The Healing Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Jonathan Odell
into me, Violet,” the woman said, “talking to you about folks long passed. Telling you things that might not even be true. But that’s all I got. One day you’ll be telling somebody about all this. You’ll be telling about this old woman who you’d like to strangle in her sleep. I won’t blame you one whit. If that’s what gets you on your feet.”
Through the rest of the day Gran Gran sat watch by the bedside, placing her hands on the girl, forcing broths and potions for the fever, rubbing horse-hoof salve into her chest. But by evening the girl became agitated again. She threw her head from one side of the pillow to the other, as if a heated battle raged in her brain. Her eyes worked determinedly beneath the lids, sketching out pictures the old lady could not read.
The girl’s incessant babbling grew more hysterical until it turned into a terrible shrieking, sending the woman to the window to see if the awful racket had attracted trouble yet.
“Folks going to think I’m up in here murdering you,” she laughed bleakly. “They’ll sic the law on me sure as the world.” She looked at the girl. “I’m sorry, child, but I got to get you quieted down.”
Gran Gran turned to go back to the kitchen to fix a narcotic of jimsonweed, but she stopped short of the door. She glanced back once more at Violet as she lay whimpering in the bed, her face dark and desolate, tormented by some nightmare Gran Gran could not even imagine. It looked as if that child was taking on all the demons of hell single-handedly.
I could drug her, the woman thought, again remembering the mistress, but what about her soul? Probably wind up broken and lost, wandering from pillar to post, like too many others.
“Calming ain’t curing, is it, girl?” the woman asked aloud, shaking her head wearily. “Keeping you hushed might keep me out of jail, but sure as the world, calming ain’t curing.”
Gran Gran watched the girl as she struggled. “And I’d hate to see somebody with so much scrap lose the battle. You a fighter, that’s what you are,” she said, half smiling.
The old woman heaved a long breath. “Lord, help us both.” She returned to her chair by the bed where the girl was kicking at the covers.
“This is your battle, Violet. I can’t fight it for you. Like somebody told me when I was a girl, I can chew your food, but you got to swallow for yourself.” The old woman smiled, thinking how mad it had made her when Polly Shine had told her that. Gran Gran reached to take hold of Violet’s hand.
The girl yelped as if seared by a hot poker and yanked back her arm. The scare threw Gran Gran backward into her chair.
Violet bolted upright. Her face contorted into an expression at once of terror and grief, and then she let out a gut-wrenching shriek. It was like nothing human Gran Gran had heard before.
The girl’s eyes were opened wide and fixed, staring off into some region beyond the old woman. Her skin was afire with fever, and shedesperately tried to get free of the covers that held her back. The screams continued, piercing the watchful quiet of the quarter.
The old woman drew Violet to her, stifling the screams in her chest. The girl beat her fists fiercely against Gran Gran’s humped back and clawed her neck, but the old woman continued to hold her tight, unflinching, until the struggling died out and Violet went limp in Gran Gran’s arms.
When she gently lowered the girl’s head to the pillow, her eyes were still open, darting wildly around the room but settling on no one thing. Her breathing was panicked and uncertain.
It was not over yet.
There was nothing Gran Gran understood to do. If the girl had a broken body, that was easy. But this, this was not what she knew. Afraid for both of them now, she did the only thing she could think of. She lay down beside the girl and drew the frail, spent body close, nestling Violet into the protective hollow of herself. She then began to whisper into the girl’s ear
Through the rest of the day Gran Gran sat watch by the bedside, placing her hands on the girl, forcing broths and potions for the fever, rubbing horse-hoof salve into her chest. But by evening the girl became agitated again. She threw her head from one side of the pillow to the other, as if a heated battle raged in her brain. Her eyes worked determinedly beneath the lids, sketching out pictures the old lady could not read.
The girl’s incessant babbling grew more hysterical until it turned into a terrible shrieking, sending the woman to the window to see if the awful racket had attracted trouble yet.
“Folks going to think I’m up in here murdering you,” she laughed bleakly. “They’ll sic the law on me sure as the world.” She looked at the girl. “I’m sorry, child, but I got to get you quieted down.”
Gran Gran turned to go back to the kitchen to fix a narcotic of jimsonweed, but she stopped short of the door. She glanced back once more at Violet as she lay whimpering in the bed, her face dark and desolate, tormented by some nightmare Gran Gran could not even imagine. It looked as if that child was taking on all the demons of hell single-handedly.
I could drug her, the woman thought, again remembering the mistress, but what about her soul? Probably wind up broken and lost, wandering from pillar to post, like too many others.
“Calming ain’t curing, is it, girl?” the woman asked aloud, shaking her head wearily. “Keeping you hushed might keep me out of jail, but sure as the world, calming ain’t curing.”
Gran Gran watched the girl as she struggled. “And I’d hate to see somebody with so much scrap lose the battle. You a fighter, that’s what you are,” she said, half smiling.
The old woman heaved a long breath. “Lord, help us both.” She returned to her chair by the bed where the girl was kicking at the covers.
“This is your battle, Violet. I can’t fight it for you. Like somebody told me when I was a girl, I can chew your food, but you got to swallow for yourself.” The old woman smiled, thinking how mad it had made her when Polly Shine had told her that. Gran Gran reached to take hold of Violet’s hand.
The girl yelped as if seared by a hot poker and yanked back her arm. The scare threw Gran Gran backward into her chair.
Violet bolted upright. Her face contorted into an expression at once of terror and grief, and then she let out a gut-wrenching shriek. It was like nothing human Gran Gran had heard before.
The girl’s eyes were opened wide and fixed, staring off into some region beyond the old woman. Her skin was afire with fever, and shedesperately tried to get free of the covers that held her back. The screams continued, piercing the watchful quiet of the quarter.
The old woman drew Violet to her, stifling the screams in her chest. The girl beat her fists fiercely against Gran Gran’s humped back and clawed her neck, but the old woman continued to hold her tight, unflinching, until the struggling died out and Violet went limp in Gran Gran’s arms.
When she gently lowered the girl’s head to the pillow, her eyes were still open, darting wildly around the room but settling on no one thing. Her breathing was panicked and uncertain.
It was not over yet.
There was nothing Gran Gran understood to do. If the girl had a broken body, that was easy. But this, this was not what she knew. Afraid for both of them now, she did the only thing she could think of. She lay down beside the girl and drew the frail, spent body close, nestling Violet into the protective hollow of herself. She then began to whisper into the girl’s ear