Prayers of Agnes Sparrow (38 page)

“I’ll have a burger, fries, and a Pepsi,” I said, after scraping off the ketchup from the one-page laminated menu. It covered up the price.

The waitress wrote my order.

“I didn’t eat breakfast this morning,” I told Ruth who was still studying the menu. The waitress shifted from one foot to another, wiggling like a toddler. “If the weather were warmer, we would have our lunch
alfresco
, but since there's still a bite in the air, we’ll stay indoors. What's Italian for indoors?”

The waitress rolled her eyes.

“Anyhoo,” Ruth said. “I’d like the chicken salad on just plain old white bread and a cup of coffee. Make sure it's fresh, please.”

Our waitress pulled a straw from her pink apron pocket, dropped it on the table, and left with our order.

“Well, she certainly is no Cora Nebbish,” Ruth said.

“I’ll say, but we can’t let a surly waitress spoil our lunch. It feels good to be out of Bright's Pond, doesn’t it?”

Ruth looked around at the strange restaurant and unfamiliar faces. “A little. But I much prefer the Full Moon. I know everybody there.”

“Ah, they’re all yakking about Agnes and what they’re going to do at the meeting tonight. I have half a mind not to go.”

Miss Surly brought us our beverages.

“Thank you,” Ruth said.

“Your orders will be up in a minute,” the waitress said.

Ruth dumped cream in her coffee from the little metal pitcher. “Oh, you’ll go. You have to.”

She was right, of course. “Well, other than taking that ridiculous sign down what can they do? They can’t make her leave town.”

“Oh, they won’t do that. Folks just need a person to blame when the unimaginable happens, you know? Makes it more—”

“Palatable?”

“I was going to say easier to swallow, but I thought that would remind you of the sign mistake and all.”

“Ruth, you really are a real good friend.”

She touched my hand but pulled it back when the waitress came with her chicken salad sandwich.

“It looks good,” Ruth said. “Lots of chicken in there.”

“Your burger will be up in a minute,” Miss Surly said. “Yo, Hank.” She headed for the kitchen. “I need that hockey puck and them frog sticks.”

Ruth leaned across the table. “Maybe the Pink Lady is the wrong name for this place.”

The afternoon went quickly, and Ruth and I made it back to Bright's Pond before the dinner hour. I dropped her off in front of my house.

“You go on back to Vidalia's,” Ruth said. “I’ll check on Agnes and see you at the meeting.”

“Okay. Make sure she did a treatment. Turn on a light before you leave and tell her … tell her I—”

Ruth waited. “Tell her you what?”

“Ah , nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’ll see you at the town hall.”

While I waited for Ruth to open the door of the house, a heated debate raged in my spirit. Should I go in? Nope. I could muster up the desire to go inside but not the courage. I still couldn’t let it go.

I
walked the short distance to the town hall from Vidalia's house. The early spring air felt damp like rain was trying to move in. It was having a hard time getting over the mountain, so it sent ahead tiny dewdrop feelers. Twilight was winding down into darkness. No moon was visible through the gray clouds, setting the perfect mood for whatever was about to happen. The air had an ominous feel and so did my heart.

Ruth and I met about halfway there. She had just come from Agnes.

“Try not to worry, too much,” she said. “I checked in on Agnes. She's so sad—down in the dumps, you know.”

I knew. My heart ached with every thought of her lying in her bed, alone in that crickety old house. Vidalia's words kept echoing in my head: “Ever think Agnes might not be your problem?”

Maybe now I understood what she was trying to say. Maybe my problem was bigger than Agnes.

“Is she getting enough to eat? Getting back and forth to the bathroom, all right?”

Ruth paused and pulled a tissue from her purse. She wiped her nose. “Allergies starting up. Grass and trees. Anything green is poison to my sinuses.”

“You were telling me about Agnes.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you that when I opened the front door, the—” She signaled for me to bend down so she could whisper even though there wasn’t a soul in sight. “—the smell about knocked me off my dang feet it was so—pungent.”

“I’m sorry she can’t take care of herself, Ruth, but I can’t go back. Not yet.”

“Then you might want to get a nurse in there. Ever think of hiring one of them visiting nurses? I’m sure Doc Flaherty could make some arrangements.”

Ruth had already grown weary of Agnes's care, and I couldn’t blame her. “I guess I should check on it.”

We had just reached the café, and I could see that a large crowd was gathering for the meeting.

“Did she say anything else?”

“About what?”

“Anything, Ruth. Did she say anything about anything?”

“Just that she's going to keep praying. I found her trying to get off her bed. She said she wanted to get on her knees to pray.”

I stopped walking. “Ruth, why do you wait to tell me the most important thing? You didn’t let her, did you? She can’t do that. Getting on her knees could be dangerous for a woman her size.”

“I didn’t let her, Griselda. I told her she’d need a lot more help than I could give her to get down there and back up. She got that determined look on her face, like she was going to do it one way or the other, but I think I talked her out of trying.”

“I hope so. She’d be like a turtle on its back.”

“She came to her senses and went back to bed like a good girl.”

Ruth started walking again. “Imagine that, Griselda, she wants to pray on her knees now. She said she has to for some reason I couldn’t understand. I told her it was foolishness for a woman her size to be thinking that way.”

I stopped again just as we reached the town hall steps. Folks pushed past us to get inside. The town hall was packed to the gills that night.

“It's okay, Ruth. I think I know why she was trying to get on her knees. Now we better get inside if we want a seat. Looks like standing room only tonight.”

Ivy stopped me at the door. “Where you sitting, Griselda?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anywhere I can get a seat.”

That was when I saw Boris and Stu waving at me from up front. They had saved me a seat. I signaled to them that I would get there. Ivy and Ruth sat in a back row.

“Sorry,” I said, “but maybe I should go up front with them.”

“You go right ahead,” said Ivy. “You should be where everyone can get a good look since you’ll probably get called on to say something on behalf of Agnes.”

As I made my way to the front I intercepted snippets of conversations and whispers. Janeen was leaning so close to Hazel Flatbush I doubted you could get a slice of raisin toast between them.

“I just don’t know what we’ll do now that Agnes can’t pray.” I heard Janeen say. Then Hazel cupped her mouth but I could still hear. “How can we trust her, though?”

Frank Sturgis stood with Fred Haskell and a couple of the other men. “I still think she should have known something.” he said. “She should have gotten a feeling about him, a sign.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Fred said. “She ain’t a mind reader. And just ’cause you and Janeen are fighting again night and day don’t mean Agnes failed you.”

I paused near the snack table and plucked a raspberry cookie from a tray with a white paper doily.

“All I know is that ever since that Hezekiah came to town things have been going from bad to worse around here,” Frank said. “And you got to admit that—”

I had heard enough and found my seat next to Studebaker Kowalski. Stu was wearing one of his better leisure suits—a pale blue one with a white and yellow striped shirt. “Now don’t you worry about a thing, Griselda, this is going to turn out just fine.”

“I’m sure it will, Stu.”

Boris reached his hand around Stu. I took it in a handshake. “Don’t you fret,” he said. “I won’t let Agnes down.”

Jasper York and Harriett had front row seats along with Tohilda Best, Sheila Spiney, and most of the ladies from the Society of Angelic Philanthropy. It wasn’t often they went to town meetings as a group. Most of the time they sat with their husbands or children.

Dot Handy, still in her crisp waitress uniform, appeared at the front and sat at the table with her trusty steno pad and pencils. She nodded to Boris.

Boris stood and approached the table. Ordinarily, the other council members would be on his left and his right but he ran the show solo that night. He banged his gavel and someone in the back flicked the lights off and on a couple of times. The crowd quieted down in record time.

Jasper York stood, in spite of the fact that Harriett was trying to keep him in his seat. “General, sir,” he said, “there is a spy in our midst, a double agent.” Then he looked straight at me and sat down. Folks snickered but it didn’t last long.

“Now we all know that a terrible tragedy has befallen our community,” Boris said.

“Because of that Agnes Sparrow,” shouted Janeen Sturgis. I would recognize her voice anywhere. “She invited that—that monster into our town, into our very lives and hearts.”

“That's right, that's right,” others shouted. “It's Agnes Sparrow's fault that Vidalia Whitaker was killed.”

I heard a few sobs and boo hoos from some of the ladies. Hazel even waved her hanky. “Poor, poor, Vidalia.” Then she blew her nose.

Boris brought the meeting to order. “Settle down. I won’t have any ruckus tonight. We’ll follow our ordinary rules of order. Those of you with something to say will raise your hands and wait until the chair recognizes you.”

“Recognize.” Jasper said, “I—I don’t recognize none of these soldiers, General. I seem to have lost my platoon.”

Harriett whispered in his ear, and he calmed down. But then she raised her hand and Boris indicated that she had the floor.

“One thing still confuses me. How come they burned her body to ashes and put it all into that little jar like it was nothing more than dust? The Bible says God is going to resurrect the dead first. I can’t see no ashes meeting Jesus in the air.”

“Jesus is here?” Jasper said. “Is he in a pie this time?”

“No, no, Jasper, Jesus in the air. In the air,” Boris said. He banged his gavel.

“Jesus is not here,” Harriet said. “Not tonight and there is no Jesus pie.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, General, I thought I heard someone mention Jesus pie.”

That was when Zeb made his way down the side of the hall and stood near me, his back against the wall while he chewed on fudge.

Sheila fielded Harriett's concern. “Don’t fret about how Jesus will resurrect bodies, dearie. God can certainly put all the ashes back in their proper order. I’m sure he's got them all numbered.”

Harriett looked incredulous. “I don’t see how. So much has gone up in smoke, sheer smoke. And I was so looking forward to being in glory with Vidalia. She was my best friend.”

Never had such a lie as that been floated during a town hall meeting. Harriett was never a big fan of Vidalia's. She could never get past the notion of having a black woman in town.

Stu stood and raised his hand like a schoolboy. “We are not here to discuss whether or not God can resurrect ashes or who was Vidalia's best friend. There are more pressing issues to tend too.”

Boris recognized Frank Sturgis.

“I demand we take that sign down,” Frank said. “We don’t need no more drifters coming to town looking for the powerful Agnes Sparrow.”

“Hear, hear,” echoed some others.

Boris stood and pulled the original sign petition out of his jacket pocket. “You all signed this. You all trusted Agnes. How can you let one mishap turn you against her?”

“Mishap,” shouted Dot Handy, even though she was not usually supposed to have an opinion. “That wasn’t no mishap. That was murder, and people who commit murder should be dealt with severely.”

By that time my blood boiled and started to run right out my ears. I stood and turned so I could face them.

“Agnes did not kill Vidalia,” I said, my voice shaking like an aspen tree. “Agnes didn’t know what Hezekiah Branch was capable of, and you have no right to say such things.”

Studebaker applauded along with a few others.

“Now take the sign down, if you want,” I said. “Agnes never wanted that sign to begin with. Now stop blaming her.”

“It could have been any of us,” Hazel shouted. “Or any of our children. As far as I’m concerned Agnes is as guilty as Hezekiah Branch.”

Whistles and applause went out over the crowd. I felt tears pool in my eyes and swiped them away. I willed myself not to break down and cry even though every cell in my body wanted to.

“What do you propose we do?” I said. “Put her in jail?”

“Can’t do that,” I heard a small, shrill voice in the back utter. “Ain’t no jail cell big enough.” Laughter drifted through the hall.

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It seemed the clock had turned, and I was sitting among children again, the same children who taunted and teased Agnes nearly her whole childhood, right through her teen years, and beyond. These people had not changed.

Studebaker rose and shouted. “Hey! Agnes is our hero. Think about all the good she did. She saved my life and Cora's life—at least for a little longer and … and … “He looked out over the crowd. “I could point to just about every single person in this room, and you could tell me something that Agnes prayed for that touched your life for the good.”

“She healed my bleeding ulcer,” Ruth said. “It never came back.”

“And my car is still running strong.” I had to search the crowd to figure out who said that. It was a voice I didn’t recognize until my eyes rested on Sheila Spiney's brother, Rueben. He wasn’t quite right in the mind but harmless enough. Reuben only drove his beat-up old Rambler back and forth to his job at the meat-packing plant in Shoops.

“Please don’t do nothin’ to Agnes,” he said. “Or my car might not start in the morning.”

That was when the door swung open and Eugene Shrapnel made his entrance, dressed in black from his hat to his shoes.