Beverly Barton - Guarding Jeannie

"Please, Jeannie, help my little boy. I came early, wanting to be first in line to see you. Matthew is only six years old, and he lives with unbearable pain. Touch him and take away his pain." Tears streamed down the woman's pale face and dripped off her nose and chin. "He's such a little thing. It isn't right that he suffers so much."

Sam nudged Jeannie, urging her to move on, not to stop, but she leaned against him and whispered. "She didn't ask me to heal him. All she asked was that I take away his pain. I can do that much for the child."

"No, Jeannie, don't." The bitter, metallic taste of fear coated Sam's tongue. If she took away the child's pain, didn't that mean she would have to endure it?

"What's wrong with Matthew?" Jeannie asked.

"He has a severe form of arthritis that causes him great pain. He's been suffering all night. When I heard on TV that you always attend Sunday services here, I knew what I had to do. I've been here over an hour, waiting, knowing in my heart you'd come today and that you'd help my child."

Jeannie looked at Matthew. Such a pretty little boy, but his eyes told the story of his suffering. "Bring Matthew inside the church with me."

The woman grabbed Jeannie's hand and kissed it. "Thank you." New tears filled her eyes. "God bless you." She lifted her child into her arms.

"Jeannie?" Sam questioned her, yet he knew he couldn't stop her doing what her heart dictated.

"The minister's study is down the hall to the left. When we're inside the vestibule, it'll be the first door," she told him.

Jeannie made certain the woman and her son entered the building first, and then she followed, Sam helping her maneuver the short row of steps. Once inside, Jeannie went directly to the minister, who stood at the doorway to the sanctuary. When she whispered her request, he simply nodded his agreement and glanced forlornly at Jeannie, then smiled at the tormented woman and her sick child.

Once inside the study, Jeannie sat in a sturdy wooden chair directly in front of a bookshelf-lined wall.

"Please, close the door, Sam."

He didn't want anything to do with this. If he couldn't prevent what was going to happen—and he knew couldn't—he'd prefer to step outside and wait.

"You don't have to stay, if you'd rather not," Jeannie said. Oh, he'd rather not, all right, but he would. Hell would freeze over before he'd leave her alone at a time like this. He closed the door, then blocked the entrance with his massive body. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood there, a silent sentinel, feeling powerless against Jeannie's determination.

"Bring Matthew to me." Jeannie held open her arms.

The mother placed her child in Jeannie's lap and knelt at her feet. Jeannie encompassed Matthew's skinny little body with her arms. She closed her eyes. Matthew squirmed.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart. All I'm going to do is hold you, and very soon the pain will go away and you won't hurt for a while."

The wide-eyed mother wiped the tears from her eyes. Jeannie sighed. A soft brightness surrounded her; a sweet, flowing current rippled through her body. The first minute twinges of discomfort ebbed and flowed, coming and going, then returning to stay. Jeannie gasped. Sam flinched. Matthew sobbed.

The minister's opening prayer floated down the hallway from the sanctuary, the words muted by the closed door of the study. Acting as a receptacle, Jeannie allowed Matthew's pain to slowly drain from his body. She was still aware of her surroundings, of the child's mother trembling at her feet, of Sam staring at a spot somewhere over her head, refusing to watch the performance of her task.

Sam gritted his teeth. He focused his vision on the certificates on the wall behind the minister's desk. Matthew breathed so deeply that the sound drew Sam's attention. The boy appeared relaxed, almost asleep, as he lay in Jeannie's arms. All the color had drained from Jeannie's face, leaving her normally rosy cheeks pale. Sam looked away, taking note of every picture on the walls, scanning the bookshelves, tracing the stripes in the wallpaper, searching for stains on the carpet.

Jeannie groaned, low and soft in her throat, the sound gaining Sam's instant attention. She had released her hold on Matthew. Her arms lay at her sides, her hands gripping the edge of the chair. Her body shivered, once, twice, and then she opened her mouth, leaned her head back and sucked in gulps of air. As she continued drawing in deep breaths, she began to moan quietly.

She was experiencing physical pain. Matthew's pain. And there was absolutely nothing Sam could do to help her. Sweat broke out on Sam's forehead. Moisture coated the palms of his big hands.

Time ceased, standing still for the four people in the minister's study. When Matthew slipped out of Jeannie's lap and into his mother's open arms, Sam didn't know for sure whether minutes or hours had passed. The torment he'd felt at watching Jeannie suffer seemed to have lasted for hours, but when he looked at his Rolex, he realized that less than fifteen minutes had gone by.

When Matthew's mother tried to thank Jeannie, she did not receive a response. Jeannie appeared to be unconscious.

"It doesn't hurt, Mommy," Matthew said, smiling broadly. "I don't hurt at all." The boy pulled free of his mother and walked around the room. "And I can walk, and it still doesn't hurt." Matthew raced around the room in a circle. Grabbing the child by the shoulder, Sam halted his jubilant running.

"Please, take Matthew and go," Sam said. "Jeannie's done all she can for him. She needs her rest now."

"Thank her again for me," the woman said. "Even if the relief lasts only a few hours. Tell her for me."

"I'll tell her."

Sam held open the door for Matthew and his mother. Once out in the hallway, Matthew stopped, turned around and waved at Sam. Sam waved back at the child.

"Mommy said the angel at this church would take away my pain, and she did."

Closing the door, shutting out the world and all its problems, Sam leaned his shoulders and head back against the stained wood surface and closed his eyes for one brief moment. Then he looked at Jeannie, who was lying slumped in the chair, tears sparkling in her dark eyelashes like diamonds on sable. He walked over, bent down on one knee and pried her clenched fists away from the chair's edge.

"Jeannie?"

She moaned. Her eyelids flickered. Sam brought her hands to his lips, opened her palms and anointed them with kisses. Jeannie moaned again.

"Sam." His name was a mere whisper on her lips.

"What can I do to help you? Just tell me, and I'll do it." He had no idea what she needed from him, but he wanted to do something, anything, to help her.

"Hold—hold me."

He enveloped her in his arms, stroking her tense back, trapping her arms between their bodies. She swayed into him, brushing her face over the side of his face, resting her cheek against his. Feeling the dampness on his cheek, Sam looked down and saw that Jeannie was crying.

"Don't cry. Please, don't cry." He lifted her into his arms, not sure it was the right thing to do, but unable to stop himself.

Jeannie tried to lift her arm to his neck, but she didn't have the strength. Sam sat down on the small love seat in the far corner, bringing Jeannie down into his lap. He lifted her arm and placed it around his neck. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"How long will this last? Isn't there anything I can do?" Frustration on an incomparable level clawed at his guts.

"Not long. Just a little while." She opened her eyes, those warm, compassionate brown eyes, and looked at Sam.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. "Rest, Jeannie. Rest."

"Take care of me, Sam." She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.

"Jeannie? Jeannie?" He shook her gently. She didn't move. He shook her again. "Jeannie!"