Prayers of Agnes Sparrow (34 page)

“Now, tell me about the sweater and what it has to do with Vidalia or Hezekiah.” I placed the tray on Agnes's table like I normally did when we were having ordinary conversations.

“The sweater—like I already told you. It's stained with blood. Clarence Pepper's blood.” Her usually high voice squeaked like a mouse had gotten caught in her throat.

“Clarence Pepper?” The name meant nothing to me. “Who is he?”

“A boy.” Agnes's hand shook as she brought the coffee to her lips. “A boy I—I—”

“You what?”

Agnes dropped her cup onto the bedside table. “Killed, Griselda! I killed Clarence Pepper.” She started coughing and a bright blush filled her cheeks.

“Oh, come on,” I said, “don’t say things like that.”

“It's the truth. I just never told anyone—not one breathing, living soul. No one.”

I grabbed a towel and sopped up the coffee as best I could. “You’ll have to get out so I can change the sheets. It splashed all over.”

“Griselda, you aren’t listening. I just told you I killed that boy.” She sucked in air. “We were just kids, you know? I was on my way home from school and went across Hector's Hill. Clarence was there. He started making fun of me, calling me names.”

“I tried to run, Griselda, but you know how hard it was for me. He ran next to me and kept saying, ‘Look at me, I’m a cowboy leading the cows across the prairie.’”

“Oh, Agnes, that's awful.” Tears welled in my eyes as I listened to her voice rising higher and higher, her face getting redder and redder. All I could do was sit there and let her talk. It was like a two-ton truck was parked on my chest. I couldn’t move, and I could hardly breathe.

“All of a sudden,” she said. “I stopped running and—and I pushed him and he tripped and fell forward and hit his head on a jagged rock.”

She covered her eyes with her hands like she wanted to blot out the image. “There was blood, Griselda, so much blood. I took off my sweater and tried to stop it but I couldn’t. I got scared—”

My breathing was ragged.

“I didn’t mean to kill him, Griselda. It was an accident. The boy died, but I didn’t know until they brought him to Daddy.”

“He was here?”

“Yes. His father brought him in the back of his station wagon. Found him up on Hector's Hill. I was up at my window—” she struggled for air “—when his daddy came to the door.”

I put her oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. “Breathe. Just breathe a little.”

Agnes grabbed my arm, and I slipped the clear mask off her face.

“I was up at my window, and I saw Mr. Pepper pull up. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t.”

I replaced the mask and watched it fog over as she breathed.

“Close your eyes. Just breathe.” I patted her arm. But she ripped the mask off. “I got to tell you now, Griselda. I got to tell you the whole story, right now, before I lose my gumption.”

I sat back in the rocker and white-knuckled the arms like I was clinging to a roller coaster.

“On the way home I saw the blood on my shoes, so I took them off and carried them, wrapped up in my sweater. I went straight to Daddy's workroom, and for a second or two, I wanted him to be there to catch me but … he wasn’t.”

“So you hid the clothes in that box.”

“That's right. I saw the little box sitting there, and it was empty, so I stuffed everything inside, closed the lid, and hid it in that tiny room—been there ever since—well, until Hezekiah found it.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone later that day when Daddy got home?”

“I couldn’t. The more I thought about it, the more my stomach churned, and then I was too scared of what would happen to me.”

“To you? You killed a boy, accident or not.”

She choked back sobs.

“Maybe I should call Doc,” I said.

Agnes grabbed my arm and squeezed me so tight I thought she might break my wrist.

“Stop it, Agnes, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry, Griselda. Please don’t call Doc. I’ll be all right.”

“You need to take one of those sedatives. You’re about to give yourself a heart attack.”

“That's why I was crying that day you ran out of church, Griselda, remember? I was crying because I … I killed another human being and for no good reason except that I’m fat and he called me a name.”

I felt like a hundred bees had stung me, paralyzing my heart as I reached back to that day. Pastor Spahr had just prayed over the cracker and popped it in my mouth and swallowed when I looked at Agnes. Tears streamed down her fat face as she chewed and chewed.

“What are you doing?” I had asked. “Just swallow it.”

I thought I might have to bang her on the back because she was having a dickens of a time getting that itty bitty piece of unsalted Premium cracker down her throat.

She just kept crying, and I saw Fred Haskell and Edie Tompkins who was, at that time, Edie Mattigan, covering their mouths and laughing at her. I thought I was about to cry myself they got me so riled. I thought I was going to cry or leap over the pews and pound them into a fine powder.

The elders passed the Concord grape juice, and I held mine waiting for the signal to drink, while Agnes continued to cry. I couldn’t stand it another second. I put my tiny glass cup on the pew and climbed right over Agnes who was still sobbing, snorting back the tears and noises so as not to be noticed. I figured the whole church saw her. But interrupting Communion was just not done, it being a holy sacrament and all. Tears were just tears, even though I read in the Bible that God saved them.

Anyway, I ran out of the church. I ran down the parking lot and squatted behind a big boulder and got so angry at God and people I shoved my index finger down my throat
and up came the cracker and two slices of scrapple and some oatmeal. My hands balled into fists and I pounded on that rock, cutting my skin and getting so bruised my mother made me see the Doc. I pounded and pounded and told God right then and there that he shouldn’t have made my sister so fat. I told him he was a terrible God and since he didn’t care about her, I would have to be the one who cared. That was the day I decided to spend my whole life taking care of my sister.

“I remember that day,” I said. “I thought you were crying on account of all the teasing that went on.” The doorbell rang. “Oh, great. Perfect timing, whoever it is.”

“You better get it. Nobody’ll believe we aren’t at home.”

It was Ruth. She stood on the porch wearing a thin, cotton coat over a dress the color of light brown sugar and the saddest frown I had ever seen.

“Ruth? What's the matter?” I took a step outside and closed the door behind me trying not to show how shaken I was.

“Griselda, I am just so sad over the way this town is treating Agnes. I was sitting at my house watching Russell swing on his tiny bird swing, you know the one, it's pink—”

“Ruth, I’ve seen Russell's swing.”

“Anyway, watching Russell swing back and forth in his cage made me think about Agnes, and I had to come see her. It can’t be her fault, can it? It just can’t.”

“No, of course not. Things are happening because they are. Agnes has no control over this town—for good or for bad.”

“Then how come Vidalia got killed and the Sturgises are having so many fights? Babette is crying over at the café right this very minute, and Cora went and died. Some folks are even saying it was Agnes's fault the dang fool sign was made wrong to begin with.”

“We’re just going through a bad patch right now. We all are—the whole town. Even Agnes.”

Ruth pulled her coat tight around her neck as a light gust of wind whipped across the porch. “Can we go inside, Griselda? It's a little chilly, and I feel like I need to see Agnes.”

“Maybe now isn’t the right time. Agnes is resting.”

“Please? I’ll wait. I’ll make coffee and Cora's lemon squares while we wait for her to wake up.”

At that moment I had the urge to tell Ruth what Agnes had done, but I couldn’t betray her. I forced my tears deep inside before they spilled over.

“What's the matter, Griselda? You look a fright. Still upset over Vidalia?”

“No, it's … it's something else.”

“Then what you need is lemon squares. Let me in, and I’ll whip up a batch.”

“Okay, if we sneak into the kitchen without going to her room. I don’t want to disturb her.”

I opened the door as quietly as possible and closed it with a slight click. Ruth hung her coat on the hook near the radiator. “I’ll tiptoe,” she whispered.

We took one step. “Who is it?” Agnes called.

“Oh, Agnes, it's me, Ruth. I’ve been so worried about you, dear. How are you?”

Ruth rushed into the viewing room and took hold of Agnes's hand faster than a hungry trout bites on a cool Spring morning. “I just hate the way everyone in town is saying you lost the gift, that God stopped answering your prayers, and we’re all doomed like sitting ducks.”

“Ruth, Ruth. Nobody is doomed. Well, except maybe me.”

“You? Oh, Agnes don’t say such a thing.”

“Yes, Agnes,” I said. “Stop talking nonsense.” I shook my head and widened my eyes, hoping she’d get the thought I was desperate to convey:
Don’t tell Ruth about Clarence Pepper!
But sometimes, Agnes could be tenacious as a snapping turtle. Once she got hold of something she never let go.

“Ruth, why don’t you show me how to make Cora's lemon squares?” I asked. “I didn’t know she gave the recipe to anyone. Thought is was an old family secret.”

“All right, Griselda. Agnes, you do look a mite tired. We’ll have a long visit just as soon as we put the lemon squares into the oven.”

Ruth and I assembled the necessary ingredients except the main one—lemons.

“That's weird,” I said. “There's always a loose lemon in the fridge.”

“Guess you’ll need to go to the store and buy one or two and maybe some more half and half. This carton is about empty.”

Telling Ruth I had to fetch my purse, I whispered to Agnes not to tell Ruth about Clarence while I was gone. “Please? Ruth doesn’t need to know this. It will only make her sadder.”

“You might be right.” She sighed and popped a few M&Ms into her mouth.

T
he market was empty, except for Eugene Shrapnel, who was busy squeezing the life out of the tomatoes. From a distance and maybe because he didn’t see me, Eugene looked different. Oh, he was still ugly with that bulbous nose and hunched back. But for a moment he was like any other human being.

I pushed my cart past him and the illusion burst.

“Griselda,” he said. “I told you this would happen if folks kept thinking your sister is God. I told you and now Vidalia,
probably the only truly kind and generous person in this town, is dead on account of Agnes inviting that monster into our midst.”

I ignored him and pushed on even though I could have used some bananas.

“It's only the beginning. Only the beginning,” Eugene called. “Repent while you still can.” Muttering, he slipped three tomatoes into a brown paper bag.

I picked out two lemons and hurried through the rest of my shopping. The longer I took the more stuff I thought I should buy: shampoo and toilet paper, laundry soap and corn flakes.

Ruby didn’t say a word to me as she checked my groceries. She carried on an insipid conversation about what was happening in the make-believe world of Pine Valley on the soap opera with her check-out neighbor, Sadie Fromme.

W
hen I got back to the house it was no surprise that I found Ruth and Agnes deep in conversation about Clarence Pepper and what Agnes did all those years ago.

“Well, it seems to me,” Ruth said, “the worst thing you done was keep it a secret. I mean how could you do that?”

“I was just a kid and I was mighty scared of going to jail.”

I hurried into the kitchen and plopped the grocery bags on the table before I joined them. “Agnes, I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone.”

“Now, how can you expect that, Griselda?” Ruth said. “I’m amazed she's sat on it this long. My goodness gracious, that must of been tough.”

The idea of making lemon squares had long passed, and the three of us spent a good part of the day discussing what Agnes did to Clarence Pepper. I was able to get them to agree
that no one else needed to know; it would bring even more unwanted attention to Bright's Pond and Agnes.

All of a sudden, Ruth looked like she had an idea. “I hate to say this, but I think I might have said that Hezekiah was going to stir up trouble.”

“You said nothing of the sort,” Agnes said.

“I might have thought it.”

“Should you contact the boy's parents?” I asked. “I mean, I’d want to know.” I felt my forehead wrinkle. “At least I think I would.”

“Heavens, no,” Ruth said. “Those folks think their son's death was the result of a simple boyhood accident. You want them to know he died because he made fun of Agnes?”

“That's right,” Agnes said. “They shouldn’t have to live with that. They’re older now, anyway. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Ruth swallowed a piece of cookie she plucked from Agnes's table. “I remember that day now. You never saw a more broken-up mother than Lily Pepper. But I have to say, now that I think about it, that boy was one mean child. I remember the way he taunted you, Agnes.”

I didn’t remember, not then. I kept trying to picture Clarence Pepper, but I guess he was older than me so I didn’t see him much. I watched Agnes, while Ruth did her best to put a bright polish on what happened so many years ago. It was like watching someone receive unwanted news. Agnes played with her hands, locking and unlocking her fingers, averting her eyes until she couldn’t hear anymore.

“But I killed him—accident or no.” She knocked over an empty, plastic tumbler. It bounced on the floor and stopped when it rolled against her slipper. “He died because I pushed him.”

“Well now, you didn’t mean to, did you Agnes?” Ruth could not find her off button that day. “Did you ever once say to yourself, I’m going to kill him?”

“No, but—”

“That's the difference in my book. I say we let it go.” Ruth smiled and patted Agnes's hand. “Let it fade and let Agnes get back to her normal self. It was good to get it out, though, wasn’t it, dear?” She patted Agnes's hand and wiped stray hairs off her pink face. “Let's make a pact like when we were kids.”