Read Prayers of Agnes Sparrow for Free Online

Thank you very much. I’ll just go on down to that diner you mentioned and get me a cup of hot coffee. A man could use a cup of hot coffee after walking so far.”
    “Fine. It's about three blocks that way.” I pointed toward the town hall. “You can’t miss it. There's a big full moon hanging over it.”
    I crossed the street but kept turning to make sure he didn’t head for the house. Agnes would let him in for sure. She never turned anyone away.
    That morning my walk to the library was tinged with worry. I didn’t like the notion of people coming from out of town to see Agnes.
    I loved the library. I always did, ever since I learned to read. My mother would take me every Saturday to pick out a new book. I fell in love with stories like other kids fell for sports or ballet. I could get lost inside a story and dream and consider the possibilities.
    The building itself was unique for a library—a converted old Victorian, older than the funeral home, with miles of gingerbread, arches, and porches that created interesting spaces for reading and dreaming. In 1952 the owner of the house, Thomas Quincy Adams, donated it to the town. Many of the books belonged to him, including a first-edition collection of the poems of Emily Dickinson that I kept under glass.
    During the winter months and well into the first couple of weeks of spring I left a snow shovel outside the library doors. If it accumulated more than six or seven inches, I could usually count on one of the boys in town to shovel the walk and steps for me. But not that morning. I had to clear a path myself.
    Once inside I went about my usual morning routine, turning on lights, raising the thermostat, checking in books returned the previous day, and answering mail. I kept a coffee pot in the kitchen and always had a pot percolating throughout the day.
    By noon I had completed all my tasks. Not a single patron stopped by, so I decided to head on over to the Full Moon and see if I could catch up with Boris. He always had lunch there along with Studebaker, and I was chomping at the notion to quell the whole sign issue that morning if I could.
    I hung a little cross-stitched “closed for lunch” sign on the door just as Officer Blessing stepped out from behind a large rhododendron.
    “Anything the matter, Mildred?” I asked, more out of politeness than interest. I had learned a long time ago that it was best to keep to myself and not ask too many questions.
    “That mangy perpetrator is on the lam. I saw him heading this way.”
    Once I connected the dots I understood that Mildred was talking about Ivy's dog.
    “You’ll never catch him.” I laughed.
    She didn’t appreciate the chuckle. “I have a warrant for his arrest if you see him.”
    “You’d be better off staking out Ivy's house. He goes home eventually.”
    “Thanks.”
    I started down the path and turned around. “Oh, by the way, Mildred, a new Raymond Chandler came in this morning.”
    “I’ll be sure to check it out,” Mildred said, still poking around some suspicious-looking shrubbery.
     
    O f all the places in Bright's Pond the one I loved the best, besides the library, was The Full Moon Café. The original structure was built in 1938 and resembled a stainless steel railway dining car. I remember the grand opening like it was yesterday. Agnes was eight and I was only five, but I know I spent most of the evening perched on my daddy's shoulders while a Dixieland band played and Pastor Spahr prayed a blessing.
    It's gone through lots of changes, including the name. For most of its life it was known as the Bright's Pond Diner. Butwhen Zeb Sewickey purchased it in 1969 he changed it to The Full Moon Café and hung a large neon moon over the roof. Folks came out for that too. It was quite a production with a crane and three men guiding the moon into position. Edie Tomkins's mother, Idabelle, took it upon herself to treat us with her rendition of Fly Me to the Moon as the men bolted it into place.