Life-giving water, Casewell thought. Then another idea struck him. He carried everything back to the house and set a pan of water to warming on the back of the stove. He stepped into the bathroom and found the shears his mother used to trim his hair. He grabbed his beard and began snipping.
Casewell felt a little self-conscious when he stopped by Robert and Delilah’s to give Perla the peaches. She came outside to greet him and stared at his clean-shaven face for a moment but didn’t comment. He showed her the fruit, still wrapped in his shirt, and she gathered them one by one into her apron. They somehow seemed more bountiful there—bigger and brighter, more perfect.
“I can make cobbler enough for everyone now,” she said with a shy smile.
Casewell felt like he’d done something brave and wonderful, but he reminded himself it was just peaches.
The drought had gotten so bad that cattle were dying and some families were talking about moving. They’d heard there had been some rain down in North and South Carolina, thanks to storms coming in from the Gulf of Mexico. No one really wanted to go, but it was looking desperate. Clouds rolled in a time or two with a breeze that might have been a little bit cooler, but it never amounted to anything.
Casewell caused a bit of a stir with his face clean shaven. But Delilah proclaimed him more handsome than ever, and some of the fellows guessed he must be thinking of doing some courting. Casewell ran a finger along the scar that was somehow less pronounced than he remembered and kept his thoughts to himself.
The gift of peaches seemed to reignite Perla’s desire to feed the community, and once she resumed cooking, it was the only thing that kept many families going. But her abilities stretched only so far. The store of food at the Thorntons’ slowly but clearly diminished. Tensions ran high. Although Pastor Longbourne didn’t attempt a repeat of the previous Sunday’s performance, his sermons took on a theme—Bathsheba brought down King David, Delilah ruined Samson, and, of course, Eve took much of the brunt of his rage against sinful and lascivious women.
Casewell continued to help Perla with cooking and distributing food. After a couple of weeks, most folks got used to the idea that she had a strange knack and were grateful for the help. And then someone—no one was sure who first said it—suggested the food was a miracle. In a community where everyone was worried and where the news had all been bad for so long, the idea of a miracle was more than welcome.
People soaked up the idea that Perla was a miracle worker like the dry ground would soak up water. Before the rumor, only a few folks came to the store for food, while Casewell and Robert delivered the rest. Now people were willing to come and wait for hours to get a bowl of stew or a biscuit, and it seemed the more that came, the more food there was. Surely it was a miracle, Casewell decided.
The crowd that just a few weeks before had wanted to run Perla out of town, except for the fact that they would starve without her, were now treating her with a strange kind of reverence. And then Cathy Stott brought her toddler to the store. The child had been plagued with ear infections since birth, and Cathy couldn’t afford surgery. Little Travis always seemed to be miserable and crying. He was sobbing the day Cathy pushed her way through the crowd, waiting for their share of barley soup.
Cathy fell to her knees in front of Perla and held the child up. “Bless him for me, miss. I’m begging you,” she said.
Perla just stood there, soup ladle in one hand and eyes wide.
“I’ve seen the miracle you’ve worked with the food,” Cathy said. “Won’t you work a miracle for my baby?”
“I don’t know a thing about miracles,” Perla said, stumbling over the words. “I’m just cooking.”
Delilah stepped over from her place in the serving line and took little Travis in her arms. He wailed all the louder. “Let’s you and me say a prayer over this little one,” she said, moving in close to Perla. “Father, you know little Travis here has had sore ears pretty much from the day he was born. We know you’re the miracle worker in this room, and we ask that you heal Travis and give both him and his mother some peace. Amen.”
While Delilah prayed, Perla reached out and laid a soothing hand on Travis’s head. She smoothed his hair back from his hot face and, in the way a mother will, leaned over and kissed his forehead. He stopped crying and looked at her with wide eyes.
Cathy climbed to her feet. “I think that done it,” she said. “That there was a holy kiss. Thank you. Thank you, miss.” She sort of curtsied, scooped Travis back into her arms, and left.
“But I didn’t . . .” Perla trailed off.
“I’m sorry.” Delilah grimaced. “I was trying to diffuse the situation, but I think we may have just made it worse.”
Perla shoved the ladle she was still holding into Casewell’s hand and fled the building. The crowd watched her go in undisguised wonder.
Perla ran straight to John and Emily’s house. Emily often watched Sadie while Perla and Casewell worked at the store. She claimed the child cheered John, although Perla had never noticed that John seemed any less closed in and quiet no matter who was around.
Her thought was to take Sadie and run away, but as soon as she came in the door and saw her child helping Emily polish the furniture, going over the legs of the table with a soft cloth, she knew her thought was foolish. Perla burst into tears and fell into one of the kitchen chairs. She buried her head in her arms on the table and sobbed.
She heard Emily take Sadie into John’s room, where she spoke in a low voice. Then Perla felt Emily’s hand on her shoulder.
“Let it out, dear. Have yourself a good, long cry. Goodness knows those tears are the closest thing to rain we’ve had in a long time.”
When the sobbing began to subside, Perla looked up at Emily, sitting patiently, hands folded in her lap, as if she had nothing to do but wait to hear whatever Perla might say. Perla suddenly knew how Liza felt when she poured her heart out sitting on a creek rock that day. A listening ear was all it took.
“They think I can do miracles,” Perla blurted. “Some woman brought her child so I could cure him. Delilah stepped in, but when that little boy stopped crying, they acted like I somehow did it.”
“Oh, child,” Emily said, taking one of Perla’s hands. “People are so hungry for something good right now. They’ll come to their senses once we get some rain. A year from now, folks will hardly remember what it was they were so riled up about.”
“What if others come?” Perla asked. “What if other people come to me thinking I can heal their bunions and make their headaches go away? When people talked about me being a witch . . .” Emily tried to protest, but Perla didn’t let her. “No, I know what they were saying. And when they said it, I thought my heart would break, but I determined to love them, anyway. I told myself that so long as the people who mattered most loved me, I could stand the talk. I told myself that as long as Sadie was happy and thriving, I wouldn’t leave. But now, once all those people realize I can’t do miracles, they’ll turn against me worse than before. I’ll have no choice but to leave.”
“But you can work miracles, Perla.” Emily squeezed the younger woman’s hand. “I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Oh, maybe it’s not the miracles people are asking for, but I’ve seen how Casewell has stepped up to help you help the very people who have held your shortcomings against you. Once upon a time he would have refused to do something like that.” Emily looked down at the table, brushing away imaginary crumbs.
“His father taught him to be rule bound, and I let that happen. John believed in an Old Testament God who was unforgiving and a terrible taskmaster. I’m afraid he was that kind of father to his own son all too often. But in the past weeks I’ve seen Casewell change. I’ve seen his heart softening, not only toward God, but toward being accepting of you and your . . . situation.”
Perla was crying again. She protested softly, “But the people—”
“People are a stubborn lot. And I know stubborn.” Emily shot a glance at John’s room. “I also k
now God can use anything for His purpose, and I trust that He has a plan.” Emily stood and put an arm around Perla’s shoulders. “I’m not saying you’ve made the right choices in life, but I am saying that you have to keep going in spite of the past.”
Perla sniffled and wiped her tears before going to collect Sadie. Emily’s words had been comforting, but at the same time she had the feeling that the older woman didn’t quite approve of her. And why should she? At least Emily loved and care for Sadie. And being held accountable for her past mistakes by someone who cared about her had to be a good thing.
Walking through the doorway into John’s room, Perla saw that Sadie had climbed onto the bed with her doll. The child chattered away.
“Sadie, it’s time to go,” Perla said.
“But I want to stay and play with Mr. John,” she said. “He feels better when I’m here.”
John reached out and cupped the little girl’s cheek. “She’s right. I do. But Sadie, girl, you need to do what your mama says. You go on now, and we’ll play another time.”
Sadie smiled, and Perla marveled at the softness she saw in John’s eyes. She knew John’s reputation for being a hard man, but Sadie seemed to bring out the best in him.
“Okay,” Sadie agreed. “But first we should pray.”
“Pray?” Perla seemed surprised. “You want to pray?”
“Yes, Mama, Mr. John is sick, and you said that when someone is sick or hurt, we should pray for them. Now pray.”
Sadie slid off the bed and pulled her mother closer to John. She took her mother’s hand, then John’s. “Pray,” she repeated.
Perla shuffled her feet uncomfortably. She wasn’t very good at praying. She took Sadie to church and told her Bible stories. She taught her daughter to pray and to be kind to others, but she generally felt like a fraud as she instructed her child in religious things. She often felt her own faith was fragile and too easily broken. Deep down, Perla suspected that God wasn’t really all that interested in her. He had remained silent on so many counts in recent years.
Perla looked at Emily, who had come to the doorway and then to John, who nodded once and bowed his head. The expectancy was like something tangible in the room. Perla cleared her throat and squeezed her eyes shut.
“God.” Her voice sounded too loud in her own ears. She took a breath and started again. “God, we know you’re looking out for us even when things don’t seem to be going right. John is sick, we’re having a terrible drought, and times are hard. We ask that you heal John and send some rain. We thank you for your blessings, even when they seem few. We have enough to eat for now, and we have roofs over our heads. Thank you for that, Father.” Perla cracked an eye open and peeked at John, who was propped up with pillows. He sat unmoving, head bowed. Emily nodded. Perla didn’t know what to say next.
She was surprised when John began speaking. “And, Father, we thank you in particular for this child you’ve sent to us. She has brought the spirit of love among us, and it has been better than a quenching rain. Thank you.”
“Amen,” Emily said, and Perla quickly echoed her.
“Amen,” said Sadie. “Are you better now, Mr. John?”
John smiled and patted her on the head. “I am, Sadie. Thank you.”
Soon after that, Casewell heard a rumor that Perla healed John’s cancer. Sadie told Delilah that her mama prayed, and Mr. John felt better. Delilah knew better but couldn’t help mentioning it to some of the ladies who had begun to come by the store to help with the cooking and dishwashing. Casewell knew she only meant to tell it as a sweet story, but a few of the ladies grabbed hold of the tale and began to elaborate. By the time the story reached Pastor Longbourne’s ears, a miraculous expulsion of demons had taken place. Serena Ward carried the exaggerated tale to him in the churchyard.
“And when she finished praying, he begun floppin’ around in that bed like a fish outta water. He choked and gasped and coughed, and afore they knew it, he hocked up a big ol’ ball of something black. Spit it out right there on the coverlet. Way I heard it, that black stuff oozed out and started burning a hole through the bedding when Emily grabbed it up and run out in the yard with it. I reckon they burned that cancer up, bedding and all.
“Now John is spry as a grasshopper—hale and hearty and a changed man. Reckon you oughta get on over there, pastor, and make sure whatever they done to him was done right. I’d hate to think it was devil work disguised as something holy.” Serena said this last with a glint in her eye, like devil work would be about the most exciting thing that had happened in Wise in a long time. Casewell bit his tongue and clenched his fists.
Casewell knew the best thing he could do was ignore the stories. But the look on Pastor Longbourne’s face somehow chilled him. He had a terrible feeling the pastor might take things to an extreme.
15
AT CHURCH THE NEXT SUNDAY, Longbourne pulled Casewell aside as he shook the pastor’s hand on the way out of the sanctuary.
“I’d like to speak with you. Privately,” he added.
Casewell waited until the congregants all made their way home. They tended not to linger long in the dry, dusty churchyard in these dog days of August. Pastor Longbourne waved Casewell back into the sanctuary. Casewell wasn’t at all certain that he wanted to hear anything the preacher had to say but walked in and sat in a rear pew.
Longbourne paced up and down the center aisle. “I hear your father has been healed,” he said. Casewell didn’t respond right away. “And I see that he did not bother to come to church today. I fear that Perla Long has been working her witchcraft on your family, and I feel it is past time I intervened. Healing is not always of the Lord. A devil’s healing can trick good people into acts of foolishness.”
Casewell finally found his tongue. “My father has not been healed,” he said.
“And so you confess the truth,” Longbourne said. “I am grateful for that at least. When can I visit the poor man and help you convince him, as well.”
“Pastor, no one thinks my father has been healed. He’s dying. And Perla Long is a good woman.”
“Blasphemy,” Longbourne cried. “She has worked her witchery on you, as well. I wonder, Casewell, can you be trusted?”
Casewell felt bewildered. “Pastor, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Perla has become a friend to our family. She’s a friend to this whole community. If it weren’t for her, some families would have starved by now.”
“The sins of this community have been visited upon the people.” Longbourne spoke as though reading from the book of Revelation. “If they had turned back to God rather than to the devil’s minion, we would have had rain by now. False prophets,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel that all is not lost with your family, Casewell. Will you take me to your father?”
“Pastor, I’m not sure my father would welcome you.”
“That’s why I ask you to take me to him. I need your help.” Longbourne stopped his pacing at the end of the pew where Casewell sat. He braced himself in the opening, and somehow Casewell felt penned in, trapped. “I insist that you take me to him.”
Something clicked in Casewell’s brain. Why was he fighting this? Why not take the pastor to his father’s house? It would be interesting to watch Dad tear into Longbourne. It might even give the dying man some spunk.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
Longbourne looked as close to happy as Casewell had ever seen him. He rubbed his hands together as though the idea of tussling with the devil was the best thing he’d had to look forward to in a long time. “The Lord is softening your heart, son. Thank you.”
Casewell snorted softly. He was pretty sure it was the devil telling him to take this crazy preacher to see his father.
Casewell had never knocked on the door at his parents’ house in his life, but he did on the day he brought the preacher to witness his father’s imaginary healing. His mother came to the door just as Casewell eased it open.
“Why, son, you don’t need to knock,�
�� she said, peering over his shoulder at Longbourne. “And neither do you, Pastor. You’re both as welcome as the sunshine on a rainy day.”
Casewell smiled as best he could and eased into the kitchen. Longbourne slithered in behind him.
“Would you’uns like a glass of tea?” Mom asked. “It’s hot enough, although I think I feel a touch of cool in the air today. Maybe fall isn’t so far off, after all.”
“Mrs. Phillips,” Pastor Longbourne intoned. “Thank you, but this is not a social call.”
“No?” she said.
“No, ma’am. I’m here to witness your husband’s alleged healing,” he said.
“Healing.” The one word, uttered without inflection, was somehow a complete statement that summed up all of Mom’s suffering in recent months. “Are you suggesting he’s been healed?”
“No, ma’am, but folks in the community have said so, and I feel that I had best witness this so-called miracle and determine if it’s God’s will or the devil’s work.”
Mom looked as though she simply couldn’t take this in. “Pastor, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but you’re welcome to go in and talk to John. He’s had a bad morning, but maybe visitors will perk him up.”
Casewell led the pastor into his father’s room. The bed he had crafted with his own hands looked magnificent. Sun shone in through the window and caught the petals of a flower on the headboard. For just a moment, the flower looked real, as though the petals were soft with morning dew. Casewell breathed in and then out before he let his focus move down to where his father lay against the crisp sheets. Each time Casewell visited, he could see the ravages of the disease in his father’s face. The shadows grew deeper and darker, skin grew more taut, and his eyes were somehow brighter with each visit. How anyone could think there had been a healing was beyond Casewell.
“Brother John.” Longbourne pushed past Casewell to take the sick man’s hand. “I have come to witness your healing.”
Miracle in a Dry Season Page 13
