“He was healed!”
“Hold on, now. He wasn’t bleeding everywhere, but I could still see deep into that wound right before Aunt Sarah covered him up. She sent after some needle and thread from that boy’s mother, and I watched her sew him back together from the inside out. He was still cut real bad, and Aunt Sarah told them what they should tell the doctor when he arrived to keep infection from coming on, but I tell you right now God’s honest truth, that boy didn’t lose another drop of blood.”
“So wait a minute. You’re saying she didn’t heal him, but it sounds like she did in a way.”
“No, what I want you to understand, and what she tried to make me understand, was that she didn’t do nothing. Aunt Sarah didn’t have some kind a mystical power she could wield at her choosing. She just knew how to pray. And when the Lord let her know it was time, she prayed with faith, the kind of faith Jesus talks about that can move mountains. And good Lord Almighty, did I see her move some mountains.”
I lay in bed beside Mother that night wide awake as my mind turned Asa’s story over and over. I couldn’t stop thinking about it no matter what. He hadn’t told me anything more really, even though I’d asked repeatedly. He wouldn’t even tell me if Aunt Sarah had taught him how to do the same thing, but I just knew she had. But when we got back to the house, talking about it was out of the question. So I chewed on my questions the rest of the day and evening, barely speaking to anyone.
I wondered lots of different things, but mainly my thoughts stayed on what Asa had said about me. I was naturally drawn to people in pain, and I had a gift for easing their suffering. He had described Aunt Sarah the same way. Did that mean he thought I had the same gift? Surely he was wrong. Seemed to me a person would have to be very special to receive something like that, like when God chose Mary to carry his own son. She’d been young too, maybe even as young as me. But she was special. I wasn’t that kind of person. I was short-tempered and impatient. In fact, whenever we studied the fruits of the Spirit, I always found it disheartening to know so many of those fruits were the exact opposite of who I was. No, God wouldn’t choose me for something so important.
But I couldn’t help the desire growing in me. If I could learn how to pray like Aunt Sarah, if I could keep people from dying, maybe I wouldn’t have to lose anyone else I loved. Maybe that was what I’d been missing all along—I just wasn’t praying the right way, with the right kind of faith. But if Asa could teach me, then maybe I could help people. Maybe I could save Matthew.
My wandering thoughts kept me from sleeping that night and the next, so when I went back to school, I had an especially hard time keeping my eyes open through the lessons. I was glad there was only a week left of school, but I wasn’t too sure what the summer would hold. I wondered if the Doyles would keep me on, especially if I was right, and I healed Matthew. Once my thoughts landed on him, I had a hard time thinking of anything else. I was anxious to see Mary at the creek and find out what the doctors had told them.
When I finally got to her, I tried to read her mood so I could prepare myself, but she didn’t show me much on our short walk to the creek. We usually ate our lunches before we really started talking, but that day I couldn’t stand it. I plopped down beside her and didn’t even bother reaching into my lunch pail.
“Well, what did the doctor say? Was it good news?”
She tilted her head and shrugged. “You know, it was hard to tell. They took some x-rays of his lungs, and the specialist said he definitely had some lesions in there that were a problem.”
“Oh no.”
“Well, but overall, he said compared to his earlier x-rays, his lungs seemed to be getting better.”
“That’s good news!” I couldn’t understand why Mary wasn’t more excited about this. “What else?”
“The doctor wants him to come stay at the sanitarium. Says we’re all in danger of catching T.B., and keeping Matthew there keeps us safe and gives him better care.”
My stomach twisted at the thought of him staying in one of those sanitariums. It seemed so impersonal and cold. But I realized how selfish it would be to want him to stay at home.
“When does he have to go?”
“Oh, he refused to go. Said he could die at home just as good as he could die in a sanitarium. He wouldn’t listen to any of them, not the doctor, not Mother or Daddy, nobody.” Then she looked at me kind of funny, with a small grin in the corners of her mouth. “He told the doctor he already had the best nurse in the world taking care of him, and he didn’t need any more than that.”
My neck and face flushed hot, and I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over my face. I had to look away. “He shouldn’t have said that.”
Mary giggled. “Oh, and the doctor said getting him out into the fresh air was the best thing for him. So turns out you were right all along.”
“I knew it. He has to start believing now. He can’t deny that this is promising.”
“Well, like I said, I don’t know what to make of all of it. He might be getting better, but who knows for sure. Even with the better x-rays, the doctor said he only has about a fifteen percent chance of recovering.”
That certainly wasn’t as good as I would’ve liked, but he was getting better. I could feel my faith strengthening inside me. This time, I was going to make sure it didn’t waver. Asa was going to teach me, and Matthew was going to be healed.
Chapter Eight
The next week, school finally let out for the summer, and I hadn’t felt so free and full of hope in a long time. Each morning I took care of my chores as quickly as I could, and made it to the Doyles’ house as the cool of morning was melting into a warm spring day. Mrs. Doyle and Mary greeted me with hopeful smiles, and we’d spend several minutes gushing over how much stronger Matthew seemed to be getting each day. Then I would head upstairs to clean his room, carefully wiping away all the dust and pollen around his windows, which now stayed open all day when it wasn’t raining. There were fewer and fewer days where I had to clean blood from the walls or the floor, and even then it was very rarely fresh blood. Every now and then he hacked up what seemed to be an effort on the part of his lungs to rid themselves of the black muck that had been stuck inside them for months on end. But all in all, I could see he was improving, could see how good the fresh air was for him. His cheeks had some color in them, and his eyes lit up every time we ventured outside.
Mr. Doyle bought Matthew a wheelchair so Mary and I could walk him around the grounds. I took him out every day for a stroll before lunch while Mary practiced her piano lessons, and then we’d all have lunch together in our favorite spot near the bottom of the slope in the shade of the huge weeping willow. I loved our time together. Despite his teasing, Matthew’s affection for Mary was obvious, and listening to their stories and laughter made me feel right at home. Late at night as I lay awake, I’d think about them, and how much I missed being close with my brothers, especially Henry. And I’d miss Daddy so bad I’d have to turn to the wall and cry quietly to myself. But morning would come, and the sun would lead me again to Matthew’s smile, and I was at peace.
The first day of June was an especially beautiful day, and Mrs. Doyle sent down some of the most delicious strawberries from her greenhouse with our lunch. We were still picking seeds from our teeth when I noticed the basketball had been left out.
“Who’s been playing basketball?” I eyed Matthew suspiciously.
“Don’t get carried away,” he said. “I’m not anywhere close to feeling that well.”
“Tom and some of his friends were here this past Sunday,” Mary said. “They were playing.”
I only knew of their older siblings from our conversations since they only visited on Sundays. I wondered if Matthew had watched them play and longed to join them. I stood and walked over to the ball, picking it up and bouncing it a few times. “Mind if I take a few shots?”
Matthew’s eyes widened, but then he grinned. “Of course you can shoot. How could I have for
gotten that you can do anything and everything?”
I stuck out my tongue at him and turned to the goal. It was nice, a real basketball goal with a backboard and everything. Not like the rusty rim nailed to our barn. I held the ball in my right hand like Henry had shown me, my elbow tucked in tight underneath it. Then I pushed it up and away, high and arching, back-spinning beautifully right over the top of the backboard. It landed with a thud and rolled away.
I could hear Matthew snickering behind me, and heat rushed all through me. I turned back to him with a forced smile. “Just need some practice. It’s been a long time.”
“I think Mary could get closer than that.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m terrible. I can’t even get near it.”
I retrieved the ball and lined myself up straight in front of the goal to try again. This time it dropped through the net, and I turned to Matthew with my hands in the air. “There! See?”
He was still laughing. “Yes, I see. So you can make a shot from five feet in front of the basket. Big deal.”
I picked up the ball and walked over to him, laying it in his lap. “Okay, fine. Show me how it’s done, Oh Great One!”
He lifted his eyebrows and held onto the ball. He looked it over carefully, turning it over in his hands. “Push me a little closer, Mary.”
She looked from Matthew to me, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know about this.”
“Just do it scaredy pants,” he said.
She stood up behind him and pushed his chair up to the goal until he told her to stop about ten feet away. Then he looked over at me and cocked one corner of his mouth. “Want to place a bet that I can make it?”
“I don’t gamble,” I said.
“Too much sin for ya?”
“Nothing to wager.”
He smiled before turning his gaze to the goal. He held the ball in his hands and took a deep breath; then, he pushed it up over the front of the rim and sank the shot. His whole face lit up, and he flexed his arm muscle. “Still got it!”
There was this fraction of a moment right then, a moment where he looked so triumphant, so happy and carefree, so Matthew, that it took my breath away. I could imagine basking in that happiness forever. But just as that moment came out of nowhere, so did the blood.
He coughed up a glob of black mess, and I bolted over to him. He pulled out his handkerchief, coughed, and pulled it away. It was deep red. My stomach dropped.
Mary gasped from behind me, which set my feet in motion. I whipped around behind him and started pushing him up the hill with all my strength. All the while he coughed and sucked in gasps of air in between. Mary ran ahead of us yelling for her mother. I focused all my energy on getting him to the top of that hill and back in his bed, cause the voice in the back of my mind kept whispering that this was all my fault.
Mr. Doyle rushed home from his store in Hanceville, bringing Dr. Fisher with him. After examining Matthew, Dr. Fisher met with the family in the parlor. When he asked what Matthew had been doing, my stomach knotted. Mary glanced at me with big sad eyes, and I could hardly hold myself together.
“It’s all my fault,” I said.
“No,” Mary said. “It’s nobody’s fault.”
“Wait a minute.” Mrs. Doyle stepped in front of me and put her hands on my shoulders. “Why do you think it’s your fault? What was he doing?”
“We were just fooling around a little. I shot the basketball a couple of times, and then I gave the ball to Matthew.”
She took a step back. “Ruby, you didn’t! You should know better.”
“He seemed all right. I didn’t think it would hurt anything to let him shoot just once.”
Mr. Doyle stepped toward us and pointed an accusing finger at me. “This is exactly why I said we should have a real nurse for him, Francine. Brother Cass was right. This…child…knows nothing about caring for someone in Matthew’s condition.”
Cass? I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised after the way I’d talked to him, but my temper flared. “I was the one who said he needed the fresh air to begin with!”
My heart raced, and I heard the words flying out of my mouth, but I couldn’t believe I was fighting back. He was absolutely right about me. Matthew should’ve had a real nurse all along.
Dr. Fisher stepped between me and Mr. Doyle. “Did he stand up? Run around or anything?”
“No,” Mary said quietly. Then she looked over at her father. “And it’s as much my fault as it is Ruby’s. I pushed him over to the goal.”
“Look, girls,” Dr. Fisher said, “it’s no use blaming yourselves. By all appearances he did seem to be getting better. But the T.B. has greatly compromised his blood vessels, especially around his heart and lungs. And yes, the fresh air is good for him, but if he makes it past this hemorrhage, he absolutely has to rest.”
“If he makes it?” Mrs. Doyle asked. “You’re saying this could kill him?”
“It’s hard to say yet. This was a more serious hemorrhage than the ones before, and it’s filling his lungs with blood.”
The room suddenly tilted underneath my feet. “He’s drowning...in his own blood?”
Dr. Fisher sighed. “Yes.”
Mr. Doyle didn’t want me in the room with Matthew, so I waited out in the hall while they took care of him. I could hear Matthew’s moans and terrible coughs, and each one ripped me to shreds. How could I have been so dumb? I should have protected him, not egged him on until he killed himself. I rested my head against the wall to his room, closed my eyes, and imagined my hands soothing his back. I prayed with everything in me, asking God for another chance and promising I would never be the cause of his pain again. I couldn’t stand just waiting, doing nothing to help. All of Asa’s talk about me having a gift for helping people had amounted to a bunch of nothing. With no idea how to begin to help him, I took to pacing the hallway.
Finally, they all filed out of his room, and for one awful second I was afraid it was over, that he was dead. Then Mrs. Doyle came over and hugged me. “He’s asking for you.”
My heart thudded in my ears. “But what about…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Mr. Doyle for a while. You go in there and do what you do best. Lift his spirits.”
I pushed open the door, and it was like the past couple of weeks had never happened. He was pale and weak, barely turning his head to me when I came in. But he managed a small smile that pierced right through me. I walked around to the side of the bed. On the floor next to him, the bloody pail was back and full of stained cloths. My stomach churned. This was all my fault. I sat on the bed beside him and opened my mouth to apologize.
“Don’t you dare,” he said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No. I wanted to.”
“But I shouldn’t have given you the ball.”
He laid his hand on mine. “I’m tired of waiting to die. I want something more.” He sucked in a wet, rattling breath. “You were right all along.” Another cough. “Lord, admitting that’s nearly enough to kill me.”
“That’s not funny.” I looked away. I didn’t want to start crying in front of him. “You were doing so well.”
“I ain’t dead yet. Don’t tell me you done went from being sure of my healing to planning my funeral.”
He was right. Maybe I could do something. Maybe if I really did have the gift, I could pray with enough faith to heal him.
“Do you trust God?” I asked.
He stared back at me like he couldn’t decide. Then he slowly nodded his head. “I reckon I do. He brought you here.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course.” He took another shallow, rattling breath.
He started coughing again, and his whole body shook. He rolled onto his side and hacked more blood into the pail. I crouched beside him with my hand on his back, and even though I had no idea exactly what to pray, I knew I had to try.
So I closed my eyes and did the best I could.
Lord, I don’t
understand how all this works, but I believe in you with all my heart. You are good, and you are righteous. Please save Matthew. Please don’t let him suffer any more. I’m trying to understand how to have the right kind of faith, but I don’t know how. Please give me the faith I need! Please heal him!
Matthew had finished coughing, and he slumped against the side of the bed. I used every ounce of strength I had to push him back up, leaning him against his pillows. I wiped away the trickle of blood from his cheek, my hands shaking. I couldn’t stop my tears from coming anymore.
“I’ll get help,” I said. “I promise. I can’t do it myself, but I know someone who can.”
I ran all the way home, and I fell flat on my face at least three times in the woods between our houses. I barely noticed. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I actually hit the ground. I might have just grazed it before I was up and running again. When I got to our property, I flew across the yard scanning everywhere for Asa, but I didn’t see him. So I threw open the side door and went running into the house. Mother and Asa were sitting at the table with Mr. Allgood from the gin and another man I recognized but couldn’t recall his name at the moment.
Mother lifted her head from her hands, her eyes wide. “Ruby? What’s wrong?”
Uncle Asa stood, and as he came around from behind the table, I rushed at him and grabbed his arms. “You have to come with me right now.”
Mother stood as well. “Wait a minute. What’s going on?”
“Matthew’s worse.” I did everything I could to control my shaking voice. “He’s dying. I want Asa to come with me and pray for him.”
Mother looked between me and Asa with suspicion. “Why Asa? You been filling up her head with nonsense?”
Healing Ruby: A Novel Page 10
