enty years, the people of Ha

ll collection of farms and houses s

years, I gave t

with colors that didn't have names, and it was soft but unbreakable. When I held it, I could feel the life in the world aroun

t because these were my people, this was my h

ended l

ddle of the night. It was the entire town, all the people I had helped, all the face

rm I had saved from drought three

he screamed, h

trembling f

, it's your fault. You br

something my ability couldn't immediately wash away. It resisted my effor

e me time. They

the crowd. I recognized her as Mrs. Finch. I had hel

oning us," anot

ho had praised me, who had brought me pies and hand-knitted s

with a tired face and a heavy belt. He didn't want to be here, I could

itchen, the sheriff on one s

y're making some serious claims. They say you inten

arely a whisper. "You know it's not.

us dependent. You played God with our li

swept through Havenwood. I went from house to house, day and night, laying my hand on f

er's Creek. I found him half-drowned and pulled the water from his lungs until he c

ed at me wit

ng directly into his eyes

. They had grown tired of asking for my help. They wanted to own the miracle. They believed that if they got rid of me, t

sted. They didn't see me as a person, they saw me as a resource. And now that the re

sighed, a long

an. There's a formal compla

my wrists. As he led me out of my house, the whole town was th

at them, at all their familiar, hateful fac

was quiet but carried

said. "You will all rememb

the sheriff put me in