‘I don’t think so. My hands may get warm, hot even, but that’s all.’
‘What do you do, how does it work?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she declared honestly, ‘but it seems that sometimes when I touch people and lay my hands on them it helps.’
The small girl looked sceptical as if Martha was some kind of hospital worker about to play a trick on her. Subconsciously she began to push back against the pillow and retreat from her.
‘I won’t hurt you, Cass, I promise.’
This was foolish and stupid, Martha thought to herself as Beth leant forward and began to unbutton her daughter’s pretty pastel pyjama top.
‘What do you want her to do?’ she whispered.
‘Just relax, that’s all.’
Martha rubbed the tips of her fingers and palms together to warm them as the child’s skinny scarred chest was revealed, leads with sticky circular pads attached to it from the monitor hooked up beside the bed. Martha sighed. Cass was staring right at her, her elfin chin pitched forward. Martha held her hand first. She was like a small wounded bird. The energy level was low, even lower than she had expected. Running her hands up along her arm she could sense the battle to move blood and oxygen through her system. She stroked Cass as she would a small baby, feeling the ribs and the telltale erratic flutter and pattern of her dysfunctioning heart, willing it to steady and fall into a more defined logical gentle rhythm than the staggered one she was picking up. She moved her hands slowly, gently, hoping some of the warmth and effort would pass through into Cass. It was like running up and down a maze of circuit paths, hoping that one or two were free and clear to work, trying to hide her dismay at what she was picking up and realizing the precariousness of Cass’s grip on life. Silently she prayed for strength and energy for this child. Cass’s eyes followed her own, understanding as Martha finished.
‘Well?’ Beth’s skinny face was full of expectation.
Martha took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.
‘Thank you, Martha. Thank you so much.’ The mother’s voice was choked with appreciation and hope.
Martha had no idea how much or little she had done.
‘Well, Cass, how do you feel?’ urged Beth.
The small girl was busy re-buttoning her pyjamas, concentrating. ‘I could feel it! As if something was moving inside me, I don’t understand it,’ she said.
Martha laughed nervously.
‘To tell the truth, Cass, neither do I! But when I’m laying my hands on I ask the good earth and sky and the Holy Spirit to help heal the person who needs it. I guess I’m just a sort of go-between, that’s all.’
‘Didn’t you feel anything more, Cass? Anything?’ insisted her mother.
Cass stared right over at her.
‘It felt real nice.’
Beth Armstrong looked triumphant.
Martha stood up to go, wanting desperately to be out of the room and extricate herself from this impossible position. ‘Listen, Beth, I have to go and pick up my youngest,’ she told her.
‘Thank you so much for coming up to see Cass, it’s much appreciated, Martha, and I hope it didn’t delay you too much.’
‘Martha!’ said the small voice. ‘Martha, will you come visit me again?’
She sighed. It had been inevitable. The child needed help, needed support. The path of her illness was such that it would be too much for her to deal with on her own.
‘Yes, I’ll come again, Cass. I promise.’
Chapter Nine
MARTHA WATCHED PROUDLY as Alice and Becky hopped, light-footed as two fairies, to the music of the lilting reel, Alice’s long fair hair bouncing on her shoulders. The crowd of eight-, nine- and ten-year-old girls weaving in and out, learning the complicated steps of the traditional dance, were giggling and laughing, bumping into each other as they swirled around the room.
It was her turn to collect the girls from Flannery’s Irish dance class, which was held in the old Lutheran school hall on Tuesdays. Thanking Mrs Flannery, she gathered up their bags and shoes. She dropped Becky off and had a few quick words with Evie before returning home.
She could scarcely believe the apparition that greeted her when she turned into Mill Street, for there were at least twenty cars parked in close proximity to their driveway. At first she wondered if one of her neighbours was throwing a party or having some kind of meeting, but seeing no sign of any such occasion she realized that the occupants sitting inside the silver and grey and blue vehicles were all waiting for her. Car doors slammed and three or four people began to approach her as soon as they recognized her.
Martha grabbed Alice by the hand, as she quickly pulled her key out of her purse and let herself into the house. Patrick was sitting at the kitchen counter and she was surprised by the look of relief in his face.
‘Where the hell were you, Mom?’
‘It’s all right, Patrick, I’m here now,’ she comforted him, wrapping her arms loosely around his broad shoulders. It was unlike her fifteen-year-old son to make any enquiry as to her whereabouts and she guessed that he’d been anxiously waiting for her return.
‘I just picked the girls up from dance class, Patrick, that’s all! Why, what’s been going on here?’
He jerked his head in the direction of the window.
‘They’ve been sitting there all afternoon, Mom, just waiting for you to get back. A few of them came and rang on the doorbell and I told them I didn’t know when you’d get home but I guess they didn’t believe me. One or two even phoned. They wouldn’t go away, no matter what I said. Those fucking freaks have just been waiting in their cars for you!’
‘Patrick!’ she scolded. Her son might be inches taller than her already, and like most of his generation tried to act like a cool dude, but inside he was still only a kid. Scared by the crowd outside – and who could blame him? Blast that stupid journalist and her piece in the paper. Evie had said she thought the local radio channel had also mentioned it. What right had that journalist to go stirring things and giving people false hopes?
Mike was right: she should have said nothing instead of trying to be honest and helpful and giving her time. Now, here she had a load of strangers believing that she could help them. The doorbell rang almost immediately and it wasn’t fair to ask Patrick to fend them off any longer.
‘I’ll get it, pet, don’t you worry.
‘I’m sorry but I can’t help you,’ she apologized politely to the crowd outside the door.
Martha tried to put them right and tell them the truth, but the waiting people had no interest in listening to her protestations and denials. All every single one of them wanted was a minute of her time.
‘Ma’am, a minute!’
‘Just one minute so’s you can hear me out!’ argued the sixty-four-year-old retired surveyor who lived over in Dedham, crippled with arthritis in his spine, begging for a relief from pain that pills and prescription drugs could no longer contain.
Unembarrassed, he’d pulled up his check shirt on her front step, begging Martha to lay her hands on his back. Too shocked to refuse, Martha had done what he requested, feeling immediately the heat and energy run from her fingers into the almost honeycomb sensation of the man’s vertebrae. A shy young girl with severe acne had followed on. Faced with the despair and depression caused by the raised pustules on her pretty face, Martha had asked her to come inside and ended up, after almost a half-hour conversation, sending her healing both inside and out. Then there was a businessman with failing hearing who had a fear of being deaf like his father. Martha felt the burning heat scorch from her hands into the auditory canal, removing anything that blocked the vibration of sound and its interpretation.
‘Pppleeasse, Mmrs McGgill, pppleease!’
The nineteen-year-old Boston College student’s severe stammer was exacerbated by his nervousness at meeting her. Martha, reading the plea for help in his eyes, sensed that her laying on of hands was not going to do much to ease the tension and self-doubt that ov
erwhelmed his young life. He needed to learn to accept himself as he was if he was to have any hope of getting over his problem. Most of all he needed someone to talk to and when she laid her hands on his lips and throat Martha found herself agreeing to see him again. Her cousin Dermot had been plagued with a bad stammer for most of his life but Martha could honestly say that it had not stopped him achieving all that he had set out to do. He had always wanted to be an oceanographer and had got through college and exams, and now lived in Australia, where at the last count himself and his wife Neeley had five kids. They still kept in touch by phone and email.
‘Look, Matthew, I’ll see you again,’ she promised.
Rheumatism, chronic fatigue, dizzy spells, back problems, nerve trouble . . . Martha breathed a sigh of relief when eventually the last person went and she had the small study at the front of the house back to herself. Why in heaven’s name had she ever agreed to let one of them across her doorstep, let alone tried to help? If she didn’t believe that she could help she should have just got rid of them by threatening to call the traffic police and having them towed away instead of wasting her time and giving some credence to their belief.
Mike was already home and he and the kids were sitting having dinner when she finally got to join them.
‘I’m sorry for the delay, gang.’
‘We got some chicken and wedges from the freezer,’ Mary Rose said. ‘There’s some for you left in the oven.’
Patrick was busy eating but she knew from the way he avoided her eyes that he had given his version of events already to his father. Mike was hopeless at disguising anger or bad humour and the kids had picked it up and were eating as quickly as they could.
‘Mom, were they all sick people who came to our house?’ enquired Alice.
‘Yes, they were, honey. They hoped that Mommy could make them feel a bit better.’
‘And did you?’
‘I’m not sure, Alice, maybe.’
She could see Mike’s jawline tense and she knew he was having a real hard time believing or accepting anything to do with her ability to heal people. Patrick finished first and refused dessert saying he had to work on an assignment for school. Mary Rose darted her a sympathetic look as she placed some plates in the dishwasher. Only Alice held out for a bowl of raspberry and vanilla ice-cream as Martha ate her own meal.
Afterwards, sitting at the table, Martha braced herself for the expected tirade from her husband, knowing full well that his annoyance could no longer be hidden.
‘What the hell, Martha! What the fuck? I come home from one hell of a day, and I mean one hell of a day with Bob and that new guy Roland breathing down my neck, and find a load of wackos in my home! Patrick was scared out of his wits this afternoon, and as for the girls I don’t know what they must think about their mother getting involved with these kind of people!’
‘Mike, I know it’s scary. I didn’t ask or invite any of them. You know that!’
‘I know it’s not your fault, Martha, but well, you’d better do something about it. It’s not fair on the kids or the neighbours.’
Martha said nothing.
So much for Mike’s telling her that this would all blow over and be forgotten about in a few days. Listening to those people today and laying her hands on them had in a strange way convinced her that somehow her work as a healer had only begun.
Chapter Ten
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING Martha was glad to escape the phone calls and visitors and drive up to Highlands Animal Shelter, where she’d worked as a volunteer for almost three years. Things had gotten crazy since that journalist’s article and she’d been approached by four magazines, who wanted to do a feature on her. The local radio station had invited her in to the studio to do an interview but she’d refused, and she’d been asked to appear in an open forum discussion on The Morning Show about faith healing, which she had absolutely no intention of doing. Coming up here to walk the dogs and care for the animals seemed a lot more appealing.
The small animal rescue centre was situated off Highway 128 on a piece of run-down land at the side of an old gas station. It wasn’t an ideal setting but the volunteers all did their best to find homes for the animals. For those that had lost all trust in humans and would never be likely to fit into living with one of that species again, they provided as good a care as they hoped a distressed animal needed.
Martha usually worked from 8.30 to two o’clock and would do another morning if they were low on volunteers, covering for others during holidays and flu epidemics and the like. She loved walking into Highlands and hearing the excited bark of the dogs who recognized the volunteer staff, their tails wagging furiously as she went and said hello to them all. The phone lines were always busy and she could never get over how many unwanted and uncared-for animals existed. Neighbours, annoyed shopkeepers, security guards all phoned in with problems, which they hoped the shelter could help them with. Old people who had to go into hospital or into long-time care, who’d nobody to take their pets and could not possibly afford the cost of expensive kennelling, regularly called. Their dogs and cats, often elderly too, had a look of resignation and betrayal when they were brought in which no amount of volunteer care could remove. Martha tried to console those noble companions of man as best she could.
The hours she spent in the shelter went all too quickly. She enjoyed not only tending to the animals but also meeting the eclectic mix of people who were volunteers. Women like Joanna Little who had raised large families and were still willing to give of themselves again, Hank Caulfield, a retired army man who had a way with large dogs and worked two full days there. He also had a keen interest in reptiles and was an expert in their care. Mim Brewster, a former heroin addict who had been sentenced to community work eight years ago and still kept coming back to help, never blinking an eyelid at the distressed and diseased animals that she helped to clean and brush and groom every Wednesday. Teachers, plumbers, a librarian, college students – all of them gave of themselves without looking for payment.
Now the dogs went crazy when they saw her, sensing that because she was still wearing her jacket she might take them out. The dogs always needed exercise, though sometimes a little holding and petting could help them feel just a little bit loved.
Mim indicated the ones that she was going to groom, and Martha took down three leashes. She clipped one onto the collar of a boisterous golden retriever that had been found wandering up at the parking lot at the drive-in Dunkin Donuts near the shopping mall. Its owners obviously decided that it was a good place to abandon the animal, who was probably eating them out of house and home and couldn’t be accommodated in a small environment. He jumped up on her nearly knocking her over, his paws pushing against her chest. Martha gave him a huge welcoming hug in return.
‘Take it easy, Donut. Take it easy. That’s a good boy!’
A few cages down she clipped a leash onto a jaunty black and white mongrel who’d been with them for about five months. He yapped excitedly, running round in circles so she could hardly catch him as she tried to fasten the leash securely. Last but not least she took Dollar, an overweight black Labrador who could do with the exercise. Donna Brady, a retired beautician, decided to join her, and hooked up four more dogs to join the walk. Martha had a great respect for the middle-aged woman who had successfully battled with cancer over the past three years yet was willing to give her time and energy to the shelter. She was a stalwart fundraiser and organized suppers, breakfasts and Christmas parties to ensure the shelter could remain open.
Walking across the back fields, which stretched along behind the highway, with Donna, Martha felt totally relaxed, both of them laughing at the antics of the animals and their different personalities. Donna already had three dogs of her own, two of them from the shelter, but still volunteered. She had the most generous spirit and Martha found her a pleasure to be with. Donut pulled ahead, anxious to run and race around, Minty, a Jack Russell cross, trying to keep up with him. They came to a spot the
volunteers called the Gallops, which was unofficially fenced off and was the only place they could safely let the dogs off for a run around. Donna’s beagle pair were in an ecstasy of doggy joy as they romped together.
Donna and Martha kept a close eye on them all.
‘I’ve been reading about you,’ Donna said.
Martha gazed directly ahead, watching Dollar who had found a patch of sunlight and sat down in it.
‘Is it true?’
‘I suppose, but you know what those papers and magazines are like, Donna, they just write what suits them.’
‘Healing is a wonderful gift, Martha, a wonderful gift. I’m pleased for you. Humanity can do with all the help it can get, believe me. There are a lot of sick people out there who could use a bit of healing, and I don’t just mean the likes of myself. What about the sons of bitches that tortured those two?’
Martha remembered how the beagles had been when they came in. They were missing pieces of skin, had been shaved all over and had claws pulled. They had whimpered and cried for a week, the noise disturbing the rest of the animals. The vet had wanted to put them down, but Donna and Janet Rimaldi, the head of the shelter, had pleaded on the dogs’ behalf, and had got a stay of a week to see if they improved. Watching them now Martha knew that Donna’s instinct and perseverance had been well rewarded.
‘They’re fine dogs now,’ Donna said proudly. ‘Janet thinks a family out in Newton might take them. They love beagles apparently and lost their one two weeks ago.’
‘Ah, that’d be great, especially if they get to stay together!’
‘It’s the least they deserve.’
Calling the dogs, they began the half-hour walk back, chatting easily about their families and the latest pets that had arrived and the condition they were in.
Martha managed a quick cup of coffee before she went on the phone line, knowing well she would hardly get time to draw breath once she sat down, her notepad and pen at the ready to write down names, addresses and contacts. A cat who’d a litter of kittens in a packing case behind a liquor store and seemed to be in a distressed condition; a white rabbit found on the landing of a building on Store Street and refusing to budge.
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