She didn’t say it. Inside, she felt the tightest most strangling pain. Rowan, don’t die. Rowan, I’m sorry. Some vicious and perfectly luscious memory came back to her of Michael Curry’s chest looming over her, and his cock slipping out of her so that she saw it for an instant, the shaft descending out of the nest of hair. She shut her eyes tight.
“Let’s believe we can help Rowan,” said Lauren, though the voice sounded so low and so hopeless that it contradicted its own words. “The legacy is a vast question. There are three lawyers going over the papers now. But Rowan is still alive. Rowan is upstairs. She has survived the surgery. It was the least of her worries. The doctors have done their magic. Now it’s time for us to try.”
“You know what we want to do?” asked Lily, whose eyes were glazed still from crying. Lily had assumed a defensive posture, arms over her breasts, one hand resting right below her throat. For the first time ever, thought Mona, Lily’s voice sounded shaky, old.
“Yes, I know,” said Paige. “My uncle told me everything. I understand. All these years. I’ve heard so much about you, all of you, and now I am here. I’m in this house. But let me say this: I don’t know that I’ll be of any help to you. It’s a power others feel. I myself do not feel it. I don’t really know how to use it. But I am always willing to try.”
“You’re one of the strongest,” said Mona. “That is what matters. We are the strongest here. None of us know how to use these gifts.”
“Then let’s go. Let’s see what we can do,” said Paige.
“I don’t want there to be any mumbo jumbo,” said Randall. “If anybody starts saying crazy words-”
“Certainly not,” said Fielding, eyes sunken, hands folded on his cane. “I have to go up in the elevator. Mona, you take me. Randall, you should ride in the elevator too.”
“If you don’t want to come with us,” remarked Lauren in a steel-cold voice, “you do not have to, either of you. We will do this ourselves.”
“I’m coming,” said Randall grumpily. “I want it noted for the record that this family is now following the advice of a thirteen-year-old girl!”
“That’s not true,” said Lily. “We all want to do it. Randall, please help us. Please don’t be trouble at this time.”
They went out en masse, moving through the shadowy hall. Mona had never liked this elevator. It was too small, too dusty, too old and too powerful and it went too fast. She followed the two old men inside, helping Fielding to the one chair in the corner, a small wooden antique chair with a cane seat. Then she pulled shut the door, clanged the gate and pressed the button. She put her hand on Fielding’s shoulder. “Remember, it stops with a jolt.”
There came the slamming halt as predicted.
“Damn thing,” muttered Fielding. “Typical of Stella, to get an elevator strong enough to take people to the top of the American Bank.”
“There is no more American Bank,” said Randall.
“Well, you know what I mean,” said Fielding. “Don’t be short-tempered with me. This isn’t my idea. I think it’s ridiculous. Why don’t we go out to Metairie and try to raise Gifford from the dead?”
Mona helped Fielding to stand and position his cane. “The American Bank used to be the tallest building in New Orleans,” he said to Mona.
“I know,” she answered. She hadn’t known, but that was the best way to stop that line of conversation cold.
When they came into the master bedroom, the others were already assembled. Michael was with them, standing with arms folded in the far corner looking down at Rowan’s unchanged face.
The blessed candles were burning on the bedside table nearest the door. The Virgin was there. Probably Aunt Bea did this, thought Mona-these candles, this Virgin with her bowed head, white veil, tiny plaster hands outstretched. Gifford certainly would have done it, if she had been around.
No one said a word. Finally Mona spoke.
“I think the nurses need to go out.”
“Well, just what are you going to do in here,” said the younger nurse crossly, a sallow woman with blond hair parted in the middle beneath her stiff starched cap. She was nunlike in her sterility and cleanliness. She glanced at the older nurse, a dark-faced black woman who spoke not a word.
“We’re going to lay hands on her and try to heal her,” said Paige Mayfair. “It probably won’t do any good, but we all have this gift. We are going to try.”
“I don’t know if you should do this!” said the young nurse distrustfully.
But then the older black woman shook her head negatively, and gestured to let it all go by.
“Go on out, both of you,” said Michael in a quiet commanding voice.
The nurses left.
Mona closed the door.
“It’s so strange,” said Lily. “This is like being from a family of great musicians, yet not knowing how to read music, not even knowing how to carry a tune.”
Only Paige Mayfair seemed unembarrassed, the one from away, the one who hadn’t grown up in the shadow of First Street, hearing people answer each other’s thoughts as easily as each other’s words.
Paige laid her small leather pocketbook on the floor, and came to the bed. “Turn out the lights, except for the candles.”
“That’s nonsense,” said Fielding.
“I prefer it that way,” said Paige. “I prefer that there will be no distractions.” Then she looked down at Rowan, studying her slowly from her smooth forehead down to the feet poking straight up beneath the sheet. Paige’s face looked sad, deliberately sad and thoughtful.
“This is useless,” said Fielding. He was obviously finding it difficult to remain standing.
Mona tugged him over closer to the bed. “Here, lean on the mattress,” she said, trying not to be impatient. “I’ve got your arm. Lay your hand on her. One hand will do it.”
“No, both hands, please,” said Paige.
“Absolute idiocy!” said Fielding.
The others closed in around the bed. Michael stepped back but then Lily gestured that he must join them too. They all laid their hands on Rowan, Fielding tilting forward at a precarious angle, his labored breathing audible, a little cough collecting in his wattled throat.
Mona felt Rowan’s soft pale arm. She had laid her fingers right on the bruises. What had caused them? Had he grabbed Rowan and shaken her? You could almost see the marks of the fingers. Mona laid her own fingers on top of the marks.
Rowan, heal! She hadn’t waited for the others, and now she saw that all had made the same silent unceremonious decision. She heard the communal prayer rising; she saw that Paige and Lily had closed their eyes. “Heal,” whispered Paige. “Heal,” whispered Mona.
“Heal, Rowan,” said Randall in a deep decisive voice.
Finally the disgruntled murmur came from Fielding. “Heal, child, if the power is within you. Heal. Heal. Heal.”
When Mona opened her eyes again she saw that, Michael was crying. He was holding Rowan’s right hand tight in both of his. He was whispering the word along with all of them. Mona closed her eyes and said it again.
“Come on, Rowan! Heal!”
Moments passed as they remained there. Moments passed in which this or that one whispered, or stirred, or clasped the flesh more tightly or patted it. Lily laid her hand on Rowan’s forehead. Michael bent to kiss Rowan’s head.