“Thank you. It was my grandmother’s. Wouldn’t believe it was made in the thirties,” she said, dropping it back into her purse. “Mama said to hang on to it, might be worth some money one day.”
The town of Lourdes sat in the foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains, and as the van drove west toward the religious attractions, Ethel could hear the gargle and flow of the Gave de Pau babbling through the center of the city. The van twisted past what looked like gingerbread houses and storybook shops sandwiched by pineyhills and jagged mountaintops. The driver parked at the tip of a slim pedestrian-only street. The aromas of frankincense, myrrh, and balsam greeted Ethel as she followed Julia off the van. The white wives pivoted around one another, just far enough away from Ethel and Julia but in earshot of Dorothy’s voice.
“Ladies, there’s lots to see here,” bellowed Dorothy as she smoothed down her rose-printed swing dress with oversize black buttons. She wore a bold red lipstick, with a matching scarf tied at her neck, and short black gloves. “You can visit the shrine, wander the cathedral, shop the vendors. Whatever you decide, please go in pairs, and make sure you are back at the van by three o’clock.”
Instant chatter burst between the wives as they looked to one another for confirmation on where to start, but Ethel had no plans to be confined to a group consensus. Without consulting anyone, she let her navy flatties carry her through the pedestrian plaza, where she inhaled the collective joy of people pulsing with belief and hope.
She joined the queue to see the shrine of Lourdes alongside Catholic nuns in long black habits, crippled men in wheelchairs, elderly couples stooped over wooden canes, young adults giddy with possibility, elegant European women carrying Hermès bags, and small children asleep in prams.
Ethel closed her eyes as the line of people shared in the collective singing of “Ave Maria” in a bevy of languages uniting into one. Ethel felt so warmed by it all that sweat beaded her brows.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Ethel turned to see Dorothy remove her cat’s-eye sunglasses. Julia Jones and a woman with blond curls stood beside Dorothy. Ethel had gotten so wrapped up in her personal mission that she had not realized the three women were behind her in line.
“I’ve never in my life experienced a crowd pulsing with this collective energy.”
At the entrance, racks of white candles set up in the shape ofa Christmas tree burned brightly in front of the grotto of Massabielle. In the center of the grotto stood a statue of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by green trailing flowers. The line of people moved at a steady pace. The three wives chatted behind her, but Ethel prayed the Hail Mary again and again under her breath.
When the four women reached the small cave, people slowly slipped into the walkway surrounded by thick layers of stone. The air of the grotto cooled Ethel’s balmy skin, drying her sweat almost in an instant. Against the wall rested a glass prayer box, and she mumbled another Hail Mary as she removed Dr. Burroughs’s diagnosis from her handbag and dropped the slip of paper into the box. She then mimicked the stout man in front of her and ran her hands along the grotto’s stone.
As her fingertips brushed the smooth rock, a staticky feeling pulsed deep inside her. Ethel felt a glowing warmth flow through her belly. Her arms tingled, and her chest heaved up and down. She blinked several times at the white mist that appeared just in front of her. Then a raspy voice uttered,“You have much to offer others.”
It was so loud and clear that she wondered if anyone else had heard it. Was that the message she had come for? Had that been the Virgin Mary herself? Ethel had not realized that she had stopped, stalling the line with her hands outstretched on the grotto, until she felt a hand on her elbow.
“Ethel?” Dorothy asked. “Are you feeling all right?”
Ethel took a deep breath and nodded while the words continued to thread through her.You have much to offer others.
Praise be.
Ethel staggered out into the light of the day, trying to cloak and swaddle what she had experienced in the grotto.
“Well, that was an uplifting experience for sure,” said Dorothy,tugging her gloves back on. They had moved to the right of the crowd and into a small patch of shade.
Julia added, “I must say, I feel like I have just prayed a month of Sundays and received the promise of all my blessings.”
Ethel stood silent with her hands folded in front of her. Her mouth was dry, her body heavy, and she wished she had something to lean against.
“Ethel, honey?” Dorothy crinkled her brows.
“Yes.” Ethel shook her head, trying to find where they were in the conversation.
“You look faint, dear.” Julia peered at her. “Do you need some water?”
Ethel remembered the empty bottle she had tucked in her purse. “Yes. Let’s head over to the spring and collect some of the holy water.”
“There’s holy water too? I should have studied up on the history of this place before we arrived,” said Julia, chuckling.
As they walked, Ethel’s head began to clear, and she told the ladies that the Lourdes water had flowed since the apparitions in 1858 and was reputed for miraculous healing. What she didn’t say was that she had planned to sip a little and sprinkle drops on her belly each night before bed.
Once the four had collected the holy water, Dorothy and her blond friend decided to explore the town and extended an invitation. Julia complained about sore feet and said she would wait it out inside the van. Ethel declined and walked north toward the Basilica of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception to pray in gratitude, for she was convinced that she had been healed.
CHAPTER 3Prince Frederick, MD, September 1965
SOPHIA
Sophia’s walk back to the farm seemed like it took half the time it usually did. Despite the extra weight of the gift bag, and being chased down the road by the full blaze of the midmorning sun, she felt agile on her feet. She had spent most of her trek home turning the conversation with Mrs. Brown from one side of her mind to the other. Mrs. Brown said that she had spoken to Ma Deary, but Ma had never uttered a word. Had someone else answered the telephone? One of Unc’s girlfriends, perhaps, and she had forgotten to give Sophia the message? And where was the acceptance letter? she wondered.
