The Miracle Stealer

by Neil Connelly

  “Those folks aren’t here for Paradise Days,” I said. “They’re here for Daniel.” Bundower and my mother didn’t look at each other, but that told me plenty. “You both know I’m right.”

  The Chief stepped forward and raised a hand to my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes and ran his other hand along his mustache. “I understand that you’re worried about your brother. I respect that. But I’m telling you that nothing’s going to happen to him. I’ll post No Trespassing notices along the road before I leave, and I’ll be sure Eddie drives by a few times on his shift. I gave your ma my cell number if there’s any other trouble.” There was an intensity, an honesty in his voice. And even though I didn’t agree with him, I knew he believed that Daniel was safe.

  He lifted his mug from the porch rail and handed it to my mother. “Thanks for the coffee, Nance.” She reached for it with two hands and their fingers grazed when she took it from him. As he strolled to his patrol car, he said, “All right, you two. Give a holler anytime, day or night. I don’t sleep so much anyways.”

  My mother looked away but smiled when she said, “Thanks, Earl.”

  I figured he’d given her his number while they were inspecting the house. Bundower opened his door and spoke to me over the car roof. “And hey, you leave fighting the bad guys to me. That’s what I get all the big bucks for.”

  I couldn’t help but grin, and I said, “Sounds like a deal.”

  My mother and I watched him drive to the road and tack a few notices on some of the trees, then he drove off and we were alone once more.

  The rest of the morning and the afternoon passed strangely. I stayed in the main house with my mother and Daniel, and a light rain kept us inside. He pulled out a box of dog-eared board games that we used to offer our guests, so dusted over it made us sneeze. Together, the three of us played Scrabble with all our tiles faceup, then kiddie poker with Monopoly money and a deck that we later discovered had no kings. While my mother made turkey sandwiches, I called Mr. Dettweiller and told him I’d buy the Skylark.

  After lunch, my mother dug through the cupboards and unearthed a fondue set and melted some chocolate, and Daniel experimented with dipping everything from graham crackers to Oreos in the warm goo. Together we played Twenty Questions and cooked up a batch of iced tea. Daniel placed it on the rear porch to brew after the sun broke through the thinning storm clouds.

  I couldn’t shake the sense that the three of us were acting, pretending to be a family on vacation in this place. Now and then the phone would ring, but none of us moved to answer it, as if we were indeed just visitors. Maybe we thought it would shatter the spell if something from the outside intruded. Maybe we just wanted to stay safe in that little bubble for as long as we could.

  Daniel wanted to make English muffin pizzas for dinner, so my mother headed in to Cohler’s. Daniel and I lay on the floor in front of the couch and watched a cartoon movie about Japanese robot warriors. It was dumb and boring, but Daniel liked it, so I didn’t mind. I guess the previous night’s sleeplessness caught up with me, because I slipped away into a peaceful nap.

  I woke to the sound of someone screaming in pain, and I sat bolt upright to find the robot warriors replaced by talking dinosaurs. But the yelling wasn’t coming from the TV. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen, where Daniel was dunking Lego men in the chocolate fondue.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked, shocking Daniel so hard he dropped the stick that the screaming Lego victim clung to.

  “I was just playing,” he said.

  “You’re making a mess. And scaring me half to death.”

  I spooned out the gooey men and put them in the sink, cranked on the water.

  Daniel sulked over and helped me dry them with a dish towel. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You fell asleep and the movie stopped.”

  I snapped off the water. “Forget it,” I said. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

  I dumped the melted chocolate in the garbage, and Daniel asked, “Everybody thinks I’m special again, don’t they?”

  I thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “Everybody except for you?” he asked. Put that way, it made me feel like crap, but before I could answer, he spun around, and my mother backed through the front door with her arms loaded with grocery bags. I hadn’t even heard her pull in the driveway. Daniel turned back to me and I said, “Go help,” and that was the end of our conversation. We carried the bags in one at a time while my mother unloaded. She’d bought Fritos and Yoo-hoo, treats we hadn’t had in the house in years. While she put away the food, she avoided making eye contact with me, and I wondered what had taken her so long in town, but it wasn’t something I could ask.

  Before making the mini pizzas, my mother said that Daniel needed to get some fresh air and asked if I wanted to join them on a quick walk. I thought about the blood concoction down in the shed and told her I had to take care of a couple things. Yet when they walked off, I found myself just sitting on the front porch, watching the woods and thinking. Traffic passed by, far out on Roosevelt Road, and I tried to judge if the flow was heavier than normal. Now and then I thought a car slowed more than it needed to, perhaps, and I imagined the passengers saying, “There. That’s the house where he lives.”

  When one of these vehicles actually took the turn into the driveway, it startled me good. But just as I was about to bolt inside to call Bundower, I recognized Gayle’s Honda. It swung around the curves and pulled up on the gravel. Gayle climbed out, holding both her fleshy arms over her head. “I’m not trespassing, don’t shoot!”

  Gayle lumbered up the stone steps and lowered herself into one of the oversize Adirondacks. She handed me a copy of the new Gazetteer, the headline of which read PARADISE DAYS IS HERE AT LAST!

  Gayle said, “It’s on page six.”

  I flipped past the ads that I’d typeset myself and found the story. DANIEL ACTS AS UNUSUAL MIDWIFE. Gayle knew she didn’t need to include his last name. Around Paradise, there was only one Daniel. There was Volpe’s photograph of Daniel gazing at baby Miracle, which I recognized from the waiting room at St. Jude’s. I wasn’t thrilled by the article, but scanning through, I saw that it was really just a human-interest piece. There was no mention of the rumor of the baby being stillborn or any supernatural intervention. When I finished, I looked at Gayle, who was staring into the woods. She’d held back, told only part of the story, on my behalf. “Thanks,” I said.

  But she pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about. “I figured you’d want a copy. More important, how’s Jeff?”

  I knew she’d deliberately changed the topic, and that was okay with me. “He’s fine.”

  “He looked better than fine at Victorio’s the other day.”

  “Quit,” I said.

  With one hand she played with the jangly bracelets on her other wrist. I could tell Gayle had more on her mind than the paper and Jeff. But I knew that unlike my mother or the Chief, Gayle would get to it. After a while, Gayle stopped fidgeting and asked, “So what’s the latest on Daniel?”

  The muscles tensed up in my shoulders and I didn’t answer. Gayle saw my reaction and said, “I’m here as your friend, not a reporter.”

  I told her that Daniel and my mother were out on a walk, then moved on to what mattered more. “That skinny freak was in our garbage last night, but Bundower came by and gave us the all clear.”

  Gayle’s eyes widened. “I saw his little signs. Nothing like paper to ward off a lunatic.”

  “Better than nothing, I guess. He also told us there were some strange campers in town for Paradise Days.”

  “They ain’t all campers,” Gayle said. She took a deep breath and then exhaled. “Some are Pilgrims.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “So I’ve heard. What do you know?”

  “I know that some are down in the field and some are camped up in the fairy fort. People are claiming to have been healed. No resurrections or anything, mostly minor miracles. A lady with s
coliosis says her spine straightened out. Some guy from Virginia swears his cataracts cleared up. He keeps pointing at things in the distance and saying, ‘That’s a pine tree. That’s a bridge. That cloud is shaped like a bunny.’”

  “Well, he sure doesn’t sound crazy,” I said.

  “Crazy or not, Andi, people are coming. That’s what I came to tell you. I’ve heard estimates that that service next Sunday will be attended by five hundred people, maybe more. Just this afternoon, I overheard the mayor saying that Daniel will be making a special appearance at Paradise Days.”

  “Daniel’s going to Paradise Days over my dead body,” I snapped. “And there’s not going to be any service on Sunday.”

  Gayle turned and studied me. “What do you mean by that?”

  Again I thought of taking Gayle into my confidence. I knew that if all went as planned and my hoax was a success, the Gazetteer would report the news to the entire community, broadcasting the fraud and forever casting shame on me and doubt on Daniel.

  The sound of shuffling leaves turned both our heads, and around the corner of the house came Daniel himself, whipping one of the reeds that grows along the water’s edge. My mother followed him, and when she saw Gayle she stopped and stared at me, wondering, I was sure, just what I’d learned about the world outside.

  “Hey, Gayle,” Daniel shouted.

  “How was your hike?” Gayle asked. “Any sign of Samson?”

  “Nope. But we did see a yellow-bellied sapsucker.”

  “Is that a fact? And what color was its belly?”

  Daniel laughed and charged up. Gayle lifted the paper from the swing and unfolded it so he could see his photo. “Looks who’s famous,” she said.

  Daniel frowned. “That doesn’t look like me.” He started sounding out the words of the headline.

  I eyed my mother. “Run into anybody on your hike?” I asked. “Like maybe the mayor?”

  My mother glanced in Gayle’s direction. Slowly, because she had no place else to go, she ascended the stone steps.

  I said, “You won’t believe some of the crazy rumors Gayle’s been hearing.”

  My mother steadied herself on the railing, but not because she was tired from their walk. “Daniel,” she said, “why don’t you run inside and get washed up? Then maybe you could bring Ms. Ehrlacher some of that iced tea.”

  “I should be going,” Gayle said, leaning forward as if to rise.

  “No. Stick around.” I locked eyes with my mother, and Gayle eased back in the Adirondack. I looked over my shoulder at Daniel, who stood silently with his hands at his side. “Go on, Little Man,” I said. Sensing the tension, he took off inside.

  My mother lowered herself onto the arm of one of the other Adirondacks, opposite Gayle. As soon as Daniel was out of earshot, my mother turned to her. “I understand that you and Ann are, well, very good friends, but I don’t appreciate you interfering in my family’s affairs. I can’t allow that.”

  “Hold up,” I said. “Telling me the truth is interfering? Mayor Wheeler’s running around claiming Daniel’s coming to Paradise Days. You make some kind of deal with him?”

  My mother rubbed her hands. “There isn’t a deal. Don’t make it sound like some conspiracy. Mayor Wheeler ran into me at Cohler’s and asked if we’d be going to the festival on opening day. I told him yes. We’ve never not gone. Why would we not go?”

  “How about there’s never been a bunch of nutsos camped out in the woods waiting for Daniel? How about no one’s ever tried breaking into our home before?”

  My mother looked up into the gray sky and exhaled. “Ann, the mayor’s gotten calls from church groups as far west as Ohio. Tourists are coming into Paradise. Do you know how long it’s been since that happened?”

  “Tourists,” I repeated. “So this is about money?”

  My mother shook her head. “This is about moral obligation. Whether you want to accept it or not, your brother is blessed. And with blessings come responsibilities. These people are traveling a long way for something that matters deeply to them. And I’m not going to deny them that. Neither should you.”

  “That sounds just peachy. But what about Daniel? You forget your moral obligation as a mother?”

  My mother’s mouth opened in shock. She looked like she’d been slapped. Gayle said, “Andi, you shouldn’t talk to your mother like that.”

  Gayle was right. Even then, in the heat of that moment, I knew it. Just like me, my mother always was doing what she thought was best.

  “I’m growing accustomed to it,” my mother said. “I don’t know where all her anger comes from, but I know where it gets directed.”

  “Maybe this isn’t my place,” Gayle said, “but it seems to me that—”

  Daniel backed onto the porch, bumping the door with his butt, carefully balancing a silver tray that held three tall glasses of brown iced tea and a bottle of Yoo-hoo. When he turned, I saw the smile he was forcing. I remembered how I used to stay awake with my parents, knowing they wouldn’t fight in front of me. We each took a glass and sipped at the iced tea, and Gayle thanked Daniel and told him it was good. Daniel got a chocolate mustache from his drink, but none of us laughed. In that miserable stillness, all of us stared away from one another, and the only noise was the tinkling of ice against the shifting glasses.

  And then another sound entered the quiet, a peaceful and melodious tune that at first you’d take for a bird announcing spring. After a few seconds, it was clear we all were drawn to the song, but it was Daniel who turned to the road and found its source. Raising one arm with a pointed finger, he said, “How come they’re dressed like angels?”

  Just past the edge of our property, on the shoulder of Roosevelt Road, stood six strangers, a choir clothed in white robes. I got to my feet and wondered where my bat was. My mother and Gayle stood, and we listened to the voices raised in song, drifting through the forest. “Amazing Grace,” the visitors sang, “How sweet the sound.” The folds of their robes fluttered in the breeze.

  “Pilgrims,” Gayle said.

  “They don’t look like Pilgrims,” Daniel said, no doubt imagining muskets and turkeys. “Are they out there singing because of me?”

  I turned to my brother. His brown eyes were wide and nervous. I said, “No. They’re just lost. Real, real lost.” I started down the steps.

  My mother followed me but had to move quickly to keep up. “What are you doing?”

  I didn’t answer, and behind me Gayle said, “Daniel, come stay with me.”

  “Ann?” my mother pressed.

  “Just need to have a word,” I said. “Help these lost souls get back to where they belong.”

  Even with all the anger pulsing in my blood as we walked the curves of the driveway, I could hear something pure in the voices of the strange choir. There was a girl my age, an old man with gray hair and skin the color of blackberries, and a bald guy in the middle of the bunch. They all beamed as they sang, radiating a peaceful, certain joy. Maybe because it was so far from what I was feeling, their faith only added to my fury. And at the time, my anger was all I was really aware of. I failed to recognize the rage of my envy.

  The robed bodies of the Pilgrim choir formed a flowing white wall, and after me and my mother rounded that final bend, we stopped and faced them. From here, maybe twenty feet away, I could see that each one held a thin white candle, capped by a dancing flame. For just an instant I imagined they might be a gang of holy arsonists, come to burn down the compound. They finished “Amazing Grace” and rolled right into “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.”

  Despite my dirtiest looks, the smiles on their faces did not diminish. I turned to my mother and asked, “So these screwballs are some of the tourists we have a moral obligation to?”

  Quietly she said, “Go on back to the cabin, Anderson. I’ll talk with them, ask them to leave.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Be sure to point out the Chief’s signs.”

  “They don’t mean any harm.”

  �
�I don’t especially care what they mean,” I said. “They’re scaring Daniel.”

  My mother stepped in front of me and grabbed my shoulders. “Well, you’re scaring me. You think everyone’s out to get your brother, that the whole world is against you. And somewhere along the line you’ve decided I’m against you too. Why? Just because I still hope things can get better here in Paradise?”

  I stared past her, over her shoulder at the Pilgrims, as if I wasn’t listening. But her words struck me like cast stones.

  “Ann,” she said, and the singing was gentle behind her. “When you were a baby, I’d find you in your crib humming to yourself. You used to carry leaves into the house to show me the patterns. Not counting the last few days, I can barely remember the last meal we shared. What did I do, Anderson? What did I do to make you hate me so?”

  You let him leave, I wanted to say. You could have stopped him.

  In her face I searched for the effortless understanding we once shared, before the ground swallowed my brother and the fish died and my father abandoned us. “I don’t hate you,” I said, knowing the words sounded hollow. And I wondered if I really did hate her, and if there was any sin worse than not returning your mother’s love.

  The singing stopped, and she turned to the silent Pilgrims. A big bald guy and that teenage girl stepped away from the group and started toward us, ignoring the No Trespassing signs. But as they neared, I realized that the bald guy wasn’t simply bald. He was burned.

  The skin of his head and most of his face was slippery smooth, melted by heat and flame. It was impossible to guess his age. The slick pink flesh extended over his forehead, where no eyebrows grew, and both his ears were scarred to unrecognizable nubs. The nostrils of the flattened nose were little more than slits. But under that, his mouth and chin, the skin glowed healthy. When he stopped, just a few feet in front of us, I looked at his mouth and it was perfect, the most perfect mouth I’ve ever seen. He had beautiful red lips, and when he smiled at us, his teeth were white and perfect too. The girl at his side spoke. “We know Daniel seeks no praise or rewards. We know Daniel is humble. We came to sing for him and offer our thanks.”