Prayers of Agnes Sparrow Page 6

  “What's the occasion?” Hezekiah asked.

  “Groundhog Day,” Ruth said. “We always come out to watch Phil.”

  “Phil?” Hezekiah twisted on the stool.

  “Happy Groundhog Day, Hez,” Zeb said as he wiped the counter in front of him. “Coffee?”

  “Sure thing. But what's the big deal? Why's everybody here?”

  “You might say it's a tradition in town.” Zeb grabbed the pot and poured. “Spring is mighty important to these folks.”

  I watched Hezekiah contain what I interpreted as a smirk.

  Zeb had taken a liking to Hezekiah from the first day he met him. It was about three or four days after he started working for Agnes and me. He had just finished replacing a pipe under the kitchen sink, and Agnes said he looked like a man who could use a piece of pie.

  “Why don’t you take him on down to the café,” she said, “and introduce him around?”

  I did. I took Hezekiah on down to the Full Moon, and at first Zeb thought he recognized him—thought maybe they went to summer camp together, but that wasn’t the case. Hezekiah had one of those faces that reminded many people of a loved one far or near. The two men took a shine to one another.

  “Oh, I remember about Phil now. I never knew folks took it so serious. It's just an old wives’ tale.” He looked around at the disgruntled faces of those who overheard. “But it's nice to get together now, ain’t it.”

  “That reminds me,” said Ruth. She pulled my elbow and led me away from the counter and an offending waft of cigarette smoke. “The church potluck is next Friday night,” she whispered. You might have thought she was telling a government secret.

  “Oh, that's right. Well, I’ll make some scalloped potatoes and maybe a ham.”

  Vidalia took my other elbow. “I’ll mix up a mess of something special.”

  “No, that's not it,” Ruth said. “There's always plenty of food. I was wondering if anyone bothered to tell Hezekiah. He hasn’t come to church since he got here and—”

  “Do you want me to invite him?” I asked.

  “Well, you or Agnes. Don’t you think Agnes should do it? I say that because Hezekiah doesn’t seem the church-going type and all, and we’d hate to have him think we were twisting his arm, you know?”

  Vidalia shot me a crooked smile. “I’ll leave you two to chat, but I’ll come by the library later.”

  I winked at her. “I’ll be there around ten or so this morning.”

  “Oh, that's fine. I got to get to the market and the post office. My grandbaby, Jackson, has a birthday coming up and I got a package to send. So I’ll see y’all later.”

  “Aren’t you going to stay and wait for Phil?”

  “No, I just came in for a cup of coffee this morning. Believe it or not, I ran out. That Hezekiah drinks coffee like it's water.”

  Vidalia pulled a knit hat over her ears and went out into the overcast day. The weatherman called for more snow, and from the looks of the clouds I figured it would be arriving soon. Snow had a funny way of creeping over the mountains. It would start out with a slow moving rack of gray clouds, and just when you thought the clouds had passed over, the flakes would start.

  “So how about if you ask Agnes to ask him,” Ruth said.

  “Sure. I’ll tell her this morning. Hezekiah will be by, I’m sure, to do some work.”

  “Oh, that will be just fine.” She turned around and looked in Hezekiah's direction. “I’d ask him myself, but, well, that wouldn’t be proper since we only just met.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Ruth.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you at the potluck then. Oh, and scalloped potatoes will do fine, just fine.”

  The potlucks at Bright's Pond Chapel had a reputation for getting a bit … well, a bit rowdy—rowdy for a small Pocono Mountains town, and I guessed that was why Ruth thought it might make Hezekiah nervous. Pastor Speedwell would often stand up to say “just a few words” and before you knew it, he was off and running, spouting hellfire and damnation as we polished off the cherry cobbler. The Pastor Speedwell who attended church functions was different from the pastor we saw in the pulpit on Sunday. At church functions, Pastor had an easier time letting his hair down. He spoke more from his heart than his notes.

  “You know,” Ruth said, “Hezekiah is such a quiet man and still a stranger. We wouldn’t want to give him the wrong impression.”

  Before I could speak, Zeb turned up the TV as loud as it went. “Here comes Phil,” he said.

  All ears turned toward the TV as the official groundhog handler, who wore a top hat and tails, pulled Phil from his stump. A few seconds later the president of the Groundhog Inner Circle read Phil's prediction. “Six more weeks of winter, there will be.”

  A series of mock groans of disappointment rang out.

  I took hold of Ruth's hand. “You know what? Just ask him yourself,” I said. “We don’t need Agnes to do everything. There's nothing indecent about you asking him. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to come.”

  Ruth seemed pleased and maybe a trifle too excited but she was entitled. It had been a long time since anyone new came to church. Ruth was the official membership coordinator, a duty she discharged with great seriousness. Getting Hezekiah to join the church would be quite a feather in her cap.

  Studebaker moved toward me as the crowd started to thin out.

  “Griselda, I’m glad you’re here. I have something to tell Agnes. Think I could stop by this morning, or does she have other visitations?”

  “I’m not certain, Stu. I left without asking her if she had any appointments this morning.” The protective side of me emerged. “Is there a message I could give her? I’m heading back to the house for a little while. I could save you the bother.”

  Studebaker's eyes widened. He moved close to me, and I could smell coffee on his breath—that nutty, leftover odor. “It's no bother, Griselda. I’ll just follow you back. That way you both can hear my news.”

  “What news, Stu? Don’t tell me the sign is finished already.”

  “Almost. But I want to talk to her about the statue.”

  My stomach tightened. “You still going through with that cockamamie idea?”

  “It's not cockamamie. I got Filby Pruett all signed up to get started. He’ll need to take some pictures—”

  Hezekiah interrupted us. He had a way of appearing and disappearing. He looked good. His hair was growing back, he was clean-shaven, and I thought Vidalia's home cooking was responsible for the sparkle in his eyes. “Are you going back to the house?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Mind if I grab a ride? It's really cold out there.”

  I’m sure the temperature was still below freezing, but that wasn’t unusual for early February. “Sure, Hezekiah, I’ll give you a lift.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Stu said. “Agnes won’t mind me barging in on her.”

  My old Ford pick-up complained, but she started and we were back at the house in a few minutes. Stu pulled up behind us in his baby blue Caddy.

  “I’ll go on in and see what Agnes has planned for me today,” Hezekiah said.

  He walked ahead of me while I waited for Stu to catch up. Hezekiah was inside the house before Stu and I even took three steps. Hezekiah told me he didn’t like the frosty mountain air.

  “He's a nice guy, ain’t he,” Stu said.

  “Hezekiah? Yeah, he's a good egg, I suppose.”

  I opened the door and nearly fell over Hezekiah who was standing in the entryway.

  “Shh,” he said. “I think she's praying.”

  I took a few steps into the house and listened. Sure enough, Agnes was deep in prayer for someone. I heard a cough, and I could tell it wasn’t Agnes.

  “She's in there with someone,” I whispered. “We should just wait until she's finished.”

  The three of us stood like statues.

  “You can come in now,” Agnes called after a minute or so.

  She was with Cora N
ebbish from the café. Zeb had told me she went to see Doc Flaherty, but she said it was just a checkup—nothing serious. That morning, though, she looked a little thinner.

  “Everything all right, Cora?” I asked.

  “Oh, it is now,” she said. “I saw the doctor the other day, and well, he was a little concerned.” Cora smiled in that way that people did when a smile was the last thing they wanted to muster.

  “More than concerned,” Agnes said. She popped some M&Ms. “Tell them, Cora. It's all right.”

  Cora looked at Agnes and sighed. She placed her palms on her knees and leaned a trifle forward in the rocking chair. “Ah, it's nothing, really. That old curmudgeon had the nerve to tell me my heart is giving out. He said that's why I’ve been getting out of breath and feeling so dogged tired of late.”

  “Oh, Cora. I am sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about, Griselda,” Cora said. She took a breath.

  Studebaker touched her shoulder. “You come to the right doctor now.”

  I watched him and Agnes exchange a glance that tightened my stomach.

  Hezekiah stood uncharacteristically quiet.

  “That's right.” Cora's voice was tinged with excitement and nervousness. “Agnes prayed for me.”

  I took a breath and looked at Agnes's expression. “The good Lord will make your heart like new,” she said.

  “Agnes.”

  She put her finger to her lips and shushed me.

  Stu helped Cora with her coat. She slipped a red scarf around her neck. “I best be getting to the café.” She puffed a little.

  “Maybe it would be a good idea to take the day off. Zeb can handle things.”

  “Oh, no, he can’t, he’ll get the decaf mixed up with the regular and all sorts of things will go wrong.” Cora said. “I never missed a day of work, and I am not about to start now. I can’t give in to what the doctor told me.”

  Stu followed her to the door as Hezekiah plopped on the sofa. He stared at Agnes for a moment, and I thought I could read his mind. I knew he was wondering why Cora believed she got her miracle and he was still waiting on his.

  “It will come,” Agnes said. She knew too. “I told you that some miracles take longer. Remember I showed you in the Scriptures where Jesus said that some demons require much prayer and fasting.”

  “I remember, but it's been going on three weeks.”

  “Three weeks is but a blink of an eye in heaven.”

  “You think I ought to start fasting?”

  “Maybe. But ask the good Lord about it first.”

  Agnes grabbed her breakfast plate from the bedside table. There was still a slice of toast and half an orange left.

  “I don’t know,” Hezekiah said, “that's why I come to you. The good Lord and I ain’t been on speaking terms for a dog's age now.”

  “Then that's why you got to start talking to him,” Agnes said. “Maybe he's just waiting until you do. Maybe God's waiting to hear the words come out of your mouth, not mine.”

  “Maybe you should just get about your chores, Hezekiah,” I said.

  “I guess that would be the sensible thing to do.”

  Agnes rubbed her knee.

  “I’ll get some liniment for you,” I said, “and I thought Hezekiah might start in the basement this week. It really needs some cleaning out.”

  “The attic might be the better place,” said Agnes. “I’d love for him to go through all those Christmas decorations and Mama's old things.”

  “Nah, the basement,” I said. I patted Agnes's knee. “He can get to the attic next.”

  I turned my attention to Hezekiah. “There are some boxes in the garage. You’ll need to pack things away—books and such. But make sure you mark the boxes clearly, please. You’ll find a marker in the junk drawer in the kitchen.”

  “You might come across some of our father's equipment that never got sold, and there's stacks of papers and magazines down there,” said Agnes.

  “You mean like funeral stuff?”

  “Sure, embalming tools and what not,” I said. “We got rid of a lot of it over the years, but you might come across a few strange items.”

  Hezekiah hunched his shoulders. “Creepy.”

  “Not really.” Agnes laughed. “If you find anything you aren’t sure of, just drop it in a box and Griselda will go through it another time.” She sucked in a breath. “And probably old rags. Lots of rags with stains and such. Just toss them out to be burned. You can build a fire in the backyard.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Studebaker returned. “Agnes, you know who Filby Pruett is?”

  Agnes twisted her mouth. “Filby Pruett. I remember him. Scrawny fellow. Wore tortoiseshell glasses. Said he came to town to paint in peace and quiet.”

  “That's him. He bought the old Bradley house on Hector Street,” Stu said.

  “Never came to me for prayer, though.” Agnes pushed her head into her pillow.

  “You should see what he did to that house, Agnes,” I said. “He painted it all kinds of wonderful colors—yellow, salmon, blue, even turquoise trim. He hung some pretty strange wind chimes and put odd-looking statues out front. One of them is a giant cement turtle with a rabbit in its mouth.”

  Studebaker patted Agnes's hand. “That's what I came to tell you. Boris and I hired him to make a statue of you, Agnes. We’ll put it right in front of the town hall.”

  Agnes choked on a piece of buttered toast. “Sta … statue?”

  She barely got the word out, and all I could do was stand there and let out the laughter that had come into my belly in one loud snort. “It sounds even sillier today, Studebaker.”

  “There is nothing silly about this idea,” he said. “What with Agnes stuck in the house all the time, it would be like … well, it would be like she was outside, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. It's a way for her to be with us.” He patted Agnes's hand. “It's like you’ll be right there with us at our meetings and town events.”

  “Impossible,” Agnes said. “I don’t want a sign and I certainly don’t want a statue of me out there for all the world to see. Ridiculous. Just ridiculous.”

  “But, Agnes. You’re our hero. Every town has a hero, like Daniel Boone or Winslow Pickett. And they have portraits and statues.”

  “Winslow Pickett was a true hero,” Agnes said. “I’m just a fat woman who prays.” She took a breath and rubbed her stomach. “Just a fat woman who prays.”

  Winslow Pickett was famous in Kulp City, where Studebaker was born, for single-handedly capturing seventy-two Nazis. His statue stands in the center of Kulp City on the spot where he got off the train to a crowd of grateful citizens and a fifty-piece band playing something by Sousa on September 26, 1948. Every child in the mountain region studies about him in the third grade.

  A red glow like the blush of a pomegranate crept into Agnes's face.

  “Think about it, Agnes,” Studebaker pleaded. “Everyone thinks it's a swell idea. Just imagine the comfort it would bring to the town. Folks will get to see you everyday.”

  “Yeah, and the next thing you know, they’ll be laying flowers at her feet and people will travel miles and miles to gaze upon the stone face of Agnes Sparrow.” I had heard about enough at that point and was about to usher Studebaker out when Hezekiah appeared in the subtle, silent manner in which he was accustomed.

  “Sure is a mess down there,” he said. “It’ll take me days to get it cleaned and organized and—” He stopped talking and looked at the three of us like we had broccoli growing out of our ears. “Sorry, looks like I might have barged in on something.”

  “Nothing important,” I said, thankful for the interruption.

  Studebaker made a noise. “Don’t say that, Griselda. It's very important.” Then he pulled his hat over his ears and patted Agnes's hand. “Just think about it, dear. It would mean a lot to the town … your town, Agnes, to all the people you’ve helped. Don’t you see, you’d be doing it for them.”

  Stu lean
ed down and kissed Agnes's fat, red cheek. “I’ll see my own way out.”

  Hezekiah stood at the end of Agnes's bed and reached out his open hand. “I found these odd looking things in the basement. You got a whole box full of them. Look like some kind of weird screws.”

  “Eye caps.” She laughed. “They hold the deceased's eyes closed. Wouldn’t want them popping open during the viewing. That would scare the bejeebers out of a few mourners, don’t you think?”

  Hezekiah went white. “Makes me happy my daddy worked in the sewers. Least that's what my Mama said he did. I never knew for sure since my old man run—” He stopped talking and pocketed the eye caps. “So what's the hubbub with old Studebaker?”

  “Oh, he's talking about having that artist fellow make a statue of Agnes and put in front of the town hall.”

  “No kidding,” he said. “That's a little silly, don’t you think?”

  Agnes took a hard, raspy breath. “More than silly. Plain ridiculous.”

  Hezekiah reached his hands into his back pockets and looked out the window a second. “But you know, Agnes, you are the most important citizen here in Bright's Pond. Don’t all towns have statues of their most important citizens?”

  “But this is different.” I wanted to pull Hezekiah away and give him a piece of my mind, but I knew that would upset Agnes.

  “I’m not so important,” Agnes said in a whisper, “far from it, in fact.” She closed her eyes and settled back on her pillows. “How about a bowl of soup? Chicken noodle if you got it, Griselda, and a piece of that Full Moon pie.”

  “I could use a slice of that pie myself,” Hezekiah said following me into the kitchen. “Nothing like lemon meringue to take your mind off of eye caps and statues.”

  He stood by the cellar door. “I noticed you got a major problem brewing down there. Think you better take a look.”

  My brows wrinkled. “Problem? What are you talking about?”

  Hezekiah started down the steps. “Come on, and I’ll show you.”

  “I’ll just be a minute,” I called to Agnes. “Hezekiah wants to show me something in the basement.”