Prayers of Agnes Sparrow

by Joyce Magnin

  “Griselda, on your way back could you grab a sack of Fritos.”

  “Don’t think we have any.”

  “Look anyway, and if not, see if there's any chips at all … any will do.”

  Hezekiah sat in the rocker and pulled the TV tray close, and I placed his lunch in front of him. “Thanks, looks good,” he said, and then he proceeded to explain his garage findings to Agnes.

  “Don’t want to put new wine in old skins,” Agnes said.

  Hezekiah looked at her with a screwed-up face. “I ain’t talking about wine, Agnes. I just think it's dumb to put new shingles on old wood.”

  Agnes smiled. “I was making a Bible reference.”

  Hezekiah finished his sandwich and chips and went back to work, still chewing on what Agnes said.

  “Got many visitors this afternoon, Agnes?” I asked as I gathered dishes and napkins.

  “No, not really. It feels so odd too. Seems like since Cora died and Studebaker had that sign trouble and poor old Hezekiah is still waiting on his miracle, folks are coming around less and less.”

  “Maybe folks haven’t got many troubles they need to talk about this month.”

  “Now you know that can’t be true,” she said with a swallow. “People are always stewing in troubles. But I got to admit that I’ve been feeling a little bit on the empty side.”

  Agnes snagged her last crust of bread just as I pulled her plate away. She had this peculiar habit of ripping the crust from her white bread and eating it after the sandwich. I never asked why.

  She looked out the window a second or two. “Do you think maybe God is taking folks away from me?”

  “Now why would he do that?”

  “Maybe I just don’t deserve them. Maybe I never did.”

  That was the first time I ever heard Agnes doubt herself.

  “So, what is the deal with Hezekiah?” I asked. “Are you still praying for him?”

  “Everyday … until Cora died.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “Like I said, I just got this emptiness in my heart. I’m afraid—” She took a shaky breath. “Oh, Griselda, I’m afraid I might be losing my touch or something.”

  “Cora was an older woman,” I said. “It was her time. Even you can’t stop time.”

  “I didn’t tell you, but Janeen came by for more prayer for her sister and that scum of a husband of hers. She always leaves feeling lighter, you know, like she has hope, but this last time, she said she was still afraid—afraid for her sister.”

  “Maybe that's because her sister is the one who has to go to God. You can’t be in charge of everybody, Agnes. You can’t pray for the entire world.”

  “Why? Why can’t I, Griselda?”

  I cleaned up our plates and glasses. “Because the world is not your responsibility.”

  “But what about Hezekiah? I’ve been praying for months, and he still says he hasn’t received a miracle. He told me a few days ago that whatever problem he brought to town was still hanging on like a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. He just can’t shake it.”

  “Has he ever told you exactly what he needed?”

  “Nope. Just says it's like a dull ache behind his eyes.”

  Agnes reached for her candy. I carried plates to the kitchen.

  “The Pearly Gates Singers will be here Wednesday,” I said when I got back to the viewing room. “I talked to the pastor and Studebaker. They’re planning to pipe the music right inside the house. You won’t miss a thing.”

  “That's nice, Griselda.” She sighed deeply and held her breath for a moment. “Looks like spring has sprung for sure.” She nodded toward the window. “The mountains are greening up.”

  “Yep, and you’ve got the best view from here.”

  Agnes pushed her blanket off. “Feels warm today. Is it warm outside?”

  “Not too warm but not cold either. Hezekiah was working in shirt sleeves up on the roof.”

  “I think we’re gonna have a hot summer. What do you … think?” She had to force the word out.

  “Oh, I hope not, Agnes. I don’t like really hot weather. It's not good for you, either.”

  I moved her inhalers closer and noticed that her prayer book was on the floor. I picked it up and placed it near her medicine.

  Agnes closed her eyes. “I think I might take a nap.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. I just remembered something I need to tell Hezekiah, anyway.”

  I waited until Agnes got comfortable. Then I went out the back way. Hezekiah was up on the garage roof and chucked a piece of wilted plywood. It sailed through the air and landed with a bang on a growing pile of withered wood.

  “I wanted to let you know I’m heading back to the library, but I need to know something,” I said staring up into the sun.

  “Could you leave the truck? I’ve got to drive over to the lumber yard and get some more plywood.”

  “Yeah, I can walk back. Now, did you get rid of that stuff in the baggie?”

  He tossed a small piece of wood and chuckled. “Yes, Griselda. It ain’t no place it could be found. Cool your heels about it.”

  I watched him for a minute. He was a good man … in spite of the pot.

  Vidalia dropped by the library later that afternoon looking chipper than I’d seen her in a long time.

  “You ain’t gonna believe this,” she said. “I just saw that miserable Eugene Shrapnel pounding a sign into his front yard.”

  “A sign?”

  “Yep. It says, ‘THE END IS NEAR!’ in big red letters.”

  “Oh, my goodness. He's a pip. He's got it stuck in his craw that something bad is happening in town because of Agnes.”

  “Doesn’t he always? Anyway—” Vidalia plopped four books on the counter “—I got good news too. My daughter's coming for a visit with three of the six younguns.”

  “Winifred?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. My best friend was coming home. Sometimes it felt like we shared a mom, the way Vidalia had come alongside me over the years since my own mother died. So in a way it was like hearing that another sister was coming home—a sister I felt I had more in common with than Agnes. Winifred and I were kindred spirits.

  “Yep. Winifred is coming by train this coming Thursday afternoon, says it's easier to travel during the week with little ones. She's going to stay for a few days, Griselda. Boy, I sure have missed her.”

  “That's wonderful! It sure will be good to see her.”

  “I remember how close you two were, yakkin’ all night on the phone, listening to them Beatles up in her room, smoking cigarettes out back.”

  “You knew about that?’

  “Why sure, baby girl. I knew everything.”

  A warm sensation filled me at that moment. “And you never stopped us or said anything?”

  “Nah, I knew you two couldn’t keep it up. And see, neither one of you smokes today.”

  I pushed my glasses onto the bridge of my nose. “What else did you know?”

  “I knew everything I needed to know and the stuff I didn’t, well, it took care of itself. Now I got to get back to business here. My baby is coming home with her babies—the three little ones. The others will be in school.”

  “Six kids all together, right?” I said.

  “Six beautiful ones. I wanted to make sure I returned these books because I have a lot of baking to do and I won’t have time for much reading.”

  I placed her books on the cart to be shelved later. “I was wondering if you might stop by and see Agnes. She's feeling a little down, Vidalia.”

  “I don’t believe I ever heard you or anyone say that Agnes was feeling down—ever.”

  “It is strange, but to use her words, she said she feels empty on the inside. Mostly she's worried that she's lost her praying touch.”

  Vidalia looked at me with that sideways glance she had a habit of when she was thinking. “Come to think of it, I was at Gordon's the other day buying some lace when I heard Janeen yakkin
g it up with Hazel Flatbush. I didn’t think much of it at the time, you understand, or I would have said something.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She was complaining that she went to see your sister and Agnes prayed but Janeen didn’t receive a blessing. Then Hazel said she felt the same thing the last time she saw Agnes.”

  “Really? I don’t like that folks are talking about her. She's not a gumball machine spitting out prizes, you know.”

  “I know, but they seemed awful—what's the word?”

  “Awful works for me.”

  “No, they seemed … it's a word that means afraid, but kind of angry at the same time. Maybe there ain’t no word for it, but you know what I mean. Like pouting children who didn’t get their way.”

  “Oh, really. That makes me angry because Agnes is not here for folks to count on all the time. Folks got to make their own miracles sometimes.”

  “I hear that, Griselda. Speaking of the market, I got to go buy some chocolate chips. I’m going to make those Toll House cookies on the back of the bag.”

  Vidalia opened the door.

  “Bye-bye, Vidalia. Have a good day.”

  She took a step or two, stopped, and turned around. “Sulking,” she said. “That's what those two women were doing. They were sulking like disappointed children.”

  On my way home that day I ran into Studebaker. He was washing his car. The air was warm, but not warm enough to be outside with water in my opinion.

  “You don’t want to get all wet,” I said. “You’ll catch a cold.”

  “I’ll be fine. I was just up the road with Fred and Nate Kincaid hanging the sign. Have you seen it?”

  “You mean you guys put it up already?”

  “Just a few bolts. Tricky part was getting it level. It took two men to hold her and one to tighten the bolts.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get out there to see it I’m sure.”

  “It's a beut. Dabs Lemon took some pictures. Be in tomorrow's news.”

  “Oh, goody. I’ll see it then.”

  I took a few steps and Studebaker stopped me. “I just want you to know that I don’t believe what the others are saying.”

  “Saying? About what?”

  “About Agnes. I heard talk down at the Full Moon that Agnes has lost her powers or something.”

  “Powers? Agnes never had any powers.”

  “Lots of folks in town believe she does, and they’re saying her prayers aren’t getting answered.”

  “Ever occur to people that sometimes the answer is no.”

  He dropped his sponge in a yellow bucket of soapy water and picked up the hose. “I’m still just as proud as a peacock of her.”

  Hezekiah was gone when I got home, probably off with Olivia. Agnes was watching the early news and chewing on pie. I flopped onto the sofa with a thud and a sigh. It had been a long day.

  “Mildred stopped by with pie,” Agnes said. “Says she can’t eat a whole pie every week.”

  “Don’t fill up on pie,” I said. “I’ll start dinner.”

  “Don’t you want to hear why Mildred stopped in?”

  “Not especially.” I cracked my neck.

  “She said I had to sign a permit to have a speaker set up and wires draped across the street. Something about ordinances and traffic and such.”

  “So, we’ll get a permit. I’ll see Boris tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like it. We never needed a permit before.”

  “Times are changing, Agnes.”

  “I don’t like it, Griselda. Not one bit. Used to be a person could do what they wanted around here without folks looking so close, you know?”

  “It's just a permit. It's not like the Gestapo is marching into town.”

  “And I say it's just a wire stretched across the street. What's the big deal?”

  “It's not a big deal. You’re making it a big deal, and besides you don’t have to do anything, Agnes. I’m the one who has to sign a permit for you.”

  Agnes's forehead wrinkled. “Why are you so grumpy, Griselda? No need to treat me mean.”

  “I am not grumpy. I just don’t understand the way you’ve been acting lately. It makes me uneasy.”

  That whole evening continued to tighten like a rubber band until I thought it might break. Agnes and I watched television for a little while, mostly in silence, until I finally decided to call it a night. “I’m tired. Think I’ll get into bed and read a while.”

  “Don’t you want to watch the news?”

  “No. Not tonight. Good night, Agnes.”

  She just grunted and turned back toward the TV.

  21

  Early Wednesday morning Ruth pounded on the front door as I was just about to fix coffee.

  “Oh, Griselda, I am just as tickled plum pink as I can get. Tonight's the night I’ve been waiting for—oh glory, seems my whole life.”

  I grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “I expected you to come by, Ruth, but this early?”

  “What time is it?”

  “It's not even six-thirty.”

  “I’m sorry. I hardly slept a wink I’m so excited.”

  Ruth made her way into the viewing room. “Morning, Agnes.”

  Agnes yawned and stretched. I could see from her scowl that she was hurting this morning. I helped her straighten both legs and untangle her nightgown. “My knees are telling me it's gonna rain today.”

  “Don’t say that, Agnes.” Ruth moved closer and helped tug on Agnes's gown. “It can’t rain on the Pearly Gates.”

  Agnes shot me a glance.

  “I was just about to fix breakfast, Ruth. Join us?”

  “Oh, glory, yes. I’m starved this morning. I’ll help.”

  “First, I need to get Agnes into a new housedress before I get started.”

  “That's all right by me, Griselda. What say I get some coffee percolating while you take care of all that?”

  Ruth turned toward the kitchen and then doubled back. “Oh, Agnes, I wanted to tell you that I don’t believe what folks are saying about you.”

  “Ruth,” I said, “it's not the best time to bring that up.”

  “Bring what up?” Agnes asked.

  We pulled her to her feet. She was stiff that morning—stiff and creaky. It was like moving a hippo through mud with a shoestring for a leash.

  “I just wanted her to know,” Ruth said.

  “Know what?” Agnes asked.

  “I didn’t want to tell you Agnes,” I said, “but you were right about folks feeling like something has started to go wrong.”

  Ruth helped me steady Agnes and said, “Some people, I’m not saying who, but her initials are Janeen Sturgis, claims you lost your powers.”

  Agnes plopped back down just when I had a good grip on her and situated her walker.

  “I’m sorry, Griselda,” she said. “But I just couldn’t get steady enough.”

  “Don’t worry about what Ruth said. People are just being dumb, Agnes. Real dumb.”

  “But they’re right. I haven’t been able to pray for a week now.”

  “A week?” Ruth grabbed her left arm while I grabbed under her right. “You just wait until you hear the Pearly Gates. They’ll get that praying electric of yours back on. You’ll be okay. You just burned out a bulb is all.”

  Good old, Ruth. She had a way of bringing smiles where frowns had hold.

  “One, two, three, lift,” I said. “Come on, Agnes, you’ve got to help too.”

  I wrestled Agnes into a fresh dress and soon smelled coffee percolating. Ruth, Agnes, and I enjoyed French toast and eggs with sausage before Vidalia came by to check on Agnes. Even with all the excitement of Winifred's visit, Vidalia still made room in her heart for Agnes.

  “You’re coming to the concert tonight, ain’t you, Vidalia?” Ruth asked. She poured coffee.

  “Now ain’t that a silly question. I wouldn’t miss it,” she said. Then she took hold of Agnes's hand. “How are you, dear? I heard you were
feeling under a bit of a spiritual dark cloud these days.”

  Agnes sighed. “I guess you could say that, Vidalia. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  Vidalia adjusted her little hat. It wasn’t much more than a ring of faded, yellow daffodil petals with a breezy veil covering—perfect for a spring day.

  “Your praying spirit will come back,” she said. “Wait and see, Agnes. Wait and see what God can do.”

  By three o’clock Studebaker, Boris, Fred Haskell, and Pastor Speedwell had a speaker system set up with wires strung across the street and a speaker sitting on the floor near our radiator.

  “I think that will be close enough,” Stu said. “Don’t want to blast you out of bed tonight.”

  “Oh, no danger of that happening, Stu,” Agnes said. “It would take a lot more than that to blast me out of anything.”

  By four the Pearly Gates Singers rolled into town in a big, black bus. “ARE YOU READY FOR THE PEARLY GATES?” was emblazoned on the side of the bus in the biggest gold letters I had ever seen.

  Under their name was a picture of heaven's pearly gates, opened partway and surrounded by clouds. It was a sight to behold as that huge, long bus pulled up outside the church.

  “Look at that, Griselda,” Agnes called. I was in the laundry room shoving sheets into the washer. “The Pearly Gates Singers are here.”

  Okay, I will confess that my heart went pitty-pat, and I felt a little bit of joy in my heart when she called me. It had been ages since anything that exciting had happened in Bright's Pond, outside of the miracles and our potlucks. I stood at our window as the bus rolled to a jerking stop.

  “Look at that, Agnes, the Pearly Gates are right outside our house.”

  “Go greet them,” she said. “Shake their hands. And explain about the wires and all in case they’re wondering what the heck is going on.”

  I was no sooner across the street and standing outside their bus door when Ruth and Studebaker, Pastor and Darcy Speedwell, Boris, and Jasper York gathered. Ruth was jumping up and down trying to get a look through the darkened windows.

  She took a huge breath as the doors opened. The driver nodded, and then one by one the four Pearly Gates, dressed in gold suits with white shirts, white shoes, and no ties, walked down the bus steps and stood on Bright's Pond soil.