by Joyce Magnin
“Look at that,” I said, “It's a wonder there are any mice left in this entire town.”
Hezekiah stared at the blood droplets. His eyes darted to the still squirming rodent.
“Hezekiah,” I said, “it's just a mouse. You’ve seen Arthur's little gifts before. Would you clean it up for me?”
He grabbed a role of paper towels and wrapped a couple around his hand and cleaned the mess. He tossed the mouse out the door.
“Do you want breakfast?” I flipped a slice of French toast.
“Sure. It smells good. I could eat a few pieces. You put cinnamon in there with the eggs?”
“And vanilla.”
He took a breath through his nose. “Just like my Mama used to make it on Saturday mornings.”
“You don’t talk much about your family.”
“Ah, I never knew my old man, and my Mama's been dead going on six years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Griselda. I don’t.”
I wanted to ask him the question that had been on my mind since the day I met him. I wanted to ask him how come he ended up on the streets. But I didn’t. I can’t explain why, really. It just seemed like something you shouldn’t ask a grown man.
We finished breakfast. Everyone was quieter than usual like we all had things on our minds. Hezekiah helped me with the dishes.
“Does that library of yours have old newspapers?” he asked.
“Some. Why?”
“Just something I want to look up. Something that happened, I figure, maybe twenty or twenty-five years ago.”
“Oh, well, for that you’ll need to look through the microfiche files. Most of the papers are on file, but a lot are missing.”
“Can you show me how?”
“Sure. Just come by later.”
I opened the curtains for Agnes, revealing a bright, blue day. Not a cloud in the sky and you could see clear to the mountains.
“They sure look nice this morning,” I said.
“They sure do,” Agnes said. “I can see spring making its way here.”
She was right. It wouldn’t be long before the trees would bud and bloom. The crocuses always popped up first and then the daffodils.
“I saw a tree full of robins the other day,” I said.
“Oh, it must have been a sight. I thought I heard them singing this morning.”
“Spring is coming, but it's still cold, so you keep your socks on.”
“It was only twenty-one degrees this morning,” Agnes said.
I pulled on my coat and slipped my hand into the pocket looking for gloves when I remembered the bag I found in the truck.
“Did I hear Hezekiah go out back?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think he said something about having some more stuff to burn—old magazines—and I told him to go ahead and chop up a couple of old stools he found yesterday.”
I found him tossing wood on to a pile inside a large, black, scorched area in the yard. “Stand back,” he said, “I was just about to throw some gasoline on there.”
“Thought you burned all this stuff yesterday.”
He twisted the lid on the gas can. “I burned the sweater and shoes yesterday. This here is leftovers, stuff I wasn’t sure about until I asked Agnes.”
I pulled the baggie from my pocket. “What do you know about this? I found it my truck.”
Hezekiah snorted a laugh. “Ah, come on, Griselda, it's just a little pot.”
“So it's yours then.”
He dumped gasoline on the pile. “It's no big deal. I picked it up when I went into Shoops with all them clothes. No big deal. Hardly ever use it.”
He tossed a match onto the pile, and flames ignited with a whoosh. I stepped back from the sudden heat. “Then take it. Don’t leave it in my truck or my house, and I better not hear you been keeping it at Vidalia's.”
Hezekiah tossed a stack of magazines on the fire. “All right, Griselda.” He moved close to me. “Look, I’m sorry. I haven’t hardly used it, and I promise you I never came to work high.”
I believed him. “Okay, but please be careful. Now, I got to get to work.”
“I’ll come by later,” Hezekiah said. “Check out those papers.”
“If you want to tell me what you’re looking for I could start researching, maybe find something before you get there.”
Hezekiah looked into the roaring fire. “Well, I’m not too sure exactly,” he said. “I was just wondering about any unexplained deaths in town, or accidents that might have seemed suspicious at the time.”
I felt my eyebrows arch. “I don’t know of any right off. Why you so interested?”
“Oh, no reason,” He grabbed the garden hose and squirted the high-rising flames. “I like to keep it with me in case the fire gets out of hand. Don’t want to burn the trees.”
“Come by later, but make sure the fire in the fireplace is down before you leave and don’t lock the front door and—”
“I know the routine.”
I refilled Agnes's M&Ms jar and made sure she had working pens. “You got visitations today?”
“Sure do. Hazel Flatbush is coming by. She called yesterday and said she needed prayer for her knees again.”
Hazel was a good egg—a quiet woman with six incorrigible children she loved to pieces. Her husband Colby and she worked one of the dairy farms nearby and came to town for church occasionally and for baloney sandwiches with Full Moon pie about once a month. Hazel came to town often to stop and visit with Agnes. An active member of the Society of Angelic Philanthropy, Hazel felt a responsibility to keep her finger on the “pulse of the town.”
“And, Jack Cooper,” Agnes said. “He's coming by.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, he drops in now and again. Doesn’t ask for much. Sometimes I think he just needs a check-up.”
“I’ll be home by four.”
The whole way to the library, Hezekiah's interest in looking up accidents in town nagged me. So, after my usual chores, mail and such, I set to work on the microfiche. Hezekiah said he was looking for something that might have happened twenty or twenty-five years ago. I would have been a kid, so nothing obvious popped into my memory.
I pulled out some sheets of microfiche, figuring I’d start at 1952, and fired up the reader, a contraption that didn’t get a whole lot of use in Bright's Pond. But, if the truth be known, it was the most interesting task I had been given in quite a long time.
Before I could get through 1952, Vidalia came by to return some books.
“You’re hard at work,” she said.
“Oh, Vidalia, I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“Guess not. Look at you all busy like a bee. Researching something?”
Vidalia was always so pleasant. She wore a camel coat with a gray scarf wrapped around her neck. She pulled off her knit hat and set it on the counter.
“Not sure exactly. Hezekiah was asking about unexplained deaths in town.
Her eyes lit up. “Really? Here? In Bright's Pond?”
“Yeah, I was thinking that maybe it has something to do with why he came to town in the first place, you know. Or maybe it has to do with the miracle he needs.”
“Um, could be, could be.” Vidalia unbuttoned her coat and flopped it over the back of a chair. “Can I help?”
“Not unless you know about some unexplained death in town.”
Vidalia picked up a sheet of microfiche and held it to the light. “Amazing what science can do. Just think, a full year's worth of newspapers on these little plastic cards.”
“Well, I don’t think there is a full year of anything. Just miscellaneous months.”
“That don’t help if you’re shy a few pieces.”
“I know, but I thought something might jump out, Hezekiah said he was interested in going clear back to 1948.”
“Um.” Vidalia shook her head slightly. “I wasn’t even in town back then, and you would have only been a little girl�
�� you and Agnes that is.”
“Eleven,” I said.
I scanned a few more papers while Vidalia looked through the stacks.
“I quit,” I said when Vidalia returned with an armful of books.
“Babette Sturgis is doing her research paper on the carpetbaggers. Came by for some information.”
“You’re a good neighbor, Vi. I don’t think anybody in town takes as much interest in those kids as you do.”
“Oh, I love them to pieces. Makes missing my own children easier, you know what I mean?”
I had just finished stamping her books when Hezekiah came in. “Hey, Hezekiah,” said Vidalia, “you coming home for supper?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not tonight, Vidalia, I have other plans.”
No doubt a date with Olivia.
“Well, good luck with your research,” Vidalia said.
I showed Hezekiah the reader and explained how to use it. “You’re certainly welcome to look as long as you like, but I didn’t see anything, not in 1952 anyway.”
“Oh, you were looking.”
“Just starting. It could take a while to go through all those years. Just remember you don’t have full years. A lot of months are missing.”
“I’ll take a look anyway.”
Hezekiah left two hours later with no more information then he had when he walked in the door. “Still got a few years to get through.”
“Why are you so interested?” I put on my coat.
“Ah, I don’t know. It might all be for naught.”
I ran into Ivy Slocum on the way home that evening. She was standing on her porch holding a bowl of dog food.
“That Mildred sure has her sights set on that dog of mine,” she said. “I was hoping to lure him home with this, but he gets tastier meals trampin’ through town than I can give him at home.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I saw him not too long ago with a steak in his mouth.”
“I haven’t seen him in a whole day now. Going on three. You don’t think Mildred caught him?”
“Nah, she told me she had him once, but he escaped.”
“Good old dog,” Ivy said. “He's a smart one.”
“Must be. He escaped from the back of her cruiser.”
We had a good laugh, and I headed toward home by way of the Full Moon. I felt nervous. Friday was only a day away, and I still wasn’t sure I really wanted to go out with Zeb even though I had agreed. I thought a moment about running into the café and canceling with him, but Jasper York distracted me.
“I nabbed me seven Nazis, Colonel. I’ll be taking them in.”
“Good man, Sergeant York.” I saluted and kept walking.
Harriett pulled up in her Buick. “There you are, Jasper,” she yelled out the window. “I went by to check on you, and you were nowhere to be found.”
She stepped out of the car and grabbed Jasper by the elbow, knocking over his walker. “I’m sorry.” She picked it up. “Let's go home before you really get into trouble.”
“You’re a nice lady, Mrs. Lincoln,” he said.
“Criminy,” said Harriett, “now we’re back in the Civil War.”
I found Agnes asleep with her Bible open on her chest. I closed it and set it on her table but not before noticing she had been reading the Psalms again. Agnes always went to Psalms when she was feeling a little off.
Her eyelids suddenly popped open like they were on springs. “Griselda. When did you get home?”
“Just a moment ago. You fell asleep reading your King James.”
“I’m hungry,” she said, sounding annoyed. “Hezekiah left early without giving me my second lunch. I tried to make it myself but I got so dogged tired, Griselda.”
“You have been getting more tired lately. You feeling all right? Should I have Doc come take a look at—”
“Oh, for goodness sakes don’t call him. I’m fine. Just tired. Not sleeping real well.”
“I guess we all have times like that. I’ll go get you some supper.”
“Ivy brought a beef potpie when she come over today for prayer.”
“Oh, I saw her and she didn’t say anything.”
“Imagine that, asking me to pray for that dumb mutt of hers.”
“Did you?”
“Sure did. Prayed for him to be swifter than lightning and to keep clear of that Mildred Blessing.”
“That's my sister. Good for you.”
After we ate Ivy's delicious stew—she made it with just a few niblets of corn thrown in and the most delicate crust ever—we watched the news. It occurred to me that Agnes had been awful quiet all evening and only ate a few M&Ms.
“The season is turning,” I said, hoping to get her talking. “I saw a crocus today—a purple one on Ivy's lawn.”
“That's nice.”
“And the forsythia out front are turning yellow. You know, they have that early spring look.”
My mother loved forsythia. She watched and waited every year for the pretty, little yellow buds to open, a sure sign of spring, renewal, and hope. As long as the forsythia bloomed all seemed right with the world. Once they had been open a day or two, Mama would cut a few branches and bring them into the house to make wonderful, wild sprays of color. I continued the tradition and looked forward to bringing that little bit of sunshine inside for Agnes.
“Agnes,” I said, sitting on the rocker, “are you all right? I mean you haven’t seemed yourself for a couple of days.”
She squirmed, and I watched her leg cramp. “Help me, Griselda, another cramp.”
“This is getting silly.” I pulled her leg as straight as I could and stopped when her knee popped. “I’m gonna have Doc come take a look at you.”
“Don’t you dare. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll make my own decisions about things.”
“Then maybe it would help if you took one of those sedatives he prescribed after your last big asthma attack.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.”
We watched television the rest of the night and went to bed after the eleven o’clock news. The news was never very good in those days—all about the Vietnam War and President Nixon's troubles. I’ll tell you, there were days when I thought for sure Jesus was about to split the skies and scoop us all up into heaven. I tucked Agnes in for the night and kissed her cheek like I always did.
“Take your pill?”
“Yes, Griselda.”
“Good. I hope you sleep tonight.”
Finally, I crawled into bed, and Arthur curled up at my feet. I read for a few minutes but my eyes grew so tired I could barely get through a chapter. As I turned off the light and closed my eyes, my thoughts turned to God and I asked him to watch over Agnes and help her rest. Only the Lord knew why she was troubled.
15
Friday came and Agnes didn’t seem much better. She was still quiet and not quite herself. I had made arrangements for Vidalia to stay with her while I was out with Zeb. As I dressed, I wondered if I should cancel.
“What do you think, Arthur?” He was perched on the sill watching the birds.
I chose a pair of tan, corduroy pants that I hadn’t worn in a very long time and a brown, cable-knit sweater. Not exactly what Olivia would have worn, but for me it was high fashion. I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and looked in the mirror. I dropped my hair and it fell straight and lifeless like strands of silk. I snapped in a silver barrette with two tiny faux pearls on one side of my head, but it looked out of place. I snapped another barrette on the other side, but that just made it look like I wanted to appear younger than I was. Finally, I fell back on the old reliable ponytail that I secured with a green rubber band.
Arthur mewled and stretched. I patted his head and held him like I always did. He purred in my arms. I glanced out the window in time to see a pheasant strut out from the high grass.
“Look at that, Arthur. Isn’t he beautiful?” The bird walked toward the black fire circle but carefully avoided it. “That bird knows where life is. He isn’t ev
en touching the scorched ground.”
No longer interested in the pheasant or me, Arthur leaped to the bed, leaving orange and white hairs on my sweater.
“Gee, thanks.” I brushed them off and headed downstairs where Agnes was watching the six o’clock news and munching cheese doodles.
“Zeb will be here in a few minutes, Agnes. We’re going to the 7:40 show. Can I get you something before I leave?”
“No.” She barely looked at me and kept watching the TV like something had totally absorbed her attention.
“Really? Nothing? You don’t want a sandwich, or some ice cream? Anything?”
“I said no, Griselda. I got my cheese doodles. It's all I want.”
“Are you mad at me for going out?”
She shook her head. “No. Go. Have fun. I’ll be all right. It will be nice to spend some time with Vidalia.”
Still, something didn’t set right in my gut. “Okay, I’ll set up the Scrabble board for you guys.”
Agnes was quite a good Scrabble player. She often rendered her opponent unable to make a decent word unless it left her the triple-word squares.
Vidalia let herself in. “Hey, ya’ll. It's Vidalia.”
“Hey,” Agnes called, “come on in. Griselda is about to leave.”
Vidalia dropped her lime-colored coat on the sofa. She looked comfortable in jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt with PENN STATE printed on it.
“There's fresh tuna salad in the fridge,” I said, “if she gets hungry, and we always have pie and ice cream.”
“That's fine,” Vidalia said, “we’ll be just fine.” Then she smiled at Agnes.
I motioned for Vidalia to follow me into the kitchen. “Let me show you the containers.”
Vidalia opened the refrigerator. “I know tuna when I see it, Griselda. And when was the last time you changed your baking soda?”
“No, that's not it. I wanted to speak with you alone.”
“Oh, everything okay? You a little nervous about tonight? Afraid he might try to kiss you? There are worse things in life, you know what I mean?”
I felt my eyebrows arch. “No. It's got nothing to do with Zeb. I’m a little worried about Agnes. She hasn’t been herself lately—kind of quiet and tired. Says she's not been sleeping well but she won’t tell me what's bothering her.”
