are gathered here, my friends, in the eyes of Almighty God, to bring about the healing of our brothers and sisters stricken with the scourge of consumption. We have witnessed the miraculous recovery of one of our flock, Miss Sarah Stukeley, and recognize that God the Father works in mysterious ways which are not always given us to understand.
âWe come in faith and hope. We come in the knowledge that God helps those who help themselves. We thank those who have led us to this cure, that we may use it to help our loved ones. May God bless us and our endeavor. Let us pray.â
All bowed their heads in prayer, their voices murmuring along with that of Parson Reynolds. Then Lewis Stukeley rose to speak.
In a voice so low the crowd had to strain to hear it above the wind, Mr. Stukeley said, âI am a simple, God-fearing man. I watched three of my children die. I tried to tell myself it was Godâs will. But why, I asked myself, would God want my babies to die. I could find no answer.
âAnna and I, we tried everything we knew and everything Doc Beecher knew to do, but nothing helped. And so when I heard tell of this cure weâre about to perform, I knew I had to try and save our Sarah. And, by God, she was saved!â
Heads turned toward them, and people nodded and smiled at Sarah. Lucas heard murmurs: âPraise Godâ and âAmen.â Then, to Lucasâs surprise, Lewis Stukeley pointed to him.
âYoung Lucas Whitaker there, the one in the wagon with my family, he helped. Heâd heard of the cure, too, where he came from. Folks in Vermont and Rhode Island, some say even as far away as Maine, have put an end to this sickness. And thatâs why weâre here, to do the same.
âThose of you who have sick ones in the family were told what you needed to do before you came here today. Weâre going to light this fire now, and those of you withâwith something to place upon it, come on up here. When itâs burning good, weâll let the sickest folks be brought up first, to breathe in the smoke, before we take our turns. Afterward, those who want some of the ashes are welcome to âem.â
Lewis nodded to Eben Oaks, who set the pile of logs alight. There was a long moment when no one moved. Everyone stared, transfixed, as the fire crackled to life. Then, slowly, one by one, people began to come forward.
It gave Lucas a peculiar feeling to see the offerings they held carefully in their hands. The bundles were covered in cloth, or placed in boxes of wood or containers of tin, or, in one case, wrapped in dried husks of corn. The packages contained the hearts of family members who had been buried.
As the bundles were fed to the flames, Lucas touched his own heart and thought that if he were the one returning to make folks sick, heâd want someone to stop him. Likely these souls, too, wished to be put to rest.
Lucas had never before been part of something so big and important, and his throat felt thick, as if he were about to cry. He watched as William Sheldon carried his wife, Lavinia, in his arms, carried her close to the smoke from the blazing fire. A look of rapture passed over her face as she took the cure, breathing deeply once, twice, three times, of the life-saving smoke.
Lucas looked at Williamâs face. It, too, shone radiantly in the light from the fire. He looked around at all the people gathered in the square and saw the same glowing look of hope and expectation, and felt his own face transformed by it, too. He felt dazed and overwhelmed, as if his body couldnât contain the powerful, mysterious feelings he had inside.
By the time Lucas and the Stukeleys went forward to pass slowly by the fire, an early darkness had begun to creep across the village square. People stood in the gathering dusk, watching the last embers of the fire flicker and fade. Then quietly, solemnly, they collected ashes to take with them.
The wind had died down, and a few
âWe come in faith and hope. We come in the knowledge that God helps those who help themselves. We thank those who have led us to this cure, that we may use it to help our loved ones. May God bless us and our endeavor. Let us pray.â
All bowed their heads in prayer, their voices murmuring along with that of Parson Reynolds. Then Lewis Stukeley rose to speak.
In a voice so low the crowd had to strain to hear it above the wind, Mr. Stukeley said, âI am a simple, God-fearing man. I watched three of my children die. I tried to tell myself it was Godâs will. But why, I asked myself, would God want my babies to die. I could find no answer.
âAnna and I, we tried everything we knew and everything Doc Beecher knew to do, but nothing helped. And so when I heard tell of this cure weâre about to perform, I knew I had to try and save our Sarah. And, by God, she was saved!â
Heads turned toward them, and people nodded and smiled at Sarah. Lucas heard murmurs: âPraise Godâ and âAmen.â Then, to Lucasâs surprise, Lewis Stukeley pointed to him.
âYoung Lucas Whitaker there, the one in the wagon with my family, he helped. Heâd heard of the cure, too, where he came from. Folks in Vermont and Rhode Island, some say even as far away as Maine, have put an end to this sickness. And thatâs why weâre here, to do the same.
âThose of you who have sick ones in the family were told what you needed to do before you came here today. Weâre going to light this fire now, and those of you withâwith something to place upon it, come on up here. When itâs burning good, weâll let the sickest folks be brought up first, to breathe in the smoke, before we take our turns. Afterward, those who want some of the ashes are welcome to âem.â
Lewis nodded to Eben Oaks, who set the pile of logs alight. There was a long moment when no one moved. Everyone stared, transfixed, as the fire crackled to life. Then, slowly, one by one, people began to come forward.
It gave Lucas a peculiar feeling to see the offerings they held carefully in their hands. The bundles were covered in cloth, or placed in boxes of wood or containers of tin, or, in one case, wrapped in dried husks of corn. The packages contained the hearts of family members who had been buried.
As the bundles were fed to the flames, Lucas touched his own heart and thought that if he were the one returning to make folks sick, heâd want someone to stop him. Likely these souls, too, wished to be put to rest.
Lucas had never before been part of something so big and important, and his throat felt thick, as if he were about to cry. He watched as William Sheldon carried his wife, Lavinia, in his arms, carried her close to the smoke from the blazing fire. A look of rapture passed over her face as she took the cure, breathing deeply once, twice, three times, of the life-saving smoke.
Lucas looked at Williamâs face. It, too, shone radiantly in the light from the fire. He looked around at all the people gathered in the square and saw the same glowing look of hope and expectation, and felt his own face transformed by it, too. He felt dazed and overwhelmed, as if his body couldnât contain the powerful, mysterious feelings he had inside.
By the time Lucas and the Stukeleys went forward to pass slowly by the fire, an early darkness had begun to creep across the village square. People stood in the gathering dusk, watching the last embers of the fire flicker and fade. Then quietly, solemnly, they collected ashes to take with them.
The wind had died down, and a few
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