me over, and all I could see were the clouds above and a cloudy kind of darkness in front of my eyes, too. Then this lady came. She was whispering—it did sound kind of like church talk—and she put her hand on my head where it hurt so bad. And then it was like sunshine. Does that make sense? It was like sunshine breaking through this awful pain, pushing it back, like a man who is winning a fistfight. And the lady just kept touching me and saying those gentle words. Finally there was more sunshine than pain, and Mama came.”
All five faces turned to me, uncertain, wondering, ill at ease. It was hardest to see the look on Allan’s face. I could not read it, but I knew that he no longer felt at peace with me. I did not wish my work undone; little Michael was going to be fine, and that counted for much. But I did wish that the accident had never taken place to draw me out into the open, to make me a spectacle once more.
Then Allan seemed to make up his mind. “Brie will return to Susannah’s tomorrow. When asked, you will tell others that Brie had received some training as a midwife, that by good fortune she had some strong herbs with her that helped to staunch the bleeding. Michael, do you understand?”
“Pastor, why do you want me to lie? I know it was the sunshine in her hands, not the herbs at all.”
Allan smiled. “You are an honest lad, Michael. I am glad that you are well and will live to remember this day. But Brie’s sunshine, as you call it, could put her in danger, if other people know about it. What I am asking you to do is to help protect her. Can you do that?”
Michael nodded solemnly, and his mother held him tight. She had said nothing throughout the whole conversation. But now she turned directly toward me, with a look of fierce gratitude and yet also a shielded suspicion. I had seen that face before on other mothers, other fathers. You gave me back my child; I must thank you. But I don’t trust what you have done or who you are, and so I must push you away. I both understood and dreaded that look. Above all it was isolating.
Allan and I left early the next morning, before the sun was fully up. He did not want questions from passersby or strange looks and whispering. To their credit, both Bronwyn and Rachel rose to see me off. Bronwyn clasped my hand, and Rachel reached for a quick hug. I felt so surprised and blessed by those little gestures of care, for in the past I had met with only distance, even ostracism.
The journey back to Susannah’s was even quieter than the journey out, weighted with heaviness and my own sorrow. Allan seemed distracted, and I did not press him. I worried what conversation would greet me in Susannah’s home. I tried to enjoy the beauty of the morning; despite the clouds, rays of sunlight danced on golden leaves in the early hours. But by midday, the rain had begun, and we were soaked and chilled by the time we reached the small dwelling on the cliff. What lay in store for me?
When we reached Susannah’s house, Allan asked me to give them time alone. I was glad for the opportunity to wash and warm myself in the bath that Susannah had drawn as she heard the horse’s hooves in the distance. However, I worried what the outcome of their conversation would be. Allan’s eyes remained shadowed and troubled when he looked upon me. How would Susannah respond to his account of Michael’s healing? As I toweled my hair dry near the door, I thought I heard his voice raised in anxiety, even fear, as her calmer voice prevailed, seemed to steady him. As I dressed, I prayed. Gracious God, you brought me here to this sheltering place, and I praise you for that gift. If it is time to go, I know that you will go with me, yet I would wish to stay. I looked again upon the sculpture of the woman just touching the hem of Jesus’ garment, needing to be encouraged by her look of wonder. Then, taking a deep sigh that said even more than my prayer, I opened the door and stepped into the next room.
Three heads turned my way: Susannah’s, Allan’s, and even Ebenezer’s, who ran to me and butted my ankles with his sleek head. At least I was assured affection from that quarter. Susannah spoke first, inviting me to sit close to the fire. Allan opened his mouth as if to launch into a long explanation, but Susannah stopped him: “Go wash, Allan. Take some fresh water and care for your tired body. You are too worn to make such an important decision this way.” Grudgingly, he took the two filled kettles and moved away.
Susannah reached out a hand and found my own. She smiled and then said softly, “Little Michael is very blessed that you came to market yesterday.” She nodded to herself. “He will treasure life in a different way now, as will his mother.” I said nothing, afraid that my words would be my undoing. “Brie, I can sense that you are very afraid. Your fear in the long run will only harm you. Can you lay it down?” I did not know what she meant; fear had been such an intrinsic part of my life, ever since the cross came to me. With the outward expressions of my gift came suspicion, even hatred, in the eyes and hearts of others. I did not know a way to change that.
Susannah continued, “Allan feels that you are a danger to me. I know better. You are a gifted child of God, and you have the heart of a friend. You did not need to run to Michael’s side. Yet Rachel reported that you threw down your packages and ran to his aid the minute you heard his cry. For you, to offer healing took precedence over hiding; that was a self-forgetful choice, and an honorable one. You are very aware of others’ needs and hurts—and responsive even when it is to your detriment.
“But Gabriela, what do you seek for yourself? What do you long for? Only when you quiet yourself enough to hear your own heart’s cry will you discover where your journey leads.
“Please know that, despite Allan’s misgivings, you are welcome here with me. Yet somehow I feel certain that you will not stay, once the last snowfall has come and gone. You have a long and rich road ahead, not without danger, yet also shining with grace and even joy.”
Still I said nothing. Her hand remained linked with my own, and I caressed the aged skin with my thumb, gently, thoughtfully. I did not know what I sought for myself. I was afraid of my own longings, so deeply had they been buried under grief and loss and others’ rejection. Midst my quiet musings, Ebenezer decided it was time to offer his own form of comfort. He jumped up in my lap, circled once, and made himself at home. His purring, resonant and peaceful, soothed my ragged spirit.
The three of us sat in silence until Allan emerged from his bath. His eyes were not quite so guarded or angry as they had been on our long day’s journey. I even fancied I saw some compassion alongside the uncertainty. He settled himself on the floor by the fire, drawing his long legs up to his chest. I expected him to speak, as he had tried to do earlier, but he joined us in our silence, as though waiting.
Unexpectedly, Susannah began to sing. It was a tune I did not know, but Allan did. His rich baritone gradually joined her clear, quiet alto. They sang a haunting tale of a young woman on the run from her destiny, chased by those who misunderstood or wished to use her for their own ends. The music held rich harmonies and unexpected turns that stitched the song through with strength. I held my breath, wondering how it would end, but the song looped round to the refrain, which left the outcome in doubt:
So she runs, her feet fleet, and wind-winged by grace,
So she runs, with the Lord’s light abright on her face,
So she runs, but in running one must have a goal . . .
Does she see that while running, she cannot be whole?
Come home, gifted sister, come home.
Come home, grieving sister, come home.
Come home to your Father’s grace; come home, find your rightful place.
Come home, wind-borne sister, come home.
I did
