Good Heavens

by Margaret A. Graham

  It seemed like he wasn’t paying any attention to my question because he said to Dora, “Fetch that milk pail out in the shed and pick what blueberries be ripe.”

  After she left, he just sat there looking off toward the river. I hoped he was studying on my question. I owed Lester some company, so I didn’t leave the porch to help Dora.

  Eventually, he started in talking about the weather and what we could expect in the months ahead—then he rambled on about the lumber company that once operated in the valley and the kind of logs they hauled down to the furniture markets—told me the river used to run through the middle of the valley not alongside like now. “Floods kept a-eatin’ away at it,” he said. “Changed its course.”

  I was beginning to think he had forgotten what I had asked him.

  Finally, he said, “Oncet I see what fixings we’ll need, you can take me into town and git most ever’thang at the Farmer’s Hardware store.”

  I still didn’t know if he was going home with us. As anxious as I was to get going, all I could do was wait for Dora to fill that bucket.

  Finally, she came back to the porch, the bucket full of plump berries. “Good heavens, you picked all them? Lester, you sure you want us to have all of these berries?” He was sure, so I said, “Well, Dora, we best be going.”

  Without giving us leave, Lester got up, opened the screen door, and went inside the house. Now what’s he doing? I wondered.

  Dora put the berries in the car, and I stood on the porch waiting. In a few minutes he came out again. He had torn off a scrap of a brown paper bag and had a stub of a pencil he was putting in his bib pocket. Lester had made up his mind; he was going with us. Dora got in the backseat and he crawled in the front seat.

  Lester took his time making the measurements in the garage. When he finally finished, I took him into town, and he ordered everything he could buy in the Farmers Hardware. Then we went to the building supply store.

  I was tied up with Lester all day, but I felt good about getting the canning room done. He would do a good job, and if nothing unforeseen happened, we’d be ready when the produce started coming in big time.

  I was tired, but while in town I had got the color for my hair and Brenda said she’d do it after supper.

  We went up on the third floor where they had a hair dryer, and she commenced putting that stuff on my hair. Portia was sitting on the couch watching, but she couldn’t keep awake so I told her she better go on to bed.

  I thought my hair turned out good. It was a light rinse, and Brenda said it gave a lift to my look, whatever that means. Anyway, I was satisfied we had done our best. I asked her if she could fix my hair Saturday afternoon, and she said she would.

  The next morning, I was outside waiting for the building supply truck. It was almost lunchtime and still they hadn’t come. Melba came to tell me Ursula wanted to see me, so I went up to the office. “It’s Portia,” Ursula said. “Emily can’t get her awake.”

  “I’ll go see about her.”

  Nancy was coming out of the bathroom. “Nancy, could you come with me a minute?”

  Together we went in Portia’s room. She was lying on the bed sound asleep, and Emily was standing against the wall looking scared as a jackrabbit. I leaned over the bed and called, “Portia?” Nothing happened. I asked Emily how long had she been asleep.

  “Since early last night. Miss E., she never sleeps late—never!”

  Nancy took a look, lifted Portia’s eyelids. “Miss E., let’s get her up and see if she can sit on the side of the bed.” Together we tried, but Portia was as limp as a dishrag. Laying her back down, Nancy felt her forehead for fever, took her pulse, told Emily to bring her a wet washcloth.

  After Emily left the room, Nancy told me, “Miss E., she’s stoned.”

  My heart sank. “Stoned? On what? What’s she taken?”

  “My first guess would be sleeping pills. She must have taken a handful.”

  No, I told myself, Portia wouldn’t do that! “Could she have had an overdose?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s beginning to wake up; see her eyelids flutter. She’ll be all right . . . Miss E., Portia has been coming along so well—really by leaps and bounds. It’s hard to believe she would do a thing like this.”

  It’s Linda, I know it’s Linda! I was saying to myself.

  I didn’t realize Ursula had come in the room until she asked, “What is it, Nancy?”

  Nancy didn’t say anything. Ursula moved closer to look at Portia. “Are you trying to conceal the fact that she has ingested drugs? Is that it?”

  “We can’t be sure,” Nancy answered.

  Ursula turned on her heel. “I’ll call her mother. Portia will be leaving as soon as arrangements can be made.”

  “Oh, now, wait, Ursula!” I said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe Portia is sick.”

  “Does she have a fever, Nancy?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  That’s all Ursula needed to hear. She marched back to the office to make the call.

  I could not believe what was happening. Nancy looked at me and without saying it, mouthed the name “Linda.”

  “Yes, Linda!” I said aloud. “Oh, Nancy, we can’t let this happen. What can we do?”

  Emily was back with the washcloth. Nancy took it and began bathing Portia’s face and arms.

  “Emily,” I said, “would you go downstairs and run the vacuum in the day room? And, Emily, please don’t say anything about this to anyone.”

  “I won’t, Miss E., but some of the girls know already. Linda found out, and she’s told everybody. Is Portia going to be all right?”

  “Yes, she’ll be all right,” Nancy said.

  I closed the door behind Emily. “Nancy, let’s go through everything in here to see if we can find drugs. If there is no evidence in here, then maybe we can persuade Ursula to hold up on sending Portia home. At least until we can get to the bottom of this.”

  We searched dresser drawers and the closet and found nothing. Then I spotted Portia’s jacket hanging on a hook on back of the closet door. Reaching in a pocket, I felt something and pulled out a handful of trash. Nancy leaned over my shoulder to help examine what was in there.

  There were many small squares of stiff paper, silver on white, with plastic bubbles popped open and empty. Nancy fingered them carefully, counting.

  “Nancy, what do you make of this?”

  She looked like she hated to tell me, but I already knew. “This is the way they package sleeping pills?” I asked.

  She nodded. “You can buy these over the counter, and it would be easy to smuggle them in here in your underwear.”

  Nancy was thinking the same thing I was thinking. “Miss E., if I was to guess, I’d say Linda did this—bought the pills, dropped them in something Portia ate or drank, then planted the wrappers in her jacket pocket.”

  “How can we prove that?”

  “Maybe when Portia wakes up, she’ll be able to tell us what happened.”

  I laid my hand on that sleeping form and closed my eyes. Lord, help this poor girl wake up. Make Ursula change her mind.

  Portia did wake up, slowly at first, and was very groggy. Nancy asked her if she knew how or why this happened to her. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

  “Portia,” Nancy said, “look at these wrappers.” Without opening her eyes, Portia murmured, “Linda.”

  “Portia, how did she do this to you?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

  I looked at Nancy, and she shook her head. “We’ll never know, Miss E. All we can do is pray.”

  I brushed my hand across Portia’s hair. “We’re going to try to prove you weren’t responsible for this, Portia.” But even as I said it, I had no faith that we would.

  Ursula was dead set on sending Portia home. I tried reasoning with her. “Ursula, you’re making a mistake. Linda is back of this. She said she would get even with Portia for moving out of her room, and she’s done it. D
on’t you see? This was an easy way for her to get even—just slip the pills in Portia’s food or drink.”

  Looking in the phone book for a number, Ursula muttered, “Hearsay, hearsay.” She found the number. “Esmeralda, you dislike Linda. You have disliked her from the beginning. From what she tells me, you have done irreparable harm to her self-image, and here you are trying to blame her for Portia’s ingesting drugs.” She punched in the number. “I have called her mother, who will wire the money for a plane ticket today. I’m calling the airline now to see if I can make a reservation for tomorrow. They’ll keep me on hold, so you can run along.”

  “Can’t you hold off until we get to the bottom of this?”

  “We have gotten to the bottom of this, Esmeralda. Hearsay is not worthy of consideration; we have the facts. Portia was found unconscious. She could have died from such an overdose. If she had, there would no doubt be litigation against Priscilla Home, and the media would ruin our reputation. We cannot tolerate such blatant violation of house rules. And you, Esmeralda, would be well advised to cease these irresponsible accusations.”

  I was on my way out the door when she called me back. “You dropped something.” Before I could get to it, she had come around the desk and picked it up. It was one of the little silver wrappers. “What’s this?”

  I didn’t answer. She looked at me hard. “Where did you find this?”

  I still didn’t answer.

  “This is something that held a pill, isn’t it? Now tell me, did you find this in Portia’s room?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Convinced she had the evidence in hand, she smugly went back around the desk and sat down. “Insubordination does not become you, Esmeralda.”

  I couldn’t have cared less.

  For the rest of the day I kept to myself. There was no way in the world to keep the lid on things, and I didn’t want to be bombarded with questions. Nancy told me all the girls thought Linda was in back of Portia’s ordeal, and they were making efforts to prove it. But so far they had come up with nothing.

  Once Portia was up and about, she tried to avoid Linda, but Nancy said that when the girls were doing crafts, Linda held up three fingers in Portia’s face, tormenting her. Seeing that, Wilma waited until Linda was outside, got her in back of the garage, and punched out her lights until Linda got loose and ran.

  “Don’t give me details,” I said. “I don’t need to know anything about that.”

  “Oh, Linda won’t say anything. She’s afraid of Wilma.”

  All day I wracked my brain trying to think of a way to prove Linda’s guilt. Albert was coming after supper for a hymn sing. I was going to tell him the whole story. Maybe he could help.

  By suppertime Ursula had everything settled. She had picked up the money from Western Union and made a reservation for Portia on the 12:30 flight out of Greensboro. I offered to drive Portia to the airport, but Ursula said she was taking her. “I want to make sure this young lady goes straight home to her mother. She may have in mind doing what she’s done before—cash in the ticket and use the money for more drugs.”

  “More drugs?”

  “Yes. That’s what I said.”

  “But Portia doesn’t even smoke cigarettes anymore!”

  At the supper table there was deathly silence. There was such a lump in my throat I couldn’t eat, and before the meal was over, I shoved my plate away and sat waiting for the rest of them to finish. When Portia, her chin trembling, smiled at me, I had to excuse myself and leave the table.

  After supper, most of the girls were in Portia’s room, helping her pack, when Albert came. He sat on the piano bench, and I drew up a chair beside him. Ursula was across the room on the couch, shuffling papers. I had just about finished telling him the situation when Ursula interrupted me. “Mr. Ringstaff, I am sure you understand the gravity of this matter. As you can see, if I do not dismiss Portia, my authority as director will be greatly diminished.”

  Ursula thought Albert would be on her side, but she was dead wrong. He shook his head and was about to say something when she started in again. “If I am to maintain the integrity of Priscilla Home, this resident must be dismissed.” But seeing he was not agreeing with her, she went on, “This is a staff matter, Mr. Ringstaff, and is none of your affair.”

  But Albert would not be put off. “Ursula, any injustice is everyone’s affair. Esmeralda believes Portia was framed, that another resident is responsible.”

  “Mere hearsay.”

  “Hold on, Ursula. Esmeralda is not given to wild speculation. Neither is she alone in her point of view. I talked with Nancy on the porch, and she said the consensus among the ladies is that Linda has something to do with this. I just think the matter should be looked into before you make a decision.”

  “I’ve already made my decision. Do you not agree that it is incumbent upon any leader to adhere strictly to rules and regulations?”

  He looked her in the eye. “Ursula, ‘A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.’”

  “Emerson!” she snapped and, mad as a wet hen, marched into her office.

  That night I could not sleep. I cried and I prayed, and by morning I was a wreck. Before I could get dressed, I heard a timid little knock on my door. I knew it was Portia. I opened the door, and there she stood like some poor little lamb.

  “I made something for you,” she said and handed me a small package wrapped in tissue paper she had found somewhere. When I opened it, I could have cried. Portia had framed that poem from my Bible:

  Only one life, ’twill soon be past;

  Only what’s done for Christ will last.

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  “I love it! I’ve always wanted to have that little poem framed.” I wanted to tell her why. “Sit down, Portia, right there on the bed.” And I told her how the Lord used that poem as one of the ways of leading me to Priscilla Home.

  “Portia, I wish I had something to give you.”

  “Miss E., you’ve given me everything I need.”

  “I never gave you anything. What did I ever give you?”

  “Jesus.”

  That was more than I could take. I was so full I couldn’t say a word.

  Portia picked up my Bible from off the table but didn’t open it; she just held it in both hands, hugging it to her chest. I could hardly control myself. “Portia, would you like to have my Bible?”

  She looked up at me like she couldn’t believe what she had heard.

  “I mean it. I want you to have it. Just let me take out a few things I’ve stuck in there.”

  She handed it to me, and her hands were trembling. There were only two things in there I knew wouldn’t mean anything to her—the pressed flower and Bud’s letter.

  “Miss E., I can’t take your Bible—”

  “Portia, you’re not taking it, I’m giving it to you. I want you to have it.”

  Ursula was blowing the horn. As we hugged each other, I squeezed back the tears. I held on to her until Ursula was blowing again. Portia, with the Bible in her arms, opened the door then looked back at me with tears in her eyes. I took her in my arms and held her again. Ursula was sitting on that horn; I had to let Portia go.

  23

  After Portia left, steam was rising from all the angry feelings toward Linda. I knew it wouldn’t take much for tempers to boil over. Linda knew it and was sticking to me like a leech. The next day, we were in the garage with Dora and Wilma, trying to decide where to build the shelves. “They’re ganging up on me, Miss E.,” Linda told me.

  “Why?” I asked as if I was blind as a bat to what was going on.

  Wilma let her have it. “It’s because you’re a rat fink, Linda. You’re low-down, mean, stinking, trashy, and common!”

  “Miss E., are you going to let her talk to me that way?”

  “Yes,” I said. It popped out before I even thought about it, but I didn’t care. At least it shut her up.

  Of course, as soon as Ur
sula got back from the airport, Linda went running to the office to complain. So, after lunch before Albert arrived for Bible study, the girls gathered in the parlor and Ursula took to the lectern.

  “Miss Esmeralda, what do you know about this beating Wilma gave Linda in back of the garage?”

  I gave her tit for tat. “Nothing but hearsay,” I said.

  The sarcasm was not lost on her. Hearsay didn’t count in Portia’s case, so Ursula could hardly use it against Wilma.

  “Hearsay?”

  “That’s right. Nothing but hearsay,” I said, sticking by my guns. The girls were snickering over the way I was getting Ursula’s goat. Ursula must have realized there was no use asking the women about the fight. She opened her Bible and started looking for something.

  I heard Albert’s station wagon as he was driving around back. Ursula looked flustered and kept turning the pages. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it, and she closed the Bible.

  In a few minutes Albert slipped in the parlor, and I nodded to him. Seeing the tense situation, he sat on the piano bench and kept quiet.

  Ursula cleared her throat and began again. “Whatever your perceived grievances are against Linda, it is incumbent upon you to forgive her. The Bible teaches that we are to forgive one another as Christ has forgiven us.” Nervous, she turned to Albert. “Isn’t that correct, Mr. Ringstaff?”

  “Well, now,” he said, “even Jesus does not forgive the sinner until he asks.”

  Linda bellowed out, “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “You have nothing to repent of?” he asked, smiling.

  “No!”

  “Then we have a stalemate.” He stood up, ready to begin class. Ursula picked up her Bible and stormed back in the office.

  Naturally, the discussion about forgiveness spilled over into the Bible class. “In our hearts we must always forgive every wrong done to us,” Albert said, “and we are not to keep a record of those wrongs. After all, we pray that our Father will forgive us as we forgive others. But in cases like this one before us, we are seeking reconciliation. In such cases, Jesus said, ‘As often as he repents,’ forgive him openly. Linda says she has nothing to repent of.”