Prayers of Agnes Sparrow (11 page)

A mighty applause broke out, and the pie was set aside and later placed in the refrigerator until someone could figure out the proper way to dispose of it … or preserve it.

Pastor finally got around to asking a blessing on the meal, even though everyone thought it had already been blessed. I sat with Hezekiah and Vidalia, when she wasn’t running all around catering to the needs of the congregation.

“Such is the duty of the potluck committee,” she said after Janeen complained that the second macaroni and cheese hadn’t been brought from the kitchen.

Ruth and Cora sat with the Speedwells, and the two women never glowed as brightly as they chewed their roast beef and potatoes.

“I can see why folks would never want to leave Bright's Pond,” Hezekiah said.

“You stay as long as you like,” Vidalia said. “I got no plans for your room.”

Hezekiah smiled and loosened his tie. “I wasn’t certain how to dress for a church potluck. But seeing how Jesus showed up and all, I’m glad I bought this suit.”

“You look very nice,” I said. And he did. That evening Hezekiah was a far cry from the bedraggled man I found rooting through our trash. His color was better, and he had put on some weight that was especially evident in his face. He looked more like a man and less like an outcast.

After dessert was served and the tables cleared, Pastor Speedwell stood up.

“I was going to tell you people the story of Daniel in the lion's den, but after what happened in this room tonight I feel it just ain’t the right story.”

Cora and Ruth both beamed when Pastor put his hands on their shoulders.

“We got Agnes to thank,” he said. “Let us rejoice and thank God Almighty for the prayers of Agnes Sparrow.”

Five minutes later people were on their feet singing and rejoicing as Pastor told how Jesus had seen fit to enter our midst that evening.

“It is a sign—a sign, brothers and sisters—that Jesus has found favor with Bright's Pond: favor through Sister Agnes, favor through Cora and Zeb and Ruth.”

He balled his hand into a fist and pounded the table, causing the dishes and glasses to rattle. “If God is for us, who,
I say who, can be against us? Or better yet, I say … what? What can be against us? Not cancer.”

“Hallelujah,” shouted Janeen Sturgis.

“Amen,” said Studebaker.

Pastor smiled and looked around the room. “Not heart trouble or ulcers. Not even a hangnail is lost from the healing touch of God Almighty through the praying lips of Sister Agnes Sparrow.”

Another round of applause rose up, and people shouted their hallelujahs. Cora cried as Ruth held her hand. Pastor went on like that for the better part of an hour until the folks with little children dribbled out and the older folks started to fall asleep.

He claimed every miracle, every lost object, every saved marriage, every soothed bunion and arthritic hip in town. Finally, by 9:30 he wrapped it up, and Janeen shouted one final hallelujah with her hands raised over her head as she danced a little jig.

The pie, by the way, sat in the church refrigerator for the better part of two weeks until Jack Cooper finally had enough of it. I was on my way home from food shopping when I saw him sitting on the church steps with the pie on his knees.

“Watcha doing?” I hollered across the street.

“I just don’t know what to do with it.” He stood up and stretched the pie toward me. “You wanna care for this Jesus pie?”

“It's not Jesus pie, Jack. It's lemon meringue.”

“But this sure does look like his face, Griselda. I can’t see tossing it in the trash … and even Pastor said he saw him.”

Crows chattered and squawked in the trees above the church. “How about if you feed it to the birds.”

Jack looked up into the branches and then gently sat the pie on the snowy, church lawn.

“Maybe the birds will fly it back to Jesus,” Jack said.

Within seconds a flock of crows gathered around the pie like chubby women at a basement bargain bin, each taking a bite and flying toward heaven until all that was left was the silver pie tin glinting in the afternoon sun.

Agnes wasn’t so impressed about the Jesus pie, although she didn’t entirely dismiss it. I wasn’t even going to tell her but I couldn’t help myself.

“Some of them folks have quite the imagination,” she said. “Jesus showing up in lemon meringue.”

“I know, I didn’t really see it myself but just about everyone else did. Got real excited about it, Agnes.”

“I suspect seeing Jesus in any shape or form could be exciting.” She took a deep breath and reached for a candy bar—a Mounds that Stella Hughes left her earlier that day.

“You ever see Jesus?” I asked.

Agnes ripped open the Mounds and took a big bite that she chewed and chewed like she was stalling for time.

“You saying you did?”

“Not sure, Griselda. I don’t want to make it sound like I saw him, flesh and blood, walking down the street or knotted up in a tree trunk like some have. More like an experience deep inside. But that was a long time ago.”

“Like getting saved?”

Agnes pushed the rest of the chocolate into her mouth. “Different, but yeah, kind of like that.”

C
ora went back to work after Doc insisted she spend three days in the hospital where she said she was poked and prodded with every medical instrument known to the modern world, or worse, she had said, the medieval world. Two internists and a cardiologist who had come from Wilkes-Barre to
see if what he heard was true, declared Cora as sound as a bell and released her.

I caught up with her at the Full Moon the day after Jack fed the Jesus pie to the crows. She stood behind the counter holding a pot of decaf and chatting with a couple of truck drivers.

“The look on that pointy-headed specialist's face was priceless,” she said. “He couldn’t believe it and told me there must have been something wrong with the first set of tests.”

One of the truck drivers, a short, stocky man, bit into his baloney sandwich while the other stared at Cora. “Maybe he's right, Cora. Maybe those earlier tests were all hogwash, a medical mix-up. I hear it happens all the time. Hospitals are always removing kidneys by accident, so maybe—”

“I won’t hear that talk,” Cora said, “It weren’t no mistake. Jesus healed me—healed me and then he showed up at our potluck in one of Zeb's pies just to prove it.”

With that the first driver choked and the second paid the check, and they left without another word.

Cora spied me sitting at a booth listening to the whole conversation. She cleaned up the counter and then headed my way. “Can you believe that, Griselda? They practically called me a liar.”

“Don’t fret about it Cora, they just don’t get it. People get scared at the thought of miracles and images of Jesus showing up in pie when they’re not accustomed to it. You understand.”

Actually, I was glad the truck drivers didn’t stick around to ask more questions, and worse, ask to see Agnes.

Cora poured me a cup of regular coffee and dropped several tiny containers of half and half on the table. “You’re right, Griselda, those good old boys don’t know Agnes.”

Zeb called Cora away before I had a chance to order a grilled cheese.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Griselda, I’ll be right back. Let me go see what he wants.”

Stu walked in and noticed me right off.

“Griselda,” he called with a wave. He hung his jacket on the pole at my booth. “I’m glad you’re here. I got great news.”

I swallowed coffee. “What is it, Stu?”

He sat across from me and smiled like a dog going for a car ride. “The sign is finished. Just got to be shipped from Scranton and then we can set it up out on the interstate. But first we’re planning an unveiling at the town hall.”

My heart skipped a beat. “You know how I feel about this, Stu. I wish you’d stop yakking at me about it.”

“I’m gonna stop by and tell Agnes just as soon as Boris and I wrap up some business.”

“I have to go back to the library, but—”

“Don’t matter, Griselda, you don’t need to be there. I just want to tell Agnes … and Hezekiah, I guess, if he's there.”

“He's supposed to be working in the basement.”

I don’t think he heard me because his attention was diverted when Boris walked in.

“Well, you take care, Griselda,” Stu said. “I’ll just go sit with Boris.”

That was fine with me. Cora brought me a grilled cheese and tomato soup. “Zeb said for you to bring home a pie to Agnes. I already put it in a box up at the cash register.”

I dipped a corner of my sandwich into my soup and smiled at Boris. Stu pointed me out to him. They were all smiles that day, no doubt discussing the sign and their plans to unveil it to the town.

Zeb came out from the kitchen and slid into the other seat at my booth. “Hey, Grizzy, what's new?”

“Not much, Zeb. You know, same old stuff. Except Stu tells me the sign is all finished and—”

“I know. They’re planning some celebration at the next town meeting.”

I shook my head and chewed.

Zeb looked around the diner a few seconds and then looked me in the eyes. “Say, Griselda, I’ve been thinking. The Daisy Daze dance is coming up in June, and I know it's a ways off, but I was wondering if you’d be my date.”

To say his question came as a surprise would certainly be an understatement. Not that it was the first time Zeb ever asked me out on a date. It had just been so long and I thought he’d lost interest seeing as how all my free time was spent caring for Agnes.

I wiped my lips with a paper napkin I pulled from the silver table dispenser. “Well, I don’t know, Zeb. I—”

“I know you have to consider Agnes, but I was thinking maybe with Hezekiah around, he could, you know, babysit. Not all night mind you, but for a little while, and then you and me could check in on her from time to time.”

The nervousness inside Zeb's belly was obvious. He always rambled and talked fast when the butterflies started fluttering.

“It might work out—”

But before I could finish my thought, Zeb jumped up and grabbed my hand. “Thank you, Griselda. I knew you would, and you’ll even have enough time now to choose a pretty dress and all.”

He caught his faux pas. “Not that you need me telling you that.”

“It's okay, Zeb.”

He smiled and his eyes twinkled in the bright diner lights. “I better go flip some baloney.”

I had trouble getting the rest of my grilled cheese down and pushed the plate away. Cora offered to refill my coffee.

“Zeb said to tell you that lunch is on him today.” She winked. “And don’t forget Agnes's pie.”

I
took the pie home instead of going to the library. I wanted to tell Agnes about the sign before Studebaker got there.

Agnes was with Mildred Blessing of all people. As long as she's been in town, Mildred had never stopped in for prayer. But I probably should have known there would be a surge in visitations after Cora's healing.

I stood in the entryway for a minute. I always felt uncomfortable walking in on a prayer session and just as uncomfortable standing around with nothing to do while Agnes prayed. Arthur sauntered near, and I picked him up and held his warm body to my cheek.

“How long has she been here?” I whispered.

“Come on in, Griselda,” called Agnes. “Mildred and I are finished.”

Agnes had managed to move herself to the couch. That was generally a sign she was feeling good, her breathing easier.

“I’m glad to see you out of bed,” I said.

“Mildred and I were just chatting about how she came to join the police force—fascinating story.”

“Oh, you must tell me about it someday.”

“Not so fascinating,” said Mildred. “It was after my father was killed by a hoodlum on the streets for fifty bucks that I dedicated my life to crime fighting.”

“Oh, kind of like Batman,” I said.

Mildred wrinkled her forehead and glared. “I suppose but Batman wasn’t a cop.”

“No, a crime fighter.” I looked at Agnes and watched her roll her eyes. “He dedicated his life to fighting the bad guys after his mother and father were killed by thugs.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” said Mildred. “Well, we’ve been bumping gums long enough. I better get back to my patrol. I’ve got to crack down on the folks not obeying the parking laws in this town. It's just a sin the way some people ignore the law. And Eugene called in another complaint about Ivy's dog.”

I nodded. “You’ll never catch that mutt.”

M
ildred zipped her heavy uniform coat and plopped a furlined hat with earflaps on her head. “Thank you, Agnes, I think I’m feeling better already.”

“Cramps,” said Agnes after the door slammed shut. “The girl's got some nasty cramps.”

I took a breath while Agnes popped M&Ms into her mouth. “I’m a mite hungry. Got any of that ziti left?” she asked.

“Sure, but I need to tell you something first.”

“Shoot.”

“I ran into Stu down at the café. The sign is finished and on its way from Scranton.”

Agnes closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, dear. Nothing is gonna stop those fools.”

“I’m afraid not. He's on his way here to tell you.”

“Think I have time for a sandwich first?”

“Sandwich. I thought you wanted ziti.”

“I do.”

I
no sooner had the ziti warming in the oven and a tuna on white bread ready when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was Stu and maybe even Boris, I took my good old time getting to the door, only it wasn’t them. It was Filby Pruett standing
there with a 35mm camera slung around his neck. He wore a straw Panama hat, a gray wool overcoat with fur around the collar and sleeves, and a mood ring the size of a quarter. It was cobalt blue.

“Forgive the intrusion, Miss Sparrow. I know I should have called first, but I wanted to catch Agnes in, well, an unrehearsed pose if you catch my drift.”

“Mr. Pruett.” I offered my hand. “I don’t think we’ve ever really met.”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

Artists. Loners. Antisocial is more like it. He had a weak grip. I hated that.

“Agnes was just about to eat her lunch—”

He pulled a fancy pocket watch from his coat pocket. “It's nearly 2:30.”