somehow?”
Sarah was impressed with the insight of Hixson’s questions. “No, not all the girls can receive it. I truly don’t know why. Grandma said a girl had to have a large soul, but I don’t know what that means.
“I asked Grandma one time how she knew that Momma had the gift, and then me. She just smiled and said, ‘you’ll see for yourself when the time comes’. So I still don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out together if we ever have a daughter.”
Hixson sat, silent and watching. He thought about all that he had heard and what it meant. The question that had worried Sarah finally occurred to him. “What did you mean when you said your momma could have planned it so you would not get the gift?”
Sarah did not want to answer. She was afraid there might be an argument coming. Sarah faced it, come what may. “She could have hidden. She could have shielded herself from the suffering of others. If she had gone all the way through her pregnancy and not gathered the light for anyone, then I would not have been able to receive the gift when I was born.
“If she had stayed away, and not helped anyone for those nine months, she would have lived. Some of my ancestors are said to have done that. A great-grandmother, way back, had four daughters, all with the gift. Her husband died while she was expecting the fifth child.
“She couldn’t take the chance of having a daughter who would receive the gift. She would die, and then all of her children would be orphans. So she hid herself away and saw no one until her baby was born.
“It was another daughter, so she had made the right decision. If she had gathered the light during that time, she would have died in childbirth. She had no husband anymore to share his light with her.”
Sarah was worried that Hixson would want her to hide away, and so not take the chance herself. She was misjudging him.
“She was very wise, wasn’t she? With four daughters that had the gift, she had made sure that the gift wouldn’t die out. But all those daughters still needed a mother. Yes, she was very wise.” Hixson said. He felt as strongly as she did that this was a gift that must be passed on. Even in his worry for Sarah, he knew he could not interfere with the inheritance she had to share. He just needed to come to terms with it. And he needed reassurance that she would survive the sharing.
He was still plagued with questions, though. “What if I am not enough? Strong enough or loving enough or whatever it is? How would you feel if you lost your gift when you passed it on?”
“I’m not worried about that. I firmly believe that you are enough, more than enough, in fact. But even if you weren’t, it would be alright. Grandma said that after mother was born, she finally got to find out what it was like to be a normal woman. That wouldn’t be so bad, you know.
“Don’t you understand, Hixson, that all things come at a price? I pay a price for having the gift, and you pay a price for marrying me. Each child we ever have will exact a price of some kind from each of us. I may lose a part of myself in having children, but then, I will gain something, too.
“All those things that make you so special? They all came at a price didn’t they? But every price we pay has a reward in it somewhere, too. Sometimes it’s a big reward and easy to see. Sometimes it’s a quiet little whisper of a reward, one we really have to hunt for. It all counts, though.”
Dinner time had come and gone without notice, they were so deep in their discussion. Hixson’s mind was spinning, with so much new information to consider. Sarah’s relief was tempered with anxiety. She was relieved to learn that she had misjudged the meaning of Hixson’s reaction. Still, she was unsure about what he would do with what she had told him. She thought he might decide that being married to her came at a price too high.
Hixson gave no thought to the price of their marriage. He loved Sarah so deeply it felt like no price at all. A far greater worry preyed on him: was he enough? He had a fear that all the love he had to give might not be sufficient.
August 31st, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania
Hixson and Sarah remained quiet for several days, with their thoughts turned inward. It was not the strained quiet of discord anymore, but a contemplative hush. Each in their own way, they considered the love they bore for each other. Like two artists painting the same landscape from different vantage points, Hixson and Sarah asked themselves identical questions, but differently.
Sarah fretted that Hixson might decide he did not want the burden that life with her could mean. Like women everywhere, whatever their gifts, she counted up the problems and overlooked all that she had to offer. She knew that there was a great duty inherent in her special gift. Anyone who married her wedded her duty as well. When Hixson proposed, she believed he understood the obligations. Having a baby cast a different light on the whole thing, and she doubted herself all over again.
Hixson considered all that he had heard, and tried to find a yardstick with which to measure his love. Sarah was a special case, and no ordinary measure seemed to work. Did he love her enough to be what she needed? Was he strong enough? And what about this special quality that was needed–without which she would forever lose her unique talent?
Hixson’s experiences in the war and as a leader had given him confidence in his own judgment. He had a particular faculty for figuring people out. He was uncommonly clearheaded and decisive. So why was everything about Sarah so abstruse? Such an enigma might have frustrated another man. In Hixson, it created intrigue and interest on yet another level. Sure, Sarah was intriguing in her beauty and her sweetness. Her complexity was fascinating and the paradox of her kept her on his mind almost constantly.
Now Hixson had a new facet to consider. What kind of a child would the two of them have? A daughter with her mother’s gift and her father’s ... what? What did he have to contribute to a child’s makings that would be desirable? It was obvious to Hixson that Sarah had a clear sense about people under ordinary circumstances. What if they had a child who inherited from him an ability to keep that vision, even when the light began to gather?
This was a spellbinding notion, occupying Hixson’s thoughts for many days. He knew too well what harm could come to a woman if her vision was blurred, as Sarah’s was at times. Could he give a daughter such a gift? Was it a gift at all?
Also skittering around in his mind was the question of sons. It was a game of chance, Hixson tallying up his and Sarah’s respective traits and randomly mixed them up. A strong son with a talent for growing things–crops, gardens and animals. He’d be a good farmer. Or a short son, tender like his mother, and insightful like his father. That son would make a fine doctor or maybe a preacher. It was a captivating game, filling hours of Hixson’s time.
September 5th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania
The Morris family was beside itself with joy for Hixson and Sarah. Eliza adored her little nephew Overby; now she hoped for a niece. Momma loved Sarah like her own daughter and was thrilled that things seemed to be going so well. She worried in private, though. Sarah had been through a bad time: who knew what kind of damage may have been done, unbeknownst to anyone?
If there was one thing Momma was dead set against, even more than liquor, it was borrowing trouble. A talented worrier by nature, Momma forced her mind away from imagined troubles with a great will. Left to its own, her imagination was apt to run away and Momma worked hard to contain it.
Poppa was concerned, too. He tended to think of Sarah as more fragile and delicate than she really was. He felt especially protective of her, and worried for her safety at all times. No passerby could head in the direction of Hixson and Sarah’s farm but that Poppa paused and sized them up. If he got the slightest inkling of possible trouble, he made ready to go.
Momma was aware of his watchfulness and wondered about it without comment. What was it about Sarah, Momma mused, that drew people to her so? As she considered the people who were especially fond of Sarah, Momma realized that her first instinct had been correct.
The night that Sarah had her first nightmare in their home, Momma was ta
ken aback by Poppa’s deep reaction. At the time, she thought it might have some connection to the healing of his arm. In thinking over the way people felt about Sarah, Momma noted that the ones who had been healed by her felt strongly about her afterward.
Momma puzzled over why the people in Virginia had not responded the same way. With a flash of insight, Momma deduced that the Virginians had responded the same way. The feeling they had about Sarah when they came to her was intensified by being healed.
That explained it perfectly. People who felt kindly toward her, felt more so after she laid her hands of light on them. People who feared her a little before a healing, feared her a lot after. And that explained why strangers, unknowing or unconscious, remained neutral.
What about Hixson? He was unconscious when she healed him, and he certainly loved her. To Momma, that meant that her son’s love was the real thing. It wasn’t fabricated or some mysterious bond he couldn’t help. He had fallen in love with Sarah with his eyes open. The last bit of worry left her mind with that understanding. Momma had wondered from the start if Hixson felt love or gratitude. Then she met Sarah, and saw her injuries, and wondered if it might be pity that he felt, more than love. After Momma got over the shock of Sarah’s injuries, she