Good Heavens

by Margaret A. Graham

  “That’s a lie,” Wilma snapped.

  Albert was as cool as a cucumber. “Be that as it may, whatever your conflict, reconciliation is a two-way street. When we are wronged, we must have a readiness to publicly forgive the moment we are asked to forgive. But to grant forgiveness without repentance destroys all hope for reconciliation.”

  Linda didn’t like what she was hearing. “That’s not what a preacher told my mom. Every time my dad beat the stuffin’ out of her, the preacher said she must forgive him, and she did. I don’t care what anybody says, you gotta forgive everybody if you believe the Bible like you say you do.”

  Albert did not argue with her. “Sometimes it is hard to love a person who has wronged us, but Christ loved us when we were still sinners and doing him wrong every day. Loving isn’t easy. It means we keep no record of the wrongs. Only Christ can give us his kind of love—Calvary love. It always helps to remember that Jesus died for the person who does us wrong, as well as for us. Let us ask the Lord to give us that kind of love.”

  I had heard that same explanation of forgiveness from Pastor Osborne, but not the Calvary love part. As Albert was praying, I asked the Lord to give me Calvary love for Linda and for Ursula.

  Well, I didn’t feel much different after we prayed. I sat there thinking about how I had thought Ursula was beginning to change, but then I’d seen her at her worst. This business with Portia had set back any love I had for her a hundred years.

  After the class was over, Albert waited until everyone had left the room before he asked me, “Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Oh yes.”

  I went back to work in the garage. Albert’s lesson had lowered the steam somewhat, but Linda was still sticking close to me. Portia was on my mind. She must be nearly home by now.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when Ursula sent for me. As I went up to the office, Linda dogged my heels. “It’s Portia’s mother,” Ursula said as she handed me the phone.

  That poor woman could hardly talk for crying, she was so happy. She kept thanking me and thanking the Lord that Portia was back home safely. I didn’t get to speak to Portia, though, since her mother was calling from work.

  Well, that helped me, but it still stuck in my craw that Linda was getting away with this. Linda had really pulled the wool over Ursula’s eyes, and she would keep on causing trouble. When I left to go back outside, Linda stayed in the office with Ursula. I just knew they’d rehash everything Albert had taught and do their best to pick it apart.

  After I had left the office, Brenda asked if it wasn’t time to do my hair. “Melba and I will have to start supper before long.” They all knew I was going out, but how they knew, I’ll never know. There must be a Priscilla Home satellite that beams information straight to their ears. I looked at my watch and figured it wouldn’t hurt to get my hair done and over with so I could take my time getting ready. “I’ll go up and take a shower, then I’ll meet you on the third floor.”

  Passing the office door, I saw Linda was still in there with Ursula. They were drinking coffee, and I overheard Linda say, “She’s got a date with Mr. Ringstaff.”

  Well, I didn’t care that she knew. In fact, I was glad.

  While in the shower I could hear Lenora playing the piano in the parlor. I shampooed my hair and was toweling it dry as I went upstairs. All the girls had gathered around to watch. “Good heavens, don’t you have anything better to do than look after me?”

  “No, we got nothing better to do than to see to it you look like the Queen of Sheba when you walk out our door,” Melba said. “I’m gonna do your nails.”

  “My nails? I have never in my life went to a beauty parlor for a nail job. What’s your charge?”

  “A blow by blow report when you come home.”

  I laughed. “I can’t promise that.”

  Those girls sat around on the third floor eating potato chips and kidding around while my hair was getting blow-dried, teased, styled, and sprayed. Brenda handed me a mirror to look at her handiwork and, believe me, whatever she did made me look like one of them “Golden Girls” on TV.

  Next I was in for the nail job. “Good grief, Miss E., you got the hands of a scrub woman,” Melba told me. “I’m gonna put your hands in this dish detergent to soak while we pick out the polish. What are you gonna wear?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something blue.”

  They were making such a fuss over me it made me nervous, but I went along with whatever they wanted to do because I did need to look my best.

  When Melba was finally done, I did my thank-yous and started downstairs, but the whole crowd came with me. I knew Ursula wouldn’t like them gathering in my room, but I didn’t care. They flopped all over the bed and floor. Angela picked up my little yellow bird and asked if Mr. Ringstaff gave it to me. I laughed. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out!”

  “I know he did. I saw him buying it in the gift shop.” I changed the subject. “Now, what do you think I should wear?”

  That’s all they needed—Evelyn and Nancy started pawing through the clothes in my closet. They picked one outfit after another, holding them up for approval. Finally they all settled on a bright blue suit and sporty looking blouse. Once they decided, I went in the bathroom and dressed.

  When I came back, I asked, “Well, how do I look?”

  There was not a word, just a murmur going around the room. “The outfit is all right,” Melba said, “but you got to wear it right. See here, Miss E., let me pull that collar up in back and fix it in front.” She unbuttoned the top button on my blouse, fixed the collar, and said, “There. Now that’s smart looking.”

  Approval was not forthcoming. Brenda, looking me over, said, “Something’s not right.”

  “It’s her shoulder pads,” somebody said, so Brenda reached inside my blouse and straightened them. “Now let’s see about that belt. You’ve got it too loose, Miss E.” She pulled it in two full notches. “Now you’ve got a waistline.”

  “Her pantyhose don’t match that blue suit,” somebody said. “You got some lighter ones?”

  I fished in my stocking drawer to find a pair but couldn’t find any. Before I realized she had left the room, Nancy was back with a pair of her own. “Try these, Miss E.”

  I put them on, and I could see they made a big difference. Then those angels of mercy lit in to making up my face. They gave me the works—a moisturizer, then a foundation, blush, eyebrow pencil, even an eye-liner. I felt silly letting them do all that—even putting my lipstick on for me.

  “Now for your joools,” Wilma said. “She’s got nice earrings—see what else she’s got.” The girls searched my jewelry box, tried several necklaces and pins to go with the earrings. Once they were satisfied, they told me to look in my full-length mirror. I felt real silly, but when I looked, I hardly recognized myself I looked so good!

  By the time I was all turned out, the girls had to get ready for their supper, so I went downstairs in the day room to wait for Albert. Lenora finished playing whatever it was she was playing, and I guess she went upstairs to get ready for supper.

  Albert came early, and he looked like a million dollars. “Esmeralda,” he said, “you look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I did begin to feel like the Queen of Sheba the way he offered me his arm and escorted me to the car. There’s something about the feel of a man’s suit coat that’s nice. I can’t explain it. I guess I noticed it because I had not been in the company of any man in this way since before Bud went to war.

  Driving down the Old Turnpike with his kind of music playing softly on the radio was as good as it gets. I was so used to sitting in the driver’s seat, I enjoyed sitting back and letting him drive. The way he handled the car on that winding road—his hands firm on the wheel—well, it made me feel good.

  “We’re going to that nice little French restaurant beside the river. Have you been there?”

  “No,” I said. To tell the truth, I’d never heard of
it.

  “It’s quiet and the cuisine—the food—is especially good. This restaurant isn’t crowded at this hour, and I’ve reserved a table in the corner where we can be alone and talk freely.”

  I don’t know what made me think about the W.W.s, but something did. Wait until they hear this! It’s enough to knock the socks off all of them. And Beatrice—she’ll be so happy for me.

  “Esmeralda, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time.”

  He has the nicest voice. I bet he sings.

  “What I have to say is very important to me, and I need answers that only you can give.”

  Good heavens, this can’t be what I’m thinking—can it?

  We pulled up in the parking lot. I had to remind myself not to go hopping out the car but wait for him to come around and open the door for me.

  The restaurant was really nice—none of that loud noise you get in the diner, just soft light and palm plants. A man in a tux met us and led us to our table—held my chair for me to sit down then pushed me forward. There were linen tablecloths and napkins folded fancy, lots of heavy silverware, fresh flowers, candles on every table, and soft music playing. Picture windows overlooked a garden of old-fashioned flowers, delphinium, foxglove, and the like, and beyond the garden it was still light enough to see the river and the mountains. I was thinking, Anybody who don’t get romantic in this place must be on life supports!

  The menu was in French, and Albert offered to order for me. He would read off things and ask me what I liked. When he read, “Trout Marguery,” I heard the word “trout,” so I said I’d take that.

  The first thing served was onion soup. The waiter stood over me ready to dump something in my bowl. That frustrated me, so I said no before I realized it was cheese. He kept coming with one thing after another to add, and I said no to all of them. Then he whipped out a big pepper shaker and without asking started grinding pepper over my soup and telling me, “I see, Madam, you do not know the onion soup.”

  I felt my neck getting warm. Nobody ever called me a madam!

  Albert had ordered what he called “Trout Marguery,” but when it came I couldn’t find the fish under all that sauce they had on it. I don’t eat nothing that’s not in plain sight. The plate was full of shrimp, mushrooms, and a kinda round thing I never saw before. I forked it and held it up for Albert to see.

  “What’s this?”

  “Truffles,” he said and smiled. “A subterranean edible fungi of tuber.”

  “You sound like Ursula.”

  He laughed.

  I put the thing back on the edge of my plate. Fungus? I’m not eating that.

  Albert hardly touched his food. “Esmeralda, I can’t keep this to myself any longer. What I have to say may come as a shock to you.”

  My fork was halfway to my mouth, and my heart was going pitty-patty. I set the fork down and managed to smile at him. He only sighed and looked away. “Well, Albert,” I said. “Try me. I’m not easy to shock.”

  He looked back at me and still wasn’t smiling. “Esmeralda, ever since that day on the rock, I have come to realize how lonely I have been since my wife died. During these days since, when I have had the privilege of coming to Priscilla Home to teach the Bible, a certain Scripture has been repeatedly impressed on my mind.”

  “What’s that, Albert?”

  “God said, ‘It is not good for man to dwell alone.’ . . . Increasingly, I have come to realize that, at least in my case, this is true.” He was looking straight at me with those warm, dark eyes melting me to mush. “Esmeralda, sometime I want to take you to my little cottage up there on the hill. It’s a nice place, but without someone to share it with me, it feels as empty as a tomb.”

  The dinner was going to waste—neither one of us was eating. “I’d like that,” I said, trying to keep calm.

  He turned in his chair to face the window. “I just don’t know if this is the Lord’s will.” He fell silent.

  I couldn’t stand the suspense. “If what is the Lord’s will, Albert?”

  He turned back and was looking in my eyes like he wasn’t really seeing me, just thinking. Finally, he took a deep breath, then, seeing me for sure, said, “Esmeralda, I’m afraid I’m in love.”

  I thought my heart would jump out of my throat! “Afraid?” I asked, and almost laughed.

  “Yes, afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid for several reasons. I’m afraid Lenora won’t have me.”

  Lenora? What? Am I hearing right?

  “Oh, I wouldn’t blame her if she turned me down. She’s younger than I am. But I’m also afraid because she has hardly had time to truly overcome her addiction. How much longer should she stay at Priscilla Home? That takes a while, doesn’t it?”

  I could hardly get the words out. “For most it does.” I took a drink of water, and my hand was shaking.

  “You’re the only person I can talk to about this, Esmeralda. Lenora and I have had some long walks together, and on one of those walks, she made a commitment to Christ. Since then I can see a definite change in her. Do you?”

  I had to nod my head.

  “From what I have heard, it was a great step forward when she began playing the piano again. What do you think?”

  “I hardly know what to say.”

  “You have seen other changes in her, haven’t you?”

  “I haven’t been with her very much.” I could only think that if this man knew how hard this was for me, he’d not be putting me through it. “Well, she’s a good piano player,” I added feebly.

  “How long do you think it takes a person to know for sure they have overcome their addiction?”

  “Maybe a year.” I was so choked up I hardly knew what I was saying.

  “Now, that’s what I needed to know. A year, you say?”

  “If they go home and don’t relapse for a year—”

  “You’re not saying Lenora should go back to New York?”

  I wished he wouldn’t ask me all those questions. “If a grad can live the Christian life at home, she can live it anywhere.”

  “Oh, but the New York supper club is anything but an abstinence environment. What Lenora needs is someone to take care of her—someone who loves her the way I do.”

  I couldn’t bear to sit there and listen to all that. “If a body can’t live the Christian life in the place they came from, they can’t live it anywhere.”

  He was taken aback by that. “I see,” he said and pushed his plate aside. “Then you’re saying I should wait a year to propose to Lenora?”

  “I’m not telling you what to do, Albert. You asked my advice, and all I know is what I told you.”

  His face clouded over. “Well, she probably won’t have me anyway.”

  “There’s only one way to find out; ask her.”

  There was not a doubt in my mind but what any woman would jump at the chance to marry him, but I didn’t tell him that. I just wanted to get this thing over with.

  “I guess you’re right . . .” He toyed with his glass. A smile began to spread across his face. “Do you know that overlook on the Parkway, the one with the view that stretches for miles around? That’s the place I’ve picked to propose to her. On the first clear day, when there’s no haze, nothing to cloud the view, we’ll drive up there in the late afternoon. That’s when the sun is setting, the light is soft on the slopes, and the afterglow is showing in the sky. Lenora will love it, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” I was ready to leave that fancy restaurant. “Could we go now?”

  “Dessert?”

  I shook my head.

  “Coffee?”

  When I said no, he called the waiter, paid the check, and we left.

  On the way home he did all the talking. Albert Ringstaff was a happy man.

  24

  All the girls were waiting for me in the day room, gorging on snacks and excited to hear my report. Before anyone could ask, I closed the door behind me and told them, “Girls, i
f you don’t mind, I need to be alone for a while.”

  They stopped eating and stared at me.

  “Cool it, girls,” somebody said. “Give Miss E. some space, she needs some space.”

  I thanked them and went up the stairs. Lenora was in the parlor playing the piano.

  Inside my room, I leaned my back against the door, closed my eyes, and wished I could just crawl in a hole and stay there for the rest of my life. I felt numb. What a fool I’ve made of myself! How could I ever get it in my fool head that Albert Ringstaff would take a second look at me, much less propose marriage?

  I slid down, sat flat on the floor, and pulled off my earrings. Holding them in my hand, I thought of Bud. Whatever in the world would he think of me if he knew what a fool I’ve been?

  That little yellow bird was looking at me from the dresser. I sat looking back at it for some time. Then I got up, picked up the bird, and shut it away in a drawer. As I was standing there, I saw myself in the mirror. The face looking back at me wasn’t mine. It belonged to some old fool that didn’t have the sense God promised a billy goat.

  I took off the necklace, turned the collar down like it was supposed to be, and started unbuttoning my jacket. I didn’t feel like taking another shower—I’d just wash off all that makeup. Numb as I was, I went through the motions of getting ready for bed but knew I wouldn’t sleep, so I sat in the chair. Out of force of habit, I reached for my Bible, then remembered I’d given it to Portia.

  The longer I sat there, the harder it was to hold it all in. Tears rolled down my cheeks, my nose ran, and then—well, then, it all busted loose and I was bawling so hard my whole body shook.

  They say you have to get something like this all out of your system before you can think straight. That may be, but it don’t do much for the ache in the heart. I was hearing the clock ticking for an hour or so before I started coming to my senses.