Fireflies

by P. S. Bartlett

  “Please, have a seat here in the parlor and I’ll see if Mae will be joining us,” Pastor Lincoln said as he headed down the hallway into the quaint but tidy kitchen.

  “Maybe we should go, Owen,” Sarah said softly, clutching Owen’s hand as they sat together on the sofa, surrounded by the pink roses.

  “Don’t be silly,” whispered Owen back to her, as he glanced down the hallway to see Pastor Lincoln returning with a tray of tea and cookies.

  “Mae isn’t feeling well. She’s gone to lie down for a bit. That influenza ya’ know. Well, of course you know,” Pastor Lincoln said, sounding a bit concerned and awkward at the same time, “now where were we?” he added.

  “Is there anything I can do?” asked Sarah.

  “Oh thank you but no. She’s over the sickness but she still gets a bit tired in the evening after a long day and we’re not getting any younger ya’ know,” Pastor Lincoln chuckled.

  “Indeed it does take the wind out of ya’ for a bit,” Owen concurred.

  “So what brings you here, Owen?” asked Pastor Lincoln, who seemed to suddenly want to change the subject and get down to business.

  “Well ya’ see, our boy Ennis…” Owen started.

  “Ahh Ennis. Fine looking young boy! With that thick curly hair and he’s quite the little singer too. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed as I passed him in the aisles during hymns,” Pastor Lincoln interrupted.

  “Well, we’re not quite sure how to say this or rather, to ask ya’ this Pastor, but you’ve travelled quite a bit and we’re sure you’ve had some experience with, well…” Owen was struggling with his words but he finally spat them out briskly, “We believe Ennis has a gift, Pastor. We believe Ennis has the gift of healin’.”

  Pastor Lincoln lifted his Bible slowly from the side table and held it in his hands for a moment and then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and began to blot his high, bald forehead and the back of his neck.

  After a minute or so, he took a deep breath and said, “I find you and your wife to be people of a sound mind and in the time I’ve been at this parish, your family has always been an asset and brought great spiritual strength to the flock. Healing is something only God can give. Only God can perform miracles, Owen.”

  “Well, what if I told you in complete confidence that my boy saved the Morgan baby this mornin’ from death itself and my wife was there and witnessed the whole thing?” Owen asked defensively as he felt that Pastor Lincoln was not receiving this admission well.

  “I would have to say although I’ve heard of the Lord working through people to heal the sick, I have never seen this with my own eyes nor heard of it firsthand. I’d tell you there have been stories of it in the Bible Owen but never, not in our lifetime, and certainly not at the hands of a small boy,” Pastor Lincoln said as he clutched his Bible closer to his chest.

  “He healed our Teagan too – from a bad cut and himself from that rattlesnake bite. There’s no mark, Pastor, no scar. I can see that you’re having a difficult time with this but I suppose ya’ can imagine what a thorny situation this is fer us as well.”

  “I have to believe that you wouldn’t have come here to tell me this had you not experienced something, well something extraordinary which appeared to be divine. However, this could all be just a coincidence. Did you actually see anything? Did you hear anything odd?” Pastor Lincoln was struggling and conflicted.

  “Pastor, our boy said that he sees an angel and when the angel comes to him, she is the one who actually does the healin’ and she just blows a breeze of air over him and then places a hand on his shoulder…” Owen was yet again interrupted by the pastor whose obvious discomfort was pouring out of him in buckets now.

  “An angel? He says he sees an angel as well?” Pastor Lincoln asked, appearing a bit frightened, patting himself almost continuously with his handkerchief.

  “What can we do?” inquired Sarah finally. “We’re frightened for him.”

  “Is the boy at all ill or suffering in any way?” Mae’s voice was weak, as she slowly stepped into the room and took the chair to Owen’s left.

  “Mae, you should be resting,” said Pastor Lincoln.

  “Is he ill or suffering in any way?” she asked again.

  “No. He’s fine. He has shown no ill effects or changes. Why?” asked Sarah.

  “When I was a child, there was a girl in my church, about nine years old, who said that an angel came to her and the angel would work through her to heal the sick,” Mae said on light breath.

  “Mae, you’ve never spoken of this before,” said the Pastor as he moved to the edge of his seat.

  “Why would I James. I’ve never had reason or cause to mention such things. After all, I was just a child. Soon after the word got around, people were coming for miles to our little church to have her help them but in a very short time, she fell gravely ill and almost died. Were it not for her family pulling up roots and moving away, she may have,” Mae’s eyes seemed a hundred miles away as she spoke. It was as if she were that child again, seeing it all as if it just happened.

  “Don’t tell another soul. Keep him close and watch over him. He’ll be drawn to the sick and injured and he won’t know why. He will want to seek them out. You can’t allow him to. If he did save that Morgan child, I pray they are unaware of it. I can’t rightly say that he will experience the same as the little girl but if he were my son, I wouldn’t be willing to take that chance,” Mae stated with concern.

  Sarah was still holding Owen’s hand tightly and she could feel a rush of emotion washing over her; this made her extremely uncomfortable and she took deep breaths as she tried to restrain her tears. She pulled her handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. Owen sat quietly looking at the roses on the rug, counting them again and again.

  “Mrs. Whelan, please don’t cry. I’m sure that Ennis will be fine. Just do like I said,” said Mae as she gradually pushed herself to her feet from the chair. “I’ll pray for your boy. Please excuse me,” were her final words as she headed back down the hallway to her bedroom.

  “I apologize for my wife. I’m sure that Ennis is just imagining these things and before long, he’ll forget all about it,” Pastor Lincoln smiled nervously, still patting himself.

  “I’m sure you’ll use the utmost discretion, Pastor Lincoln,” said Sarah, as she rose to her feet. All she could think about was getting home to her children and protecting Ennis from everyone.

  “Thank you again. We’d better be gettin’ home. We’ll see ya’ Sunday at church,” Owen said, ending the discussion.

  “Here, let me walk you out,” Pastor Lincoln said as he walked to the door and opened it for the Whelans.

  Owen and Sarah headed back to their home no better off than when they had first discovered Ennis’ gift. The Pastor had been no help at all and although Mae had firsthand knowledge of something of this sort, that was not proof nor was it encouraging to them that their son was not in some way a freak or possibly suffering from some strange condition through which a divine and spiritual power was doing its work. How could they know if this was a good spiritual power or a dark one? How could they know if Ennis would be harmed if he continued to seek out the sick or if, God forbid, they him?

  Together, in their brief ride home that early evening, they decided to continue on with their normal lives and if by some coincidence, Ennis came upon someone who was ill and healed them, they would do their best to conceal it. Although they loved their home and their lives in this valley, if necessary, they too would move away. Their only concern was for Ennis’ safety and health and they would watch over him closely.

  When they arrived at the house, Fagan came out to take care of the carriage and get Big Joe into the barn for the night. They had such a great deal of rain this day that the fields and pastures were full of puddles and Joe was muddy up to his flanks. Fagan would be a while getting Joe cleaned up as he wouldn’t think of putting Joe in for the night in such a state. He kn
ew he’d have to speak to his father tomorrow – or so he thought.

  “Fagan, I’ll come out to the barn with ya’ if you’d still like ta’ chat?”

  Owen followed behind Fagan as he walked the carriage around to the barn.

  “Oh Da, that would be grand. Thank you.”

  As they walked to the barn, Fagan inquired as to their visit to Pastor Lincoln’s to which Owen replied this was he and Sarah's concern and not to worry. Fagan began to go on and on about Mary to Owen as he poured the buckets of water over Big Joe and brushed the drying mud off of his legs.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So did anythin’ odd or unusual happen while we were out Fagan?” asked Owen as he brushed Joe’s mane.

  “If you’re asking me if anything happened with Ennis Da, the answer is no, outside of him insisting on chasing those dang fireflies. It’s like he can’t go to bed unless he does and he always manages to carry a few in on him,” Fagan replied, steadily brushing the mud from Joe’s legs and rinsing them.

  “What a pickle,” Owen said as he sat down the brush and slid his hand down and over Joe’s muscular chestnut neck a few times.

  “Da? What’s going on? I’m a grown man now and you and Ma need to start trusting me with these kinds of problems. Maybe I could help?” Fagan asked with concern and some frustration.

  “Yer Ma and I aren’t seeing this as a problem. A challenge, yes! A problem, no. But my son, I do appreciate you and I know, trust me I know ya’ are a grown man. Sometimes I am just so caught up in me own work I don’t take the time I should to listen to you,” Owen sighed.

  “Da, no. You are always there for me and for all of us. You work hard, but look at everything you’ve been able to accomplish and build for us. All of this land, this home and your practice and yet, you take the time to come out here listen to me ramble on about Mary,” Fagan said with a chuckle.

  “So about Mary…” Owen said with a curl in his voice,” Might we be havin’ a weddin’ by Christmas?”

  “Well, Da, you know I have to establish myself first. I can’t ask a girl like Mary to be my wife without having a stable position and income and a home to bring her to. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Fagan, the reason I have so much land is because of you children. Yes, most of it is just meadow and trees but that’s why I bought it, so that my children would never have to worry about their futures. I want you to find ten acres anywhere on this land and build your home and your stables. Yer ma of course will have to help you purchase your horses though because she’s the horse woman,” said Owen proudly.

  “Wait Da, are you telling me that you’re giving each of us ten acres to build on? Did I hear you right?” Fagan asked, as shocked as he’d ever been in his life with his hand suspended in the air, still holding the brush.

  “Yes, son! This land belongs to our family and I always want it to be that way. I want you children to be near to us and to be able to raise yer own children here and your horses and whatever else you want to raise,” said Owen joyfully.

  Fagan rushed to his father and wrapped his arms around him in a powerful embrace. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined Owen had planned this all out, even before any of them were born. Of course he would since he was such a fortunate child, thought Fagan. Why would he want anything less for his own children?

  “Da, can I ride out and pick my land tomorrow?” asked Fagan, finally releasing his father.

  “Phew! I thought you’d squeeze the life outta’ me! Yes! Yes! Ride out tomorrow and pick yer land, boy! How much money have you saved from working at the Wilburs’ stables?”

  “Well, I’ve saved it all. I have nearly two thousand dollars, Da. I’ve never had any cause to spend any money until now,” Fagan said, breaking into laughter with his father, as he was certainly referencing the fine Mary Olsen.

  Mary was seventeen and although she and Fagan had only just officially started their courtship, they’d known each other for most of their lives. They’d spent a great deal of time together over the years in the company of others as only friends but had never spent any time alone until the Sunday that Ennis was bitten. Any time Fagan had come to call, they only sat on the front porch swing or walked about the house outdoors in plain sight. At church that morning, Fagan had asked Mr. Olsen for his consent to ask for Mary’s hand; having known Fagan for most of his twenty years, as well as the fact he came from a good family, Mr. Olsen had merrily agreed to the coupling.

  Fagan had arrived just in time for his first supper at the Olsens’ and was received joyfully by the family. Mary’s siblings took a liking to him ­– her sisters Beatrice, Alice and Charlotte, and one older brother Kristopher. Kristopher was the same age as Fagan but was married already for two years to Eliza Jones from Hanover Township. He and Eliza came to dinner at the Olsens’ at least twice per month since Eliza had discovered she was expecting. Mrs. Olsen was counseling her on what to expect of motherhood. Fagan felt completely at home under their roof and could see Mary and him there for dinner on Sundays as well, although he could do without the sniggering sisters.

  “So Fagan, how are your prospects for work, son?” asked Mr. Olsen as Mary and the girls began to arrange the dishes of turkey, potatoes and rutabagas neatly on the dinner table between them. Mr. Olsen had requested that Fagan take the seat to his right as he was deaf in his left ear from a mining accident in his youth which had occurred while he worked for the Susquehanna Coal Company.

  Stephan Olsen was a large man of Swedish descent but was born and raised in America. He was completely a self-made man who was already employed in the mines at the age of seven. He’d left the mines when he married, taking the opportunity to run his ailing father-in-law’s grocery store in Wilkes-Barre. He’d made a fine, profitable enterprise out of it.

  “Well sir, I’ve been working under Jonah Wilbur at his horse ranch for nearly four years. I’ve had an eye for superior horses since I was a boy. My ma had horses back in Ireland and I suppose I was fortunate enough to have received that gift from her,” Fagan explained.

  “Are you planning on working for Mr. Wilbur indefinitely?” asked Mr. Olsen with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh, no, sir. I’ve been saving all of my wages so I may acquire a ranch of my own and raise my own horses. I’m sure I’ve saved quite enough to purchase several good mares and a few studs. I’d be overjoyed to be able to acquire at least two Irish Sports for my own but that may be a ways off for now,” Fagan replied, full of enthusiasm and conviction.

  “I admire your gumption, son. I look forward to your future success, as does my lovely daughter, I’d wager,” Mister Olsen said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Father, please,” mumbled Mary. It was the first she’d spoken since they had finally all been seated. It was the first of any words spoken by a female.

  Mary was a petite girl with big, dark green eyes. Her wavy, golden tresses and fair complexion gave her the appearance of a garden fairy, especially while in her pale green Sunday dress, which she was still wearing for supper. She was a delicate flower and now with a blush in her cheeks from her father’s embarrassing words, she was breathtaking to Fagan. He was seated opposite her at the table and could barely take a bite of his meal without nearly missing his mouth.

  “Mary, you’ve barely touched your food,” said Mrs. Olsen.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I ate quite a bit after church,” was her reply, although her anxious stomach was more likely the cause as she knew Fagan would be making his proposal that evening.

  “I’ve eaten enough for us both!” joked Fagan, as they all broke into laughter. “You’re a fine cook, Mrs. Olsen,” he added, pulling his napkin to his lips.

  Once the meal was over, Mrs. Olsen poured her husband a glass of scotch and sat it in front of him without a request, as this is what she knew to do after over twenty years.

  “Helps me sleep. Stops the ringing in my ears too!” said Mister Olsen aside to Fagan, throwing his wife a look overlaid with a hea
rty laugh. He invited Fagan and his own son Kris to join him on the front porch for more conversation. He also offered them both a glass but they politely declined.

  Owen despised drinking. He forbid it and had never imbibed in his life nor had he ever had any alcohol under his roof unless it was for medicinal uses, since his brief and miserable accommodations at his Uncle Dell’s in Philadelphia. Fagan had never touched alcohol and due to his father’s disdain for it, felt no obligation to even try it.

  Mary and the others were chatting as well. Mary’s younger sisters were still going on and on about the handsome Mr. Whelan and his horses as they dried plates and covered unfinished pots of food to store in the ice box. Mary was working as fast as she could, placing the dishes away and making a horrible racket in the process.

  “Mary! Please before you break my mother’s china!” her mother scolded.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. May I please be excused now?” Mary asked as she gently sat the last dish in its place.

  “Yes, dear,” she replied, as Mary hurried out of the kitchen to the parlor to sit and wait for Fagan. It was unacceptable for her to follow her inclination to dash out onto the porch and announce she was finished. Proper young ladies did not intrude.

  Fagan had several times peeked into the parlor window from the porch to see if Mary was through cleaning up. Finally, there she sat in all her fairy glory awaiting him. Fagan listened patiently for a few more minutes and then began clearing his throat to catch Mister Olsen’s attention.

  “Fagan, did you want to speak?”

  “Yes, sir. It appears Mary has finished helping Mrs. Olsen. May I take her for a walk for a bit?” Fagan asked with what felt like a peach pit in his throat.

  “Oh, of course! Of course! You two take a walk now. You and I can pick this discussion up next time.”

  There was but perhaps ninety minutes of daylight left and Fagan intended to make it the most memorable ninety minutes of his life up to this point. He had briefly courted another young lady the previous year but she had chosen another over him, citing Fagan’s officious temperament as her reason for the choice. He had sworn to himself he would modify his attitude as he would not lose Mary as well.