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''Mrs. Austin, my name is Elliott Wages and this is Miss Cashman. We were wondering if you could spare us a couple of minutes to answer a few questions." |
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"About what?" she snapped. The response was almost a whiplash. |
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B.C. stepped forward, all sweetness. "We're doing some research on this area of the provincesocial research, needs of the elderly, quality of the available medical services, things like that." |
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Brenda had hit the old woman's hot button. The Austin widow opened the door another four inches. The shielded face bobbed up and down as she appraised us from head to foot. "You ain't from the church, are ya?" |
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"No," B.C. said calmly, "we're from the Canadian Research Bureau." She reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out her American driver's license and handed it to the woman. The widow snapped it out of her hand, held it up close to one eye, studied it momentarily and handed it back. "All right," she hissed, "but be quick about it." |
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Brenda nodded. "We'll be as brief as possible," she replied sweetly. |
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With B.C.'s assurance, the door creaked open and the old woman waddled into the darkened room ahead of us. Two flickering candles served as the only illumination. The cluttered room was a montage of gray on gray unrevealing shadows. When she got to |
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