Chapter Twelve
Apparently a previously dormant and uninvolved guardian angel miraculously steadied Myrtle and kept her from pitching headlong down the staircase.
This time she wasn’t faking her weakness when she sank down onto the top step of the porch. Prissy gasped, “You nearly met your Maker!”
“And you were trying to help Him make my acquaintance,” panted Myrtle. “You shoved me!”
Prissy’s face was white. “Of course not. I was trying to steady you. You wobbled before you fell forward. Naturally, I wasn’t in the right position to stop your fall...”
“Naturally.” Waving aside Prissy’s invitation to come back inside to rest, Myrtle carefully maneuvered down the stairs and through the tidy yard to the street. Feeling every one of her eighty-odd years, Myrtle trudged back to Red’s house w
