Good Heavens (30 page)

Well, wouldn't you know it—the next morning it was raining cats and dogs. We had a good breakfast, though, with plenty of pastries from the donut shop. Then the W.W.s sat in on Praise and Prayer. Afterward, they wanted to know all about the different girls, especially Dora. I didn't tell them very much.

Ringstaff had come and was working on the piano, so I took the three of them in the kitchen while I fixed him his coffee and a fried apple pie. “Why don't you give him one of those cream horns?” Thelma asked. “They're real good.”

“He likes my fried apple pies.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, he does, does he?”

I let her think whatever she wanted to. That morning I pulled a daisy from a vase and put it on his tray. Most of the girls were in the craft room, so I told Clara they could go down there and see what the girls were
making. After I served Ringstaff and visited with him a few minutes, I went down to join them.

Good heavens! The W.W.s had taken over! They were showing the girls how to make covers for Bibles, and the girls were scrounging through all those bins finding cloth and lace, stuff like that, to make them. The two sewing machines were going full speed ahead, and there was a lot of laughing and kidding around. Portia was in there making a frame for something.

Well, I was glad they were all having a good time. I went back upstairs to see about lunch. Melba and Brenda were in the kitchen washing the lettuce. We got talking, and I asked Brenda what would she think about putting a little rinse on my hair.

“You mean a little color?” She eyed my hair—had me turn around. “I think it would help a lot. If you really want to jazz it up, I'd go for the golden blond.”

That didn't sound too good. “I don't want to jazz it up too much—nothing heavy, just a light ash blond might do the trick.”

“Well, okay, if that's what you want. Ash blond will darken it some—give you a kinda slate color. You can find that in any drugstore, and I'll be glad to put it on for you.”

“I'll get some the next time we go into town. . . . By the way, Brenda, how do you like Mr. Ringstaff's Bible lessons?”

“Miss E.,” she said, “they're wonderful! I found out who I am.”

“Oh,” I said. “How's that?”

She stopped washing the lettuce and looked at me. “Miss E., I'm the woman at the well.”

“The woman at the well?”

“Yes. I haven't had five husbands, but I've had twice as many men, and I'm just like her—I argue religion even though I'm a very tolerant person—you know, arguing with those people who come to the door with their literature. Miss E., I don't see how I could have sat in church all my life and never heard about that living water.”

“You mean to tell me you never heard that before?”

“No, never. I been thirsting, all right. I was okay as long as I had Tommy, but after he left me, it was one man right after another. I had a steady diet of men and booze. Pills, too.”

“You knew that was wrong, didn't you?”

“Oh, sure. I knew it was wrong, but all the time I was doing those things, I considered myself a Christian because I was baptized and a member of the church. I wasn't a Muslim or a Jehovah Witness or anything like that, I was a Christian.”

Melba piped up, “A generic Christian—that's what you were.”

“You're right, Melba. In a way, maybe it's a good thing I hit the bottle. At least it brought me here, where I learned I need Jesus.”

“Well,” I said, “if you're sure you understand—”

“Oh, I understand. It's clear as crystal—it's just that I love men and I love to drink.”

“Then I'll tell you what I told somebody else: ‘Choose your love and then love your choice.' It's a choice everybody has to make for herself. I made my choice when I
was eleven years old. Because I loved the Lord when I was growing up, I've been spared a lot of grief. I never drank; oh, I tasted beer once, didn't like the taste. I never smoked except rabbit tobacco, and through all the trouble that has come my way, the Lord has give me grace, answered my prayers, and taught me a lot about himself. I'm far from perfect, Brenda, but I'm a lot better off than I would be without Jesus.”

“So what you're saying is, I'm responsible for the mess I'm in.”

“That's right. You chose to go with all those men, and every time you pop a can of beer or turn up a wine bottle, it's by your own choice. Brenda, as much as I care about you, I have to tell you the truth. ‘The wages of sin is death.' It's like Splurgeon says, ‘He shall have hell as a debt who will not have heaven as a gift.'”

Ursula was calling me at that moment. I hated to break off the conversation, but I went on into the office.

“Martha's husband just called,” she told me. “He wants to bring their little girl for a visit. I told him we couldn't accommodate him here at the house because we have visitors. He's coming anyway. You might mention this to Martha.”

“Okay,” I said and went to look for her. I found her in the craft room, and we went in the day room to talk.

Martha looked disappointed. “He's ready for me to come home, Miss E.”

“Well, are you ready to go?”

“I love this place. It's the nearest thing to heaven I've ever found, but, Miss E., my little girl needs me and he needs me.”

“Do you think you'll be all right? Can you handle—”

“Miss E., you don't have to worry about me drinking. Like I told you the first night I came here, after seeing the Lord the way I did, I will never drink another drop so long as I live. I don't want it—I don't even
think
about drinking.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Martha. I guess he'll be here tomorrow. Just remember, keep your eyes on the Lord. Read your Bible, find some Christian friends, and cast all your care on the Lord because he cares for you.”

After lunch the W.W.s and I sat in on Ringstaff's class, and when it was over, Thelma wanted to know when they might get him to come to Apostolic for a Bible conference. Well, I didn't know about that. I told them Priscilla Home needed all the time he could spare, and they understood. Clara said, “I could sit and listen to that man all day long.” I had never heard them rave about anybody the way they raved about Ringstaff. Well, who wouldn't?

The rain was still coming down but not as hard as before, so I figured we could take the W.W.s to that old country store on the Valley Road. There wouldn't be a crowd of tourists on a rainy day, and the W.W.s could find plenty of stuff to buy. The girls were excited about going somewhere, so we took the van. On the way I was the tour guide, telling them all about the old store—how they had candy cases like the kind we used to have in the Live Oaks variety store, how the floor smelled of creosote, and about the barrels of beans and coffee, the potbelly
stove, and the checkerboard played with bottle caps. Linda piped up, “There's caskets on the second floor.”

Well, that took care of that. I always enjoyed going to that store—made me think I was back in time. We spent the rest of the afternoon in there, and the W.W.s came out loaded with stuff. In the van they went through all their packages, showing what they had bought. I heard Mabel say, “You can't find a butter press anywhere nowadays. Look at this one I got.”

I didn't know what she planned to do with a butter press—she'd never in her life churned butter—but if it made her happy, it was fine with me.

When we drove in the driveway, I was surprised to see Ringstaff's station wagon still there.

20

We piled off the van and came in the house. The mail had come, so the girls rushed up to the office, where Ursula was handing out letters. The W.W.s said they needed to go to their rooms and rest a few minutes before supper, which suited me fine. I went upstairs and looked for Ringstaff in the parlor, but he wasn't in there.
Now where do you suppose he is?

Nancy came out of the office ripping open an envelope. As she read the letter her eyes filled up and tears began spilling down her cheeks. Crumpling up the letter, she went running to her room.

In a few minutes I decided I better see if I could help her.

She was pulling her suitcase out from under the bed when I got to her room. “Nancy—what in the world?”

“I'm leaving!”

“Why?”

“Look at this!” and she handed me the letter.

I had to smooth it out before I could read it. It was
from her State Medical Board; her nurse's license had been revoked.

“Oh, Nancy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but why do you have to leave?”

She was furiously throwing things in the suitcase. “There's no need for me to stay here any longer.”

“Oh?”

“It's unfair! It's all so unfair!” she sobbed, yanking things out of the closet. “The Board told me if I went through the program here and received a clean bill of health, they would review my case and make a decision at that time. But they've already made the decision!”

“Nancy, you're all upset. Don't you think you better wait awhile before you do something rash?” I sat in the desk chair waiting for her to get hold of herself.

I didn't think Nancy had yet gained the victory over her addiction, and that maybe after a few more weeks with Ringstaff teaching and the rest of us praying, she would. She was a good nurse. The night Martha was having such a fit, I don't think I could have handled it without Nancy. For her to leave like this would be a big mistake for her as well as a loss for me.

I needed to talk turkey. “Nancy,” I said, “your only hope of getting your license back is to stay here until you graduate and then appeal their decision.”

“It's over and done with, Miss E. They've ruled and they're just like Miss Ursula about rules—they'll never bend.” Folding a blouse to pack, she wiped her eyes on a sleeve.

I reached and took the blouse out of her hands. “You
better let this dry,” I said and put it back on a hanger. “Now, Nancy, sit down a minute.”

I waited until she did. “Nancy, you love nursing, don't you?”

“Yes,” she croaked.

“You're a good nurse, Nancy, and the world needs good nurses.” She started to get up; I put my hand on her arm. “No, Nancy. Wait a minute . . .”

She sat there waiting.

“Nancy, isn't nursing your calling?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a lot of difference. Haven't you always wanted to be a nurse?”

“Yes,” she admitted, twisting the tissue to shreds. “I can't remember when I didn't want to be a nurse.”

“See there! It's your calling! It's what you can do best for the Lord.”

“The Lord?”

“Yes, the Lord.”

“Miss E., it's just a lot of hard work, lots of headaches, lots of people sick and dying. Besides, I'll never ever get another job nursing.”

“But, Nancy, nursing is your calling—that's what God wants you to do. Everybody's work is important to God—not just preachers' and missionaries' work.”

I didn't know if she was listening or not. We just sat there a long time not saying anything. I wanted to tell her that one day she would meet the Lord and answer for the talents he had entrusted to her, but decided that was too strong for a person in her upset condition.

After a while, I took both her hands and made her
look at me. “Nancy, you need to stay here. Only Jesus can lick this problem you have got. Once you get over them pills, you can appeal that board's decision. The Lord can change their minds.”

“It's no use,” she mumbled.

“Well, do it for yourself.”

“Miss E., you don't understand. I can't stay here any longer. I have got to get a job. My bills are piling up.” Her face was puffed from all the crying, and she was in no shape to think straight. “Maybe I can get a waitress job or go to work in one of those fast food places.” That brought on a fresh flood of tears.