Before I Wake (17 page)

Karen was standing just beyond the foyer. The priest stepped forward, his hand extended. “Mrs. Barrett, I'm Father Peter. I'm very pleased that you're giving me this opportunity to speak with you.”

She took his hand and shook it gingerly. “Do I know you?”

“I was at the hospital the night of Sherry's accident. Visiting a friend.”

She thought for a moment. “I remember. Do you remember what I told you?” She didn't give him a chance to answer. “What is it that you want?”

There was a chill in the air, and the cold seemed to radiate from him.

“I'd like to meet Sherry, if I could,” he said.

“Why?” Karen asked.

He sighed, impatiently. “I was sent to see you by the archbishop—”

“We're not Catholic,” Karen said.

The priest smiled, revealing yellow teeth. “That's why he
sent me. I'm not directly affiliated with the diocese. I don't preach, I don't have a home church…”

“Yes, but why are you here?” I interrupted.

“The archbishop called me this morning, quite concerned about the story in the newspaper, the coverage on the television news. He asked me to stop by—informally—and try to find out what was going on.” As he spoke he toyed with a coin in his left hand.

The coin caught the light, flashed through his fingers, tumbled.

Surprisingly, Karen stepped to one side. “Sherry's right through here.” I followed them into the living room.

The priest went directly to Sherry's bed and turned back the covers. Karen stood to one side; I could see how tense she was. I felt the same way. He lifted Sherry's right arm, turning it to expose her palm.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“He's looking for stigmata.” Karen answered, as if she couldn't believe what she was saying.

“And there are none,” he said as he checked Sherry's other hand. “That makes it considerably easier.”

“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.”