Beryl Blanchard was one of the finest doctors Daihmler County Hospital ever had the privilege of employing, and they all knew it there. Despite her young age, she already carried quite a reputation. Staff called her The Miracle Worker. No one knew exactly what she did or how she did it, but Dr. Blanchard’s patients rarely ever died. More than that, her patients seemed to share a common habit of somehow miraculously healing from their ailments. Of course, rumors being as common as houseflies, gossip flew to all reaches of the hospital. Everyone in Daihmler knew about the Blanchards. People knew Beryl was a witch—a fact that kept some citizens reluctant to become her patient, while others begged for the honor. But there was no denying, Dr. Blanchard was a very sought-after physician.


    She made her rounds quickly that morning. Her grandmother had been in a coma for two solid days back at home, and she wanted to hurry home to check on her. As she made her way to Room 251, she was glad to know this was the last patient she needed to see today. She gave a short knock at the door before entering. Her patient was asleep, but his wife was sitting uncomfortably in the chair beside the bed.


    “Dr. Blanchard!” the woman exclaimed hopping up from her seat.


    “How is our patient today?” Beryl smiled.


    “Not much better,” his wife replied. “I’m afraid the operation wasn’t a total success. They could only clear two arteries.”


    Beryl smiled kindly at the man’s wife. “Well then, let’s try another approach.”


    “Please,” the lady pleaded. “Dr. Matthews is a wonderful doctor. He did all he could for my husband. But it wasn’t enough. I’ve heard about you, Dr. Blanchard.  Will you please help us?”


    “That’s why I’m here,” Beryl nodded. “Dr. Matthews asked me to consult.”


    “He did?” the woman said in disbelief.


    “Dr. Matthews and I are good friends. I’m happy to take a look at your husband.”


    “When I was your age,” the woman began. “I was told I was barren. My doctor said I was never gonna have any kids. Then I heard about your mother. She helped a friend of mine with a rash none of her doctors could rid of. Your momma made a salve for her and it went away.”


    Beryl smiled. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard similar stories from patients. “And did she help you?”


    “She did. I went to see her, and she told me I wasn’t barren. She told me exactly what my husband and I needed to do to get pregnant. I got me three children now, teenagers. All because of your momma. So, you have my full faith, Dr. Blanchard.”


    Beryl smiled again. “Thank you. Now let’s see what we can do for your husband, however I need to be alone to examine him. I can’t promise you anything, but I will see if I can help him.”The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    “I understand. I thank you for even trying.”


    The patient’s wife left the room, giving Beryl privacy with her spouse.  Beryl placed her hands on the patient’s chest.  Almost the exact moment her hands connected to his body, Beryl felt the familiar warm sensation begin to swell within her.  As if some radiant light hidden away deep in her soul turned on and grew brighter and brighter beneath her flesh.  Closing her eyes, she allowed her now fully charged senses to scan his body.  Her physical contact allowed her to evaluate his body’s frailties as if her hands possessed the power of a CAT scan.  All the while her hands inspected his physicality, her inner eye looked more deeply into the totality of this man’s life and worth.  She could see him walking through a field, possibly a farm on the outskirts of town.  She saw him at work; he was a hard worker.  Long hours, little income.  She saw him at the dinner table at night, laughing with his family.  She saw him helping his children with their math homework.  She saw him giving his wife a coy wink when she passed by—his little way of telling her he loved her.  This was a good man,  a good father, a provider.  Beryl liked him.  This man deserved more years of life.  He was younger than he looked, but country life ages a body fast.  His body was overweight, his heart was worn out, but he deserved to live.


    Beryl felt the familiar tremor in her soul, that reliable power she had come to master over the years. The tremor began to course through her arms and into her fingertips. It was as if some inner Light, borrowed from something bigger than her--filled her hands and entered the patient.  Beryl never quite understood where this power came from.  Was it inside her all the time or was she merely a conduit able to channel some outside force through her extremities?  But it never failed her.  And it never taxed her—which made her sometimes wonder if she were just the director of the force rather than the generator of it.  Either way, she visualized the man healthy, growing older with his family. The tingle in her fingers felt almost like sparks ready to ignite. She moved over his heart and down his legs where the blockage was worsening. She could feel his passageways clearing as she touched him.


    “You are going to recover, Mr. Reed,” she whispered into his ear. “You’ve worked too hard to be robbed of your golden years now.”


    Later in her office, gathering her belongings before heading home, a knock came at her office door. Dr. Matthews entered. In his hand were new scans of Mr. Reed’s heart. He presented them to Dr. Blanchard.


    “You’ve done it again. He’s clear.”


    “That’s really great,” Beryl said. “You did that in surgery you know?”


    “You’re generous to say that, but we both know it wasn’t all me,” Dr. Matthews said.


    “Mr. Reed would have died hours before I walked into his room had you not saved his life in emergency surgery. You gave him life. I just added a few more years.”


    “Well, whatever you did, I thank you.”


    “You’re welcome.”


    “Can I thank you more properly? Say, perhaps dinner tonight? Nothing fancy, just a couple steaks at Nicks in the Sticks?”


    “Raincheck?” Beryl asked. “I’m needed at home. Family emergency.”


    “Have anything to do with that medical equipment Dr. Herring helped you sneak out?”


    Beryl raised a brow, “You know about that?”


    Dr. Matthews gave a little chuckle and winked to his colleague, “Don’t worry Beryl, too many doctors around here owe you so many favors…I don’t think anyone is going to turn you in for borrowing a few pieces of equipment.  If you need my help for whatever it is you have going on at home, I’m on call for you.”


    Beryl smirked at her friend. “I have it under control. But I will take that steak dinner down the road.”


    “You got it.”