Flory was a mystic, and she was on her way from Florida to our church in Laredo to perform healings. My mother explained this one night during dinner, adding how lucky we were to get Flory, whose services were wanted in churches all over the country. I was seventeen and not sure I felt lucky. I pictured a group of Catholic evangelists, and inwardly I cringed. Was I supposed to believe in things like mystics and healings? Whatever my level of enthusiasm, one thing was certain: I’d be meeting Flory within the week—a mystic in our own humble city.
