And the woman who begged Marigold to touch the large scar on her calf muscle. The scar vanished within three days, but someone claimed Marigold had made a lame woman walk.

And the child with the stutter. Marigold only touched his throat, and the boy spoke with less trouble than he had before. People claimed she’d made a mute person speak.

But nobody could forget the man who came to them with a bloody leg and crushed body. He’d been the victim of a cattle trampling in Milton. He was a sight. The man’s friends laid his limp body on the porch. He looked like a man who was about to die. Marigold kept her hands on the man for ten minutes. His wounds finally stopped bleeding. And the man stood upright and limped home. People in town said she’d raised a man from the dead.

And the people kept coming. Like they were on this beautiful day. They had started arriving early.

The man with the toddler stepped onto the porch. He asked if Marigold could heal the child’s rash. Marigold told him what she told everyone: “I don’t do anything.”

Marigold touched the child. The rash did not change, but the man began crying happy tears and thanked her. When he left, the two girls in the ratty dresses stepped toward Marigold. They had their heads down. They didn’t want to speak, Marigold could tell. She had to drag the words out of them.

“Hello, girls,” she said.

They mumbled.

“How are you today?”

“Good,” they said in unison.

The forest was quiet except for the sounds of crickets and frogs in the distance. And the sound of Abe dragging a cat by its tail across the yard.

One girl said, “Can you take away sins?”

Marigold sat on the porch step before them. “No,” she said. “I can’t do anything.”

The girls didn’t answer, only stared at their own shoes.

“Why don’t you sit and tell me what’s wrong?” said Marigold.

The oldest girl looked at her. Her blue eyes were watering, and her jaw was quivering. “I done something, ma’am. And they gonna kill me for it.”

“Who’s gonna kill you?”

“My daddy.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s not good.”

“Tell me why it’s not good.”

The girl only looked at the ground.

Marigold warmed her hands. She touched the girl on the cheek. She closed her eyes. She let sensations travel across her hands and into her own heart. Then she smiled.

“What’s your name?” Marigold asked.

“My name’s Mary. And this is my sister, Lee.”

“Mary. That’s such a nice name.”

“Thank you.”

“Girls, I want you to listen to me. Will you do that? Will you listen to me if I give you some free advice?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both answered.