Free The Healing Season by Ruth Axtell Morren Page B

he knew—how little any of them knew.
    When he’d put everything away, burning the putrid matter and washing his slides, he sat back down at his desk and drew forward his Bible.
    He opened it to where he’d left off the previous evening and continued reading. The stories of Jesus’ earthly ministry never failed to fascinate him. A pastor, physician, teacher, exhorter, prophet—all in one man. The part of Ian that yearned to preach to the masses the way his father had, rescuing souls from eternal damnation, met the physician in him who wished to cure every bodily illness that caused such human suffering and premature death in the world.
    “And the whole multitude sought to touch Him: for there went virtue out of Him, and He healed them all.”
    Ian gazed at his own hands. Would that virtue flowed out of them to heal all he ministered to. Where had that healing power gone to since the days Jesus walked the Earth?
    Despite the excitement of the new inventions, howpaltry they seemed in light of the healing power of God. These instruments served to better illuminate disease, but they did nothing to hasten a remedy.
    What had happened to the church in the intervening centuries that had caused the disappearance of the miracles of Jesus’ ministry?
    Ian sighed as he closed his Bible. He had surgery tomorrow and must be up early. He needed to get some sleep.
    First, though, he bowed his head and clasped his hands atop the black cover of his Bible.
    Dear God, I thank You for Your hand on my life. Please continue guiding me in Your perfect will. His prayers turned to the more pressing cases he’d attended to that day and he prayed for each patient.
    Another face kept intruding.
    Dear Lord, I don’t know the state of Mrs. Neville’s soul. I don’t know why I keep thinking of her. Ian rested his head on his clasped hands. If it’s wrong, take the thought of her from me. Purify my thoughts of her. Let me see her as another soul that needs to know of Your goodness and mercy. Oh, God, make Yourself real to her. Bring her to repentance and salvation in Your dear Son, Jesus’, name.
    Though his prayer had ended, thoughts of Mrs. Neville persisted for quite some time before he eventually fell asleep.
     
    Eleanor and her daughter passed the fields at a brisk clip. The top of the carriage was pushed down to receive the afternoon sun. The two had just enjoyed an ice at a confectionary shop at the nearby village.
    Eleanor gazed at her ten-year-old daughter in admiration. Sarah looked fetching in the new bonnet and parasol Eleanor had brought her. They matched Eleanor’s exactly.
    Sarah had thought that stupendous. Now she twirled the parasol around, laughing in delight each time they passed a farmer in his field. She waved at all they rode by, human and animal alike.
    The leaves on the poplars shading the lane were just beginning to fade from green to yellow.
    “Oh, Aunt Eleanor, may we stop here for a moment,” she cried, pointing to a lovely willow-lined pond.
    “Of course we may.” Eleanor immediately bade the coachman to pull over.
    They descended the coach and waded through the tall grasses until reaching the pond. They found a dry bank to sit upon and watch the ducks swimming lazily across the dark water.
    “Tell me again about my mama and papa,” Sarah said in the soft tone she always used when speaking of her real parents.
    Eleanor looked down at the dark-eyed, dark-hairedgirl with the dimpled smile. How Eleanor loved that smile. She didn’t know whom Sarah took after, but she was eternally grateful she had nothing of her natural father’s looks—ugly, lecherous knave that he was.
    Eleanor put her arm around the girl, who never tired of hearing the tale. “Well, let’s see…your mother, she was the most beautiful lady I ever met—even prettier than the most fashionable lady of the ton. She had your hair and eyes. How they sparkled when she smiled, just like yours.” She squeezed Sarah’s shoulders.
    “More