Free Miriam's Well by Lois Ruby Page B

Jewish lawyers, they’ve got some kind of conscience that’s hard to figure.” Brother James leaned forward and straightened a picture of Jesus on my table. “But we will use him, Miriam, as an instrument of the Lord, for our righteous purposes. We’ll take the Lord’s gifts, however they come to us. Mr. Bergen doesn’t lose his cases. Now, you’re not to worry.” Brother James got up and walked back and forth across my room. With his back to me, he said, “I believe he’s the father of that boy who visits you, is he not?”
    â€œYes, Brother James.”
    â€œWell, the Lord works in mysterious ways, sure enough.” He paced some more, as we waited for my dismissal papers and Uncle Benjamin. “You all packed?” he asked.
    I pointed to the suitcase in the corner, looking like an orphan at the train depot.
    â€œThen I believe you’ve forgotten something, child.” He came back around the bed and handed me the picture from my bedside table. “You meant to carry it with you into your home, didn’t you Miriam? Right there in your two hands.” There was a knock at the door, Uncle Benjamin, no doubt. Brother James lay the picture of Jesus on my lap and leaned forward to kiss my forehead. Again I sensed an unusual odor. It reminded me of an animal you come upon in the forest, an animal that’s frightened at the sight of you. It must have been something he’d handled earlier that morning; I never smelled it on him again.
    The closer we got to home, the stronger I felt. Uncle Benjamin turned into Old Wood Road, and I thought I’d never seen anything so lovely. That one particular day in early November, the trees were nearly bare, and a blanket of crisp orange leaves covered most of the lawns in our neighborhood. A few pumpkins still guarded the doors of my neighbors. Our house was the smallest on the block, and the prettiest, with its teal blue shutters and the awnings, like sleepy eyelids, over all the windows. I remembered when Uncle Vernon put up the awnings and taught me how to crank them open. The blue and gold stripes were as bright as a new flag. Now, after ten years, they had an easy faded look about them, as though they were proud of the weathering they’d withstood.
    â€œWe’re home,” said Uncle Benjamin.
    Mama ran out to the driveway as soon as we pulled into the carport.
    â€œGet out and let me see you. Why, you look wonderful, baby.”
    Uncle Vernon ventured out. “Looking good.”
    â€œWhat do you mean looking good, Vern? She’s the picture of health,” Uncle Benjamin said with a snort.
    â€œThe very picture.” Mama pushed me just out of range to have a better look, then pulled me to her again. Uncle Vernon took the picture of Jesus from my hands and an anemic plant, while Uncle Benjamin yanked my suitcase out of the car. They let me walk into the kitchen first, as if there were a surprise party waiting for me.
    I loved the sound of the screen door bouncing against the door frame. Our kitchen smelled just the same, like a cup of cooled cinnamon tea. Mama had a perky bunch of yellow-orange mums in a glass on the table. The big portrait of Jesus over the table welcomed me home, too. We sat down to talk, in our usual places, but we did not talk about what we called “the case.”
    Uncle Vernon began, as he always did. “So, it’s back to school, hunh? You way behind?”
    â€œMostly in physics. But I’ve kept up in English and French and all.”
    â€œAre you hungry, baby?”
    Suddenly I was ravenous for some real homestyle cooking, not stringy, watery, drab hospital food.
    â€œBecause I’ve got chicken fricasee on the stove, and mashed potatoes, and green beans with bacon, just the way you like them.”
    â€œShe baked you a pumpkin pie,” Uncle Vernon said. “Be sure and save me and your uncle a slice before you gobble it all up.” He