The Healing

Chapter 34





It was a late afternoon in October when Polly and Granada sat down to a feast of sweet potatoes, corn bread, turnip greens, pork chops, and fried chicken—all leftovers from the master’s Sunday dinner, compliments of Aunt Sylvie.

The cook was struck with a bad case of bloody flux the previous week and, without Silas knowing about it, sneaked down to Polly for a healing. Granada had taken her usual place, standing beside Polly’s rocker to watch and learn. Before she even got started, Polly pushed herself up from her chair.

“Nature calling me,” she said, “and I might be a spell. Granada, sit here and see what’s ailing Sylvie.”

Sylvie’s eyes grew big and she made the motion of getting off her stool. Polly laid her palm on the woman’s shoulder and pushed her back down.

“You in good hands, Sylvie. This is something Granada knows better than anybody.”

Granada’s cheeks burned hot as she waited for Polly to bust out laughing at her cruel joke, but Polly didn’t crack a smile. She winked at Granada and then walked straight out the door.

“So,” Aunt Sylvie stammered. “You seen this before? You sure you know what you doing, Granada? Why don’t we wait for Polly to get back? I ain’t in no big hurry.”

Granada remembered well how Aunt Sylvie told Chester that Granada was a basket with a busted bottom that couldn’t hold any learning.

“You want to get healed or not?” she asked.

“Well, of course I do, but I—”

“Then stop talking and show me your tongue.”

Though Granada knew what the remedy was right off, she put Sylvie through the entire routine of poking and prodding—and then some. She finally presented the cook with an infusion of green persimmon and red oak.

The next day Aunt Sylvie could be heard singing Granada’s praises to anyone who would listen, telling them that she always knew Granada was something special and bragging that she herself had wet-nursed the girl. “Granada’s got Dr. Jesus on her side,” she said more than once. From then on, Aunt Sylvie made sure that Granada got the choicest bits from the kitchen.

“How you enjoying your doctoring fee, Granada?” Polly laughed, reaching for a pork chop. “Folks think you a big bug now, I reckon. Start asking for you by name. I guess I’ve had my day!”

Granada beamed. Throughout the summer Polly had taken her to gather medicinal plants and taught her what soils they favored, the right season in which they should be taken, what their uses were, and with what other herbs they worked best. Granada learned quickly, and sometimes Polly even let her work alone.

There was a single piece of chicken remaining, but Granada was full as a tick. She slid the platter across the table to Polly, who reached for the buttermilk-crusted drumstick, then froze, her head tilted.

Granada stopped chewing. When Polly had that look, something was about to happen.

Polly lifted herself up from the table and stepped over to the doorway. Only then did Granada detect the sound of a man running, his footsteps growing louder.

“It’s Barnabas,” Polly said. “Must be Charity’s time.”

For months everybody had been studying Charity with worried looks as she grew bigger, sure that she was doomed. But as Polly had promised, this apple held fast and now it was ripe, ready to drop to the ground. Lately everyone was calling this the miracle baby, blessed by Polly Shine.

The old woman and Granada left the hospital and hurried down the hill to the servants’ quarters.

It was still light out, and the lane was filled with people awaiting them. The crowd wordlessly parted, allowing Polly to cross the yard to the cabin and climb the two porch steps. Granada followed close behind, stopping, as always, at the door.

That’s when she felt it—the warm dampness between her legs. It was happening! She was going to see her flowers! Even though there was a cramping like a hot knife twisting in her gut, Granada told herself not to be afraid. Polly had told her what was going to happen, and she claimed it was a glorious thing, a miracle. But the girl couldn’t calm herself. It was as if her body now had a mind of its own. “It will be your body remembering, Granada,” Polly had said. “Remembering God’s ‘In the beginning’ promise.”

Shaking, the girl set the crock on the bench and fled the cabin on unsteady legs.

Back at the hospital, she removed the bloodstained dress and retrieved the twine-and-rag contrivance Polly had created for Granada when her time came. She then lay on her bed waiting for Polly.

After tonight she would no longer be left out of women’s things. Her body, her new body, was the private doorway she had been waiting for. It would admit her into that circle of women where she would know and be known. She would at long last belong. There was no dread, only longing in the thought.

It’s the river, Granada thought. The river never forgets its old bed, Polly had said. It was true. Part of Granada had not forgotten.

As Granada lay there listening for the old woman’s footsteps, she rehearsed how she would tell Polly that it had finally happened.

But when she believed she had the words right, she was swept up in an immense sadness. “Why am I going on so?” she asked herself. “Being silly is all. Polly probably already knows.”

That’s when Granada understood why she was crying. It wasn’t Polly whom Granada wanted to tell. Granada needed to whisper it to her mother first.