Miracle in the Mist Read Free Page A

Irma stood back and looked down at her. "We'll put a bandage on that cut just as soon as Meghan comes back with the first-aid kit."
    "Thank you," the young woman murmured, her eyes downcast, "but I can't take up any more of your time. You should be going home with your family. I'm so sorry to have bothered you." She started to stand, but wobbled like a child's top just before it fell over sideways to the floor.
    Irma grabbed her arm and eased her back into the chair. "It appears as if you're not going anywhere just yet. Now, you sit down and let me see to that cut. This storm is no place for anyone to be wandering around, injured or not. I have all the time in the world. I was just closing the library. Tonight was the annual Christmas Eve story hour."
    Irma glanced out the window at the blizzard, hoping that her young audience members had made it home safely. This night in particular was very special because it was the night Irma told the story of Rachel and Michiah and the miracle of the mist, just as Anna Hobbs had done at Christmastime for the last twenty-five years. But since the children had to leave early, she'd had only her small family as an audience.
    "The children got here before the storm started but had to leave early." She made a tsk-tsk sound, shook her head, and then centered her attention back on the stranger. "What's your name, dear?"
    The woman looked at her with a blank expression and then promptly burst into tears.
    Irma smiled warmly, wrapped the young woman in her arms, and murmured assurances to her. She hadn't felt quite this helpless since the night she told Meghan she had witnessed her own mother's rape and then left Meghan in the safety of Emanuel's care to protect her from the evil of the world.
    "Now, now. No need for tears. If you don't want to tell me your name, you don't have to."
    Slowly, the girl raised her head and sniffed loudly. She peered up at Irma from a pallid face, her large, green eyes wide with fear and confusion. "It's not that I don't want to. I just can't remember what my name is," she said around a heartbreaking sob.
    Irma smiled to herself. Amnesia . Emanuel certainly found unique ways to administer to the spiritually needy.
    Just then, Meghan appeared with a white box bearing a large red cross and handed it to Irma. "Here's the first-aid kit you wanted, Mom."
    Irma took the box, set it on a table, and opened it. "This young lady tells me she doesn't know who she is, Meghan." After sending her daughter a speaking glance, she removed a square of white gauze from its paper wrapper and applied a dot of antibiotic salve to it.
    Meghan smiled knowingly. "Then perhaps we can help her."
    Irma smiled. "I wouldn't be at all surprised."
    Hope brought a sparkle to the woman's lackluster eyes. "You can help me? Really?"
    "Everything in good time, my child," Irma said as she laid the gauze on the woman's forehead, then secured it with two strips of adhesive tape. "First of all, we need to find out your name."
    She looked from one to the other, her lovely eyes large, frightened, and puzzled. "But I—"
    "Look in your pocket," Meghan urged.
    When the young woman looked to Irma for confirmation, Irma nodded. This reminded her of the day she'd first told Steve about the Gateway Cabin. He'd been hesitant, too… until he'd discovered the envelope where Irma had written the directions to the Gateway Cabin, the envelope he'd thrown in the trash and that had magically reappeared in his pocket.
    "Do as Meghan asks, dear. Look in your pocket."
    Irma and Meghan waited silently while the woman dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, rumpled, white piece of paper. She handed the paper to Irma. Irma scanned the sheet. It was a receipt for several tubes of oil paint from a store called The Artist's Palette. The upper corner had been torn off, but today's date was still visible and just the first name— Carrie .
     
    ***
     
    The interior of the Camerons' cabin closed around Carrie like a mother's