Good Heavens by Margaret A. Graham Page A

seemed to say something to my soul. As I was thumbing through, there was this one page where the corner was torn and I was wondering if I shouldn’t scotch tape it back together. That’s not always a good idea, of course. Other pages I had mended that way didn’t work too good. The tapegot yellow and made the pages pucker. Smoothing out that corner, I saw verses I had underlined some time or other, so I read them. “Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing.”
    Good heavens, wasn’t that exactly what I needed? “They shall still bring forth fruit in old age,” he said. For a little while I just sat there, letting that balm in Gilead soothe my wounded soul. It cooled me down, I tell you, and I had to ask the Lord to forgive me for being so mad, for saying them things—well, maybe not just saying them but feeling the way I did. I wanted to promise the Lord that I’d love Ursula, but the wounds were too raw to make a promise like that.
    I read on for a while and then climbed back in bed. I wasn’t feeling very good about myself, about not having enough love to go around, none for Ursula and precious little for the women in the home. If I wanted any sleep at all, I had to get my mind off it.
    As I repeated them verses to myself, something struck me funny and I had to smile. It was that last line about being “fat and flourishing.” I was willing to claim the part about bringing forth fruit in old age, but as for the “fat and flourishing” part, that was something I could do without! I wished I could tell Beatrice that one—she’d get a kick out of it.

    I slept an hour or two before the wake-up bell rang. I lay there a few minutes listening to the sounds comingfrom upstairs—feet padding around, toilets flushing, water running, hair dryers humming. At home I would have been up, had the coffee made, and been sitting in the recliner having my devotions by this time. The first couple hours of the day I spent that way—reading, praying, singing a hymn or two—but here in Priscilla Home there was so much commotion and so little free time, I couldn’t settle down and feel alone with the Lord. I think that was a big part of the trouble. It looked like the only way I could get back on track was to get up earlier than everybody else, but for this morning the only time I had to pray was while I was dressing and fixing my face. Before I opened my bedroom door to face the world, I asked the Lord to set a watch before my big mouth.
    At breakfast everyone was quiet, myself included, and after breakfast Ursula asked me to come in the office. Dreading what this might mean, I followed her, and we sat down across from each other.
    â€œEsmeralda, what is your agenda for today?”
    I answered with the first thing that popped in my head.
    â€œWe need a garden, so I thought I would try to find someone with a tractor who’ll plow the ground for us.”
    I knew she thought this was foolish, so I was surprised when she said, “Very well. Perhaps you should take one of the ladies with you.”
    That wasn’t necessary, but I wanted to be cooperative. “Okay,” I said. “Which one?”
    â€œHow about Linda?”
    I shook my head. “No, not Linda. She thinks she’s the bell cow.”
    â€œThe bell cow? Whatever do you mean?”
    â€œJust that; she thinks she’s the bell cow.”
    She still didn’t understand but went on, “Well, I can never get a word out of Dora in the counseling session, so you might as well take her along. Try to get her to talk. If there’s no breakthrough soon, there’s no use in our keeping her here.”

    Dora and I headed out without a clue as to where to go, so we drove down the Old Turnpike. I wasn’t going to have somebody in the car without