clara, those cotton towels are a whole lot better than the new ones made out of who knows what kind of material.”

“I guess you have single beds up there, and we didn't have any sheets that weren't double.”

“They work just fine. The girls just tuck them under. Now, listen, Clara, I want you to bring the W.W.s up here for a visit. We can make room for as many as can come. Once the W.W.s meet these girls and see the work that needs to be done in their hearts, they'll go home burdened to pray for them. It's real pretty up here, and you'll all enjoy the scenery. But now, Clara, Thelma will
have to do the driving because these mountain roads are the mischief to drive.”

“Oh, Esmeralda, we'd love to come!”

When we hung up, I leaned back in the chair, feeling good about Clara and the rest of them. They really were good women, and they did stuff nobody else would take the time to do. They may not have had all the smarts in the world, but maybe that was just as well.

In a minute the phone was ringing again. It was another caller about the piano. He asked the price, and when I said, “Five hundred,” he hung up on me. That was discouraging. I went back in the kitchen and told the girls, “I guess we're asking too much for that piano.”

Lenora shook her head. “No, you aren't asking too much.”

I was surprised to hear her say that, mainly because she hardly says anything. She added, “Any Steinway is worth a lot more.”

“But it's in such bad shape.”

“I know,” she said, her lifeless eyes the color of slate.

“You play, don't you?” I asked.

“I play,” she answered.

Ursula had told me Lenora played in nightclubs until her drinking got the better of her, but I didn't think I should pry to find out anything more. “I wonder what's keeping Ursula?”

“Won't she be home for lunch?” Evelyn asked.

“I hope so.”

But she wasn't. The girls came in from the garden,
and we sat down to the sandwiches and tea. Hearing the women talking with each other was encouraging, and I tried to keep a conversation going at our table with Dora, Linda, Portia, and the two from the kitchen. Linda did most of the talking. “When the cat's away, the mice will play,” she was saying. “Miss E., when we finish in the garden, can we go down to the falls?”

“The falls?”

“Yeah. The falls are down in back of here, only there's not so much falls as rocks—big boulders the size of city buses. Musta been an earthquake or something that tore 'em loose and sent 'em down the mountain. Creek water runs in and around and under them. I climbed to the top one time. Climbing to the top takes some smarts because you have to pick your way up, but I got no problem with that. You can see way downriver from up there. Can we go?”

“We better wait for Miss Ursula and ask her.”

“Oh, she won't let us go,” Linda grumbled. “But maybe if you go with us she will.”

“Well, I'll go with you, but she's the director; she's the one you'll have to ask for permission.”

Linda groaned. “She'll say no.”

Ursula didn't come and didn't come. I was concerned that she might have run out of gas or something. But at about 3:00 she turned in the driveway, and I went down to meet her at the back door. “Did you get the loan?”

“Well, maybe. All their computers are down. I kept waiting, but they finally told me it was no use waiting
any longer, to come back Monday.” She sounded tired. “Anyway, the president of the board has to sign the forms, so they promised to mail them to Mr. Elmwood.”

“Don't worry,” I said, “the ten days are not up until Wednesday. This is only Friday.”

“I know,” she said. She looked beat.

“Have you had lunch?”

“No,” she said, so I told her to go on over to her apartment and I'd bring her a sandwich.

While I was making the sandwich, Linda came in from the garden. “Did you ask her? Did you ask her if we can go to the falls?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I will, I'll ask her. Better yet, you ask her. Here, take this tray over to her apartment.”

“Her apartment is off-limits to us.”

“I see. Then I'll take it.” Linda walked with me to open the doors. “Good heavens, you girls have earned a treat. Look at all those rocks you've piled up there. We can use those rocks to build a wall or make a patio or something.”

“You don't know when to quit, do you, Miss E.? You're a Type A if ever I saw one.”

“What's a Type A?”

“It's a workaholic—somebody who don't never quit. You're a prime target for heart attack or stroke.”

“Who told you that?”

“Miss E., if you had been in as many rehabs as I have, you could write the book on psychology.”

I laughed and we parted at the door leading up to Ursula's apartment. Linda went back to the field.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, and the com
puter sat on the only table, with piles of papers and books. They were probably all necessary to writing proposals for grants, but they made for a big mess. Ursula thanked me, but I guess she was too worried to smile. Pale as a ghost with dark circles under her eyes. I wished she'd quit spending so much time on those appeals and get more rest.

She sighed. “Sit down, Esmeralda.”

I took a pile of books off a chair and drew the chair up to the table.

Ursula was on the verge of tears. “Esmeralda,” she began, “I must not fail in this job . . . I simply cannot fail.” Handling that sandwich the way a sick person does who hasn't the strength or the will to eat, Ursula sighed and put it down. Her eyes were brimming; I handed her a tissue. “I've been here nearly two years and have nothing to show for it except a pile of bills. I want so much to serve the Lord . . .”

I did the best I could to comfort her—told her she
was
serving the Lord.

“Am I? Am I serving the Lord?” She lifted her eyes from the plate and looked at me. “I don't seem to be getting anywhere.”

“Oh, come now—you're working so hard you're bound to succeed. You'll succeed, Ursula. I guarantee it!”

“I have to, Esmeralda . . .” She fingered the glass of milk.

I rattled on, hardly knowing what I was saying. “Well, now, Ursula, there's more than one kind of success . . .”

I don't think she heard me. “You see, my parents . . . well, my parents disapprove of what I'm doing. They
want me to pursue an academic career such as they have. The only way I could persuade them to let me take this job was to present it as a practicum in my major, psychology.”

Now, in my book, a woman her age should be able to make her own decisions. “Ursula, if I may ask, how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine next month. . . . You're thinking that I'm old enough to choose what I want to do without asking anybody's consent. Well, I am old enough to do that, but my parents aren't Christians, and I don't want to do anything that might keep them from coming to Christ.”

“I see,” I said, but I really didn't see that being tied to their apron strings would have anything to do with winning them to Christ.

“My parents are both scholars. Mother teaches humanities, and my father is a professor of antiquities.”

“He teaches about antiques?” I couldn't believe it. “People go to college to learn about
antiques?”

“No, not antiques. Father lectures in the university and all over the world about ancient civilizations.”

“I see,” I said. Ancient civilizations. That sounded as dry as moldy bread.

“Father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and I would have, but I would've had to learn Semitic languages. I don't have his gift for languages. In fact, I failed Latin, French, and Spanish. I had to pursue graduate work in a field that had no language requirement. That's why I chose psychology.”

I was seeing another side to Ursula and beginning to understand a little better why she was the way she
was. Chances were, since she only knew English, she was determined to know every word of English in the dictionary.

“My parents are very disappointed in me. I have a brother who was a Rhodes Scholar. Now he's in the state department. When I accepted Christ and began to talk about Jesus, my parents were so alarmed they sent me to one of those places to be deprogrammed.”

“Oh my!”

“I went through the program but came out still knowing that what I believe is true. My parents were devastated—
humiliated
would be a better word. They threatened to cut off my allowance, but education is such a priority with them, they permitted me to return to grad school and finish my last semester.”

I really felt sorry for her. As for her parents, I could wring their necks! There was a photograph on the cabinet, and I picked it up. “Is this your daddy?”

“Yes, that's Father.”

The picture showed him gray-headed with a dark beard, smoking a pipe and wearing a turtleneck. “He looks like a professor,” I said and set the picture back on the cabinet.

“Now can you see why I cannot fail at Priscilla Home? They would never forgive me for wasting two years here when I could be well on my way in a doctoral program.”

“Is that what you want to do—study for a doctor's degree?”

She hesitated. “No, Esmeralda. No, it isn't. I just want to make a go of it here at Priscilla Home.”

I could've told her a lot of stuff that would help her succeed, but I figured this wasn't the time. Ever since I came to Priscilla Home it looked like everything except the counseling sessions were just thrown together. When the women were not having a one-on-one with Ursula, for the most part they wasted time—stayed outside smoking. “Ursula,” I ventured to say, “what would you think about writing us a schedule so that every day is planned and duties are assigned?”

“I do have a schedule for counseling sessions. The last resident manager took care of scheduling other activities. She was incompetent, and I suggested that she make a career change, which she did.”

“You mean scheduling is my job?”

“I thought you knew that.”

“No.”

“I should write job descriptions,” she said wearily.

“Well, then, I'll try, but I'll need your help. What would you think of having the first hour of the morning set aside for prayer and praise?”

“Prayer and praise? Do you think they're ready for that?”

“I do.”

“Very well.” She was too worn out to give it much thought.

“After prayer and praise, then there's work in the house and yard—I could sign them up for that. After lunch we could have a Bible study.”

“Will you teach it?”

“Me? I'm not a Bible teacher.”

“Well, you're the only one available. I'm tied up all day long counseling.”

“Ursula, I've never taught anything!”

“Well, think about it.”

Think about it? There is no way under the sun I could set myself up as the Priscilla Home Bible teacher!

Suddenly I remembered the falls. “The girls—I mean, the
ladies
—want to go to the falls. I'll take them if it's okay with you.”

“All right, you can take them. Tell them to be careful.”

“Good. I'll tell them. Now, Ursula, eat your sandwich and drink your milk—and why don't you take a rest while we're gone?”

“I might as well.”

I picked up the tray to take it back to the kitchen, but when I looked back at that poor, sad girl, my heart went out to her. I put down the tray, went around the table, and gave her a hug.