Prayers of Agnes Sparrow Read Online Free Page A

picked him up. He was a former stray that used to come by the library. I started feeding him there, but one day decided to take him home.
    “I prayed for the meeting,” Agnes said from her bed. We had moved her bed to the first floor, the old viewing room, because Agnes could no longer climb stairs. She was in a good spot, able to look out a large window and watch the comings and goings of Bright's Pond. We still called it the viewing room.
    She not only prayed for the people who made a point to come by and ask for Agnes to deliver their requests to theAlmighty but also for anyone who walked past the house. Most of the time she knew the folks who went up and down our block, but every so often a stranger would wander by, usually a visitor from out of town. She prayed for him or her too.
    “Did you tell them?” she called.
    I dropped Arthur and sat on the sofa.
    “Yes, I told them, but they passed the petition anyway.”
    “How could they? I don’t want a sign with my name on it. It ain’t right, Griselda. They don’t know what they’re doing.” I saw a shudder rattle through her body. She took a labored breath as her cheeks turned red. “I told you to keep them from letting this happen.” Agnes reached for her jar of M&M's.
    “A few people were in agreement with me and you, but we were outnumbered, if you can count Eugene as people.”
    “So, I got no say.” She popped a few of the bright candies into her mouth.
    I yawned and rubbed my right eye. “They mean well, Agnes. Most of them think you’re just being humble and once you see the sign—”
    “No. You don’t understand.” She took a deep, rattly breath.
    “Understand? Understand what?”
    Agnes popped more M&Ms. “Look. It's just that, well, it’ll attract attention, Griselda.”
    “It sure will. Folks will be coming here looking for you and asking for all sorts of miracles, you know.”
    A vision of pilgrims lined up outside—some in wheelchairs, some on crutches, and some carrying children in their arms—flashed in front of me. For a second I saw our yard blanketed in burning candles, flowers, and other gifts for Fat Saint Agnes.
    “That's the ticket,” I said. I threw my arms around my sister, “They never thought about the crowds that will come, crowds with all manner of illnesses and broken bones and troubles we can’t even think of making their way to see you. I should have told them that. I should—”
    “Oh, Griselda. Do you think that’ll do it?”
    “I bet it will. Why would they want all those people clogging up the town?”
    “You go see Boris Lender first thing tomorrow.” Agnes's face and neck turned bright red, revealing tiny, white blotches on her skin. “Tell him what you said. I am certainly not a holy icon.” Then she closed her eyes. “Far from it.”
    I thought a moment and caught myself biting my lower lip. “If it doesn’t, you could always stop praying.”
    Agnes glared at me with her tiny eyes—the only part of her that didn’t grow larger as her body did. They were like two tiny, blue bulbs set in a round, pink face.
    “Stop praying?” She used her littlest, little-girl voice. “I could never do that. The people … what about the people? I have to pray, Griselda.”
    I hated to see Agnes so upset. She rarely let her emotions get the best of her, but when she did I would kiss her cheek and smile into her eyes and let her know I would be with her, no matter what.
    I kissed her cheek. Agnes had a smell about her. For the most part, I had grown used to it. The only way I can describe it is that it reminded me of old marinara sauce. Tiredness had settled into my muscles even though it was only a little past nine-thirty. She grabbed my hand.
    “I’ll keep praying for every soul the Lord puts on my heart or walks past my window and I’ll keep praying they forget about that silly old sign.” She labored a breath. “It's all about timing, Griselda. The fullness of time.”
    Agnes's words swirled in my