When Darkness Loves Us

The daily routine of life became easier for Fern. As the months went by she spent less time with Addie, feeling more capable of handling things on her own. The seasons swept through her life, one by one, all exemplifying their own personalities. Winter was a mean ogre, dangerous and ugly, yet his reign was oddly cozy and comfortable as they rested during this respite from the sweltering summer. Spring was a baby bunny, soft and warm, but skittish, and able to dash into frantic motion in less than a heartbeat of time. Spring was clean. Then summer again, a paper queen of vivid reds, purples, and greens, fading in the sunlight, turning all the colors a sickly yellow while the paper itself became crisp and brittle. Autumn was a deer, beautiful and swift. And winter had come again.

Fern did her chores cheerfully, always busy, mind continually racing on a path of its own, far removed from the repetitive tasks at hand.

She dreamed of becoming a great healer, speaking of God and love to multitudes of people on a grassy knoll. She dreamed of waving her hand over a hospital and having all within healed in an instant. She dreamed of being visited personally by God and all his angels one day while she was baking bread or making jam.

Harry was a problem. No, not really a problem; they just lived with a totally different outlook on life. Harry believed in a vengeful God; Fern believed in a loving God. Their differences of opinion always resulted in the same argument.

“I’m going over to the Nielsens’ after lunch today.”

“Someone sick?”

“Nat. He’s got a fever.”

“And you’re going to cure him.”

“I’m going to do what I can.”

“What if he’s supposed to have a fever?”

“I’ve been given a gift, Harry. I’m supposed to use it.”

“To change the world.”

“Not to change the world, to ease the suffering.”

“There’s got to be suffering, Fern. It’s the natural way of things. You take that away, and there won’t be any joy.”

“God doesn’t want suffering.”

“It’s up to him to put it here or remove it.”

“Well, and he put it here, and put me here to remove it.”

“That’s crazy talk.”

“Harry, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why my hands heal people. Maybe it’s so they’ll take a closer look at God. But I really don’t understand why you’re so against it.”

“Because it ain’t right, Fern. It just ain’t right. And the longer you do this, the more credit you take for it, the harder we’re going to get it.”

When Harry talked this way, a terrible look came across his face, his lips turned back into a kind of a grimacing smile, his eyes winced to slits and Fern’s blood ran cold.

Eventually, Fern learned not to discuss it. The arguments made them both feel bad. Harry learned, too, and tried to accept his wife’s preoccupation as a cross they had to bear. He delivered scathing looks her way whenever she went to visit someone sick, and he would moon around in a dark cloud of despair and a feeling of impending doom for the rest of the day and the night.

Their casual talk was only of farm things and news of the community, things without controversy.

The talk in the community centered on Fern. Details of her miraculous healings were told and retold until they were blown all out of proportion. People stepped out of her way in town—they viewed her with a mixture of fear and respect. They never hesitated to call on her, though, when in need.

When she and Harry went to town together, he scowled at the way everyone treated them. He would become angry and silent. Fern could almost hear his teeth grind. In his fondest dreams, he hoped he and Fern would be looked upon as good Christian folk, salt of the earth, pillars of the community, but instead, he felt he was some sort of freak, a specimen in a bottle, something interesting to look at.

But he kept it to himself as much as he could.

Fern had come to know most of the people in the community, had visited their homes, had held their babies. The vision of Fern riding in a buckboard became a standing symbol of good on its way to conquer evil.

Then the community had something new to talk about.

Doc Pearson was seen around the Mannes farm frequently in the spring. The quilting bees and church socials were filled with excited speculation. Once Doc’s diagnosis was confirmed, he told his wife.

“Morning sickness.”

Mrs. Pearson grabbed her shawl and went to the neighbors’, and soon everybody knew. Fern was pregnant.

A hundred hands flew to work, making quilts, diapers, knitting booties and caps. Here was a way they could all show their appreciation to Fern without one of “those looks” from Harry. It was plain that Harry didn’t think too much of Fern’s work, and thought less of the gifts. But the baby . . . well, Harry couldn’t say anything about that.

And what a child they would have! Fern with her small, dark looks and Harry, what a handsome boy. Their baby would be a perfect angel, happy and delightful, and it would bring Fern and Harry together in a new way.

The whole town of Morgan, Illinois, was pleased. This would be their baby.