Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 33: Healing Hands

Chapter 33: Healing Hands

She turned the possibility over in her head. She'd never told anybody; should she now? Was there anything to tell anyway? Those blasted dreams didn't mean anything to anyone other than her. And even for her, their significance was only found in hindsight. They were worthless, really.

Aunt Virgie ground something with a mortar and pestle. "No feelings, knowledge, voices, dreams that ya can't explain? Nothing ever unsettling?"

Unsettling. That was exactly the word for them. That was all they were. She had no choice but to give into the old woman's interrogation. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes I have these dreams. But they're different from other dreams, and not in a good way. In a way that I wish I didn't have them at all." Aunt Virgie only nodded and continued grinding the contents of the little ceramic bowl. "Can-can you tell me how to make them go away?"

A wry smile appeared on the wrinkled, old face, and she shook her head. "'Fraid not. You can try to ignore 'em, but even then, the key word is try."

Ginny was afraid she'd say something like that. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, the way Kody did when he was nervous or just thinking hard, because she was thinking pretty hard. "Why does it matter?" Sherman the Cat meowed and she looked down to see his one yellow eye staring back at her. He nudged the dead mouse closer to her feet, and out of some strange sense of obligation, she rubbed behind his ears, eliciting a long, low purr.

Aunt Virgie smiled when she heard this. "Are you yet a woman?"

"Huh?"

"The curse. Has it come to pass?" Ginny was dumfounded. Were the dreams not curse enough? "Have you bled yet?"

"Oh. No."

"Well, when you do, come here and I'll show you what I can, if you'd like. I can't help but wonder whether or not you're the only one. Reckon I'll never know."

What in the world did any of that mean? Ginny was growing more and more frustrated. Not only did this woman answer questions with questions, but what real answers she did offer were not remotely close to being in response to the question asked.

She got up from the table and walked over to the counter where Aunt Virgie was working, Sherman trotting close behind. She looked into his one good eye and thought, Shew! We're not friends. Git! But the haggard cat once again plopped down by her feet, swished his tail side to side, and meowed. Ginny sighed and shook her head.

She looked into the mortar, which contained leaves of varying shades of green, some peppercorns, and bark. One whiff of the poultice and she wrinkled her nose. Was that turpentine and onion?

"I only met your mama once or twice, but she seemed like a nice girl. Don't know whether or not she approved of your daddy's association with me, but my David had a good head on his shoulders and a wise heart. I don't doubt the woman who snatched it like she did ain't something special."

Inexplicably, a knot made its way into Ginny's throat. She buried it as best she could. "Will this make her better?"

"You mean will it cure her?"

Ginny nodded, then remembered her host couldn't see the gesture. "Yes, ma'am."

"Meh. It'll calm the coughing for certain, help her breathe better."

The knot refused to abate. "But it won't make her better?"

Aunt Virgie stopped grinding her poultice and sighed. She found her young relation's hand, took it in her own, and pulled it in close to her chest. Ginny felt the ancient heart beating beneath the brittle bones and paper-thin skin. Aunt Virgie's jaw was tight, and her blind eyes tried to land on Ginny as she addressed her. "A young girl, where you are in life, ought not lose a mother. But life is cruel, and if any sense is to me made of it, it's only in hindsight."

Hot tears welled up in Ginny's eyes, but she fought them. Her blind aunt may not see them, but she would hear the sobs that were sure to follow. "If," said Aunt Virgie, squeezing Ginny's hands tight, "any healing is to be done, it's these hands that'll do it."

"But how?" she whispered.

The old woman hesitated. "It may be early yet."

"I don't care. I'll do anything."

She took a deep breath. "Of course. Here's what you can do. Go someplace alone, preferably outside−close to water's best. And pray. Pray, child, like you've never prayed before. Like your mother's life depends on it, because it does. Then, listen."

"Listen for what?"

"Guidance."

Ginny jerked her hands from Aunt Virgie's grasp. "You're telling me my mama's only hope is for me to go sit under a tree and listen for the voice of God?"

The blind eyes were not incapable of relating sympathy. "I know it sounds unlikely. Maybe if you'd been blessed with blindness, it wouldn't."

"Blessed?"

"Yes. I've found it's much easier to believe in what can't be seen when you can't see anything at all."

Ginny retreated to the table, sat back down, and stared into her untouched cup of coffee-drink. Sherman hopped up onto the counter and watched Aunt Virgie as she finished mashing the plants, scooped them into a jar, then spat in it. "What was that for?" Ginny asked.

Aunt Virgie winked. "Good measure." She hobbled to the table and pushed the jar toward her. "As much as I wanna keep ya here to myself, your time's better spent elsewhere. Mix this with a little honey and rub it on her chest."

Ginny glared at the jar. "What if I don't want this?"

Aunt Virgie knew she wasn't referring to the jar's contents. "The hardest part is accepting that it was never in your power to begin with. But in the end, it's the only thing that makes it bearable."

*****

Outside, Rowdy paced. "Will you please sit down?" Tommy said.

"She's been in there so long, Tommy. "Too long."

"What? Do you think she ate her?"

"Maybe. How should I know?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. Rowdy advanced toward the window, but he caught him by the back of his shirt collar. "Sit down. This was your idea in the first place, and if there's any hope to come from it, I'm not gonna let you ruin it for Ginny."

The door creaked open. Ginny emerged unescorted, and shut it behind her. Her friends' eyes were full of questions, but she waited for them to voice them. Finally, Rowdy asked, "Well?" Ginny held up the jar.

"Will it make her better?" said Tommy.

Ginny shrugged. "We'll just have to see."