Miracle in a Dry Season (19 page)

Angie cried silently. Her shoulders quivered and tears dripped from her chin, but she did not make a sound, and her only movement was a spasmodic clutching of her skirt. Casewell had no idea what to do, and then it came to him.

“Would you like me to pray?” he asked.

Angie nodded without looking up. Casewell bowed his head.

“Father, your daughter Angie is aching right now. She has carried the weight of her sin for longer than you or anyone would have asked her. Give her the strength to seek forgiveness from those she has hurt. Give her the strength to grant forgiveness to herself. You are the God of second chances, Father. Remind Angie that it’s never too late. In the name of Jesus Christ, your Son, amen.”

Casewell wished he’d been more eloquent. He wished he’d thought to pray for the right words to pray. He wished he could somehow open a window and let the sorrow and guilt that had built up in the room dissipate. He opened his eyes and saw Liza standing in the doorway.

Angie was looking, too. “Sister, when did you get back?” she asked.

“I’ve been here a little while,” Liza said. “And if you want me to, I forgive you.” She began to cry, as well. “Even if you don’t want me to, I forgive you. I just can’t think of anything else to do.”

Angie held her arms out to her sister, and then they sat side by side on the sofa, clasping each other tightly. Casewell rose, making as little noise as possible as he left the house.

14

W
HEN
C
ASEWELL
GOT
HOME
and scratched his grubby scalp, he remembered the well was dry. The Talbots had driven all thoughts of water from his head. He walked out back and found the cover to the old well that hadn’t been used in years. It would have been grown over with vines if the drought hadn’t withered everything. He brushed dead stems aside with his foot and pried up the lid. He couldn’t see much, so he found a rock and dropped it in, hoping to hear it hit bottom with a splash. He heard a dry thud instead. He felt like cursing.

Casewell stood and considered what in the world was left for him to do. Then a memory of the cold spring came to him. His father had taken him there when he was a boy. The spring was out back in the woods a ways and down a steep hillside. It had never been convenient to the house, but Casewell used to drink there when he spent long days hunting or just exploring the woods. Surely he could find it again.

Casewell went back to the house for a bucket and a shovel and then headed in the general direction he remembered. He was soon glad for the shovel, which he could use as a sort of
walking stick on the steeper parts of the hill. After he thought he’d found the right place twice, he finally saw a tree with a branch that grew nearly parallel to the ground, making a sort of high bench.
Aha
. He remembered sitting there more than once after getting a cool drink from the spring.

And there it was, water bubbling out of the ground in a clear, cold stream. As soon as he got close, he knew it was the right place. A narrowing streak of green fell away from the source where the dry land sponged up the water as quickly as it burbled out. Casewell bent and scooped up a handful of water. He lifted it to his lips, smelling it first and then taking a tentative sip. It was just as cold and pure as he remembered. It had no flavor but somehow reminded him of moss and dark rich soil. He scooped again and drank more deeply. He felt so good that he thought for a moment he might have discovered the fountain of youth.

Grinning, Casewell set his bucket aside and began carefully digging out a basin where the spring emerged. There had been a small declivity before, but it had filled in over the years. Soon he had a small pool, about two feet by one. He carefully deepened it a little and then found stones to fortify the edges. He whistled under his breath, enjoying the work and wishing someone were with him to share his delight in the water. Perla would laugh to see this gift from the side of the mountain. And little Sadie would dip her fingers in it and squeal at how cold the water was.

Nonsense. Casewell stopped whistling. What in the world had come over him, imagining those two out here in the woods with him? He stood back to survey his work and felt pleased. The pool was just deep enough to fill his bucket almost to the rim. Of course, getting the water back up the hill was going to be a chore, but it was worth it for the water.

As he lifted the shoshing bucket, he saw something golden out of the corner of his eye and realized there was a stubby peach tree growing just above the spring. A break in the woods sent sunlight skimming over its surprisingly green leaves. And there, amongst the green, were a half dozen or so ripe peaches. He laughed aloud. Not only did he have fresh water, but he also had just about the best gift he could offer Perla. He remembered her cobbler and thought how glad she’d be to get fresh fruit. Stripping off his shirt, he fashioned a sort of sling and loaded it with warm peaches. He slipped the makeshift sack over his shoulder and picked up the bucket, brimming with cold water.

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.”