Miracle in a Dry Season (35 page)

26

C
ASEWELL
AND
R
OBERT
CONTINUED
to lead church services. The presbytery promised to send them a new pastor as soon as one was available, but so far there didn’t seem to be many candidates vying for a small rural church with little money and strong opinions.

So Robert led the singing and read the Scriptures, and Casewell got up and talked about what he’d been reading in the Bible, and they both prayed. On this Sunday, Casewell asked if there were any prayer requests. He got the usual—Marion Cornwell’s feet hurt so bad she could hardly walk, the first of the season’s sniffles and coughs had struck, and someone’s great-aunt had passed the night before. And then Cathy Stott rose to her feet, her son Travis on her hip. The red-faced child scrubbed his ear with one chubby fist.

“I got a complaint,” she announced.

Casewell was taken aback. He’d never had a complaint during prayers before.

“All right,” he said at last. “We can take that before the Lord, too.”

“That woman what was supposed to of healed Travis of his ear trouble didn’t do the job.”

Casewell looked confused and glanced at Robert, who shrugged.

“Her,” Cathy said, pointing to where Perla sat in the third pew from the front. “She give Travis a holy kiss that was supposed to cure him, and it didn’t take. Just look at him.” She waved a hand at her son who, Casewell suspected, was quiet only because he was too worn-out to cry anymore.

Perla’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “I didn’t heal anyone,” she whispered.

“Durn right,” Cathy said. “Now I want somebody to do something about it.”

Casewell spread his hands wide. “Cathy, I don’t know what anyone can do—”

“Either get her to do it right or run her on out of here. We don’t need the likes of her around if she ain’t at least good for healing folks.”

Several people in the congregation began to look uncomfortable, and there was a soft rustling and shifting like chickens sensing a varmint outside the henhouse. Even Mom shifted uneasily in her seat next to Perla, who just looked stunned.

Travis chose that moment to find his second wind. He began to squall and his mother rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Day and night, night and day. This is what I’ve got to live with. Somebody better do something, or I’m gonna give him to the fairies.”

Mom stood and stepped across the aisle, holding out her arms for the disconsolate child. Cathy gave him up only too gladly.

“Right. Take him on over there and have her fix him up.”
She nodded at Perla. “If’n you can’t do it, just take him with you when you shake the dust of this town off your feet.”

Mom sat and began to cuddle and rock the little boy, who continued to rub at his ear. His cries kept on, but they seemed almost habitual, like it was just what he was used to. Sadie crept closer and patted the little boy’s leg.

Casewell took a step closer to the mother. “Cathy, you’ve got to understand, there’s nothing Perla or any of the rest of us can do right now. Maybe we can take up a collection and see if we can get him to a city doctor. But in the meantime I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking like that about Perla. She’s going to marry me, and she’ll be staying right here.”

Cathy heaved a sigh and flopped down in her pew. “Fine. But seems to me the least you’uns can do is keep him for a while and give me a rest. If you ain’t gonna heal him, then take him on home and see how you like that howling all the time. As for a wedding, I reckon I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Casewell stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

“You marrying the town tart has been the word going around for a time now. Seems to me if you was gonna marry her, you’d have done it by now.” She slanted a sly look at Perla. “Only one reason to marry a woman like that, and if’n you don’t hurry, everybody will soon see what’s what.”

Casewell felt his cheeks flush hot. He tried to control the red creeping up his neck, but the harder he tried the hotter he felt. He took two steps backward until he was once again standing near the pulpit. “Any other prayer requests?” There weren’t any.

Robert closed the service with a short prayer. When he dismissed everyone, the whole congregation seemed to lunge for the door as one body. Casewell imagined if someone were
on the roof looking down at the front stoop, it would look like a string of soap bubbles rushing down a creek. In minutes the church was empty except for Perla, Sadie, and his mother, still holding little Travis. She wore an astonished look.

“Guess we’re babysitting this afternoon.” Casewell tried to sound light, but he was as uncomfortable as he’d ever been in his life.

“I’ll be happy to tend to him.” Perla glanced around. “But for heaven’s sake don’t let anyone see me with him. Who knows what they’ll think I’ve done to him this time?”

“Poor little thing.” Emily stroked Travis’s hair. He gave a shuddering sigh. “I think his ears have bothered him almost every day of his short life. Cathy does need a break. We should be ashamed that we haven’t offered to do this before.” She snuggled the boy against her shoulder. “Come on, little one. We’ll pray over your ears all afternoon.”

Sadie patted the boy again, and they all headed to Emily’s for Sunday dinner.

Travis was better than they expected that afternoon. Casewell suspected he was used to life with sore ears and had learned to sleep and eat in spite of them. After dinner the little boy sagged against Perla’s shoulder. She took him to her room and put him on the bed for a nap. Sadie, who had recently begun to resist napping, lay down beside him with one chubby little hand on his arm. Soon both children were sleeping, and Perla slipped out to see if Emily needed help clearing up.

Emily had already finished in the kitchen and sat on the porch with Casewell, who didn’t seem much inclined to talk.
Perla sat next to him on the porch swing. They drifted to and fro in silence.

“I think we should get married as soon as Reverend Jones from over at the Methodist church is available to marry us,” Casewell said without preamble.

“Do you?” Perla kept her voice light.

“Yes. I didn’t realize how people were . . . doubting my intentions.” He took Perla’s hand in his. “And I don’t want to give you a chance to get cold feet.” He squeezed her hand.

Mom stood and offered to check on the children. Perla waved her back into her chair. “They’re fine. I just left them and I’d like you to be part of any plans we make.”

She sat again and looked out across the fields. “Perla, I suppose you know I struggle with knowing your . . . situation. And your marrying my son, considering that. I’ve been praying about it, though, and the Lord has reminded me of one or two second chances He’s offered me over the years.” She turned warm eyes on Perla. “All in all, I do believe I’ll be mighty proud to call you daughter.”

She turned and looked at Casewell. “But, son, I think I ought to point out that you’ve skipped an important step in this whole process.”

Casewell looked bewildered. He thought all they needed to do was pick a date and stand up in front of a preacher. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said slowly.

“Seems to me you need to give Perla a promise ring.”

Casewell cringed. Everything had happened so quickly, he hadn’t given a moment’s thought to a ring. Not that he could afford much, but maybe he could take Perla to the city and find something. While he was racking his brain for a way out of his dilemma, his mother leaned over from her rocker, took
his hand, and pressed something into the palm. He looked down to find a sparkling ring.

“Your father gave it to me on our twenty-fifth anniversary,” his mother explained. “I hardly ever wore it. I worried I’d spoil it somehow. I know it would please him no end to see it on Perla’s hand.”

Casewell turned to Perla. Tears streaked her cheeks. He knelt down from the swing and took her hand. “Will you marry me just as soon as I can run the preacher to ground?”

Perla laughed out loud and fell into his arms.

“So I’ll give the preacher a call, then?” he asked. “Is next Sunday too soon?”

“Son, don’t be silly,” his mother said. “It can wait a few more days. Perla needs a little bit of time to get ready for her wedding.”

Perla laughed again. “I’ve been getting ready for a long time. Waiting even one more day seems too long.” She turned toward Casewell, and the look of love in her eyes brought tears to his. He realized he couldn’t wait to make this woman his bride.

As the adults were talking over plans, Sadie stepped out onto the porch. She held a jar of grape juice with both hands. The lid was off and some of the juice had spilled down the front of her dress.

“Oh, Sadie, were you thirsty? Sweetie, you should have let me get that.” Perla rushed to the child and took the jar from her. As she lifted it, she wrinkled her nose and raised the jar for a closer smell.

“This has fermented. Sadie, did you drink this?”

“No, Mama, it’s medicine.”

Perla looked confused. “Medicine? For what?”

“For Travis. He needed medicine for his ears, so I got some.”

Perla’s eyebrows shot up, and she rushed into the bedroom, Casewell and Emily close on her heels. Travis still lay on the bed, awake but peaceful in spite of the juice-stained sheets bunched up around him. It looked like something horrific had taken place, but Travis actually smiled and laughed a bit. He held his arms out to be picked up, and Perla lifted him. As she did, she noticed something in his right ear. She started to tug it out.

“No, Mama, that keeps the medicine in,” Sadie said.

Casewell lifted Sadie into his arms. “Did you put grape juice in Travis’s ears?”

“At church we drink the juice because it’s from Jesus,” said Sadie. “It wouldn’t stay in his ears, so I stopped them up.”

Emily checked both ears as Travis rested happily in Perla’s arms. “She’s plugged them up with some cotton batting from my quilt supplies. I guess there’s some juice up in there, too.”

“Will it hurt him? Shouldn’t we pull it out?” Perla sounded alarmed.

“I can’t see how it would hurt him,” Mom said. “Might be like having water in your ears, but that could be a nice change for the poor little thing.”

“He seems happy,” Casewell said. “Maybe we should leave it alone. Maybe it is medicine.”

“We’d better get him cleaned up, if nothing else,” Perla said. “He smells like he’s been on a two-week drunk.”