When Darkness Loves Us

“Something indeed. I’d be delighted to talk about your mother. A dear, dear lady.” He showed her his forearm, where a thin white scar ran the length from the wrist to the elbow. “She did this for me.”

“She cut you?” Martha was horrified.

“No, no, dear, no. I cut myself helping your father when I was just a lad. He half carried me into the house. I was bleeding terribly. And your mother laid her hands on the cut and healed it.”

“She healed it?”

“Yep. Worked miracles, that woman. A natural healer.”

“Did she . . . ? Did . . . ?” Martha groped for the question.

“Did she heal a lot of people? Most everybody in town was helped by your momma at some time or another. A wonderful woman, she was, yes indeed.” His eyes looked beyond her, far into the past.

“And father?”

“Your father was a farmer, Martha. No more, no less. Your momma loved him with all her heart, as she did you. She didn’t have an easy life. Harry was set against her healing, but she did it anyway. And brought you up at the same time. And look at you now! Glory be, I wish Fern were here to see you now, looking so sharp, standing in my store.”

“Mother was a healer.” A faint memory tickled at the back of her head. “You’re a very special girl, Martha. Someday everyone will find out just how special you are.”

“Yes, she was.”

“Thank you. I have to go now.”

“You’re welcome, Martha. Come back anytime.” He opened the door for her, and touched her shoulder on the way out.

When she’d gone, he sat in the folding chair he kept next to his counter and delved into memories of his youth, with a sweet-sad smile on his face.

Leon was waiting in his truck, parked in front of the bank. He sat up straight when he saw her come out of the McRae store, then reached across and opened the door for her. She got in and smiled at him.

“Leon,” she said as she opened her purse and took out the tape Mr. Hillis had given her, “is this a lot of money?”

Leon looked at the circled figure and whistled. “Yes. A lot of money.”

“Enough for new furniture?”

“Yes.”

“And a new truck for you?”

“Oh, Martha, come on.”

“I’m serious. Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

He kissed her on the cheek and put the truck in gear. Mother was a healer, she thought.

CHAPTER 22

Fern sat at the kitchen table, note pad and pen in front of her. The pressure inside her head was tremendous. Martha sat next to her, watching the tortured look on her mother’s face. Fern tried to think of everything she needed to teach Martha, everything she needed to know in order to get along on her own. It was a heartbreaking task.

With pictures she wrote out the recipe for a stew, and for a vegetable soup. She made grocery lists, pinning together labels from all the canned goods and things Martha liked to eat. She showed Martha how to wash clothes, rinse them well, and hang them on the line. It was hard—Martha’s attention span was so short. She had to talk quickly, with lots of action. They went to the yard to look at the vegetables and the chickens.

“Most important, Martha. Martha, concentrate. Most important, feed the chickens. The chickens gotta eat. The chickens gotta eat. If you have chickens, you have fresh meat and eggs, okay?”

At this, Martha brightened. She loved the chickens. “Okay!” she said.

Fern laughed. “Okay!”

“Okay!” Martha imitated her. They hugged each other. She’ll be all right, Fern thought. A hot tear started to form again in Fern’s eye. I’ve had enough crying, she thought. Martha pointed at it, questioning.

“Dust,” Fern said, swiping it away.

When Fern announced they were going to town, Martha’s eyes got shiny and excited. She picked out her favorite dress and slipped it on, then watched her mother get ready, watched her brush her long gray hair, then twist it up in a bun. She powdered her nose and put on red lipstick. This routine fascinated Martha, and she was content to watch, anticipation of the trip to town forgotten as she shared this time with her mother.

They walked quietly down the road, nervous energy flowing through Martha, a dreaded heaviness in Fern.

First stop was the bank. Mr. Hillis saw them coming through the doorway and came right up to meet them. He introduced Martha to each of the tellers, and together he and Fern explained that this is where she should come for money to go to the store. “Just come in and ask for twenty dollars,” Fern told her several times. Martha seemed to understand. Mr. Hillis had suggested that she just open an account with McRae’s, to be paid by the bank, but Fern wisely suggested that Martha needed more contact with people—she would be so alone at the farm. Mr. Hillis agreed, and so it was settled. A wise old woman, Mr. Hillis thought.

Martha cheerfully smiled her crooked way at all the pretty girls in the windows. They all smiled and waved to her until she was embarrassed and turned toward the corner window to look at her reflection. Fern thanked Mr. Hillis, waved to the girls, and took her out.