Read Online Boomtown by Nowen N. Particular - Free Book Online Page B

soon learned that in Boomtown one’s religious affiliation never interfered with the more important duty of working closely with fellow citizens. Every person regarded himself as an essential part of Boomtown community life. There were no outsiders in Boomtown.
    Time flew by as I preached. It seemed like I’d only started when just as quickly I’d reached the conclusion of my message— and that’s when it happened. All of a sudden, an older woman who was sitting near the back jumped up from her seat. She’d shuffled down the aisle using a walker to steady herself. Her back was bent and her legs were thin and shaky, but now they seemed to be on fire. She launched from her seat like one of Han-wu’s rockets.
    â€œAhhhhhh!” she squealed, leaping over the pew.
    â€œAhhhhhhhhh!”
    All eyes swung around to see what was happening. Everyone there, of course, knew Mrs. Beedle, a woman who for the last ten years had been unable to stand on her own without help. Now for some odd reason she was leaping and jumping and praising God, at least, that’s the way it appeared.
    â€œOoooh,” she squirmed. “Eeeee!” she squeaked.
    â€œWoooohoo!” she squawked.
    Corine Beedle was a woman who had visited every doc-tor in town (there was only one) and every other doctor in the county (there were only three). They all told her exactly the same thing. She was perfectly fine. Nothing was wrong with her at all. It was completely in her imagination. But she knew better.

    â€œThey’re all quacks !” she’d insist. “Charlatans, counterfeits, con men, cheats, swindlers, phonies, humbugs, flimflam artists!”
    No matter what they told her, she was absolutely convinced that she suffered from an unidentified disorder. She had contracted some sort of exotic tropical disease. She was dying from a mysterious ailment. Her joints ached, her muscles hurt, her back was out, her feet were swollen, her eyes were blurry—even her hair was sore.
    â€œNo, no, no!” she persisted. “Something is wrong with me! Something is terribly, dreadfully, incurably wrong!”
    But now, for some inexplicable reason, she was standing. She wasn’t just standing; she was wiggling around. She wasn’t just wiggling around; she was turning, gyrating, hop-ping, jerking, jumping, leaping, twisting, and twitching. She spun to the left. She spun to the right. She grabbed her legs and back and sides. She hooted and howled and yelped and yammered.
    â€œIt’s a miracle!” someone shouted. “Mrs. Beedle has been cured!”
    Everyone started talking and pointing all at once, but Mrs. Beedle was too busy to notice. She ran up and down the aisle squeaking and squawking and squirming. She jumped up and down like popcorn on a hot plate. She spun like a windmill in a tornado. She screamed like a boiling teapot on a hot stove.
    Manfred Heinzmann stared. Vera sang. The Widow Feeny blocked the door. Matthieu and Pauline LaPierre chased their laughing children. Everyone else just stood there wondering what it all meant until someone finally shouted, “I know what it is! I know what’s happened! She’s got the Spirit! Old Mrs. Beedle has finally got the Spirit!”
    Everyone gasped and fell silent, gaping in awe at the miracle happening in their very midst. Then they turned and looked at me, their new minister, the instrument of the Almighty, the one who had drawn Mrs. Beedle up out of the pit of disease and turned her into a shooting star. Somehow I had done it; I was responsible; it was the only possible explanation.
    In the silence that followed, other than Mrs. Beedle swinging from the chandelier, I heard the distinct sound of Sarah, up in the balcony, laughing her silly head off. Oh no , I thought. Tell me it isn’t true! Tell me that Sarah didn’t have anything to do with this!
    â€œSarah!” I shouted. “This isn’t funny! This is serious