Good Heavens (35 page)

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 Ursula 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.”

“That's a lie,” Wilma snapped.

Albert was as cool as a cucumber. “Be that as it may, whatever your conflict, reconciliation is a two-way street. When we are wronged, we must have a readiness to publicly forgive the moment we are asked to forgive. But to grant forgiveness without repentance destroys all hope for reconciliation.”

Linda didn't like what she was hearing. “That's not what a preacher told my mom. Every time my dad beat the stuffin' out of her, the preacher said she must forgive him, and she did. I don't care what anybody says, you gotta forgive everybody if you believe the Bible like you say you do.”

Albert did not argue with her. “Sometimes it is hard to love a person who has wronged us, but Christ loved us when we were still sinners and doing him wrong every day. Loving isn't easy. It means we keep no record of the wrongs. Only Christ can give us his kind of love—Calvary
love. It always helps to remember that Jesus died for the person who does us wrong, as well as for us. Let us ask the Lord to give us that kind of love.”

I had heard that same explanation of forgiveness from Pastor Osborne, but not the
Calvary love
part. As Albert was praying, I asked the Lord to give me Calvary love for Linda and for Ursula.

Well, I didn't feel much different after we prayed. I sat there thinking about how I had thought Ursula was beginning to change, but then I'd seen her at her worst. This business with Portia had set back any love I had for her a hundred years.

After the class was over, Albert waited until everyone had left the room before he asked me, “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Oh yes.”

I went back to work in the garage. Albert's lesson had lowered the steam somewhat, but Linda was still sticking close to me. Portia was on my mind.
She must be nearly home by now
.

It was the middle of the afternoon when Ursula sent for me. As I went up to the office, Linda dogged my heels. “It's Portia's mother,” Ursula said as she handed me the phone.

That poor woman could hardly talk for crying, she was so happy. She kept thanking me and thanking the Lord that Portia was back home safely. I didn't get to speak to Portia, though, since her mother was calling from work.

Well, that helped me, but it still stuck in my craw that Linda was getting away with this. Linda had really pulled the wool over Ursula's eyes, and she would keep on causing trouble. When I left to go back outside, Linda stayed in the office with Ursula. I just knew they'd rehash everything Albert had taught and do their best to pick it apart.

After I had left the office, Brenda asked if it wasn't time to do my hair. “Melba and I will have to start supper before long.” They all knew I was going out, but how they knew, I'll never know. There must be a Priscilla Home satellite that beams information straight to their ears. I looked at my watch and figured it wouldn't hurt to get my hair done and over with so I could take my time getting ready. “I'll go up and take a shower, then I'll meet you on the third floor.”

Passing the office door, I saw Linda was still in there with Ursula. They were drinking coffee, and I overheard Linda say, “She's got a date with Mr. Ringstaff.”

Well, I didn't care that she knew. In fact, I was glad.

While in the shower I could hear Lenora playing the piano in the parlor. I shampooed my hair and was toweling it dry as I went upstairs. All the girls had gathered around to watch. “Good heavens, don't you have anything better to do than look after me?”

“No, we got nothing better to do than to see to it you look like the Queen of Sheba when you walk out our door,” Melba said. “I'm gonna do your nails.”

“My nails? I have never in my life went to a beauty parlor for a nail job. What's your charge?”

“A blow by blow report when you come home.”

I laughed. “I can't promise that.”

Those girls sat around on the third floor eating potato chips and kidding around while my hair was getting blow-dried, teased, styled, and sprayed. Brenda handed me a mirror to look at her handiwork and, believe me, whatever she did made me look like one of them “Golden Girls” on TV.

Next I was in for the nail job. “Good grief, Miss E., you got the hands of a scrub woman,” Melba told me. “I'm gonna put your hands in this dish detergent to soak while we pick out the polish. What are you gonna wear?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe something blue.”

They were making such a fuss over me it made me nervous, but I went along with whatever they wanted to do because I did need to look my best.

When Melba was finally done, I did my thank-yous and started downstairs, but the whole crowd came with me. I knew Ursula wouldn't like them gathering in my room, but I didn't care. They flopped all over the bed and floor. Angela picked up my little yellow bird and asked if Mr. Ringstaff gave it to me. I laughed. “That's for me to know and for you to find out!”

“I know he did. I saw him buying it in the gift shop.” I changed the subject. “Now, what do you think I should wear?”

That's all they needed—Evelyn and Nancy started pawing through the clothes in my closet. They picked one outfit after another, holding them up for approval. Finally they all settled on a bright blue suit and sporty looking blouse. Once they decided, I went in the bathroom and dressed.

When I came back, I asked, “Well, how do I look?”

There was not a word, just a murmur going around the room. “The outfit is all right,” Melba said, “but you got to wear it right. See here, Miss E., let me pull that collar up in back and fix it in front.” She unbuttoned the top button on my blouse, fixed the collar, and said, “There. Now that's smart looking.”

Approval was not forthcoming. Brenda, looking me over, said, “Something's not right.”

“It's her shoulder pads,” somebody said, so Brenda reached inside my blouse and straightened them. “Now let's see about that belt. You've got it too loose, Miss E.” She pulled it in two full notches. “Now you've got a waistline.”

“Her pantyhose don't match that blue suit,” somebody said. “You got some lighter ones?”

I fished in my stocking drawer to find a pair but couldn't find any. Before I realized she had left the room, Nancy was back with a pair of her own. “Try these, Miss E.”

I put them on, and I could see they made a big difference. Then those angels of mercy lit in to making up my face. They gave me the works—a moisturizer, then a foundation, blush, eyebrow pencil, even an eye-liner. I felt silly letting them do all that—even putting my lipstick on for me.

“Now for your joools,” Wilma said. “She's got nice earrings—see what else she's got.” The girls searched my jewelry box, tried several necklaces and pins to go with the earrings. Once they were satisfied, they told me to look in my full-length mirror. I felt real silly, but when I looked, I hardly recognized myself I looked so good!

By the time I was all turned out, the girls had to get ready for their supper, so I went downstairs in the day room to wait for Albert. Lenora finished playing whatever it was she was playing, and I guess she went upstairs to get ready for supper.

Albert came early, and he looked like a million dollars. “Esmeralda,” he said, “you look lovely.”

“Thank you,” I said. I did begin to feel like the Queen of Sheba the way he offered me his arm and escorted me to the car. There's something about the feel of a man's suit coat that's nice. I can't explain it. I guess I noticed it because I had not been in the company of any man in this way since before Bud went to war.

Driving down the Old Turnpike with his kind of music playing softly on the radio was as good as it gets. I was so used to sitting in the driver's seat, I enjoyed sitting back and letting him drive. The way he handled the car on that winding road—his hands firm on the wheel—well, it made me feel good.

“We're going to that nice little French restaurant beside the river. Have you been there?”

“No,” I said. To tell the truth, I'd never heard of it.

“It's quiet and the cuisine—the food—is especially good. This restaurant isn't crowded at this hour, and I've reserved a table in the corner where we can be alone and talk freely.”

I don't know what made me think about the W.W.s, but something did.
Wait until they hear this! It's enough to knock the socks off all of them. And Beatrice—she'll be so happy for
me.

“Esmeralda, I've been wanting to talk to you for some time.”

He has the nicest voice. I bet he sings
.

“What I have to say is very important to me, and I need answers that only you can give.”

Good heavens, this can't be what I'm thinking—can it?

We pulled up in the parking lot. I had to remind myself not to go hopping out the car but wait for him to come around and open the door for me.

The restaurant was really nice—none of that loud noise you get in the diner, just soft light and palm plants. A man in a tux met us and led us to our table—held my chair for me to sit down then pushed me forward. There were linen tablecloths and napkins folded fancy, lots of heavy silverware, fresh flowers, candles on every table, and soft music playing. Picture windows overlooked a garden of old-fashioned flowers, delphinium, foxglove, and the like, and beyond the garden it was still light enough to see the river and the mountains. I was thinking,
Anybody who don't get romantic in this place must be on life supports!

The menu was in French, and Albert offered to order for me. He would read off things and ask me what I liked. When he read, “Trout Marguery,” I heard the word “trout,” so I said I'd take that.

The first thing served was onion soup. The waiter stood over me ready to dump something in my bowl. That frustrated me, so I said no before I realized it was cheese. He kept coming with one thing after another to add, and I said no to all of them. Then he whipped out
a big pepper shaker and without asking started grinding pepper over my soup and telling me, “I see, Madam, you do not know the onion soup.”