THE TRIQUETRA OF LIFE: Wisdom, Wealth, and Wellness

An Excerpt from Chapter 45

Path Perilous: My Search for God and the Miraculous

A scream tore across the farm.“My baby can’t breathe… I think she’s dying!”

Michael and I rounded the corner of the barn. She was running toward us across the hard-packed dirt, clutching an infant tight against her chest. Her dress—a faded blue with small flowers—flapped around her legs. The child’s head lolled against her shoulder.

Behind her, a man sprinted from the far side of the commune farm, waving his arms.

When she reached us, she thrust the baby forward. “She’s cold … she won’t eat.” Her voice broke. “She won’t take anything.”

The infant was no more than a month old. Her lips were blue. Her skin looked gray, thin, almost waxy. Her mouth opened in small, silent gasps.

The mother fumbled with a slice of orange, squeezing drops of juice into the baby’s mouth. The liquid ran down her chin.

“She’s not swallowing!”

Michael stepped in. His voice changed—steady, controlled. “This baby needs hospital care. Right now.”

The father arrived, breathing hard. “No.” He shook his head, stepping between us. “No hospitals.”

Michael didn’t argue. He reached for the child. “Give her to me.”

The mother hesitated, eyes darting between them.

The father moved closer. “You can’t take her.”

Michael pulled his badge from his pocket and held it up. “Massachusetts State Trooper. This is an emergency.”

The mother looked at the badge, then at her baby. Her arms loosened. She placed the child into Michael’s hands.

The father lunged forward, trying to take her back. Michael’s friend stepped in, blocking the father. For a second the three of them were tangled—hands reaching, pulling.

Michael turned and moved toward the car. “Get in,” he told his friends.

“What are you doing?” the father shouted. “That’s my daughter!”

“This is an emergency. She needs a doctor,” Michael said, opening the car door. “We’re taking her now.”

The mother stood frozen, hands empty. The father hovered near the door, still arguing, but he didn’t climb in.

“Nearest hospital?” Michael asked me.

I gave him directions. He nodded once. The engine turned over, and the car sped off in a cloud of dust.

The farm fell quiet.

The father began to pace, muttering under his breath. He pulled at his beard, then tore at his shirt. He rocked back and forth, kicking at the dirt. The mother stood a few feet away, staring down the road, her arms wrapped around herself.

Across the street, a line of children pressed against a chain-link fence, staring. Their teachers watched from behind them. After a moment, they drifted off.

I went back to the barn and knelt in my small space. I prayed for the child.

Two hours later, the car returned, tires crunching dirt and gravel..

Michael and his two friends got out. The baby was not with them.

The parents rushed forward. “Where is she?” the mother cried. “What did you do with her?”

Michael faced them. “She’s at the hospital. The doctor said she would have died without immediate care.”

The father stiffened. “You had no right—”

“She was severely malnourished,” Michael cut in. “They’ve started IV feeding. The doctor is reporting this as child abuse. You’ll have to go there and speak with them if you want custody.”

The father’s voice rose, breaking into a stream of angry cursing. He stepped toward Michael, fists clenched. Michael stood still, towering over him, his friends close behind.

The man shouted, “You’re not welcome here.”

“We’ll be gone soon enough,” Michael said. “After I file my report.”

The mother began to cry again, quieter this time.

Michael turned and walked back toward me.

“Do you know what they were feeding her?” he asked.

“Breast milk and fruit,” I guessed. “They’re strict vegetarians.”

He shook his head. “Poor quality protein. No wonder.”

He looked back toward the couple. The father had resumed pacing, talking to himself, glaring at us.

“This won’t end here,” Michael said. “Authorities will come. You’d better start thinking about another place to live.”

A sparrow burst from the barn eaves when he kicked the wall with his boot.

The dust settled. The road went still again.

Nothing in that commune felt the same.

From the memoir-in-progress, nearing publication:
Path Perilous: My Search for God and the Miraculous
—a spiritual epic for truth-seekers, contemplative mystics, and all who long for God.

Visit www.RMDellOrfanoAuthor.com and pass it forward.