Read Prayers of Agnes Sparrow for Free Online Page B

my life and I want the whole world to know it.”
    “She didn’t save your life, Stu. God saw fit to do that.”
    “But Agnes asked for the miracle. She put her hands on my head and prayed that the Holy Spirit would come down and take my cancer away. She prayed for a whole five minutes, and all of a sudden I got a warm tingling feeling like a gazillion ants were crawling all over my body and I knew, Griselda, I knew my cancer was gone.”
    “But, Stu—”
    “She prayed. It was her prayer. It wouldn’t have happened without her.”
    Zeb put my sandwich in front of me and refilled my cup. “You gonna be wanting dessert?” “Not today, Zeb.”
    “Fine. But I’ll wrap up a nice piece of pie for Agnes, and one for you.” He winked.
    Studebaker peered out the window again, and I thought I saw a tear roll down his cheek. He swiped it away.
    “She saved my life, Griselda.”
    I sighed and popped a chip in my mouth. I could not even imagine how remarkable it must be to have had your life spared, to be on the cusp of death and then given a new life, a second chance—just like that.
    Boris bit the corner of his baloney sandwich. “I’m afraid you’re outnumbered. Everybody in town feels the way Stu does. And we thought we’d install the statue near the town hall, not out on the highway.”
    “But she doesn’t want the sign and I’m certain a statue is just gonna make—” I stopped talking and bit my sandwich. These two had already turned Agnes into a minor deity. I signaled Zeb for a glass of water.
    I enjoyed the comforting feeling I got from the warm grilled cheese Zeb always served with a cup of cream of tomato soup.
    “Where's Cora?” I asked when he put the glass on the table.
    “Oh, she went to see the Doc.”
    “Nothing serious, I hope.”
    “No, just her blood pressure check. You know, old folk stuff.”
    I finished my lunch with Boris and Stu. We said nothing more about the sign or the statue.
     
    I t started to flurry as I walked back to the library. Snow on snow. I watched people still clearing their sidewalks and driveways. Even Eugene was digging out his old Rambler and cursing up a storm.
    “Afternoon, Eugene.” I waved and smiled.
    He shook his shovel at me. “Abomination. That sister of yours is an abomination.”
    I kicked a clump of snow out of the way. The sun had started to melt the white stuff, and I watched little streams flowing toward the storm sewers. For a second I had a fantasy of Eugene being swept away. But I supposed that wasn’t very Christian-like. Agnes would never think such a thing.
    Ivy Slocum sat out on her porch looking about as exhausted as I had ever seen her. She leaned on her shovel. She wore one of those hats with fur-lined earflaps and a parka that she bought at the Army/Navy store.
    “Why don’t you get one of the men to shovel, Ivy,” I called. “I’m sure Fred Haskell will be glad to help.”
    Fred lived next door to Ivy. He was the town plumber and another good egg. I think Fred was one of those people who would truly take the coat off his back to help you. He often accepted blueberry pies and potato bleenies as payment for a plumbing job.
    One winter, a blizzard came up the coast and knocked out all the power. Fred went door-to-door making certain that everyone's furnace pilot light was on and that people were at least getting heat.
    “He was already here, but got called out on an emergency,” Ivy puffed. “Edie Tompkins's toilet overflowed and started coming through the dining room ceiling.”
    I waved. “Go get a piece of pie or something. The snow will wait.”
    “Planning on it.”
    By the time I got back to the library it was nearly two o’clock. The drifter from the morning sat on the steps with his arm around Ivy Slocum's dog. She never did bother to give him a name. That mutt took one look at me and hightailedit off the porch. I swear he knew there was a warrant out for his arrest.
    “Afternoon,” said the stranger. He rose to his