63. Visitor

She came to visit the other day … “Agnes’ woman,”  the real estate broker.  And yet she can’t be a real estate broker.  It’s impossible.

Kickstart and I were working on the foundation of the front porch when we heard a car come up the long driveway.

“The FBI is here to arrest us,” said Kick.

“Not the FBI,” I said, “Not in a Lincoln Town Car.”

”Darn,” he said, “and I always wanted to meet J. Edgar Hoover.”

The auto pulled into the circular drive and like a huge dog nosed it way along the gravel until it stopped right before us, almost touching our legs as if it were sniffing for us.   A woman in her mid thirties got out and walked down the length of the hood to the front of the Lincoln.  She wore a gray business suit and a simple pink silk scarf  around her neck.  Her blonde hair was tied up, loose and not quite business like, her figure slim.  She carefully picked her way toward us, head down choosing each step carefully to avoid getting mud on her beautiful shoes.  When she finally crossed the obstacle course of mud puddles and raised her head to address us, a sweet smile on her hauntingly beautiful face immediately changed to a look of fright.  It was matched by my shock and we stood not four feet apart staring at each other.  She was Sally from the woods, my Guardian angel.

Kickstart stood mute, as if he was transfixed at the sight of a female and had no idea women populated half the earth.   Finally, the woman spoke.

“I’m Sally Prendel, here to see the Abbot,” she said.

The Commitments - Mustang Sally