"I don't know. It's . . . it's different. Maybe I can't ever do it again, maybe I used all of it up the first time because I thought so hard. It made my head hurt so bad, Daddy. . . ."
"Yes, I know. But didn't it make you feel good too? Didn't it set you on fire, couldn't you hear the voice of God and feel His Power at work inside you?"
"I guess, but ..."
"You're a healer, son. A living, breathing miracle-working healer." He'd placed one of his large rough hands over his son's. "You've got the power in you, and it's been given to you for a very special purpose. Cheryl and her folks are waitin' downstairs, right now. What shall I tell 'em?"
"I . . . I did it because I love Toby so much, Daddy. I don't even know this little girl!"
Falconer had leaned close to him, and lowered his voice. "Do it because you love me."
A sheet was draped over the dining-room table, and Cheryl Gantt was laid on her back by her father. The little girl trembled and clutched at her mother's hand as Wayne stood over her, seemingly not knowing what to do. Falconer nodded encouragement to him; Cammy, overwrought by the whole thing, had to leave the house and sit on the porch until it was finished. When Wayne finally touched the little girl's legs, he shut his eyes and rubbed the knobby knees as a vein slowly beat at his temple. Cheryl stared at the ceiling, whimpering softly.
The boy tried for over an hour until his face was shiny with sweat and his hands cramped into claws. The Gantts were as kind as they could be, lifting their daughter off the table and taking her back out to their pickup truck. Wayne stood on the porch until the truck was out of sight, his shoulders slumped in defeat; when he met his father's eyes a sob rattled deep in his chest, and he hurried upstairs to his room.
Falconer went to his book-lined study, closed the double oak-paneled doors, and sat at his desk staring into space. He decided to turn to his Bible for comfort, and wherever it opened would be a message for him. He found himself looking at the thirteenth chapter of Matthew, at Christ's parable of seeds sown on rocky soil, in thorns, and on fertile earth where they yielded fruit; it took three slow readings before he grasped the message. It hit him like a thunderbolt; of course! he thought, newly excited. Just as the word of the Lord was lost on some folks, so were the Lord's miracles! If that little girl wasn't healed, maybe it was because her parents didn't have enough faith, or they were deep sinners who'd strayed far from the light. The problem hadn't been with Wayne, but with either the little girl or her folks! And he was about to go up to talk to Wayne when the telephone rang.
It was Mr. Gantt, calling from a Texaco station on the other side of Fayette. His little girl had started shaking all of a sudden, and she'd said she felt sick so they'd pulled the truck into the station. Mrs. Gantt had held her while the little girl had thrown up in the ladies' room. Suddenly Cheryl had screamed that she felt the blood circulating in her legs, and her startled mother had let her go. Cheryl had collapsed to the floor, but had pulled herself slowly up and staggered out under her own power to the pickup truck, where her father had hugged her in his arms and started shouting about how Little Wayne Falconer had healed his Cheryl.
And three days later an envelope came, addressed to the Falconer Crusade. It was from the Gantts, and inside was a ten-dollar bill wrapped up in tissue paper The telephone calls and letters began landsliding in, and Falconer had known it was his responsibility to teach Wayne everything he knew about public speaking, getting up in front of a crowd and making them feel the love of God in their hearts. The boy was a natural, and at the last minute Falconer had added Wayne's name to the posters for the summer tent-revival circuit.
Falconer rose up out of bed, careful not to awaken Cammy, and went across the hallway to Wayne's room. He silently opened the door; weak shards of first light glinted off the dozen or so airplane models—a B-52, a pair of navy Hellcats, a British Spad, a Constellation, and others—dangling down from their wires.
Wayne was sitting in a chair drawn up to the window, the curtains luffing in a faint morning breeze. Beyond the window stretched the meadows of Falconer's thirty-six-acre estate.
"Wayne?" The boy's head swiveled around. "You're up awful early, aren't you?" Falconer stepped into the room, ducking his head under a green Spitfire.
"Yes sir. I had something on my mind, is all."
"Is it something so important you couldn't get a good night's sleep? You know, we've got to be in Decatur this evenin'." He yawned and stretched, feeling that long drive already. "What's on your mind?"
"I was thinkin' about what happened in Hawthorne, Daddy. I was thinkin' about that boy and his momma."
"Oh?" Falconer ran a hand through his hair and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, where he could see his son's face. "You heard what was said about them. They're strange people, and that woman came to the revival just to cause trouble. But you shouldn't concern yourself."
"Is she a witch, like they said? And is the boy a demon?"
"I don't know, but it seems like everybody in Hawthorne thinks so."
The boy stared at him for a few silent seconds. Then he said, "Then why don't we kill them?"
Falconer was startled. "Well . . . Wayne, that would be murder, and murder's against the law. ..."
"Thought you said that God's laws were above the laws of Man? And if that woman and the boy are Evil, then they shouldn't he allowed to live, should they?"
"Uh ..." Falconer felt himself slipping in over his head. "The Lord'll take care of them, Wayne. Don't you worry."
"She said what I did was murder," Wayne said.
"Yes, she did. And that goes to show you just how twisted she is. doesn't it? She tried to wreck your work, Wayne, and she used that boy to get things stirred up."
"Am I doing right, Daddy?"
The question had come like a thunderclap. Falconer blinked. "What do you mean, son?"
"I mean ... I know I've healed a lot of people this summer, but . . . the first time, with Toby, I felt something happen deep inside me, like my blood was boiling and . . . it was kind of like that time when I was little and I stuck a fork into that electric socket. It hurt, and after it was over I could still feel it in my bones. I don't feel it like I did that first time, Daddy; sometimes I get tingly, or my head aches, but . . . it's not the same. And remember in Sylacauga last week? That blind man who came up to the front? I tried hard, Daddy, but I couldn't make him see. And there have been others, too, that I don't think I really touched . . . maybe I pretended to, but . . ." He paused, his face an uneasy mask of deep concerns.
"I think you're lettin' that Creekmore woman make you doubt yourself, is what I think. And that's what she wanted, all along! When you doubt yourself, you make yourself weak. And I've thought about that blind man too, and others like him; it could be you can't heal some people because God has a plan for them just as they are. Or it could be there's a sin in their lives that keeps them apart from the Light, and until they confess it they can't receive a healing. But don't you doubt yourself, Wayne; if you do, the demons win. Do you understand?"
"I . . . guess I do."
Falconer patted his shoulder "Good. You going to be ready for Decatur tonight?"
Wayne nodded.
"Is there something else on your mind?"
"Yes sir There was . . . something in that boy that made me afraid, Daddy. I don't know what it was, but . . . when I looked in his eyes I felt scared right down in my stomach. ..."
Falconer grunted softly and gazed out the window. "If you felt fear," he told his son, "it was because you sensed the sin in his heart and mind. Wayne, you're going to have a fine full life, and you're going to meet a lot of good people; but you'll meet people with Satan in their souls too. You'll have to stand up to 'em, and face 'em down. Understand?"