Good Heavens by Margaret A. Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

anything in several months.”
    â€œThe widow’s mite,” I remarked.
    She closed the book. “Just how many widow’s mites will it take?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said, and even though I wasn’t sure what God had in mind, I told her, “but I believe God can make a way out of no way.”
    â€œDon’t you think I believe that, too?”
    â€œOf course, you do, Ursula. And you believe in putting feet to our prayers. So do I. I passed a flea market in town, and I got to thinking we might find things here to sell down there.”
    â€œThere’s not much left. The former housemother went through everything and sold it to the thrift store.”
    â€œThat piano—does anybody play it?”
    â€œNo. Lenora Barrineau played piano in nightclubs, but she won’t play here. That piano is in very bad condition.”
    â€œThen we don’t need it?”
    â€œNot in its present condition.”
    â€œThen what would you think of placing an ad in the Rockville paper and offering it for sale?”
    â€œWe might as well. An ad will cost every penny of what we have in the account, so we should ask at least a hundred dollars for it.”
    â€œLet’s ask five hundred. We can always come down.”
    Ursula leaned her elbows on the desk with her face in her hands and sighed. “Esmeralda, there will be no end to this financial burden. Even if we were to get all these bills paid, we’ll always be up against money problems.”
    â€œSo you’re saying we ought to plan ahead?”
    â€œPlan ahead? With what?”
    â€œFirst off, we have got to look for ways to economize—turning off lights, not running the washing machine or dishwasher unless they’re filled. Trying to make fewer trips into town, that kind of stuff. And you know that level ground next to the road? That patch catches morning sun, and I think we can make a garden there—grow our own vegetables.”
    â€œThat ground has never been plowed.”
    â€œI know, but we should be able to find somebody who has a tractor who’ll plow it for us.”
    â€œAnd what will you pay him with?”
    â€œI don’t know. We’ll just have to take one step at a time.”
    The phone was ringing; she answered it and then covered the speaker with her hand. “It’s Mr. Elmwood.”
    I left to give them privacy and went to my room.

4

    I have never been one to wear my feelings on my elbows, but Ursula correcting me in front of the women got to me. Every day she found something I said that didn’t set well with her. If it wasn’t a verb out of place, it was a dangling participle, whatever that was. Ursula could write a book about dangling participles.
    After I had closed the door to my room and was getting ready for bed, I could hear Ursula talking on the phone to Elmwood. I’m not one to eavesdrop, but I did hear her say something about somebody “grating on her nerves.” That had to be me. That hurt. I’d had many a disagreement with people, but nobody before ever said anything like that about me. At least not that I could hear. And it cut me to the quick. That woman made me feel so stupid, so foolish, I couldn’t stand it.
    Even after I was in bed, she was still talking to Roger Elmwood. Then in a few minutes she was knocking on my door. “Esmeralda, Mr. Elmwood wants to talk to you.”
    â€œJust a minute,” I said and got up. Throwing on my robe, I went in the office. Ursula had left and shut the door behind her.
    I picked up the phone. “Roger?”
    He jumped right in with what he had to say. “Esmeralda, there are a few things I need to talk to you about. You understand that as president of the board of directors I’m responsible to see that things run smoothly up there. There’s a chain of command you may not be aware of, but you need to respect it. I know you mean well, but the Priscilla Home