The Miracle Stealer (3 page)

“Gross!” he said. “I ain't going in there.”

I shoved him through the swinging door. “Get into a stall and stay put till I come for you. Do it.”

No sooner had the bathroom door stilled than someone appeared in the hallway. But it was no newscaster. The middle-aged man emerged from the chapel, dressed in a black suit with a
narrow tie, like he was going to church. He was thin as a scarecrow, and stubble dotted his sunken cheeks. His eyes, nervous and red, gave me the impression that he was terribly sick, and I wondered if he was in fact a patient. He didn't say anything at first, and when his roaming stare finally fell on me, he blinked like he was just coming awake.

“You that Miracle Boy's sister,” he said, half a question and half a statement.

“No,” I said. “You got me mixed up with somebody else.”

Scarecrow scratched at his leg, clawing at his pants like he had an itch that wouldn't be satisfied. “I mark you for a liar, girl. Time was when I studied you and that boy up at the church by the lakeside.”

It had been a long while since I'd been at the UCP. I searched my memory for this thin stranger's face. He kept talking. “I saw him again on the TV. Came here to see for myself the baby girl he helped birth. People around here are talking, saying that baby girl was dead and the boy brung her back to life. Like he claims to been brung back hisself.”

“My brother never said that,” I told him. “Other people made that up.”

His face shifted and I realized I'd slipped something of the truth. He walked closer. “I wonder if your brother's a liar like you are.”

My eyes fell to a fire alarm on the opposite wall. “My brother went upstairs,” I said. “You got no business here.”

He tilted his head and considered me. “My business is the Lord's business. I am His servant and I test for Him the wicked and the just. I ain't fixed yet on which your brother is, but the
truth will come before me. If he is anointed by God, I have need of him.”

I wasn't sure what that meant, but I knew I didn't like it. “He's just a little boy,” I told him. “He's not special.”

“A common charlatan?” he said. “A perpetrator of hoaxes? Then his charade must be exposed to the cleansing light.”

I was ready to leap across the hall, yank that fire alarm, and hopefully flood the floor with evacuating patients and hospital personnel. But then the doors at the far end of the hallway split open, and a lady reporter with red hair and a bulky man with a camera started toward us. Scarecrow walked away, calm as you please, like we'd just chatted about the weather. I was going to yell, “Stop that guy,” but I was scared myself, and just glad that he was gone.

Neither one of the WPBE folks recognized me. They looked inside the visitors' room and seemed puzzled. “Hey,” I said, suddenly inspired. “You looking for the Miracle Boy?”

The redhead beamed a perfect TV smile and nodded. I said, “He's up on the third floor with the Abernathy baby. I heard the two of them were speaking in tongues.”

The instant the elevator doors opened, they rushed in and disappeared. I was ready to be gone from that hospital. So I ducked into the ladies' room, found Daniel pinching his nose and holding one hand over his eyes, and dragged him out into the hallway. The doors to the second elevator were just closing, and my mother, Volpe, and Mr. Abernathy stood in the visitors' room doorway, looking around. They'd passed the news crew going up. Mr. Abernathy was holding the baby.

“Expecting somebody?” I said.

My mother seemed confused, but Volpe gave me a knowing look. Daniel strolled into the visitors' room and said, “How's that baby girl?” Mr. Abernathy bent down and tilted the bundle, angling the exposed face. When Daniel peeked inside, his eyes went wide with wonder.

Volpe circled me and got to the far side of Daniel. A camera with a long lens hung around her neck like an oversize piece of jewelry, and she lifted it and began snapping pictures. “The poor thing has been sleeping all day,” she told us between shots. I just about snatched the camera from her hands, and I should have. Daniel called me over to see the baby, but I stayed where I was, arms crossed.

Mr. Abernathy rocked gently and smiled at my brother. “Say hello to Miracle Danielle Abernathy.”

I thought
Miracle
sounded like a name for a racehorse, but I didn't say so. I turned to Mr. Abernathy and Volpe. “Listen, I don't know who's telling what kind of stories about Daniel, but you need to keep it to yourselves.”

Without looking at me, Mr. Abernathy said, “Grace is simply sharing the truth with people. Why shouldn't she?”

“Well,” I said, “your wife's version of reality isn't always the most reliable.”

Everybody went dead quiet and instantly I wished I had the words back.

My mother sighed. “Oh, Ann.”

“I'm sorry,” I offered.

But Mr. Abernathy just shook his head. For the first time he faced me, looking across his shoulder. “I recognize that you've had some difficulties in your life. But that hardly gives you the right to be cruel.”

I swallowed and looked at the busted TV. “I'm not trying to be cruel. I'm just trying to take care of my brother. Look, there was just some skinny nutjob in the hallway trying to find Daniel. He was spouting off about the UCP and testing Daniel, whatever the hell that means.”

Daniel, clearly spooked, turned at this. I didn't say anything more for fear of really freaking him out.

“And where is this man now?” Volpe asked skeptically.

I looked at my mother to see if she believed me. She asked Daniel, “Did somebody scare you?”

“Andi made me hide in the ladies' bathroom.”

You can imagine how this went over. I said, “I don't care if you believe me or not. It happened.”

Everyone stared at each other for a few tense moments, then Daniel leaned in to the baby and said to me, “She's so tiny. Come see.”

I stayed where I was.

Volpe snapped a few more shots with that camera. “Here now before you is the truest blessing of the Lord. Gaze upon this child and let your heart be lifted up.”

My heart didn't feel especially heavy, and Mr. Abernathy didn't seem to care either way, but I really was feeling bad about what I'd said about his wife, so I stepped in closer as a kind of apology. Besides, even though I wouldn't have admitted it to anybody there that day, I wanted to see the baby for myself. Since the night of the birth, I'd had a hard time getting that scrunched-up face out of my mind, those sky blue eyes that stared right through me. So, not sure what to expect, I looked at Miracle.

Despite what you might have heard, she did not have golden
hair. There was no white glow surrounding her. No cross-shaped birthmark adorned her forehead. The fact is, her head was hairy and still shaped a little funny from being squeezed like it was. Her pink skin seemed flawless to me, not a scar or a freckle or a wrinkle to be found.

But if I'm going to be a full and true witness, I have to be honest and tell you something else. The air around Miracle was thick with that scent I couldn't quite place, the same one I smelled the night she was born. I was waiting for her to open her eyes, so I kept inhaling, sniffing at this scent you'd never expect from a baby or hospital. That baby girl smelled of vanilla, rich and pure, and there in that waiting room I remembered where I'd smelled it before: the fairy fort.

I almost asked if anyone else noticed it, but I was afraid they might think I was making some kind of joke.

“She's great, Mr. Abernathy,” I said. “I'm glad she's okay and hope Mrs. Abernathy's okay.”

He nodded at me but said nothing. Volpe piped up, “Grace's placenta ruptured, but she's recovering nicely. Dr. Ghadari expects to release her in the morning. She's resting now, but when she wakes, I'll tell her that you send your good wishes and prayers.”

I didn't like Volpe putting words in my mouth, let alone prayers. I was on the verge of correcting her, but Daniel said, “Baby Miracle's having a little dream.”

We all leaned in and looked closely, but the sleeping child's face seemed no different to me.

Volpe asked, “What is she dreaming about?”

Daniel glanced at my mother and then at me, as if seeking permission. Neither of us told him not to answer, so he did.
“About angels. All babies come from heaven but they forget when they start growing up. So she's dreaming all about it while she still remembers.”

This delighted Volpe, who got so choked up she had to tug a white handkerchief from her pocket. “God's greatest blessing,” she said, fighting back tears as she poked a folded corner up inside her gold glasses.

When her cell phone rang, it startled us all. She answered it and listened, then said, “No, we're downstairs. Yes, in the visitors' room.”

“Time for us to go, Ma,” I said.

Volpe shot me a sharp look.

“What's this about?” my mother said.

“It's about us leaving,” I told her. I took Daniel's hand and started for the door, but something anchored me.

Volpe had ahold of his other hand. She bent down and said, “I never stopped believing in you, Daniel. Lo these many trials, I never once doubted.” Her eyes were bright and shiny, the way eyes get just before tears come on. “I swear by the grace of God,” she said, “others will know what you've done here. I will spread word of the wonders you have worked.”

Over my dead body, you psycho bitch
, I thought.

And that's as good a place as any to mark as the birth of the Anti-Miracle Plan.

T
here was a time when the whole world prayed for Daniel. Maybe you were part of it. Maybe, like tens of thousands of true believers, you closed your eyes and pressed your palms tight together and begged whatever God rules your heaven to please help that poor boy who'd been swallowed up by the earth. I did. That second night in the woods east of Roosevelt Park, I prayed as hard as anybody ever prayed in the history of praying. And for a while, it seemed to work.

When Daniel first disappeared in the forest, I assumed he was messing around, being a pain like little brothers can be. Just three years old, he'd tagged along with Jeff Cedars and me on a hike up to the fairy fort, a collection of ancient stones stacked in towers and circular patterns. Irene McGinley and the other Irish immigrants were the first to call it a fairy fort, but legend has it that even the Indians who lived in the valley way back when didn't know who'd set up the stones or why. They dealt with the mystery by showing the stones respect and leaving them alone—wisdom I wish I had followed.

The fairy fort is up above the wild apple orchard in this giant depression in the ground, like a huge sinkhole or a prehistoric crater, big as a football field. No trees grow in the fort, but leaves and pine needles drift down every fall, and when Jeff and I realized
Daniel wasn't in sight, we charged around the stones, kicking through the thick carpet, hollering out Daniel's name. There was no way he could've climbed out of the fort without us seeing, so he had to be playing hide-and-seek. But after ten minutes, I started getting pretty ticked off. My mother would be putting dinner on soon enough, and Dad would be crazy mad if we were late.

Twenty minutes after Daniel disappeared, a light drizzle began to pitter-patter the leaves and darken the stones. Jeff said, “Something's not right. What if he's not playing around?”

“Get my dad,” I told him. “I'll stay here and keep looking.”

When Jeff returned, he had not only my dad with him, but Chief Bundower too, being tugged ahead by Pinkerton. The old bloodhound strained against the end of the leash, sliding his head back and forth as he sniffed at the ground. The Chief held one of Daniel's shirts in his other hand. Pinkerton weaved through the stones, settled for an instant here, then there, and finally stopped to paw like crazy at some wet leaves. We were confused at first because it seemed like he was digging at solid earth. Then the Chief bent over and said to my dad, “Charles, there's something here.”

The Chief dropped onto all fours, pushed the dog away, and began yelling Daniel's name down into the ground. When I got close, I saw the hole, a ragged mouth the size of a small bucket, hardly large enough for a horseshoe. My dad scratched an eyebrow. “Danny couldn't fit through there, Earl. All your damn dog found us was a rabbit hole.”

But the Chief had faith in Pinkerton. He stood up, snapped the walkie-talkie from his belt, and radioed the state police. When he signed off and replaced the walkie-talkie, he put one hand on
my father's shoulder. “Charles, PT's never been wrong. Your boy is in that hole and we've got to get him out.”

That was around eight or nine o'clock at night. Over the next few hours, emergency rescue teams began showing up—from Hawley, from Wilkes-Barre, from Hazleton. They brought hard hats and shovels and gas-powered generators. One of them pitched a blue tarp over the hole to keep out the rainwater. Near as they could tell, the hole went down at least twenty feet, probably more. Somebody decided it was probably an ancient well and nobody questioned him. Other than Pinkerton's nose, we had no reliable proof that Daniel was down there. A group of firefighters wanted to widen the hole, but some miner from Scranton said the only chance was to dig a parallel shaft and tunnel over. Problem with that was they'd be estimating where Daniel was and they'd need to haul drilling equipment up into the forest.

I heard all of this from a position I'd taken atop a fist-shaped gray rock overlooking the hole. I just sat there in the light rain, watching everything like you do in a dream. Part of me thought maybe Daniel was off someplace hiding, upset that Jeff and I didn't pay him enough attention or something. That's what I was hoping. But in my gut, I knew my brother was down there trapped.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the rain stopped and the chain saws started. Every available man, Jeff and my dad included, had been recruited to clear-cut a ten-foot-wide path between the fairy fort and the field so the drilling equipment could get through. That's nearly a quarter mile, and they worked from both ends. When I tried to help, my dad told me to go down to the picnic pavilions, where the women were holding a prayer
vigil. Instead I crept back to the hole and talked to Daniel. I told him not to worry, that everything would be okay. When I ran out of things to say, I thought about how tired I was and how tired he must be, so I sang him some lullabies. And when I ran out of lullabies, I sang whatever I could think of, songs about John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt and Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.

I don't think I fell asleep during those hours. I remember the constant growl of chain saws growing dimmer as they made progress away from the fort, and I remember the stars overhead fading as the sky began to turn from black to dark blue. Then a mechanical roar buzzed the tops of the pines and a great cone of light swung over us. I stood and saw the helicopter, floating west toward the park. As I charged down the new trail, past the carnage of jagged stumps and felled trees, my mind filled with a vision of experts, trained professionals from New York or Philadelphia, people who planned for disasters like this every day. They'd have a better idea than this half-baked drilling plan, and they'd have Daniel free in no time. When I reached the forest's edge, I saw the helicopter, already landed just beyond FDR's statue. In its lights, two men climbed out, one oddly wearing a sports jacket. The other reached back into the belly of the helicopter and pulled out gear that at first I thought might save my brother. But then the man heaved it up onto his shoulder and I recognized it for what it was: a camera. On the tail of the helicopter I found the letters
WPBE
.

I had no way of knowing that they'd beam our story out in time for the morning news on regional affiliates, or that the national networks would pick it up by midday. They filmed the crews of would-be lumberjacks hacking away at the pine trees
and took long shots of the silent hole. Mrs. Wheeler slipped an arm over my mother's shoulder and convinced her to talk to the press. The cameras zoomed in on their crying faces, and that's when my mother and Mrs. Wheeler asked for all those watching to pray for Daniel. Much of America woke up to that story—a small town in Pennsylvania was desperately trying to save a boy who had fallen into the earth. And that boy needed your prayers.

By lunchtime the men finished dragging the amputated pines off to the side of the new path, and the drilling equipment got hauled up slowly over the fresh stumps. Three more news crews had arrived by then, and together they reduced what seemed like the greatest tragedy to ever strike our town to witty phrases like “Peril in Paradise.” It took most of the afternoon to drill the rescue tunnel, but the lead story on the evening news was going to be one of hope. Soon rescuers would finish the tunnel. Young Daniel would be in his mother's arms before nightfall. Americans from coast to coast, and viewers across the world, held their breath.

I was on my perch atop that gray rock when the rescue tunnel collapsed. They had extracted the drill, and that miner from Scranton had been strapped into a harness, which was attached to a winch set up over the opening. The hard hat he wore had a light on its forehead. He held a shovel that seemed like a kid's toy. But from what I could hear, they thought the rescue tunnel was only a few feet away from Daniel, and the miner would carefully dig sideways until he reached my brother. That was the plan. But just a few minutes after they lowered him down the rescue hole, the earth sighed and the ground between the two holes sagged.

I didn't understand at first why everyone began shouting,
why those manning the winch began yelling, “Get him up! Get him up!” When the miner emerged, his face was black with dirt, and he coughed and gasped for breath. A paramedic bent over him.

The men around Daniel's hole were on their knees, and one of them began to cry. The miner's efforts had caused the hole to cave in. My three-year-old brother was now buried alive.

I can't even begin to tell you how I felt, partly because I don't want to think about it.

But this was now the grim news that beamed out in time for the six o'clock broadcasts. If you see snippets of those old programs now, you can tell that people had given up. There was more talk of a recovery team than rescue efforts. The local news crew left, maybe out of respect, maybe because somebody didn't think a limp body being pulled from the earth would make good television. But the other crews stayed, and they kept filming while the men deliberated and decided to drill another tunnel.

That second night was harder. Listening to the whirling whine of the drilling machine, I tried to believe my brother could still be alive somehow. I tried to pray. I tried not to be angry at God, but it was hard. I mean, if everything happened according to God's plan, then God intended for Daniel to fall down that well. He intended for my brother—a child completely without sin—to be cold and wet and terrified, or dead. And He meant for me to feel this crushing guilt.

Still, I thought it was important to try and pray, and after a while I just started saying, “Please God, let Daniel live.” I repeated it over and over, for hours really, and I rocked with a rhythm like when I ran, until finally my body surrendered to exhaustion.

I woke up when the drilling machine shut off, and I was worried about what the silence meant. The second rescue tunnel had taken twice as long to finish, but it was done. I crawled down off my rock and pushed through the small crowd to see the giant tripod they'd set up over the new opening. The winch at the top looked like an oversize reel from a fishing rod. A second miner appeared, dressed just like the first: a harness of thick black straps and a hard hat with a light on it. Someone snapped the metal line from the reel onto the harness, and just as the sun sliced through the pines, he was lowered into the second tunnel. This was going out live on all the television networks that had cameras there. The same viewers who'd woken up the day before to the first news of the disaster were now watching to see the outcome.

The second rescue tunnel was farther away from Daniel's tunnel than the first, so that miner had quite a way to dig sideways. Because everyone was straining to hear the miner on his walkie-talkie, somebody cut off the power generators and the fairy fort filled with an eerie silence. But then all of us gathered around the hole turned to a strange sound—a soft chanting rising up from the meadow. Down in the open field, my mother and Mrs. Wheeler and the Cullen sisters and Mr. Hogan and the Abernathys and maybe two dozen others had fallen to their knees and joined hands in a prayer circle. In the early morning mist coming off the lake, they sang hymns in hopes of persuading God to resurrect my baby brother. It's all on the video.

On the other side of the hole, my father shook his head.

Twenty anxious minutes later, the miner radioed up, but the crackling static couldn't be understood. And then the winch was reeling slowly backward and I realized they were drawing him
out. I expected he was coming out to take a break or get other equipment. His hard hat appeared and then his whole body, dangling in the air.

His back was turned to me at first, so I didn't see him clutching Daniel. But over the weeks and months to come, I saw that snippet of film so many times that now it's part of my memory of the actual event. These are the images I share with the world: Daniel's blackened face. The harsh scrape on his bloodied cheek. His head strapped to the board for his own safety. And his dark brown eyes, blinking and wet, but proof positive that he was alive.

Everyone cheered and screamed and wept with joy. Even the big men. They all cried like babies.

I'll bet you saw all this, but you never saw me, did you? That's 'cause I stayed off to the side, out of the camera's view. I leaned into the fist-shaped rock and bowed my head. I imagined God watching over us all and I thanked Him. Daniel had been saved and my prayer had been answered. Despite all the troubling thoughts I'd had during the long night, when my brother emerged unharmed from that hole in the morning brightness, I felt certain that God was really looking out for us after all.

The wind picked up and the pine trees above the fairy fort shivered, and the breeze brought that smell to me: vanilla. It was the same thing I would smell when Miracle was born, and later too. And to this very day, I'm not completely sure what to make of it.