Good Heavens

by Margaret A. Graham

  Well, I was glad they were all having a good time. I went back upstairs to see about lunch. Melba and Brenda were in the kitchen washing the lettuce. We got talking, and I asked Brenda what would she think about putting a little rinse on my hair.

  “You mean a little color?” She eyed my hair—had me turn around. “I think it would help a lot. If you really want to jazz it up, I’d go for the golden blond.”

  That didn’t sound too good. “I don’t want to jazz it up too much—nothing heavy, just a light ash blond might do the trick.”

  “Well, okay, if that’s what you want. Ash blond will darken it some—give you a kinda slate color. You can find that in any drugstore, and I’ll be glad to put it on for you.”

  “I’ll get some the next time we go into town. . . . By the way, Brenda, how do you like Mr. Ringstaff’s Bible lessons?”

  “Miss E.,” she said, “they’re wonderful! I found out who I am.”

  “Oh,” I said. “How’s that?”

  She stopped washing the lettuce and looked at me. “Miss E., I’m the woman at the well.”

  “The woman at the well?”

  “Yes. I haven’t had five husbands, but I’ve had twice as many men, and I’m just like her—I argue religion even though I’m a very tolerant person—you know, arguing with those people who come to the door with their literature. Miss E., I don’t see how I could have sat in church all my life and never heard about that living water.”

  “You mean to tell me you never heard that before?”

  “No, never. I been thirsting, all right. I was okay as long as I had Tommy, but after he left me, it was one man right after another. I had a steady diet of men and booze. Pills, too.”

  “You knew that was wrong, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, sure. I knew it was wrong, but all the time I was doing those things, I considered myself a Christian because I was baptized and a member of the church. I wasn’t a Muslim or a Jehovah Witness or anything like that, I was a Christian.”

  Melba piped up, “A generic Christian—that’s what you were.”

  “You’re right, Melba. In a way, maybe it’s a good thing I hit the bottle. At least it brought me here, where I learned I need Jesus.”

  “Well,” I said, “if you’re sure you understand—”

  “Oh, I understand. It’s clear as crystal—it’s just that I love men and I love to drink.”

  “Then I’ll tell you what I told somebody else: ‘Choose your love and then love your choice.’ It’s a choice everybody has to make for herself. I made my choice when I was eleven years old. Because I loved the Lord when I was growing up, I’ve been spared a lot of grief. I never drank; oh, I tasted beer once, didn’t like the taste. I never smoked except rabbit tobacco, and through all the trouble that has come my way, the Lord has give me grace, answered my prayers, and taught me a lot about himself. I’m far from perfect, Brenda, but I’m a lot better off than I would be without Jesus.”

  “So what you’re saying is, I’m responsible for the mess I’m in.”

  “That’s right. You chose to go with all those men, and every time you pop a can of beer or turn up a wine bottle, it’s by your own choice. Brenda, as much as I care about you, I have to tell you the truth. ‘The wages of sin is death.’ It’s like Splurgeon says, ‘He shall have hell as a debt who will not have heaven as a gift.’”

  Ursula was calling me at that moment. I hated to break off the conversation, but I went on into the office.

  “Martha’s husband just called,” she told me. “He wants to bring their little girl for a visit. I told him we couldn’t accommodate him here at the house because we have visitors. He’s coming anyway. You might mention this to Martha.”

  “Okay,” I said and went to look for her. I found her in the craft room, and we went in the day room to talk.

  Martha looked disappointed. “He’s ready for me to come home, Miss E.”

  “Well, are you ready to go?”

  “I love this place. It’s the nearest thing to heaven I’ve ever found, but, Miss E., my little girl needs me and he needs me.”

  “Do you think you’ll be all right? Can you handle—”

  “Miss E., you don’t have to worry about me drinking. Like I told you the first night I came here, after seeing the Lord the way I did, I will never drink another drop so long as I live. I don’t want it—I don’t even think about drinking.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Martha. I guess he’ll be here tomorrow. Just remember, keep your eyes on the Lord. Read your Bible, find some Christian friends, and cast all your care on the Lord because he cares for you.”

  After lunch the W.W.s and I sat in on Ringstaff’s class, and when it was over, Thelma wanted to know when they might get him to come to Apostolic for a Bible conference. Well, I didn’t know about that. I told them Priscilla Home needed all the time he could spare, and they understood. Clara said, “I could sit and listen to that man all day long.” I had never heard them rave about anybody the way they raved about Ringstaff. Well, who wouldn’t?

  The rain was still coming down but not as hard as before, so I figured we could take the W.W.s to that old country store on the Valley Road. There wouldn’t be a crowd of tourists on a rainy day, and the W.W.s could find plenty of stuff to buy. The girls were excited about going somewhere, so we took the van. On the way I was the tour guide, telling them all about the old store—how they had candy cases like the kind we used to have in the Live Oaks variety store, how the floor smelled of creosote, and about the barrels of beans and coffee, the potbelly stove, and the checkerboard played with bottle caps. Linda piped up, “There’s caskets on the second floor.”

  Well, that took care of that. I always enjoyed going to that store—made me think I was back in time. We spent the rest of the afternoon in there, and the W.W.s came out loaded with stuff. In the van they went through all their packages, showing what they had bought. I heard Mabel say, “You can’t find a butter press anywhere nowadays. Look at this one I got.”

  I didn’t know what she planned to do with a butter press—she’d never in her life churned butter—but if it made her happy, it was fine with me.

  When we drove in the driveway, I was surprised to see Ringstaff’s station wagon still there.

  20

  We piled off the van and came in the house. The mail had come, so the girls rushed up to the office, where Ursula was handing out letters. The W.W.s said they needed to go to their rooms and rest a few minutes before supper, which suited me fine. I went upstairs and looked for Ringstaff in the parlor, but he wasn’t in there. Now where do you suppose he is?

  Nancy came out of the office ripping open an envelope. As she read the letter her eyes filled up and tears began spilling down her cheeks. Crumpling up the letter, she went running to her room.

  In a few minutes I decided I better see if I could help her.

  She was pulling her suitcase out from under the bed when I got to her room. “Nancy—what in the world?”

  “I’m leaving!”

  “Why?”

  “Look at this!” and she handed me the letter.

  I had to smooth it out before I could read it. It was from her State Medical Board; her nurse’s license had been revoked.

  “Oh, Nancy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but why do you have to leave?”

  She was furiously throwing things in the suitcase. “There’s no need for me to stay here any longer.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s unfair! It’s all so unfair!” she sobbed, yanking things out of the closet. “The Board told me if I went through the program here and received a clean bill of health, they would review my case and make a decision at that time. But they’ve already made the decision!”

  “Nancy, you’re all upset. Don’t you think you better wait awhile before you do something rash?” I sat in the desk chair waiting for her to get hold of herself.

  I didn’t think Nancy had yet gained the victory over her addiction, and that maybe after a
few more weeks with Ringstaff teaching and the rest of us praying, she would. She was a good nurse. The night Martha was having such a fit, I don’t think I could have handled it without Nancy. For her to leave like this would be a big mistake for her as well as a loss for me.

  I needed to talk turkey. “Nancy,” I said, “your only hope of getting your license back is to stay here until you graduate and then appeal their decision.”

  “It’s over and done with, Miss E. They’ve ruled and they’re just like Miss Ursula about rules—they’ll never bend.” Folding a blouse to pack, she wiped her eyes on a sleeve.

  I reached and took the blouse out of her hands. “You better let this dry,” I said and put it back on a hanger. “Now, Nancy, sit down a minute.”

  I waited until she did. “Nancy, you love nursing, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  “You’re a good nurse, Nancy, and the world needs good nurses.” She started to get up; I put my hand on her arm. “No, Nancy. Wait a minute . . .”

  She sat there waiting.

  “Nancy, isn’t nursing your calling?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It makes a lot of difference. Haven’t you always wanted to be a nurse?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, twisting the tissue to shreds. “I can’t remember when I didn’t want to be a nurse.”

  “See there! It’s your calling! It’s what you can do best for the Lord.”

  “The Lord?”

  “Yes, the Lord.”

  “Miss E., it’s just a lot of hard work, lots of headaches, lots of people sick and dying. Besides, I’ll never ever get another job nursing.”

  “But, Nancy, nursing is your calling—that’s what God wants you to do. Everybody’s work is important to God—not just preachers’ and missionaries’ work.”

  I didn’t know if she was listening or not. We just sat there a long time not saying anything. I wanted to tell her that one day she would meet the Lord and answer for the talents he had entrusted to her, but decided that was too strong for a person in her upset condition.

  After a while, I took both her hands and made her look at me. “Nancy, you need to stay here. Only Jesus can lick this problem you have got. Once you get over them pills, you can appeal that board’s decision. The Lord can change their minds.”

  “It’s no use,” she mumbled.

  “Well, do it for yourself.”

  “Miss E., you don’t understand. I can’t stay here any longer. I have got to get a job. My bills are piling up.” Her face was puffed from all the crying, and she was in no shape to think straight. “Maybe I can get a waitress job or go to work in one of those fast food places.” That brought on a fresh flood of tears.

  I could see I wasn’t making much headway. Then I thought of something. “Nancy, are you going to leave us way out here in the sticks where anything can happen—where one of these women can get deathly sick or break a bone or go wacko—and we have not anybody here trained for medical emergencies like that?”

  She tried to wipe her eyes on a wadded up tissue. I had a fistful in my pocket and handed her a couple. “When Dr. Elsie is home, we can call on her, but she’s in Vermont taking care of her sister. There’s no telling when her sister will get better or die, one, so Dr. Elsie can come home. I know you got bills, but if you’ll let me, I’ll loan you the money you need until you graduate and can get back on your feet. We need you, Nancy—I need you. Won’t you please stay on?”

  She didn’t answer but blew her nose and stopped crying. Finally, she said, “I’ll think about it.” As I was going out the door she said, “Thank you, Miss E.”

  Going back downstairs, I was pretty sure she was going to stay but I prayed to make sure.

  I asked Ursula where Mr. Ringstaff was, and she said he and Lenora were taking a walk. “Oh,” I said. Then I remembered—Lenora and Martha didn’t go with us to the country store. “Is Mr. Ringstaff staying for supper?”

  “Yes. He has a surprise for us. By the way, while you were gone, Martha’s husband did come with their daughter, and Martha has gone home with them.”

  I was sorry I wasn’t there to say good-bye, but things like that can’t be helped when a body is going in all directions at the same time.

  I went in my room to change clothes, but I couldn’t decide what to wear. Finally, I put on the only decent Sunday dress I had, but as I looked in the mirror, I wasn’t satisfied. I fished around in my jewelry box for some earrings Bud gave me. They probably cost him a fortune, and I was always so afraid of losing them I didn’t wear them much. After I put them on I wondered if they looked right, so I stepped in the office and asked Ursula, “Do these earrings look all right with this dress?”

  She said they did, but when I got back in the room I thought, She’s a poor one to ask. I turned my head this way and that, looking in the mirror trying to decide. Well, they are pretty, and they’re the best I’ve got, so I’ll wear them. My hair was a mess and I didn’t have time to use the curling iron, so I brushed it real good, scooped it up, twisted it in back, and fastened it in a kinda French twist with my rhinestone comb. Bud always liked when I wore it that way.

  The bell rang for supper; I gave the ears a spray of Chanel Number Five, took one more look in the mirror, and let it go at that.

  While I was waiting in the dining room for the W.W.s, lo and behold, I saw Lenora come in the parlor on Mr. Ringstaff’s arm! I felt like telling her to cool it. They hung around the piano, tinkling the keys before they came in the dining room. Both of them were smiling like they shared some joke. Well, at least Lenora was finally smiling.

  Then the W.W.s came in. They looked surprised when they saw me. “Aren’t those the earrings Bud gave you?” Mabel asked.

  “Well, yes, I believe he did give them to me.”

  Clara had to put in her two cents’ worth. “And that dress—didn’t you get that dress on sale last summer?” “I might have,” I said. They were embarrassing me.

  How I got through that meal, I’ll never know. When we finished eating, I asked Lenora in a nice way if she would mind helping in the kitchen while I entertained my guests in the parlor.

  The W.W.s sat on the couch, and I gave Ringstaff the Morris chair. It was up to me to start the conversation. “Ursula tells me you have a surprise for us, Mr. Ringstaff.”

  He smiled. “Albert, the name is Albert, Esmeralda.” That was nice to hear, and it wasn’t wasted on the W.W.s. They looked at him and me and then rolled their eyes at each other.

  I said, “Okay, Albert,” pleased that it rolled off my tongue so easy. “What’s the surprise?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  Thelma blurted out, “No, she can’t! Esmeralda spills the beans every time.” Then she laughed.

  That’s a Yankee for you, I thought.

  Ringstaff laughed too. “Well, I’ve never found that to be the case with Esmeralda. The secret is, I’ve finished repairing the piano, but we’ll wait until the ladies are finished in the kitchen before we play it.”

  We talked on, mostly about plans for turning the garage into a canning room. “We’ll have to put in a sink,” I said, “which shouldn’t pose much of a problem since there are pipes in there that run up to the apartment. Lester Teague will know a good plumber. Then we’ll need a stove, a fridge, and another freezer.”

  Once the girls were through in the kitchen, they scattered—mostly to the front porch to light up again. Lenora came in the parlor. “Albert, it’s time you told them.”

  “I just did,” he said. “We’re waiting for the ladies.”

  “They won’t be coming to the parlor,” she said. “They’ll be going to the day room or up to their rooms.”

  Good heavens, when did she get to be housemother?

  “Well, I think I know how I can get them in here,” he said. He got up, made his way across the room, and sat down on the piano bench. He lit right into playing, his fingers flying all over that keyboard. It was a rip-
roaring piece I use to hear on the Lawrence Welk Show, and it was great!

  “That’s the ‘Twelfth Street Rag,’” Lenora informed us. “Yes, I know that one,” I told her, as much as to say, I didn’t fall off a turnip truck, you know.

  Hearing that jazz, the girls came piling in from the porch. The only one I could see missing was Dora. She probably didn’t cotton to piano music. The girls stood around the piano, leaning on it and getting a real bang out of watching him play.

  Once he finished that number, he stood up and announced that now Lenora would play for us.

  Well, she did. Without a sheet of music or hymn book or anything, she began playing soft music such as you hear on classic radio. “This is the ‘Moonlight Sonata,’” he told us. I didn’t care for it myself. I don’t think the girls liked it either. I know the W.W.s were bored stiff.

  Lenora looked up at Albert, her eyes all misty. “The spielart is perfect.”

  He smiled back at her. “I remembered the feel you like, Lenora, and I aligned all the moving parts to move freely yet with firmness to your touch so there’d be no side play.”

  If nobody else was enjoying the music, those two were. When Lenora ended that number, he asked her to play something from Liszt. I think that was the name. She began playing another smooth, slow number. “Ah, ‘The Consolation,’” he said, all smiles. “No one can perform Liszt as well as you, Lenora. In a split second you change the mood and the phrasing.”

  The girls were polite, but with Lenora into the second number, one by one they were slipping out of the room. Before Portia went upstairs, she came quietly over to where I was sitting and whispered in my ear. “Miss E., now that Martha’s gone, will you let me move into her room?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I whispered back.

  I heard the screen door close and looked up to see Dora coming through the dining room into the parlor. She didn’t stand near the piano or sit in a chair—she laid herself down on the carpet beside the piano, closed her eyes, and laid there like she was in some kind of other world.