“That makes what considerably easier?” I asked.
He ignored me, tucked Sherry back in, then straightened up.
“I’ve come to make you an offer,” he said. “The archbishop has authorized me to tell you that the Church is willing to undertake an investigation into…these matters.” He leaned forward, his tone confiding. “You do understand that an investigation must be done.”
Karen shook her head. “Why?”
“To make her into a saint,” I muttered.
“No.” The priest turned to me. “The investigation will find that absolutely nothing miraculous has transpired here. The newspaper will print a correction. You and your family will be left in peace. The three people who claim to have been healed by your daughter will be revealed to be”—he waved his hand as if pulling the story from the air—“fraud artists trying to take advantage of you people, or religious fanatics, or perhaps to be suffering from dementia.” He was completely casual, his voice utterly flat. “Upon examining their medical records, it will be revealed that they never suffered from the conditions your daughter supposedly healed them of. Cancer, whatever.” He smiled again, and I was reminded of a dog, showing its teeth.
“What are you talking about? You can’t…” I was thinking of Ruth, of her obvious love for Sherry.
“It will be quite a scandal for a while,” he continued. “But the investigation will find that neither of you had any knowledge of what was going on, that you and Sherry have been victimized.” He shrugged, as if this plan made such perfect sense there was no need to explain further.
“Why?” I asked. Karen’s eyes moved between the priest and me.
His tone had the exaggerated care and condescension I imagined he used to speak to a child. “For reasons you don’t need to understand,” he said. “The Church finds that it is in its best interests if any claim of miracles is refuted as quickly as possible. I ask you, can you imagine what it will be like as the stories of Sherry start to spread? It must be very difficult for you now, with even those few people out there, holding you prisoner in your own home. Do you know how many people visit Lourdes each year? Don’t you want this problem to disappear?” He paused, an effect I recognized from the courtroom.
“That doesn’t explain what the Church—”
“It’s about faith,” Karen said, her thoughtful gaze on the priest. “Right? What’s faith worth, what’s heaven worth, if there are everyday miracles? What role does the Church have if people have direct access to God?”
The priest smiled his cold smile, neither confirming nor denying what she was saying. “Mr. and Mrs. Barrett, I came here to offer you a way out of the dilemma you currently face. I urge you to consider this carefully, and consider the repercussions of any decision you make. How your life will be affected—”
“How our lives will be affected?” Karen repeated. “And what about them?” She gestured toward the window. “What about all of those people who Sherry could help? Is the Church comfortable with letting them die?”
“Mrs. Barrett,” he said in measured tones. “There is no reason to believe that anything miraculous has occurred here. And frankly, the Church is not concerned with what happens to people who put their faith in snake handlers or faith healers.” He started for the front door. “Those are choices people make. Your concern should be with the choices you make.”
“Are you threatening us?” I asked.
The priest turned and we both stepped back despite ourselves. “Mr. Barrett, I have considerable experience with matters like these. Things can become very difficult if these situations are not resolved quickly and quietly.” The darkness of his eyes left no doubt—this was a threat, not a warning. “I’ll be checking back with you.”
He opened the front door and set off down the walk as if we had just had the most casual of visits. I hurried to close the door behind him, trying to ignore the press of faces staring in. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the boy with leukemia still sitting on the front lawn, staring at Sherry’s curtained window.
As I came back into the room, Karen was pacing, muttering to herself. “It’s all the same old bullshit you think went out with the Dark Ages…”
“A lot of people think that miracles went out with the Dark Ages.”
“That’s not what the sisters taught us. It’s not what my mother would say. Christ, when she was here last month she told me that she had asked her priest if they could do some fundraising so we could take Sherry to Lourdes. And the priest agreed.” She stopped her pacing, shook her head. “I thought I’d left all of that behind. How the hell did we get into this?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“The worst part is, what he was saying made sense. In a way. Wouldn’t it be easier if all this just went away?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Of their own accord, my arms opened and I found Karen in them, her arms around my waist, her head against my chest. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to stroke her back, breathe in the scent of her hair.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
LEO TANNER
I parked the van behind the truck from the TV station. I turned off the engine and looped the springy key ring around my wrist, just like Mr. Perkins always told me. I sat there for a minute, looking at the newspaper on the other seat.
The little girl was so beautiful. Sherilyn Barrett. She looked just like an angel. Or like the Holy Mother in those paintings where she looks so peaceful, her eyes looking up to heaven.
The Holy Mother. I kissed my rosary and said a Hail Mary before I picked up the newspaper.
I read the story again, even though I knew it almost by heart already.
They didn’t give the whole address, but this had to be the place. Why else would there be TV trucks on such a quiet street? Why else would all those people be in the front yard? I watched them for a minute. I wanted to be sure.
“Be careful, and you won’t make any silly mistakes.” That’s what Mother always says. I didn’t want to make a silly mistake.
I’d been waiting all morning for my lunch break so I could come, ever since Mr. Perkins showed me the newspaper in the break room when I got to work.
“I guess you’ll be interested in this,” he said, pointing to the picture of the little girl who looked like an angel.
I read the story while I had my coffee and a chocolate doughnut. A couple of the other guys asked me what I was reading, and I showed them, but they weren’t interested. Then we had to go out to fix a broken sewer main and a flooded basement. I did all the digging and the heavy lifting, but then I had to wait for the other guys to do their jobs. So I couldn’t come to the house until lunchtime. I could hardly stand it. I had to see her, to see if what the papers said was true.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and climbed out of the van. I made sure it was locked before I closed the door. Better safe than sorry. Mr. Perkins was really nice to let me use the van, and I didn’t want anything to happen to it.
“Better safe than sorry.” That’s something Mother always says too.
There was a crowd of people with cameras and Bibles and cups of coffee on the sidewalk in front of the house, and I had to walk on the street to go around them.
I went through the gate and walked up to the crowd in the front yard. I tried to smile.
“Walk like a man.” That’s what Mother always tells me.
But I was really scared. I wasn’t scared of the little girl, but I had a funny feeling like butterflies in my belly.
I stood near the back. I think I was the only one there who was alone. I smiled at the people around me, and some of them smiled back, but they all looked a bit scared. It’s because I’m so big—nobody ever wants to talk to me. I had the newspaper in one hand, and my rosary in the other, so I just stood there, rolling the beads between my fingers.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…”
Everybody jumped when the front door
opened. A priest came out of the house, and the door closed behind him. I could tell he was a priest, even though he was only wearing a collar and no robe. He looked like one. His long black coat was sort of like robes anyway.
Everyone on the lawn backed away from him. He started down the walk, but he stopped when he saw me standing in his way.
He looked me up and down from my head right to my toes. He looked at the rosary in my hand. He was playing with a nickel or a quarter. The coin was shiny in the sun.
Then he smiled at me. People don’t usually do that, and I smiled back.
“Hello, Leo,” he said, holding out his hand.
“How…” I put the newspaper under my arm and took his hand and shook it, not too hard and not too soft, just like Mother taught me. I’m always careful not to hurt people. She said, There’s no reason to be a bully just because you’re bigger than them.
“How do you know my name?”
He smiled again. “It’s on your coveralls.”
I looked down at the patch on my uniform. Leo Tanner. “Oh. I forgot about that.”
He held on to my hand with both of his. “Why are you here, Leo Tanner?” he asked.
“I came to see the little girl. The one who can do miracles.”
“You saw the story in the newspaper?” He put his hand on my shoulder and walked with me to the van.
I nodded. “I’ve got a big book about miracles at home,” I told him. “I never thought I’d actually get to see someone who could do miracles for real.”
“I could tell you about miracles,” he said. “Would you like that?” He had a funny look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or angry.
I nodded, and then stopped.
“I’d like to learn about miracles,” I said. “Could you teach me?”
This time I was sure that he was smiling.
“Thanks, Diane. I’m Bill Stewart, live at the Barrett home here in Fernwood where we’ve had, in the last few minutes, what may be a significant development in this story. Moments ago, Simon Barrett, father of Sherry Barrett, who you’ll remember is the little girl who was in that tragic hit-and-run accident back in April, and may in fact be capable of healing, Mr. Barrett moments ago came out of the house, onto the front step for his first public appearance. Let’s go to the tape.”
[Simon Barrett:] “Is Donna Kelly here? Donna Kelly? Donna, I’d like to have a word with you and Jeffrey if I could. Just for a moment…Come right through…”
[Bill Stewart:] “As I said, that was a few moments ago. No one here knows what is going on. There are some in the crowd who believe that they’ve called Jeffrey Kelly, who is a six-year-old with terminal leukemia, there are some who believe that he has been called in to be healed by Sherry Barrett, although we have no confirmation of this. Jeffrey and his mother have apparently been here since early yesterday afternoon, maintaining a vigil, hoping that he might be healed of his terrible disease.”
[Diane Oliver in studio:] “Bill, what’s the mood like in the crowd?”
[Bill Stewart:] “Diane, that’s an interesting question. There are a couple of dozen people here, a lot of them have been here all night. A number of them protested after Mr. Barrett closed the door, but overall the crowd is very calm. I think all of the people here are hoping for something like this to happen to them as well. There are a number of very sick people here, wanting a chance to see Sherry Barrett. I think they’re thinking that if Jeffrey Kelly has been called in to be healed, then maybe it bodes well for everyone else here.”
[Diane Oliver:] “You’ll keep us posted?”
[Bill Stewart:] “As things develop.”
[Diane Oliver:] “Thank you, Bill. That was Bill Stewart live…”
KAREN
As Donna Kelly and her son, Jeffrey, stepped into the foyer, they both bent to take off their shoes. “Don’t worry about that,” I said.
“We really should,” Donna said, helping her son with his shoes. “It’s pretty muddy on your lawn.”
She looked so sheepish that I smiled to reassure her. “It’s a strange situation we’re all in. Let’s go into the family room.”
She was a small woman, young and fit, and she looked like she might once have been happy. With her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, she had the air of someone who worked with kids, in a daycare or a preschool. Jeffrey was everything a six-year-old boy should be—cute and shy, blushing and turning away as Simon and I introduced ourselves to him. But there was a brittle brightness about him that I realized came from weight loss, from the taut translucency of his skin. Under the toque he was bald from his chemotherapy.
No one seemed to know what to say once we were all sitting down. I decided to lead with honesty. “We, Simon and I, we don’t really know…” I smiled at Donna, and at Jeffrey sitting next to her, craning his head toward the living room. “We don’t really know what we’re doing with all of this. It sort of took us by surprise.”
Donna nodded. “It must be terrible for you. I mean, I can’t imagine being in the position you’re in, but I know…I know what it’s like to face losing a child. And then all this. This circus.”
“That’s a good word for it.” I didn’t point out that she was part of that circus.
“I’m sorry we were out there…” Donna stammered. “We were at the hotel when we saw the thing on the news and we caught a bus up to the mall right away. It was pretty easy to find your house, with the reporters and all.” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.
“Hotel?” I asked.
“We’re not from here. We live in Seattle. We’re just up for a few days.”
“Holiday?” Simon asked.
Donna glanced at Jeffrey. “It’s…You know those Make-A-Wish people? Jeffy’s been seeing the ads for Victoria on the TV and he wanted—they’re paying for us to have a few days up here in a nice hotel. See the museums and stuff. I never would have been able to afford it on my own.”
Simon looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “It can’t be easy for you.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s hard, yeah. The medical expenses have pretty much wiped us out. I had to quit my job to take care of Jeffrey, and we moved back in with my mom.”
“And his father?”
She shook her head. “High school. I haven’t seen him since graduation.” Donna laid a hand on Jeffrey’s leg and squeezed it. “But we do okay, don’t we, bud?” His thigh was so thin.
“When can we go see Sherry?” Jeffrey asked, as if discussing a visit to McDonald’s. He looked around the room for someone to answer his question.
Donna patted his leg. “We’ll see, baby, okay? You remember that this was a maybe, right?”
“Maybe right!” he repeated.
I looked across at Simon. He cleared his throat. “We don’t really know how this works. We don’t know why. Or how—”
“Mr. Barrett,” she interrupted.
“Simon.”
She blushed and looked down at her lap again. “Simon, I’m sorry, and please don’t misunderstand me, but the why and the how of it aren’t really that important to me. Is it true? Did the news get it right? Did your little girl cure that woman’s cancer?”
I glanced across at Simon, then nodded. “We think so. Yes. It’s true.”
“Oh my God,” she said.
I watched her fingers tighten on Jeffrey’s thigh. After a moment he pushed her hand away. “Ow, Mommy!”
“Sorry, honey,” she said, but her attention was focused entirely on Simon and me. “Would you…Do you think it would work on Jeffrey?”
Before I could speak, Simon answered, “We really don’t know, but let’s give it a try.”
“Oh God,” she whispered, tears streaking her face. “Thank you…”
Jeffrey turned toward her, his face twisted with worry. “What’s wrong, Mommy? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, hon, Mommy’s just…”
“Hey, Jeffrey,” Simon called out playfully. “Would you lik
e to go and meet Sherry now?”
He stood up. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Donna sobbed after they’d left the room. “This is so stupid…”
“No, it’s not,” I said, crouching in front of her, gently touching her knees. “It’s not stupid. I just hope it works…”
She shook her head again. “No. No. Even if, even if it doesn’t, just the thought that maybe…”
I could hear my own thoughts in her voice. “I know. If someone were to tell me that Sherry…that there might be a way—” I shook my head. “We should go in there.”
She smiled through her tears and nodded. As I started to stand up, she grabbed my hand, pulled it to her and kissed the back of it, then pressed it to her tear-damp cheek. “Thank you, Karen. Oh God, thank you so much.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I helped her up and led the way to Sherry’s bedside.
Simon was explaining the feeding tube to Jeffrey. “So the food—”
“The juice,” Jeffrey interrupted.
“The juice,” Simon played along. “Goes down through this tube and into Sherry’s tummy. So even though she can’t eat, she still gets to have all the good stuff that she needs…”
Jeffrey nodded. “I have something like this when I’m in the hospital, but it goes in my arm.”
Simon noticed us over Jeffrey’s head. “Here’s your mom,” he said.
Jeffrey looked up. “Mom, look, this is Sherry. She was…” He glanced at Simon, who nodded. “She got hit by a truck and now she’s never gonna wake up.” He touched the side of Sherry’s face, his tiny hand in perfect scale with her features. “Isn’t that sad? She’ll never wake up.”
Glancing at me apologetically, Donna gently touched the back of her son’s head. “Yes. Yes, that’s very sad.”
“Is that what’s going to happen when I die?” he asked his mother, as if it were of no greater consequence than taking an afternoon nap, or being forced to eat his vegetables.
Donna looked like she was close to breaking. “It’s something like that, honey.”
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