J. Powers - The Stories of J.F. Powers

Dolly would not take it, she said, taking it. She tried to swear Teresa to a like amount regularly, saying they could rotate the months, which came too often for one. “Pledge yourself, Teresa.”

“I won’t do it, not for you or anybody. And besides I may not be here.”

“Oh, Teresa, don’t say that!”

Then Dolly tried to convert Teresa to her special devotions. But Teresa was wary of coming under Dolly’s spiritual guidance, embarrassed too at the thought of praying with anyone unless in church. When Dolly persisted, rattling off the indulgences to be gained here and there (she kept books and knew exactly how many days she had coming), Teresa said it was her privilege to worship as she pleased.

One Monday morning, when Dolly met Teresa at the front door, she held some little wads of paper in her outstretched hand.

“What’s all this?”

“Go ahead and draw one, Teresa. See what you have to practice this week.” Teresa drew one. Dolly, after shaking the wads like dice, opened her hand and selected one.

“What’s yours, Teresa?”

“ ‘Kindness to others.’ I can’t read the rest.”

“Is it ‘Alms for the leopards’?”

“I guess it is. What’s yours?”

Dolly sighed, “‘More prayers for the poor souls in purgatory.’”

In the ensuing weeks, Dolly’s assignments all had to do with prayer, for a variety of beneficiaries, and Teresa was stuck with “kindness to others” and “alms.” Dolly kept the extra wads on her person, and so Teresa had no opportunity to investigate the possibility of fraud. Dolly went on as though she had much the worst of it, and to hear her tell it, she didn’t have a free minute from her prayers.

When Teresa gave a short answer, Dolly would remind her that she was supposed to be practicing kindness that week. Sometimes Dolly would ask the silliest questions.

“Do you smoke, Teresa?”

“Once in a while is all.”

“Teresa! I know you don’t. You don’t look it.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“I don’t call that kindness to others, Teresa.”

Teresa, for her part, did not blame the priest for not coming every week to hear Dolly’s confession, a principal complaint with her. Once, when he was there, Teresa had heard Dolly confess, “I missed my morning prayers two times, Father.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all!”

The next time Dolly complained about the priest’s not coming often enough, Teresa said, “If you told him half the things you do, you wouldn’t want him to come so often. You never think to tell him all those mean things you say about the woman across the way. Don’t forget Our Lord was a Jew.”

“Teresa! Our Lord was a Galilean. And remember what you’re practicing this week.”

When Dolly pouted, and she might if the programs were good enough to hold her, Teresa was glad for the rest. Too soon, she knew, Dolly would roll into the next room and start up some fool thing.

“Teresa, have your brother come out sometime and see where you work.”

“Huh! I don’t have to work. Why would he want to come ’way out here? He’s got a nice place of his own.”

“Hasn’t he got a car, Teresa?”

“He doesn’t need a car.”

“How old do you think I am, Teresa?”

“How do I know how old you are?”

“Oh, go ahead, guess.”

“Why should I guess how old you are?”

“Oh, go ahead, Teresa.”

“Eighty.”

“Teresa!”

With that little baby face she had, though, she really looked younger than she was (younger than Teresa, in fact), and she knew it. But then she never did a lick of work in her life — but how could she, the poor thing!

Dolly had one very bad habit. They might be talking about the leopards when, suddenly, sitting perfectly still in her wheelchair, she’d catch Teresa’s eye. Then, giggling slightly, she would push up her wig, inch by inch, showing more and more scalp. When this started now, Teresa looked the other way and left the room. The first time it happened, however, she’d seen all of Dolly’s bone-white head. Teresa didn’t know what this meant — Dolly didn’t call it anything and Teresa wouldn’t ask — but it certainly wasn’t very nice. She thought of reporting it to Dolly’s sister, but did not, each time hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

But finally she did call Mrs Shepherd and say she didn’t know how much longer she could stay on the job. She really felt sorry for the poor thing, but she had to think of herself too. Mrs Shepherd asked Teresa to give it another chance — at least until something turned up in her line, which might be any day now — and Teresa said, “Well, all right…”

For a week they were engaged in preparations for the priest, who had finally accepted Dolly’s invitation to dinner — for Saturday, however — and Teresa knew he intended to eat and run, pleading confessions to be heard, and she certainly didn’t blame him. She had been asked to work Saturday and to stay overnight because, as Dolly put it, “it might be late before it’s all over.” She planned to serve ginger ale later on, after she read her poems to him. (Dolly gave Teresa a copy of every one she wrote, and on some days she wrote many. Teresa kept only one, because it was a little like Trees .

A sight more lovely and sweet

Nowhere on earth have I seen

Than the little bundles of meat

In mothers’ arms I mean.)

Teresa cleaned the whole house, and Dolly got out the sick-call kit and checked over the candles, crucifix, and cotton. Teresa asked what she was doing — getting ready to be sick while she had the priest in the house to pray over her? Dolly said she knew what she was doing. She said the priest might want to inspect the kit.

“Teresa, what dress are you going to wear tomorrow night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Teresa, why don’t you wear your nice blue one with the white collar and cuffs?”

“You can’t fool me, Dolly. I know you. You want me to look like the maid.”

Dolly smiled and said, “Well?”

More than just put out, really hurt, Teresa retired to the other side of the house, taking the vacuum cleaner with her. Dolly was afraid of the vacuum cleaner, and the rest of the morning Teresa kept it going strong. Often, if she craved a little peace and quiet, she would switch it on in another room and just let it run while she read a magazine. And sometimes when Dolly came snooping, Teresa got up and started after her with the vacuum cleaner, sending her wheeling and squealing back to her radio.

That day, while Dolly was in the bathtub, Teresa phoned Mrs Shepherd. She’d had enough, she said, and was quitting at the end of the day. It was Friday, and Dolly’s sister would be home over Saturday and Sunday, and maybe by Monday they’d have somebody else. Anyway, she was through. No, she wasn’t mad. She was just through. She couldn’t be mad at the poor thing, though that one could be very mean. Mrs Shepherd, who must have sensed it was no use, said she understood, said she was grateful to Teresa, and would just have to buckle down and find somebody else. She thought something in light sewing would turn up very soon. In fact, she had a lead.

Teresa returned to Dolly thinking — and what if they can’t find anybody to look after the poor thing? — and feeling sorry for her, until she said, “Next fall, Teresa, with winter coming on and everything, people will be looking for work. You’re lucky to be here, Teresa.”

“Huh! I don’t have to work. I own property in Florida.” Teresa’s property, which she’d never seen, had cost fourteen hundred dollars in 1928, and she’d always told Dolly what they’d told her, that it would be worth a lot more someday. Recently it had been appraised at “Twenty-five dollars or maybe fifty.”