Prayers of Agnes Sparrow (27 page)

“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.”

B
y 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.

“My goodness gracious,” Ruth said. She grabbed my sleeve. I thought she might faint dead away. “They’re—they’re all Negroes.”

“Black, Ruth. They’re black, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

She took another breath. “Well no. I just assumed that they were like the rest of us.”

“They are like us. Now don’t go embarrassing yourself or the town.”

I recognized Ezekiel Moses Ramstead right off from a record album. He played piano and guitar.

Boris pushed his way through the growing crowd. He reached out his hand to the biggest of the four men.

“Welcome, welcome to Bright's Pond.”

“My name is Marvin Smith,” the man said. His voice was low and booming like it had come out of a cave. “And this is Abel Washington.”

Abel stepped forward. “Groovy.” Then he made the peace sign and stepped back.

Ruth gasped for air. “Are they Communists too?”

“No, now settle down, Ruth. They’re musicians.”

Marvin put his hand on the drummer's shoulder. “And this is Sticks Monroe. He plays the drums.” Sticks didn’t say a word, smile, or move.

Marvin introduced the last of the quartet. “Ezekiel Moses Ramstead, our piano player.” All Ezekiel said was, “Your town is out of sight, man.”

Boris shook all their hands.

“I have a question, man,” said Marvin. “Who's this Agnes Sparrow chick? We saw that sign coming over the hill.”

Studebaker, who had just arrived, said, “She's our miracle maker. Agnes has made more miracles come true in Bright's Pond than anyone, anywhere.”

“Even Jesus?” Sticks said.

“Well … n . . no, of course not,” Stu stammered. “But plenty right here.”

Janeen moved forward and leaned into the four men. “But it seems that Agnes might be losing her connection.”

I thought Marvin was going to bust his shirt buttons he laughed so hard.

“Then why you got a sign out there advertising her?”

Boris and Stu looked like they couldn’t figure out if it was more important to defend Agnes and their sign or forget about it and get the singers into the church. They chose the church.

I turned to Ruth, who was still paralyzed by the sight of the Pearly Gates. “Ruth, how come you didn’t say hello?”

She reached out a little, leather-bound book. “Autograph?”

But it was too late. Boris and Stu had already shepherded the men away from the fans and into the church.

I helped Ruth across the street into our house. “Now you get a grip on yourself, Ruth. They’re just men like any other.”

“Glory, no,” Ruth said. “They’re the Pearly Gates.” She took a breath. “I couldn’t even say hello.”

“You will tonight. Now come on in for tea and a slice of pineapple upside-down cake.”

“I saw the whole thing,” Agnes said. “That Marvin is a big man now, isn’t he?”

“You know about him?” Ruth asked.

Agnes pointed to our HiFi. “Got one of their albums in there. Haven’t played it in a long time, but it has their pictures on it. ’Course they were younger when that record came out.”

“I never bought any records,” Ruth said. “We never had a HiFi so I didn’t see the point.”

Ruth opened the side of the mahogany-colored cabinet. “Right on top. Yep, that's them.” She ran her finger along the side and the album jacket opened revealing more photos of the group. “Look at that. They’re black as coal.”

“Ruth,” I said, “you’ve got to get over that.”

“Well, it ain’t like I mind. I mean we got Vidalia, and I love her to pieces. I don’t even think about her being colored anymore. I just didn’t know it about the Pearly Gates. I mean, wouldn’t you think a group with the word
pearl
in their name would be white?”

“Oh, Ruth, come help me make tea.”

“L
ookie there,” Agnes said at about five after six. “A line is forming. Looks like a hundred people already.”

“Really?” I looked out our window, and sure enough there was a line that stretched clear down to the Sturgis's house. I recognized most of the people from church or around town but there were some I didn’t.

“Looks like Vera Krug's advertising paid off. I do believe I see some out-of-towners.”

“Well, it ain’t every day a singing group like the Pearly Gates makes it up the mountain. They’d rather play the big places in Wilkes-Barre and Scranton.”

“Maybe we better get going,” Ruth said. “I want a good seat.”

“Okay, but let me get Agnes settled. Hey, has anyone seen Hezekiah?”

“Not since earlier,” Agnes said. “Was he planning on going to the concert?”

“Didn’t say.”

Agnes scratched between the folds of skin on her arm.

“I told you not to do that. Doc said you’ll get infections. I’ll put some talc in there before I go.”

“And the backs of my knees,” Agnes said.

The doorbell rang and Ruth went to answer it while I took care of Agnes's itchy spots.

“It's Vidalia,” Ruth called.

“I thought we’d sit together,” Vidalia said. “I looked for you in line.”

“We were here,” Ruth said.

“I can see that.” Vidalia looked stunning in a yellow pants suit with a baby blue blouse. She chose a funky hat for the occasion—a floppy thing with a wide bill that made her look a little younger.

“You gals ready?” she asked.

“Just a couple more minutes,” I said.

Ruth refilled the candy jar while I tucked Agnes in.

“All set,” I said. “Let's go.”

The doorbell rang again.

It was Pastor Speedwell and his skinny little wife Darcy, who looked like she had just been blown around in a windstorm. She stared at Agnes like she was looking at a sideshow freak. Darcy was one of the few folks in town who had never gotten over Agnes's size.

Pastor, who was carrying his Bible tucked under his arm, said, “I just came by to tell you that we’ll miss you at the concert tonight, Sister Agnes.”

“It's going to be a real hootenanny,” Darcy said, and I knew in that moment Darcy Speedwell was in for a surprise.

“Ever hear them?” Agnes asked, looking at Darcy.

“No, but Milton told me they’re real good. They sing all them old-time gospel songs and Nee-gra spirituals. I ain’t never heard a Nee-gra spiritual before.”

My toes curled. “You’re in for a treat, Darcy. A real treat.”

Ruth, who had gone to use the second-floor bathroom, came back.

“Well, hello, Pastor,” she said. She smiled at Darcy.

“Hello, Ruth. I’m glad you’re here,” Pastor said. “I wanted to thank you for making it possible for the Pearly Gates Singers to come to our church.”

“You’re as welcome as a dandelion in winter,” she said. “I can hardly believe it myself. That Rassie Harper sure came through for us even if the radio show turned out to be—” she glanced at Agnes and then me “—well, not what we expected.”

Pastor took a step closer to Agnes. “Now, how are you? Word around town is that you might be feeling a little … off.”

Agnes coughed. “I’m fine, Pastor. Just fine.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Pastor nodded to his wife, and she walked to the door like a trained dog.

“Oh, don’t you worry about tickets, Griselda.” Pastor said. “Just come around the back. I made sure the front row was roped off for you and Ruth.”

“And Vidalia,” Ruth said. “And Hezekiah, if he's coming.”

“Of course.” Pastor took Agnes's hand. “God bless you, sister.”

“Thank you.”

After Pastor Speedwell and Darcy left, I made sure Agnes was comfortable and had everything she wanted and needed for the next hour or so. “You sure it's okay if I go? I know you don’t like me leaving you alone.”

“I think I’ll be fine. It's such a special occasion.”

“I’ll come home right after.”

I scrunched up her favorite pillow and crammed it behind her neck, and then I switched on the speaker the way Studebaker showed me. We could already hear the noise from the crowd gathering at the church.

“Hear that?” Ruth said. “It sounds like a full house.”

V
idalia, Ruth, and I entered through the back door and filed through Pastor Speedwell's study. Sure enough the entire front row on the left side was empty. I looked around for Hezekiah, but I didn’t see him.

“I wonder where he could be?” I said it out loud even though I didn’t mean too.

“Who?” Vidalia asked.

“Hezekiah. I thought he would come.”

“Me, too,” Ruth said. “I saw him at the Full Moon, and he said he would come if he could.”

Hezekiah had been missing just about everything since he started running with Olivia, missing church and leaving work a little early, even though we didn’t keep him to a schedule.

I spied Zeb making his way to the front.

“Can I sit with you, ladies?”

“Sure,” Ruth said. Then she whispered to me. “I bet he's missing Cora tonight.”

Pastor Speedwell looked uncomfortable on the raised platform that night. His podium had been removed to make way for the group and their instruments. It was like watching a man with no arms try to climb a ladder.

But after some stammering and awkward glances he got to the point. “The Bible says we are to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. And from what I hear about these folks about to perform, that's just what we’re gonna do. Let's welcome the Pearly Gates Singers.”

A long round of applause with some folks on their feet, rang out as the men entered from the side. I glanced at Sheila Spiney who would ordinarily be at the piano. She detested any applause in church, believing that it took the glory away from God. This time was no exception if her puckered, sour puss meant anything.