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ALICIA LOOKED AT THE test results again. They weren’t what she’d expected. The Tatum girl’s white blood cell count was way up. Too high to be a coincidence. Not conclusive but certainly pointing to the very real possibility that Emma was right.
She picked up the phone to call. They should run more tests to be sure. She didn’t want to scare them. There were a dozen reasons blood counts could be off. Leukemia was certainly one of them, but not as common as others. She would not jump to conclusions based on a teenage girl’s intuition.
“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.
“This is Dr. Brock. Is Mrs. Tatum available?”
There was a pause. “No, she’s out right now.”
“Is this Mr. Tatum?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling in regard to...”
He cut her off. “I know what you’re calling in regard to. And I don’t want to hear it. My daughter is not dying of Leukemia! So, don’t call here again!” The receiver crashed down.
Alicia replaced the phone in its cradle and leaned slowly back in her chair. What was going on? She hadn’t even diagnosed Kylie and her father was already going through denial. Maybe it would be best if she ordered the other tests before she spoke with them.
She looked up the Tatums address in their file. Hanover. She wasn’t sure where that was, but it couldn’t be too far. Perhaps she’d pay them a visit. She smiled. It would be the first time she’d ever made a house call.
*****
GRACE FIRST CHURCH was nearly filled to capacity Sunday morning. Saturday’s article in the local paper praised the talents of a certain pianist and brought folks to the service that probably hadn’t set foot in the door of a church since they were baptized as an infant. The writer was quoted as saying, “the girl played as though filled with the spirit of a great composer. Her hands flowed across the keys like an ocean’s waves, gentle, then pounding, deep and moving.”
Problem was, Emma was not expected to play. In fact, she hadn’t played in church for at least a month. The article coming out so long after Emma had given the man an interview was strange, to say the least. Mrs. Winters sat at the piano, hands in her lap, furtively casting glances toward the doors every time they opened. She would gladly give up the bench, but Emma was nowhere in sight.
Pastor Mackey raised his hands and a hush fell over the auditorium. He cleared his throat. “It’s wonderful to see so many visitors this morning. Welcome. I understand there was an article in The Hanover Current testifying to the fact that we happen to have an amazingly talented musician at Grace First.” A ripple of applause started at the back of the room and moved hesitantly forward. “God has certainly blessed us with individuals willing to serve. Today Mrs. Winter is playing the piano and I know you will be blessed by the song service. So let’s begin with #309 in your hymnals.”
Mrs. Winter set her hands reluctantly on the keys.
“There she is!” someone called out as the door opened and the Tatum family filed in, surprised at the fact they were on display.
The girl turned a bright shade of pink when she realized everyone was staring at her. Her father guided the family toward an open pew, ignoring blatant stares, but Mrs. Winter managed to catch Emma’s eye. She motioned her up to the platform.
“Emma, would you play this morning?” she called out before Pastor Mackey could begin the song.
Emma glanced back at her parents as they sat with Kylie between them in the second row from the last, next to the Donnelly twins. Her mother shrugged and glanced at her father. Under public scrutiny, he gave a curt nod of assent. Kylie smiled, eyes droopy and tired as she leaned against Lori. She was not her usual energetic self.
“Yes,” Pastor Mackey encouraged, “Come and play for us.”
*****
ALICIA RELAXED BACK in the cushioned pew and listened in amazement. Emma was certainly born with talent. She never understood what Frank Howard’s plans were for the babies, what sort of drugs he’d injected them with and why. She’d had Emma’s blood tested sixteen years ago and they’d found an unknown substance. Of course, she couldn’t tell anyone of her findings, and the lab results were unimportant once she switched the babies’ identities. The boy was completely in Howard’s hands. Who knew what he’d been put through over the years? Or whether he was as talented as his sister?
Emma’s face lit up when she played, joy emanating from within. Music flowed from her fingers like electricity from a live wire. She played with eyes closed, the soothing strains of Amazing Grace morphing into a crashing and joyous Handel’s Messiah.
Alicia glanced at the faces around her. They were enraptured, caught up in the moment. She’d never been to a concert where everyone was excited and refreshed. There were always individuals assuming a bored expression, or worse yet, those that slept through a concert no matter how spectacular. This morning she didn’t see one yawn. Not even a distracted child.
The music stopped, and silence filled the auditorium. Before the Pastor could take his place at the podium, the crowd burst into thunderous applause and shouts of praise. Emma, embarrassed by their exuberance, managed to smile and step down from the platform.
“Thank you, Emma,” Pastor Mackey said with a smile, after the cheers and clapping died down. “That was beautiful. Praise God!” He opened his Bible. “Would you all turn to the book of ...?”
“I’m healed!” a shout rang out from a man in a wheelchair at the back of the auditorium. “I can walk!” He got up and hopped around to prove his point.
People turned around to stare. Then a woman toward the front yelled, “Praise God! I can see. I can see! My cataracts–they’re gone!”
Pandemonium broke out. People shouted, others pushed into the aisles, talking, laughing, praising God for multiple miracles across the auditorium. The pastor tried to calm them down, clearly unsettled by what was happening.
“Please, please just sit down. Clear the aisles. Let’s settle down, please.”
Emma sat stoically beside her parents, as though what was going on was perfectly normal and unspectacular. Alicia watched as Emma reached over and took her little sister’s hand in hers, while her parents argued back and forth over their youngest daughter’s head, their faces changing from disbelief, to wonder, and perhaps hope.
Two old ladies wearing matching floral print dresses stood up on the pew beside them, shouting praises, their hands raised upward. Alicia hoped they didn’t lose their balance and come tumbling down on top of the Tatum family.
She wasn’t very good at lip-reading but when Sam Tatum turned to Emma, she was sure he said, “What have you done?” and then the family got up and hurried from the auditorium.
Alicia pushed past people standing in her row and moved through the crowded aisle toward the door.
*****
THE PARKING LOT WAS filled with cars. A spillover of vehicles had been parked along the street as well. Grace First of Hanover had probably never been so popular, but after the show she just witnessed, they undoubtedly would be again. She looked around, but the Tatums had already disappeared.
A gray-haired man pushed through the door after her. He stopped, fished a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, placed one between his lips, and eagerly lit the end with a match. When he spotted her standing at the bottom of the steps, he shrugged.
“There’s no cure for nicotine.”
“Is this normal for a service at Grace?” she asked, her lips curved in a friendly smile.
He came down the steps to join her on the sidewalk, eyeing her suspiciously. “Are you the reporter that talked up that little girl’s piano playing? I don’t remember seeing you before.”
She shook her head. “I’m just visiting. First time in Hanover. But I don’t understand what happened in there. Are they serious? Do they really think they’ve been healed?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” he said, and took another puff of his cigarette before finishing the thought. “Dan Crocket has been in that wheelchair for almost ten years. I’ve never seen him get out of it by himself. Don’t know about the rest of ‘em. I s’pose they could be faking it, but why? Grace ain’t one of them healing and talking in tongues churches. I wouldn’t come here if it were. They’re real people, come to worship a real God. I guess He decided to answer a few prayers today.”
“Maybe you’re right. It was nice talking to you.” She paused and eyed him pointedly. “You know, you may not have been cured in there, but you should really find a way to stop. Those things will kill you.”
“What are you, a doctor?”
“Yes, I am.” She turned and headed toward her car.
*****
EMMA WAS SILENT ON the way home. She felt drained, used up. Notes had flooded the room when she played as though stored for too long under pressure. She saw them fly from her fingers and surround those who needed them with rapturous colors and tones. She couldn’t have stopped it if she’d wanted to. Even when she closed her eyes the colors were still there. But when she held Kylie’s hand, sickness remained.
She’d defied her father by playing the healing notes today. She wanted him to be proud of her, to know she wasn’t lying about her ability. Instead he’d been angry, whisking them from the building as quickly as possible. Maybe her inability to heal Kylie was punishment for disobedience.
When they got home, Kylie went directly to the refrigerator and pulled it open, oblivious to the tension in the air. “I’m thirsty.”
Emma helped her pour a glass of apple juice while their parents stood staring at her as if she had two heads. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “What?”
“I think Kylie should go upstairs and take a nap.”
“I don’t want to take a nap, Daddy. I’m not tired.”
“Come on, honey. I’ll go up with you.”
Emma sat down at the kitchen table and waited for her dad to start yelling. He was angry a lot lately. He usually came home from work already grumpy and took it out on her. She wasn’t working hard enough in school. She needed to spend more time reading instead of watching TV. Whatever. Bear was the only one who wanted to hang out with him. They took long walks every evening, just the two of them, her dad leading and Bear lagging behind with his arthritic gait as though he were the human and dad the pet.
He stared at the floor for a minute, hands on his hips, chewing at the inside of his cheek like he did when he had something serious to discuss with her. Finally, he sat in the chair across the table and clasped his hands together on the top.
“Dad, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have played the healing colors. I only wanted you to believe in me.” Her eyes welled with tears and she quickly wiped them away. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.
He shook his head. “I don’t know what just happened, but ...”
Her mom stepped into the kitchen, lips set in a thin line. “Are you still trying to deny that God has given Emma the ability to heal? Even after you witnessed it firsthand?”
“We don’t know if any of that was real. There were so many strangers there today. They could have been putting on some kind of show because of the article that was written. Their five minutes of fame and all.” He shrugged but wouldn’t meet her eye.
“What about Mr. Crocket? He’s been crippled for years. Are you going to tell me he was faking it? That he got up out of that chair by trickery?”
He blew out a puff of frustration and threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know. But have you thought about what will happen if they believe Emma had something to do with it? Our family will never be the same. She’ll be put on display like some kind of freak.”
Lori fell silent. She slowly eased into the chair next to Sam.
“Is that what you think,” Emma asked, her voice soft and vulnerable, “I’m a freak because I’m not like you, smart with numbers, or good at talking to people? I don’t look like a Tatum. Or act like a Tatum. Maybe I’m not a Tatum!”
“Honey, your dad is trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what? From the ability God gave me? Should I let sick people die because you don’t want someone to think your daughter’s a freak?”
“I have to protect you from yourself. Can’t you see that? People are not all good and kind. There is evil in this world and it looks for innocents like you to destroy.”
Lori reached out and placed a calming hand over his. “Sam, go easy. She’s your daughter.”
“Is she?”
“Sam!”
Emma pushed back from the table and stood. She met her father’s eyes. They were filled with remorse. Her lip trembled but she hardened her heart.
“Emma, you know I didn’t mean that. We’re all upset. Sit back down and let’s discuss this.”
“Discuss what? It’s really simple. Either you believe, or you don’t.” She swiped a hand over her cheek as a lone tear slipped down. “By the way–I can’t save Kylie. Only God can.”
*****
ALICIA DROVE SLOWLY down the tree-lined boulevard, glancing right and left. It was a fairly small town, but she didn’t have a map and didn’t want to ask directions to the Tatum residence. She felt it might infringe on their privacy, especially after the morning church service. People were curious and a stranger asking questions would be of interest in a small town.
She took a left at 18th Street and spotted the house number on a white mailbox next to the curb. Set in the middle of the lot was a yellow rambler, small but well cared for. Leafless maples rose on either side like sentinels keeping watch. A four-foot tall hedge separated yards on either side and a gravel driveway went straight back to a standalone garage, square and low, at the end of the property.
The girl had grown up simply, probably without a lot of frills or extras, but unlike the boy adopted by the Howards, who she imagined was watched night and day like a bug under a microscope, she’d been allowed to grow and mature naturally, to have a family that loved her.
At least that’s what Alicia imagined. The Tatum couple had seemed safe and normal or she never would have given the baby to them. Not that she had much choice at the time.
She pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. The house looked quiet. The door of the garage was closed so she didn’t know if they were even home. She stepped out of the car and looked around. The sun was trying to peek through clouds, but it was still gray and cold. Gloom weighed heavily on her and she wondered if she was doing the right thing.
A curtain moved at a side window and caught her attention. A little girl looked out, a thin face wreathed by dark hair. Kylie. The reason she was here. One of the reasons. She waved and smiled. The face disappeared.
She reached in her coat pocket and took out the photo. Maybe today was not the time to bring up the past. Dealing with the present would be hard enough for this family right now. She tucked it back into her pocket and moved purposefully toward the front door.
Before she could knock, the door was thrust open and Lori Tatum, still in her Sunday dress and heels, beckoned her in. “Dr. Brock. What a surprise. Come in, come in. It’s cold out there.”
“Thank you.” She stepped inside, unsure how to begin.
The house was warm and smelled faintly of bacon and toast. Walls were painted creamy white, giving the small living room the appearance of being longer than it was. A deep burgundy throw rug partially concealed scuffed hardwood floors and despite their aged appearance, a plaid sofa and two matching overstuffed chairs looked cozy and inviting.
“Can I take your coat?”
“Um, sure.” She shrugged out of the leather jacket and handed it over.
Lori hung it in the hall closet and then stood there as though she didn’t know what to do next. Someone coughed in the next room and she turned toward the sound.
“If your husband’s here, I’d like to speak with both of you.”
Sam Tatum strode into the room. His face was easy to read. He was not happy that she was here and wouldn’t pretend otherwise. His wife sent him a look, but he ignored it.
“What are you doing here, Doctor? Isn’t this going far and beyond your normal duty?” He crossed his arms, his stance locked in that “I’m standing my ground,” position.
“You’re right. This is my first ever house call. But since you refused to talk on the phone, I felt it was important enough that I speak with you in person.” She waved an arm toward the room. “Mind if we sit?”
“Please do.” Lori said before her husband could argue.
Alicia noticed an ancient upright piano in the corner of the room and marveled that Emma had learned to play so beautifully on something so monstrously ugly. She sat on the edge of one of the chairs and waited. Sam hesitated before slumping into the chair facing her, while his wife took up an end of the sofa. They both appeared less than eager for what she had to say. So, she did the humane thing and got right to the point.
“I had a more complete blood work done for Kylie after the initial test showed she had elevated WBC’s. There are many other things that cause blood counts to be off, so I wanted to discount them before I spoke with you.”
“WBC’s?” Lori asked, tentatively.
“White blood cells. An elevated white blood count is called, leukocytosis. It can result from a variety of temporary or chronic conditions such as bacterial infections, inflammation, even stress.” She paused and softened her tone. “But tests show the presence of blasts... immature white blood cells that aren’t normally seen in the bloodstream. They mature in the bone marrow until their release. The presence of blasts indicates some form of Leukemia.”
Lori crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned forward as though in pain.
“Indicate? You mean you don’t know for sure,” Sam argued. He ran a hand nervously through his dark hair. “It could be something else. You said so yourself.”
She cleared her throat. “If there were no blasts present in the bloodstream, I would agree with you. But there are.”
“Emma was right.” Lori said simply.
“Lori, not now.”
She shook her head, ignoring him. “Emma played today. Maybe Kylie was healed too. We should have the tests run again.”
Alicia narrowed her gaze. “Are you saying the people at your church were healed by Emma’s music?”
Lori nodded, her face alive with hope. “Were you there?”
Sam groaned. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s in shock, Doctor. Could you please leave, so we can deal with this alone?”
“Of course. I’m curious though. How did Emma know her sister was sick?”
“She didn’t!”
“That’s not what your wife said when she came to the clinic.”
“I touched her,” Emma said softly from the doorway. “Usually I see certain colors over people. There is a different color for every feeling. Like pain. It’s deep purple—almost black. The notes I play each have a different hue to counteract the bad colors. But with Kylie I touched her, and I knew.”
“Emma, I asked you to stay in your room,” her father said.
“I couldn’t. I have to tell you something.”
“What is it, honey?” her mother asked, motioning for Emma to sit beside her.
The girl stayed where she was. Her eyes were red from crying and her voice shook. “I can’t heal her. I tried, Mom. I did. But the colors don’t change. Maybe I don’t have enough faith. I don’t know.”
Alicia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Could any of it be true? Was there something special about those twins sixteen years ago that was finally coming to a head? She stood up and approached the girl. “I don’t think we’ve ever been officially introduced, but I’m the doctor who delivered you. Dr. Brock.”
“Nice to meet you,” the girl responded and sniffed. “You probably think I’m crazy.”
“No, I think you’re a gifted musician and possibly more. But dwelling on what you can’t do is not helpful. What we need to think about right now is Kylie.” She turned back to the parents. “We need a bone marrow donor for your daughter. We should get her on the list and start treatment right away.”
“I’ll do it.” Emma said, stepping closer. “I’m her sister. Aren’t sisters supposed to be a good match? I read that on the Internet.”