Prayers of Agnes Sparrow (22 page)

Agnes had me make blueberry muffins and an egg casserole in case they were hungry, and I made certain there was enough coffee. Vidalia stopped by in the evening to help where she could and was followed by Ruth and Cora. Even Zeb dropped over with pie.

“Too bad Jack fed the Jesus pie to the birds,” he said. “I would get a kick out of Rassie seeing it.”

That's pretty much how the evening went. Folks kept showing up at the door with food and offering their help. Most tried to get a shot at being on the show as a witness for Agnes.

By nine the people cleared out, and Agnes started to yawn and get quiet. Then Stu showed up.

“Can I come in, Griselda?”

“Stu, I was wondering when you’d stop by to plead your case.”

“My case?”

“Yes, to be on the radio show tomorrow and tell the world how Agnes healed you of your cancer.”

“That's not why I’m here, but now that you mention it, maybe—”

“Stu.”

“Okay, okay. I really came to apologize.” He wiped a knit hat off his head.

“Apologize?”

“For the sign disaster. I’ve been feeling so terrible over it, and I wanted to tell Agnes.”

“Well, I was getting her ready for bed.”

“I won’t be but a minute. I never apologized and what with the show and all.”

“Come on in.” I stepped aside and let him walk in front of me.

The radio show had stolen some of Studebaker's thunder about the sign. He leaned down and kissed Agnes's cheek. “I never said I was sorry about the sign mistake.”

“It's okay, Stu,” Agnes said. “I never cared that much about it. You know that.”

“I know, but we all did, and I just wanted to tell you that I tried to get the sign here in time for the radio show. I thought maybe Rassie would unveil it right on the air.”

“Oh, Stu,” I said. “I thought you were really sorry and maybe gonna stop this nonsense.”

“Stop it?” Stu shook his head. “Why would I do that? It's been bought and paid for and will be arriving this Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” Agnes said. “That didn’t take too long.”

“What do you think about another unveiling celebration? Maybe right before the next potluck. This time I made sure those boys got your name right, Agnes.”

Agnes took a shaky breath and reached for her inhaler.

“Maybe now isn’t a good time to discuss this, Stu,” I said. “Agnes has a big day tomorrow.”

“Well, that's just it. I thought maybe Rassie could at least talk about the unveiling. Really play it up, you know?”

I saw that Agnes was getting agitated so I took Stu's hand and led him toward the front door. “We’ll have to discuss it at the next town meeting.”

“But that ain’t until next month, Griselda.”

“That’ll suit us fine. Good night, Stu.”

After he left Agnes and I had a little chuckle. I tucked her into bed. “Maybe you should take a pill tonight,” I said.

“No, not tonight. It’ll give me a headache in the morning, and I got a big enough one already.”

“Still? I’m sorry, Agnes. Guess it was all the late night hoopla.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Have you figured out what you might tell the world about the great Agnes Sparrow?”

“Phooey on that talk, Griselda, you know better than that. I am not the great Agnes Sparrow. I am not Houdini with a Bible doing tricks.”

“This town sure thinks you’re pretty amazing.”

“I know and it pains me. Sometimes I wish I never …” She paused. “You know, I think that's most of what I’m gonna say tomorrow, come to think of it. I’m gonna tell folks how God has blessed Bright's Pond, not me.”

“They’ll still claim it was you. You and your prayers.”

“I’m just the intercessor. We all know that, I hope. God works the miracles and that's what I got to say.”

I
rushed down the stairs at quarter after five the next morning. “Agnes, they’re gonna be here in less than an hour.”

Agnes was propped up with two pillows behind her and one under each arm. She clutched her M&Ms jar. “I ain’t doing it, Griselda.”

“What?” My forehead wrinkled like a cotton tablecloth.

“That gall darn radio show. I changed my mind.”

“You can’t change your mind now, Agnes. Those folks are on their way. They planned on this.”

“Phooey. Rassie Harper can just make other plans.”

“I don’t understand. What changed your mind?”

“It just ain’t right tooting my own horn and telling the world about the miracles. It shouldn’t come from my mouth.”

“Didn’t I say that? Didn’t I say we can’t start advertising this all over the place? Isn’t that why we tried to stop that whole sign thing? Wish you’d just have listened to me from the beginning.”

“That's right. I know and I’m sorry. My prayers are between me and God, nobody else.”

I flopped onto the red sofa. “What in tarnation am I gonna tell Rassie Harper?”

“Tell him the truth. Tell him Agnes Sparrow is not for sale. Tell him I got my reasons for praying, and God's got his reasons for answering, and it ain’t nobody else's beeswax.”

I took about ninety choppy breaths and started to hyperventilate. Agnes pointed to her oxygen. I declined with a wave.

“I’ll think about this one. I’ll get us some breakfast. Those folks are liable to show up early, now, the way things are going.”

I put coffee on and checked the thermostat. A cold front had moved in overnight. I fed Arthur who kept looking at me like he had all the answers. And then I stood like a member of the walking dead and stared out the kitchen window as the coffee pot bubbled. Most days, I loved to look out over the mountains and dream of a day when I would travel past them. But not that morning. That morning those mountains were so wide and so tall and so high I believed there was no force in heaven or earth that could get me to the other side.

Agnes and I ate breakfast. I slathered her toast with raspberry jam and salted her eggs while she drank juice.

“I thought I could do it and give God the glory, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t.”

I bit the end of a triangle of toast. “That's good jam. Ruth brought it the other day. She said it's made by hippies in Binghamton.”

“Best jam I’ve ever had,” Agnes said.

“Well, speaking of jam. I still have to tell Rassie Harper.”

Agnes waved her fork. “Ah, phooey. Rassie can go fly a kite. I can’t be the first person to cancel at the last second.”

“I suppose, but he's going through all that hassle of coming here. Might make it a little tougher.”

The doorbell rang.

“Maybe we could just pretend we’re not home and he’ll go away.”

“Agnes. We can’t do that.”

Fortunately it was not Rassie Harper standing on the other side of the door, but Ruth and Vidalia both in their Sunday clothes.

“Now don’t go getting your dander up,” Vidalia said before I could even open my mouth. “We tried to stay away, but—” she stopped. “What's the matter, Griselda? You look like someone just kicked you in the stomach.”

“Oh, Vi, I just don’t know what we’ll do. Agnes wants to cancel the radio show.”

“Why?” Ruth said, practically jumping over me. “Is something wrong with her—and on the day of the radio show?”

“No, Ruth. Agnes is fine. She just changed her mind is all.”

“Oh, good, it's nothing too serious,” Ruth said as she squeezed between Vidalia and me. “I thought we were gonna have to kiss the Pearly Gates Singers goodbye.”

Agnes was sitting up, and Hezekiah, who must have slipped through the back door, was helping her into the old pair of slippers.

“You go on now and cancel the show,” she said. “I really don’t want that Rassie to even see me.”

Ruth pulled my arm. “You can’t let her do this, Griselda. She already agreed.”

“What's this all about?” Vidalia said. “I mean I’m pleased that Agnes came to her good senses, but why now?”

“I decided that Griselda was right all along,” Agnes said. “It's just not proper for me to go on the radio and toot my own horn like that.”

“But, Agnes,” Ruth said, “you made a promise. I’ve never known you to go back on any promise. You can’t do it. Rassie’ll sue you … take you to court or something.”

“Nah, I’d never fit in the witness chair, and the jury could never take it serious. He won’t sue. I never signed a contract or anything.”

“Don’t fret, Ruth,” I said. “Agnes is right. We can’t go advertising the miracles and such.”

“You got to understand, Ruth,” Agnes said, “my prayers are for the people of Bright's Pond. That's what I told God when I started, and it isn’t right for me to draw attention to myself, you know?”

Vidalia coughed. “I agree with Agnes. I never liked this whole radio foolhardiness from the beginning.”

“I’m sorry about this, Ruth,” I said. “But don’t you see what could happen if Agnes went on the air? I’d have more people at my door than I could count.”

“That's right,” Vidalia said.

Ruth sat in the rocker with a thud. “What in the world are we gonna tell Rassie Harper and that sister-in-law of mine? They’ll have a field day with this—whatever a field day is. I never did understand that one. Vidalia, do you know what that means?”

Vidalia shook her head no. “I think we need to figure out what we’re gonna tell them and then be done with it—field day or no.”

“Well, we certainly can’t tell the truth,” Ruth said. “Vera will hold it over my head like an albatross for the rest of my life.”

Vidalia squeezed Ruth's hand. “No, dear, it's an albatross around your neck and that isn’t the situation. I think you mean sword of Damocles, and then I’m not certain that applies either.”

Ruth gave Vidalia a quizzical look. “Sword or albatross, it all means the same. She’ll never let me live this down.”

The doorbell chimed.

“I’m doomed,” Ruth said.

“Now, now, it won’t be as bad as all that,” Vidalia said.

I raced to the door, and sure enough, Rassie Harper, Vera Krug—I just assumed it was her having never met the woman—and three strange men stood on our porch. Rassie was not what I imagined from listening to him over the airwaves. For one thing he was a lot shorter than I expected and nearly bald, except for tufts of dark hair above each ear and hanging down the back. His pot belly probably was the result of drinking too much of the Budweiser he advertised. He smelled like cigarettes and wore a baby blue tee shirt that said something I can’t repeat.

Vera, on the other hand, was exactly what I would have pictured, if I had ever taken the time to imagine her. She was wearing tight beige Capris that went smartly with her tight, hatchet face with the long nose and beady eyes that darted around like a lizard's. She wore an orange coat and orange knit hat.

Rassie reached out his hand, and I shook it just to be polite. I closed the door before they could get a foot inside. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but Agnes—” my mind raced; what could I say? “—Agnes isn’t feeling well and we’ll have to cancel the show.”

“What?” Vera said. She definitely had a radio voice and a real-life voice. I much preferred the radio voice. “You can’t do that. We had an agreement.”

“Well, we got no choice. Agnes is sick as a dog. I can’t even let you in. You could catch something.” I was sliding down that slippery slope of lies. “Doc said she was highly contagious, so unless you feel like spending the next twenty-four hours having explosive diarrhea and vomiting—”

Rassie backed off. “Okay, okay. But I have a show to do, Miz Sparrow. I got to be on the air in less than one hour.”

Ruth came outside and shut the door behind her. “Hello, Vera.”

“Good morning, Ruth. What are you doing here? I thought Agnes was contagious with some kind of intestinal thing.”

“Oh, well, ah… Griselda needed help,” Ruth said. “You got any idea what it's like to be around a seven-hundred pound woman with dia—”

“All right, all right, I get the picture.” Vera grimaced like she had swallowed bile.

“Now, listen to me,” Ruth said. She all of a sudden sounded like a woman in charge—more like a woman determined not to spoil the chances of the Pearly Gates Singers coming to Bright's Pond. “I was listening at the window. You could take the show down to the café. Folks there will love to tell you all about the miracles. Just ask for Cora or Zeb.”

“Ruth,” I said. “We don’t want—”

“Now don’t you worry, Griselda. Folks can tell all about how they got their prayers answered. It will be fine, just as fine as a spring shower.”

“Come on, men,” said Rassie without even giving it a second's worth of consideration. “Let's go. We got a show to do.”

“Where's this café?” Vera asked like she had never set foot in Bright's Pond. Ruth and I shared a smirk.

“Ah, you remember, Vera, it's just down the road. Look for the big, full moon hanging over a building that looks more like one of them stainless steel campers than a restaurant.”

“Oh, this has got to be rich,” Rassie said.

“Well, no choice,” Vera said, as the entourage headed for the station truck.

“Does this mean we still get the Pearly Gates Singers?” Ruth shouted.

Rassie opened the truck door, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll just come back next week and put Agnes on the show.”

“Over my dead body,” I whispered to Ruth.

“Maybe they’ll get enough of a show down at Zeb's.”

Now I was really worried. “I better call Zeb and warn him.”

Ruth came in as far as the radiator and put on her coat and scarf. “I think I’ll go on down there. Maybe I can help.”

“Good idea.”

I rejoined Agnes and Vidalia. “They left. I told them Agnes was sick and they seemed to buy it. Ruth sent them all down to the café. They’re gonna do the show from there.”

“Really,” Vidalia said. “All those folks will start blabbing on and on about how Agnes saved them from death's door and the like.”

“I know, I know. But what can I do? Maybe it will all sound so silly no one will ever believe it.”

“Okay,” Vidalia said, “but do you think it's a good idea leaving Ruth down there by herself?”

“You’re right. I’d better call Zeb and let him know.”

Agnes reached for her M&Ms while Hezekiah tended the fire. “Maybe I should go down and keep an eye on Ruth,” he said.