the doctor stared. “But she’s in critical condition.”
— “I know,” Anna interrupted. “But if my daughter is going to die, she’s going to die in my arms. At home. Not in this place.”
They made her sign the AMA (Against Medical Advice) forms. Her signature was a jagged, unrecognizable scrawl. A nurse brought Lily out, wrapped in a hospital blanket, free of the tubes. She felt lighter than a loaf of bread. Anna walked out into the morning air. She hailed a cab and sat in the back, clutching her daughter. The driver didn’t say a word.
When they got home, Anna carried Lily through the yard, tears streaming down her face. The baby didn’t stir. She didn’t have the strength to cry.
Over the fence, her neighbor, Martha, was out in her garden. A kind, grandmotherly woman who always brought over extra zucchini. She dropped her watering can when she saw Anna’s face.
— “Oh, honey!” Martha ran to the gate. “What’s happened?”
Anna stopped, her eyes red and hollow.
— “She’s dying,” she whispered. “The doctors… they said there’s nothing left to do.”
The gate creaked, and a moment later they were in Martha’s warm kitchen, which smelled of cinnamon and fresh herbs.
— “Sit down,” Martha said, guiding her to a chair. “Let me see her.”
Anna unwrapped the blanket. Lily lay there, her skin almost translucent, dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a porcelain doll that had been left out in the rain.
— “Good heavens,” Martha breathed, shaking her head. She looked at Anna. “Tell me everything. From the start.”
Anna told her about the weight loss, the baffled doctors, the perfect lab results, and Mark’s refusal to come to the hospital. Martha listened in silence, nodding occasionally. When Anna finished, Martha stood up and looked out the window at the woods.
— “Listen to me,” she said slowly. “There’s a woman. Mrs. Gable. She lives about twenty miles out, near the old creek. People go to her when the hospitals give up.”
— “A healer?” Anna asked, skeptical.
— “Call it what you want.” Martha shrugged. “I’ve seen her fix things that doctors couldn’t explain. My own nephew was failing, couldn’t catch his breath for years. Mrs. Gable saw him once, and now he’s a healthy man with kids of his own.”
Anna looked at Lily. One, two, three breaths. A pause.
— “It’s a last resort,” Martha said softly. “What do you have to lose?”
Anna nodded. There was nothing left. Martha disappeared into the back of the house. A few minutes later, her husband, Sam, came out. He was a quiet man with grey hair and kind eyes. He was already grabbing his car keys.
— “Let’s go,” he said. “Time is wasting.”
— “Thank you,” Anna whispered.
— “Save the thanks for later,” Sam said. “Get in the truck.”
Martha handed Anna a warm wool blanket. Ten minutes later, Sam’s old pickup was rattling down the backroads. The headlights cut through the morning fog. Anna held Lily tight, terrified of every bump in the road. Martha sat in the middle, holding Anna’s hand.
— “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
The drive felt like an eternity. The air smelled of damp earth and pine. Anna watched Lily’s face. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her breathing was so faint it was almost non-existent.
— “Hang on, baby,” Anna whispered. “Just a little longer.”
They reached a small, weathered cabin at the end of a dirt track. It was surrounded by jars of drying herbs and bundles of sage. As they pulled up, the door opened. An old woman stood there, small and hunched, wearing a simple linen dress. Her face was a map of wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp and bright.
— “Bring her in,” she said in a raspy voice, not needing to ask why they were there.
The cabin smelled of peppermint, cedar, and something earthy. Mrs. Gable walked over to Anna and held out her hands. Anna handed over the baby. The old woman looked at Lily for a long time. Her dry, calloused fingers touched the baby’s forehead, her chest, her tiny hands.
— “It’s deep,” Mrs. Gable whispered. “Very deep.”
— “Can you help her?” Anna’s voice broke.
The old woman looked at her with a gaze that seemed to see right through her.
— “Maybe. Но you have to wait outside. Don’t interfere.”
— “But I—”
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