Healing Ruby: A Novel

by Jennifer H. Westall

  “Of course not, dear.” She glanced over at the colored man who’d brought me in. “Ellis, will you get Miss Ruby a chair so she can join us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He slid a wing-backed chair with a large plush cushion closer to them. I was a little afraid to sit on it, thinking I was going to get it dirty, but then I thought it might be rude to refuse. I sat on the edge as much as I could without falling off onto the floor, and I straightened my back so I didn’t look so off kilter.

  “How’s your family doing?” Mrs. Doyle asked.

  “Oh, they’re getting along all right. Everyone’s staying pretty busy.”

  “And how’s your father these days?” Her face made that same slight tilt to the side that everyone made when they asked about Daddy.

  “He’s still having a bit of trouble, but I think he’ll turn right around with the weather improving.”

  She smiled a kind of tired, hopeless smile. “Well, we keep you in our prayers, Ruby. All of you.”

  I looked down at my hands and hoped for some way to change the subject. It only seemed right to ask about Matthew, but I imagined that would only shift the agony from my side of the conversation to hers. Thankfully, Mrs. Doyle rescued me.

  “What brings you by today?” she asked.

  I knew why I was there, but I didn’t quite know how to start the conversation. I looked over at Mary, and she smiled with those gentle eyes that seemed to loosen my mouth when we were down by the creek, and that helped settle my nerves. I folded my hands in my lap and squeezed them.

  “Well, I was talking to Mary not too long ago about helping out around here with some cleaning if you needed it.”

  Mary scooted forward in her chair and reached for her mother’s hand. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. It would be nice to have Ruby around.”

  Mrs. Doyle turned her gaze back to me. “Your mother doesn’t need you at home?”

  “No, ma’am. I do my chores in the morning, and I have time to spare in the afternoons. Once school lets out, I’ll have even more.”

  Mrs. Doyle looked at me thoughtfully. She started to say something, but from somewhere in the house, maybe a few rooms away and above me, I heard an awful fit of coughing. The blood drained from her face, and her eyes widened. She stood and excused herself, half running out the door, her dress swishing along the hallway and up the stairs.

  I looked over at Mary, who seemed frozen as well. “Is everything all right?”

  She shook her head. “It’s just Matthew. He’s had a bad morning.” She pinched her eyebrows together. “I still don’t understand why you’d want to do this. And I can’t imagine your mother being all right with you exposing yourself to T.B.”

  I looked down at my hands again. Upstairs, I could hear the muffled sound of a male voice, urgent, even angry. Seconds later the swishing came down the hall. Mrs. Doyle stopped in the doorway, and she placed her hand on the frame as if she needed to regain her balance. She took a deep breath and looked over at me.

  “How do you feel about starting today?”

  It was the first time I’d seen Matthew Doyle since the basketball game the previous November, and the site of him burned into my very soul. He’d lost so much weight, he might as well have been made of sticks, and his dark eyes had sunk deep into his face. He started coughing again right after I followed his mother into the room, and each cough had a painful screech to it that sounded like it was shredding his lungs. I wondered why I was so willing to trade Daddy’s suffering for his, but I couldn’t quite wrap my thoughts around it. As much I ached seeing Matthew so broken, it didn’t paralyze me with fear like it did seeing Daddy. And at least here, I could do something to help.

  Mrs. Doyle went to Matthew’s side and laid her hand on his back as it shook. The last couple of heaves sent a spattering of blood across the sheet, and it was then I noticed the stains. They were everywhere. Red blotches faded to brown—except for the fresh ones from the day—covered the sheets, the pillows, the floor, and even the wall beside the bed. I looked down next to my feet right inside the doorway, and a large pail of water sat with a washcloth draped over the side. It was stained too.

  When Matthew was done coughing he leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes, his jaw going slack. Mrs. Doyle stood and smoothed out her dress. A few drops of blood had spattered across her chest and lap.

  “I’ll need to go change,” she said quietly. “There’s a bucket of soapy water there beside you, and a mask hanging there above it. Just get the floor and wall wiped down for now. I should be back before you’re done.”

  I nodded my head, and she swished by me and down the hall before I could say a word. Then she disappeared behind a door.

  I slipped the ties of the mask behind my ears. Then I grabbed the pail and tip-toed around the foot of the bed to the side Matthew was sleeping on. As his chest rose and fell, a light whistling sound escaped. I knelt down beside the bed and wrung out the washcloth. Then I scrubbed the wall, leaving a spattering of pink smears across the light brown wallpaper. I rinsed the cloth and wrung it out again, starting on the floor.

  The room was too quiet. It felt like something awful was sitting in there with me, something dark. I remembered what Mary had said about the maid who’d left, and it sent a shiver through my skin. I finished as quick as I could, shoved the rag in the pail, and stood. Then I glanced over at Matthew. His eyes were open, and he was staring right at me. It startled me at first, and it made my stomach drop near to the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  He kept on staring at me, not saying anything. His eyes, so hollow and deep-set, looked like they were staring through me, not at me. I thought maybe he couldn’t see me, or that maybe he was even dead. But the whistling was still coming from his chest as it rose and fell. I wanted to say something to reassure him, but my mouth wasn’t working like it should. It opened and closed all right, but nothing came out. Finally, he blinked. Then he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side away from me.

  I wondered how awful it might be if I tore out of there running home as fast as I could. But what would be waiting on me there? More suffering. More doubt. More fear. At least in this house it wasn’t my own.

  As March blew its heavenly fragrances of hydrangea and spring rain through the house, Daddy made it out of bed on fewer and fewer mornings, and when I went in to hug him before school, he could barely see me. In a way I was thankful he couldn’t see the sadness growing inside of me, but I was afraid he knew just the same. I was glad for the end of winter. With the earth about to bloom, I couldn’t help but pray Daddy’s health would bloom right along with it. I prayed to God for a miracle, that Daddy would get out of bed and read to me like he used to, or sit with us at breakfast and talk about the day ahead. Some days, he did manage to make it to his chair by the fire—just enough days for God to string my hope along—but that seemed to take a week’s worth of life from him, and he’d stay in his bed for days afterward. I was so confused I didn’t know whether I wanted him out of that bed or not. Seemed like moments of hope only made for days of suffering, and I couldn’t do anything at all to help.

  First of April, the doctors took his other foot, and I about lost the small grain of hope that still clung to my heart. One morning, a little over a week after his surgery, I went in to see him before school. He was propped up on a pillow with a couple of quilts covering him from his chest down. I turned to go back out the door when a board beneath my feet creaked. I heard the quilts shift, and I turned back around to apologize for waking him. His eyes searched the room, squinted and unfocused.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “It’s me, Daddy.” It was all I could do to keep my voice steady.

  He waved me toward him. “Come here, baby girl.”

  I walked over to the bed and sat on top of the quilt next to him, taking his hand in mine. “I’m sorry I woke you. Can I get you anything? Some water? Some co
ffee maybe? Are you hungry?”

  “Nah, I’m all right. I’m glad for hearing your voice. I’d be mighty thankful if you’d sit with me for a spell.”

  “Of course.”

  “But there is one thing that would be awfully nice.”

  “Anything, Daddy.”

  “I can’t see to read no more. Sure would be nice to start my morning with listening to some Scripture.”

  I reached over to the table beside the bed and took the Bible, flipping through the worn and yellowed pages. “What would you like to hear?” I asked.

  He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Matthew. Read to me from Chapter Nine.”

  So I opened the Bible and began reading.

  “And he entered into a ship, and passed over, and came into his own city. And, behold, they brought to him a man sick of the palsy, lying on a bed: and Jesus seeing their faith said unto the sick of the palsy; ‘Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee.’ And, behold, certain of the scribes said within themselves, ‘This man blasphemeth.’ And Jesus knowing their thoughts said, ‘Wherefore think ye evil in your hearts? For whether is easier, to say Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins,’ (then saith he to the sick of the palsy,) ‘Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house.’ And he arose, and departed to his house.”

  I paused. “Daddy, can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I don’t understand. Seems like Jesus was going to forgive the man’s sins, but not heal him, until the scribes started grumbling about it.”

  “Yeah, seems like it. But Jesus knew their hearts. See what he did there? He used that healing to show ’em that he didn’t just have the power to heal their physical ailments, but the power to heal their spiritual ones too.”

  I looked out the window behind the bed toward the plowed fields that had recently been sown with the help of our neighbors. I wondered why God hadn’t healed Daddy, even though I prayed for it every day and every night, along with everyone else I knew too. People had come by the house often, praying over him, praying with him, calling on the Holy Ghost for healing. Daddy seemed to take it all in best he could, smile as best he could, and then seemed to try to make everyone else feel better about not being able to call down healing on him.

  I thought about all the people Jesus must have encountered in his travels, and I wondered how many were sick and dying that he passed on by. Why would he heal some people, and not others? Why not Daddy? He was the best man I ever knew, and he worked hard to be kind to others and love God every day of his life. I felt my anger burning inside me, singeing my faith in God’s goodness.

  “What is it, Ruby?” Daddy asked. “I can feel the weight of your troubles on my heart.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Do you pray for Jesus to heal you? Do you think he still does that?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why doesn’t he answer you? Why doesn’t he answer all these people around here?”

  “Healing’s different for different folks. You can’t make it happen the way you want it to. You just gotta wait on the Lord to do his will. That’s what faith’s all about, Ruby. It’s trust in the face of all evidence pointing against you.”

  “Do you think Jesus will heal you?”

  “I suppose so, one way or another.” He squeezed his eyebrows together and pointed at the Bible in my lap. “Flip over to Second Corinthians for me. Chapter four.” I did what he said. “Now start right at about verse fifteen. I think that’s the one I want.”

  “For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God. For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.”

  I looked up at Daddy, lying in his bed day after day, his body wasting away and quitting on him. “I know what it says, at least I think I do. But don’t you ever get frustrated?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I feel lots of things. And yes, I get frustrated. But when I lose my way, I remember where my true North is. That’s what that verse is talking about. All this stuff is temporary, and most days I ain’t sure I’d call it light affliction, but I do know it don’t compare to the glory that waits on the other side for me. And that gives me the strength to endure it.”

  He closed his eyes, and I wondered if he’d fallen back asleep. I started to get up when he spoke again. “Don’t lose faith, Ruby. Stay the course God has chosen for you. It ain’t easy, and some days all you’ll want is to give up. But keep your eyes and heart on the truth.”

  That afternoon, I felt worse than ever about sneaking off to the Doyle’s place, and I guess Mary sensed my melancholy as we walked across town to her house. She was mostly quiet, but every once in a while she’d stop to look in a store window, and I’d hear her whistling a little tune.

  “You seem more cheerful than usual today,” I said when we were about a half mile from her house.

  “Do I?” She glanced over at me with a smile. But she didn’t say anything more, and it started to gnaw at my nerves wondering what was going on.

  “Well? You going to tell me what’s got you so happy?”

  She shrugged. “It’s no big deal, really. Billy Harris invited me for ice cream on Saturday while we were in town. He walked right up to Daddy and asked his permission and everything.”

  “Oh, Mary! That’s so exciting!” I was grateful for the good news, and it was a relief to let go of the thoughts I’d been wrestling with. “Was he nice?”

  “A perfect gentleman. I can’t remember for the life of me what we talked about. I was so nervous, I’m sure I just babbled like a silly girl. But it was so wonderful, Ruby. I felt like a real woman.”

  I didn’t tell her that she’d already looked like a real woman for quite some time now, at least in my mind. I listened as she talked, spreading a picture out before me of a strange world filled with racing hearts, dimpled smiles, and eyes that could make a girl nearly forget what she was talking about. By the time we reached her front door, I’d forgotten all about my earlier worries.

  But stepping inside the Doyles’ house was like jumping from a warm, grassy bank into a freezing swimming hole, and that day I felt it more than ever. Mary must have too, cause she stopped talking as soon as we went through the door, and her face went from glowing like a lightning bug to dead somber. I followed her through the foyer and around the stairs to the kitchen. We usually grabbed a biscuit and some preserves for a quick snack before I started cleaning and Mary started her piano practice, but we stopped suddenly when we saw Mrs. Doyle had a visitor.

  I didn’t recognize her at first, but Mary introduced me. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Cass. This is my friend, Ruby Graves.”

  The woman seated next to Mrs. Doyle smiled at me, and I tried to place where I knew her from. She was older than my parents, with small, gentle eyes that seemed to rest comfortably in the wrinkles that surrounded them. She wasn’t a farmer’s wife, that much I could tell. Her dress was nice, though not as fine as Mrs. Doyle’s, and she looked far too comfortable sitting at the table to be anyone other than a friend.

  “Ruby,” Mary continued, “this is Mrs. Cass. Brother Cass is the preacher over at the Church of God in Cullman.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said quickly. “I knew I recognized you.”

  She kept on smiling at me. “Well, Ruby Graves! My you’ve grown into a lovely young woman. I swear, time is flying so fast I can’t keep up. I remember when your father was just knee high and running around causing a ruckus at the brush arbor meetings.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. “You knew Daddy when he was a bo
y? Are you from Good Hope too?”

  “Not originally, but Brother Cass started his preaching career there with his father. We hadn’t been married more than a few months when we went to Good Hope and started the brush arbor meetings there. That was when we first knew your Daddy.”

  Mary and I both took a seat across the table from the women. Mrs. Doyle offered us a biscuit from the platter in front of us, and I tried not to wolf it down, but my stomach was gnawing at me.

  “He doesn’t talk much about his childhood,” I said between bites.

  Mrs. Cass shook her head and laughed. “He was a handful, that’s for sure. He and Asa were always fighting and getting into some kind of brawl right in the middle of a good sermon. Bless their mother’s heart, she tried to control them, but they were either going at each other or wrestling with some other young’un.”

  I wanted to ask her more about Daddy and Asa, but I wasn’t sure what to ask. I hadn’t seen Daddy’s brother even once in my whole life, and I knew better than to ask about him at home. But I’d overheard Mother and Daddy talking once or twice about him, and I was sure there was something awful, and maybe a little exciting, that happened between them before Daddy and Mother moved us to Hanceville.

  I started to form an idea in my mind about how to ask, but I never got the chance. Once the biscuits were finished, Mrs. Doyle told Mary to hurry off and start her piano practice, and I knew that meant for me to get to my work too. As we stood, the kitchen door swung open and a grave-looking man stepped inside. He was small, not even an inch taller than me, and his thin face held a frown that stilled all movement in the room. He pat his hand on his breast pocket as he looked at Mrs. Doyle.

  “Well, I did my best, but the boy isn’t the least responsive.” His deep voice sounded like he’d stolen it from a much larger man. “All you can do at this point is keep praying his heart will open to the truth.”

  Mrs. Doyle dropped her head and let out a breath. Then she raised it with a defiant glint in her eye. “Thank you, Brother Cass, for visiting with him today. I assure you we’re praying without ceasing.”