Free Good Heavens by Margaret A. Graham Page B

known. Sometimes now, instead of me telling her what was what, she told me—actually jerked a knot in me one time about Percy Poteat.
    Beatrice’s letter was all about the Grand Canyon and other places they had visited. I wasn’t much interested in all of that. At the bottom of the letter were Bible references. She never did that before. It must be Carl’s influence , I thought.
    I heard a commotion outside under my window and got up to see, knowing full well what it was. Ursula was down there with several of the women all talking at once, excited about what must seem to her to be proof positive that I am a wacko. I didn’t see Dora. The horse was alongside the garage eating grass.
    Ursula was coming back inside, banging the door behind her. I braced myself and went back in the office to face this cyclone storming up the steps.
    She burst in, her face red as a beet. “Esmeralda, what in the world have you done?”
    â€œYou mean the plow?”
    â€œThe horse!”
    â€œIt’s for plowing the garden.”
    â€œI assumed as much. Whatever made you think I would put up with having an animal on this property?”
    â€œI didn’t give it the first thought,” I said just to aggravate her. “There’s no reason we can’t make a good garden up here, raise our own vegetables and can stuff for the winter. Self-help is better’n begging.”
    She ignored that last dig. “Did you tell the ladies they would have to clear the ground of stones?”
    â€œI did. A vegetable garden is not a rock garden.”
    â€œDon’t you think I know that?” she snapped.
    I was getting a kick out of nettling her. “Don’t your books tell you work is good therapy?”
    â€œTherapy or not, it’s time for Group and they must all assemble in the day room!”
    But she didn’t ring the bell. She sat down and looked across at me, those dark eyes sparking. “From whom did you buy or rent that animal and plow?”
    â€œIt’s borrowed. Lester Teague let us have it for nothing.”
    That took some of the wind out of her sails. I believed I was winning, but I’m not the kind to gloat.
    â€œAnd pray tell, who is Lester Teague?”
    â€œHe’s a mountain man lives below us on a side road.” I went on to describe him.
    â€œSounds avuncular,” she said. “Don’t think you won’t have to pay that man one way or another.”
    â€œOh, we’ve already paid him.”
    â€œWith what?”
    So I told her the whole story. By the time I finished, she had calmed down; didn’t say anything more about the horse, just started in on her kind of business. “Did Dora open up to you?”
    â€œWell, I don’t know if you’d call it opening up, but she did talk. Some of it made sense, some didn’t.”
    â€œFor instance?”
    There was no way I was going to tell Ursula all the strange things Dora had said. I shrugged my shoulders and passed it off, saying, “Oh, this and that.”
    â€œNothing of consequence?”
    I shook my head.
    For a few minutes neither of us spoke. Then she swiveled in her chair, started in on another paper clip, and began again. “I think you should know something of Dora’s background. The sheriff and her sponsor brought her here under a court order. What led up to her arrest is a long story. Some years ago, Dora was driving under the influence with her three-year-old boy in a pickup truck when she sideswiped another vehicle. She was driving on a dirt road on the side bordering a steep incline. There had been heavy rain that night, and the edge of the road gave way under the truck sending it over that embankment.”
    Something about this seemed familiar, and as Ursula kept talking it came to me that maybe this was why Dora had acted a little strange when we were riding down Lester’s road. She had braced against the dash and leaned away from that