Gift or no, I despised being forced to act at Calhoun’s bidding as though I were nothing more than a well-trained pony. Grudgingly, I willed a small fire to life in my center while Mrs. Murphy gathered her wits to speak.
“Blessed Brigid,” she said at last, so softly I had to tilt my head forward to catch every word. “Night and day, pains torment me belly. At first, I thought it be a passing colic, but the pains keep getting stronger. I can’t eat more than a mouthful at a time, and Sunday past, I started vomiting blood with me supper.”
My forehead creased in thought. Back home in Pennsylvania, old Nan had experienced similar symptoms, though I later discovered that the woman had inadvertently swallowed a sewing thimble and then administered a purgative of Indian Physick in an attempt to dislodge it. I truly doubted the exact same scenario, but it was possible Mrs. Murphy had ingested something not meant for human consumption.
Warmth ran to my palms, opening a link between us. Emotions flowed into me, and my knees turned weak from the unexpected stream of agony. Dear Lord... I wanted to weep from the pain and desperation. No wonder she had trusted Calhoun again after he’d nearly killed her two months ago. Swearing a silent oath at the man, I squared my shoulders, anxious to end her suffering.
“Please help me,” she pleaded. “I’ve no fear o’ dying, but I’ve a daughter at home yet. English soldiers killed her da and older brothers two summers ago, so she’s got no one else to be looking after her—”
Past resentments of the English rose up unbidden, those I had purposefully buried deep once Henry came into my life. But old habits die hard, and I swore another oath, one that would have burned my mother’s ears, though the words had come straight from my father. He’d known firsthand what the Irish endured under English rule, and made sure the knowledge ran through the blood of his children, despite our being born thousands of miles away in the Colonies.
“I’m not asking forever,” Mrs. Murphy continued. “Only a year or two more ’til I can see her settled with a good lad.”
Oh, you’ll have more than that once I’m done... The woman deserved no less after what she’d suffered.
The curtain and Mrs. Murphy’s hands disappeared from view as my mind delved beneath the skin to travel the length of her arm. Rounding the shoulder, I passed through one lung and her spleen before dropping into the pit of her stomach. The space was empty except for a small amount of red-tinged liquid pooled near the opening of the small intestine, no doubt the alleged water from Brigid’s well mixed with blood. A quick inspection of the stomach linings revealed nothing unusual until I arrived at the upper left crook near the esophagus.
There you are.
Old Nan’s thimble was a docile lamb compared to the hideous black tumor I found embedded in the wall of Mrs. Murphy’s fundus. At first glance, it looked like a crab, its legs and body so cancerous and swollen, I could hardly believe the woman out of bed, let alone standing on a crate with her hands poking through a drape. I cursed both Calhoun and the English for good measure as the heat intensified in my fingers.
Mrs. Murphy twitched nervously. “I be feeling something funny,” she said. Her breathing had quickened while I nosed around her stomach, and the first hints of panic flowed into me. Not wanting to lose contact, I shot up to the brainstem and bathed it in soothing warmth.
Her panic subsided with a slow breath. “That be...that be real nice.”
A wave of excited chatter passed through the villagers. I ignored it, returning to Mrs. Murphy’s stomach. As Calhoun had already set the scene for a miracle, I saw no need to hide my gift, and allowed the power to flow freely from my hands.
“Oh!” she said, in such a way that I could well imagine the surprised circle of her mouth in response to the sudden warmth.
Bathed in Brigid’s fire, the tumor began to recede. The numerous legs withdrew first, pulling back to the main body, which shriveled to nothing in another burst of fire. Slowing my power to a trickle, I then passed through the wall to inspect the surrounding organs for any signs of disease. When nothing else appeared, I lowered my hands, breaking the contact between our palms to signify the healing was complete.
The inside of the caravan flashed back into view, everything turned a shadowy gray from the diminished light. Mrs. Murphy’s hands dangled in midair, trembling from the experience. A few seconds passed before she pulled them away, and they disappeared through the slits in the drapery.
“How be your belly now, Mrs. Murphy?” Calhoun asked, with a confidence that left no doubt as to the answer.
“The pain...it’s...” Her voice broke on a sob.
“It’s what, me dear lady?” Calhoun pressed. “Tell the folks true what you be feeling.”
There was another sob. “Nothing... I feel nothing in me belly.”
Silence wavered, uncertain. Then a throat cleared. “Is it true, mam?” a girl asked. “Did Saint Brigid heal you so?”