by Joyce Magnin
I parked next to Doc, and we both hurried to Agnes as Nate ever so gently lowered her and the sofa to the ground. Mildred was already clearing the crowd.
“Move along, go back to your rooms. Nothing to see here.”
Many of the residents scattered, but a few hung on hoping, I’m certain, to catch a glimpse of the fat woman.
“Are you okay?” I asked my sister. Although her cheeks glistened red with sweat, and she panted for breath, I have to say there was something regal about her in that moment. She had managed to straighten herself as much as possible and held her head high.
After some discussion between Doc, me, Nate, and the hospital director, it was decided that Nate should forklift her the rest of the way through the wide double glass doors and down the hall. Agnes's room was ready and waiting.
She argued. “I can walk myself. Don’t need to go riding into my new home on a blasted forklift.”
“Your room is all the way at the end of the hall, and you’ve had a lot of excitement, Agnes,” Doc said. “If Nate thinks he can carry you all the way, then I say we let him.”
“You sure it's going to fit?” I asked Nate.
“Yep, let's do it.”
A shaky breath escaped Agnes's lips. “You’re right. I don’t even have the energy to argue. Go on. Forklift me the rest of the way.”
Ruth and Doc and I walked behind as residents came out of their rooms and looked on with amazed expressions. When we arrived at the end of the hall, Nate let her down nice and slow. Four male attendants immediately rushed to her side.
“Now it ain’t going to take more than two of you to get me into my room,” Agnes said. “Fact is, Griselda can handle it.”
“That's right.” I decided to chime up. “I’ve been leading Agnes back and forth to the bathroom for a long time. She can make it to her bed.”
“Sorry,” said the nurse, “policy. We can’t take the chance of Agnes falling.”
Agnes wobbled one step after the other into her room escorted by two attendants, one burly, one skinny. It took a bit of doing but Mutt and Jeff got her into bed. Doc had arranged ahead of time for a special reinforced hospital bed.
Her room was nice and airy with a wide window through which she could see out over the countryside. Acres of flowering trees—magnolias, tulip poplars, dogwoods, and even more maples and oaks behind them stretched clear to the mountains.
“This is a nice room,” I said. “I’ll bring more clothes later and your TV and radio.”
Agnes smiled. “It's the right thing, isn’t it, Griselda?”
“Yes, Agnes. It's the right thing.”
“Bring me my prayer books. I still have to pray.”
Doc listened to her chest. “You did great, Agnes. You’ll be in good hands here.”
“You aren’t going to be my doctor anymore?”
Doc shook his head. “I can’t, Agnes. But you can rest assured I will keep tabs on the Greenbrier doctors. That's for sure.”
After the folks who followed in the parade all filed by to say goodbye, Ruth hugged and kissed Agnes. “I’m going to miss—oh, oh, I plum forgot,” Ruth said. “I baked you these lemon squares.” She pulled a tray of the tart treats from a Tupperware container she had carried the whole way.
“Thank you, Ruth. I’ll enjoy them a little later.”
That was when one of the starchy nurses piped up. “I’m sorry, Agnes, but those lemon squares will not be on your diet.”
“Diet,” Agnes said. “What diet?”
“Now Agnes,” Doc said. “It's their job to keep you healthy.”
“But I need my lemon squares,” Agnes said. “I just have to have them and my M&Ms. You bring my jar, okay, Griselda?”
I nodded.
Doc took the nurse aside and spoke into her ear. She turned a half step and said, “Just that batch of lemon squares, Agnes. And maybe the staff can help you eat them.”
“That will be fine,” Agnes said. “That will be fine.” Then she winked at Ruth.
I stayed with Agnes after the others left. Doc offered to give Ruth a ride home. She declined at first but then quickly saw that I needed to be alone with Agnes. I stayed through the long process that included taking an extremely unflattering picture of her with a Polaroid camera and asking about a million personal questions. Agnes weathered them like a champ. She teared up when they asked about her bathroom habits, but she made it quite clear that she could get to the toilet with a little help. She teared up again when it was suggested they find a way to get her down to the truck weigh station out on the Turnpike to get an accurate reading of her weight.
I told them that we estimated her weight to be close to seven hundred and six pounds give or take a few. Nate had used a method he had learned to approximate the weight of his largest pumpkins. It involved taking some measurements and then plugging the sums into a fancy mathematical formula. I could never quite understand it, but Nate swore by it.
After a while it was obvious the long day had taken its toll, and Agnes fell asleep while I sat with her. I didn’t leave right away. I lingered a bit until I saw that her chest was rising and falling in a slow, peaceful manner. Then I kissed her cheek and headed for home.
I drove back from the Greenbrier Nursing Home that night in rain coming down so fast and so hard I could only see a few feet ahead—or it might have been the tears that were falling just as fast and furiously. I parked on top of Hector Street, got out, and looked at those purple-brown-green mountains with the tiny dots of shimmering lights that had always been so far away and so immovable. For the first time in my life I felt light, like if I lifted my heels I’d float right over the hills and keep going—straight on until morning. I think I might have even grabbed onto the bumper just to keep myself from floating away. Instead, I sailed up a silent prayer for my sister, Agnes Sparrow.
A few weeks later there was a town meeting. No one mentioned Agnes, except Eugene, but no one paid him much attention. Janeen even told him to shut up and sit down in between bites of fudge and Ruth's lemon squares.
“We have the matter of a needed sewer line,” Boris said, and five minutes later a motion was passed to replace the water service down the center of town. Other miscellaneous reports and decisions were made, including a new stoplight on the corner of Hector and Filbert, Boris got the okay to repaint the town hall, and a motion was passed to honor the Society of Angelic Philanthropy with a community dinner, even though Tohilda thought that somehow contradicted the secrecy of their work.
Zeb and I sat in the back with Ruth and listened. It had been a while since they held a meeting where I didn’t feel like the main attraction. At one point, I think it was right after everyone applauded the S.O.A.P., that Zeb took hold of my hand. It was sweaty, but I was so surprised and shocked and flattered I pretended not to mind. Ruth got my attention and smiled.
The meeting was about over when there was a tremendous noise outside, like a bulldozer had slammed into the flagpole. Everyone jumped up and went outside. It was Filby Pruett standing next to Nate Kincaid on his forklift. Something large, covered by a gray tarp, sat on a pallet lifted about two feet off the ground.
“No one ever told me what to do with the statue,” Filby said.
I watched Boris glare at Stu, “I thought I told you to tell him to get rid of that thing.”
“Me?” Stu said, “I thought you were gonna tell him.”
“Felon,” shouted Jasper, “you mean that rat's back in town?” Harriett reassured him.
“Well,” said Filby, “nobody told me anything, but seeing how you all got so nasty over the sign, I took it upon myself and destroyed it.”
My spirit sank, and Zeb put his arm around me and pulled me close.
“I plum forgot about the statue,” Ruth said. “But if he destroyed it, what do you suppose is under that canvas.”
“I did,” Filby said. “I busted up the statue. But then I remembered something Agnes said to me.” He lifted the tarp with no fanfare, no Dixieland
band, no Hallelujah chorus, and uncovered a large, gray stone that read:
BRIGHT'S POND
SOLI DEO GLORIA
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed your visit to Bright's Pond. Come back anytime. There's always pie. I try to get up there as often as I can and would love to come and visit with your book club or church group. We can discuss the novel, and I could tell you all the news from Bright's Pond. Believe me, there is always news. So if you would like to arrange a visit with me, either in cyberspace or in person, please feel free to contact me. And be sure to visit the Bright's Pond blog for the latest news and a recipe for Cora Nebbish's lemon squares. They’re the best!
Remember: slow down, take a load off, and have a piece of pie.
Joyce Magnin
joycemagnin.blogspot.com
Discussion Questions
Griselda is the narrator of The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow. But who do you think is the main character? Is there just one? Would you call Griselda a reliable narrator?
Griselda says that she feels her prayers are diminished by the magnitude of Agnes's. Have you ever felt that way?
Hezekiah keeps saying he is in need of some powerful prayers but never tells Agnes for what exactly? Was this fair of him? What would you do?
In what way(s) was Agnes's attitude or treatment of Griselda inconsistent with how she treated the townsfolk? Should Griselda have told her?
Is the sisters’ relationship a healthy one? Do you have any personal experience with a similar relationship?
Eugene Shrapnel claims, among other things, that Agnes is in league with the devil. He alter tells Griselda that he believes God doesn’t answer prayer like this. Why would he say this?
What's up with Mildred Blessing? What is she getting out of all of this besides a paycheck? How would you describe her pursuit of the dog?
Food is an overarching character throughout the book. Talk about food. What does it represent in the book and in your own life?
Agnes was adamant about the sign, but she eventually acquiesces to the townsfolk's wishes. Why did she give in? Was she really looking out for the town's best interest?
Talk about bullying. Could the Bright's Pond tragedy have been prevented? Would that have been a good thing?
Which character in Bright's Pond do you most relate to? Which character do you respect most?
Did Hezekiah get his miracle? How is God's holy justice revealed?
Would you like to visit Bright's Pond and have lunch and Full Moon pie at the café? Who would you talk to first?
Griselda often mentions her secret desire to sail over the mountains and see what's going on in the world. Why didn’t she just go? Have you ever sacrificed a dream for the good of another?
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