time he made up his mind to say something.
In twenty minutes they arrived at a small, unpainted wooden house. The woman in the yellow dress, a girl really, only a couple of years older than Six, left him on the porch.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ma see if my mama’s awake.”
I shouldn’t be here, Six thought. There’s a woman in that house who needs help, real help. But who could counsel her? The ministers were jealous and squabbling, no closer to God than Six. Rose came out onto the porch. She gazed at him with such expectation and such reverence—he wanted to please her, to be what she thought that he was. She led him through a darkened main room and into a bedroom that smelled more of sadness than of disease. A woman lay on a pallet on the floor with the moonlight shining silver on her. Six saw her skepticism and her exhaustion.
“This him?” she said to her daughter.
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl answered.
The woman turned away. Six did not feel the power in him, but he remembered the chaplains who came to see him when he was in the hospital and how they kneeled next to his bed. He sat on the floor next to the woman’s pallet. Rose watched from the doorway. Maybe, Six thought, there wasn’t anything purely good or holy. Maybe good was only accomplished indirectly and through unlikely channels: fake healings or a room full of jealous angry men with Bibles who nonetheless drew these sad people and lifted their spirits for a few days. It could be that Six was one of these—a bad thing used for good purposes. Maybe he was a sword after all.
“What’s troubling you, ma’am?” he asked.
“Nothing a young lick like you could understand.”
“God understands everything, ma’am. Doesn’t matter if I do or not,” he said. “Your daughter says you have some pains.”
She didn’t answer. Six took a better look around the room. There were plants everywhere, spilling out of their pots, hanging from the ceiling, and crowding the windowsills.
“Looks like you have a green thumb,” he said.
The woman turned her head to a blooming plant near her pallet. White flowers glowed in the silver light. Six’s mother had houseplants. She was not a singing woman, but she hummed when she tended her plants. Six wondered if this woman did too. He reached toward one of the blossoms, and Rose’s mother sat up quickly and said in a strong voice, “Don’t touch that one. It’s delicate.” She was not as ill as she thought she was. The realization emboldened Six.
“You must love these plants or they wouldn’t grow like they do. I bet you got them when they were just little things and raised them up with your love and attention.”
“I guess so,” Rose’s mother said.
“That’s how the Lord does us. The plants are there in the field, like we’re here on this earth. He reaches out His hand and makes them grow.”
She looked Six in the face for the first time since he’d arrived.
“Don’t you think the Lord cares for you at least as much as he does a little bitty dandelion?”
“I don’t know if he do or don’t.”
“Sister, I’m not going to try to convince you that God loves you. Though we see his miracles all around us, and if miracles aren’t love, well, I don’t know what is. I know you believe God made these plants, don’t you?”
“Course I do.”
“Then let me pray with you. That’s all I ask. Let’s pray together and let Him show you His mercy.”
Six took her hand and prayed. He prayed though he was aware of his intentions in a way he hadn’t been with Sister Coral, though he only felt the faintest inkling of the divine. The townspeople said Six had the gift, and now he tried to direct it, to wield it over Rose’s mother like a magic wand. He wanted Rose to see him heal her. He wanted to be an instrument of God, even a ruined one.
Like the night before, when Six finished praying, he didn’t know what to do, so he stood abruptly and left the room. He went around to the
In twenty minutes they arrived at a small, unpainted wooden house. The woman in the yellow dress, a girl really, only a couple of years older than Six, left him on the porch.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ma see if my mama’s awake.”
I shouldn’t be here, Six thought. There’s a woman in that house who needs help, real help. But who could counsel her? The ministers were jealous and squabbling, no closer to God than Six. Rose came out onto the porch. She gazed at him with such expectation and such reverence—he wanted to please her, to be what she thought that he was. She led him through a darkened main room and into a bedroom that smelled more of sadness than of disease. A woman lay on a pallet on the floor with the moonlight shining silver on her. Six saw her skepticism and her exhaustion.
“This him?” she said to her daughter.
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl answered.
The woman turned away. Six did not feel the power in him, but he remembered the chaplains who came to see him when he was in the hospital and how they kneeled next to his bed. He sat on the floor next to the woman’s pallet. Rose watched from the doorway. Maybe, Six thought, there wasn’t anything purely good or holy. Maybe good was only accomplished indirectly and through unlikely channels: fake healings or a room full of jealous angry men with Bibles who nonetheless drew these sad people and lifted their spirits for a few days. It could be that Six was one of these—a bad thing used for good purposes. Maybe he was a sword after all.
“What’s troubling you, ma’am?” he asked.
“Nothing a young lick like you could understand.”
“God understands everything, ma’am. Doesn’t matter if I do or not,” he said. “Your daughter says you have some pains.”
She didn’t answer. Six took a better look around the room. There were plants everywhere, spilling out of their pots, hanging from the ceiling, and crowding the windowsills.
“Looks like you have a green thumb,” he said.
The woman turned her head to a blooming plant near her pallet. White flowers glowed in the silver light. Six’s mother had houseplants. She was not a singing woman, but she hummed when she tended her plants. Six wondered if this woman did too. He reached toward one of the blossoms, and Rose’s mother sat up quickly and said in a strong voice, “Don’t touch that one. It’s delicate.” She was not as ill as she thought she was. The realization emboldened Six.
“You must love these plants or they wouldn’t grow like they do. I bet you got them when they were just little things and raised them up with your love and attention.”
“I guess so,” Rose’s mother said.
“That’s how the Lord does us. The plants are there in the field, like we’re here on this earth. He reaches out His hand and makes them grow.”
She looked Six in the face for the first time since he’d arrived.
“Don’t you think the Lord cares for you at least as much as he does a little bitty dandelion?”
“I don’t know if he do or don’t.”
“Sister, I’m not going to try to convince you that God loves you. Though we see his miracles all around us, and if miracles aren’t love, well, I don’t know what is. I know you believe God made these plants, don’t you?”
“Course I do.”
“Then let me pray with you. That’s all I ask. Let’s pray together and let Him show you His mercy.”
Six took her hand and prayed. He prayed though he was aware of his intentions in a way he hadn’t been with Sister Coral, though he only felt the faintest inkling of the divine. The townspeople said Six had the gift, and now he tried to direct it, to wield it over Rose’s mother like a magic wand. He wanted Rose to see him heal her. He wanted to be an instrument of God, even a ruined one.
Like the night before, when Six finished praying, he didn’t know what to do, so he stood abruptly and left the room. He went around to the
Similar Books
