Miracle Woman

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘Hush, Cass! Hush! Don’t think of such things!’

  She held the young girl in her arms, wanting to protect and yet prepare her for what would happen. She was weak, her energy and life force seeping away. The miracle was that she had survived so long, had given her parents ten years of living within her presence. She was a child of goodness and light, a very special being. Martha rocked and consoled her, stroking her long fair hair and wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘Don’t be afraid, Cass. Don’t be afraid,’ she said.

  ‘What will happen to me, Martha?’

  Martha realized that she was being tested, asked questions that Tom and Beth would never be asked for fear of wounding and upsetting them. The child trusted her and she had to be as honest and truthful as possible.

  ‘They say it’s like falling asleep, you know the way you were when I came in, just drifting off as peaceful as that.’

  ‘But what happens then?’

  ‘Then . . .’ Martha sighed. How could she even begin to answer that age-old question that people had been searching for an answer to for so many centuries. She knew full well that Beth Armstrong had made it clear that she did not have any religious beliefs.

  ‘I was sixteen when my father died. He looked awful, as he’d been sick for a while. Lying on the hospital bed, I looked at that body and I guess I realized that although it looked a lot like my daddy, it wasn’t him. It was just the shell, the husk that had held his spirit. My daddy was gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Aye, Cass. Gone. Somewhere me and my mom and three brothers couldn’t see him but, you know, for a long time afterwards we all felt he was still around us. We were raised Catholic so I guess my daddy must be in heaven, though I remember looking at the wind blowing through the trees, and the waves on the ocean and the clouds blowing through the sky that summer and feeling my daddy had become a part of it all, that in a way he’d never leave me.’

  Cass was silent, considering, her thin cheek resting against Martha’s arm.

  Her breathing was becoming steadier, her heartbeat more regular and a few minutes later she moved gently back against the pillow. Martha hoped what she had said would be of some help, some consolation.

  They heard footsteps coming up the stairs and Cass tried to sit up straight, pretend nothing was happening.

  ‘Here you go, honey!’ called Tom Armstrong, pushing in the bedroom door, carrying a tray with three cups of hot chocolate and a plate of nut cookies. ‘Martha, would you like a mug of chocolate too?’

  She nodded appreciatively, tempted by the warm aroma and Tom’s relaxed manner. ‘It’s so good to have her home,’ he said. ‘You just can’t imagine what it’s like visiting that damned hospital day in, day out.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Sorry, Cass, but you know I hate those places. I loathe them.’

  ‘We know, Dad. We know.’

  ‘Hospitals make people sicker, if you ask me, they go in with one thing and come out with another.’

  ‘Dad!’ admonished his daughter again.

  ‘OK, OK! The doctors and nurses there were real good to you but I admit it. Maybe it’s just me, but those places give me the creeps.’

  ‘Well then, you’re lucky to have Cass home, Tom,’ laughed Martha, trying to cool her chocolate.

  Sitting there at Cass’s bedside Martha was so glad to see the young girl at ease at least with her surroundings. Jay came in and climbed up on the bed, pushing in beside his sister, sneaking two cookies off the plate, Cass automatically picking up the crumbs he dropped on her quilt and eating them. Billy ambled up too, and sat on the end of the bed, his long legs and feet tucked in under him.

  ‘I think I’d better get going,’ said Martha, finishing off the end of her drink.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Cass quietly, stretching her skinny arms around Martha’s neck. ‘You’ll come back soon again?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she promised.

  Tom escorted her downstairs, his face serious.

  ‘We really appreciate what you’re doing for Cass, Martha. We really do,’ he told her.

  ‘Unfortunately there’s not that much I can do, except perhaps help a bit with her pain and fear.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘So you think what the doctors said is true then?’

  She nodded slowly, looking at the rag rug on the floor.

  ‘She’s afraid, Tom. Scared of what lies ahead.’

  ‘Beth believes that Cass will get better once she gets that damned new heart!’

  Martha sucked on her lip, not knowing what to say to him. A groan of despair escaped from his throat and Martha automatically put her arms around him. ‘It’s all right, Tom, it’s all right,’ she said, rubbing his shoulders, feeling the immense weight he carried.

  He struggled to regain his composure; moments later, thanking her yet again, he walked her out to her car.

  ‘You need to talk to Cass,’ she suggested. ‘Both of you.’

  ‘We will,’ he promised. ‘We will.’

  On the way home she called into her rooms. Kim was still there filing some letters. She got out the desk diary.

  ‘Martha, you are almost full for the next seven–eight months, and I’ve got a waiting list the length of my arm. I’ve put people off by telling them I don’t know your holiday schedule yet,’ she said.

  ‘Which is true.’

  ‘Kathleen or I will have to phone them back.’

  Martha turned the navy blue leather diary towards her, looking at the collection of names and addresses and phone numbers, many from out of state.

  ‘God!’

  ‘Listen, Mar, Evie and Ruth and the rest of us were talking. Maybe you could do one bigger session, hire out a large room or a hall and then get to do a healing on a whole group of people who need your help? Otherwise you’re going to end up with an appointment calendar that will run into a year or two ahead.’

  Martha hadn’t thought of anything like that.

  ‘Come off it, Kim, I’m not going to become like one of those big gospel healing missions that you see on the TV.’

  ‘No! No, I didn’t mean that. No-one is asking you to change yourself, least of all me. It’s just that there are a lot of sick people out there and you can’t get to meet or see that many of them over a twenty-four-hour period, even if you were to work at night. It’s just not possible.’

  Martha was silent.

  ‘You only get to see a fraction of the people who really need your help, and maybe having one afternoon or evening session, you might accomplish more.’

  ‘I work one on one with people, Kim,’ insisted Martha, ‘and I’m not sure if I could work with groups of people around. I . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Listen, it’s just an idea, that’s all. But will you think about it?’

  ‘I will,’ she promised.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  GINA AND BOB Forrester had insisted on inviting Martha and Mike to a pre-Christmas dinner in one of Boston’s most expensive restaurants. Bob hugged her like she was an old friend the minute she stepped into the entrance of Giselle’s, Martha trying to smile and pretend she was used to eating in such places regularly as the French maître d’ led them to their table. Mike was in strange form; he appeared over-polite and distant with the other couple as they were seated at the best table in the house. Fortunately both Bob and Gina were so wrapped up in the excitement of Gina’s pregnancy that they scarcely noticed it.

  ‘Well, Martha, the least we could do was buy you two the best dinner in the whole of Boston for what you’ve done for Gina, well, for the both of us!’

  Martha blazed red, embarrassed by their host’s effusiveness and insistence on her involvement in his wife’s pregnancy, and she could see Mike was annoyed too. He was staring intently into his wine glass as if it were a crystal orb, not wanting to get drawn into any discussion about her healing prowess.

  Gina looked absolutely beautiful. Pregnancy suited her and there was a new contentment in her
eyes. ‘I’ve already booked into the hospital and I’m having a scan in a few weeks’ time to check everything is going all right,’ she confided. ‘They wanted me to have that test for foetal abnormalities but I told my doctor I already know this baby’s fine.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ questioned Martha.

  ‘I put my trust in the Lord and in you, Martha, that’s good enough for me.’

  Mike cast her a scathing look for a fraction of a second.

  ‘And I told Gina, don’t let that doctor go spoil it by telling you if we are having a boy or a girl,’ joked Bob. ‘Just let nature take its course and we’ll find out when Junior makes his or her appearance.’

  As they perused their menus Bob ordered the best champagne. The wine waiter filled all their glasses.

  ‘Let me propose a toast to my wife Gina and a good friend – Martha!’

  Martha was pleased to see such a happy father-to-be as she sipped the champagne. Noticing that Gina barely touched the alcohol, she got the waiter to fetch her a sparkling water instead. Relieved, she watched as Mike gradually relaxed, talking to Bob about the company and its future direction, and who would be the winners and losers long term in the technology sector.

  ‘By the way, Dan was asking after you, Martha, last week when I was in San Jose.’

  ‘Dan?’

  ‘Dan Kendrick,’ explained Mike.

  ‘He’s been singing your praises and said to say thanks to you again,’ said Bob amiably.

  Martha knew that Mike blamed the head of Powerhouse for some of the attention and publicity she’d received.

  The food was delicious and Martha enjoyed getting to know Gina better and telling her about their own kids and the Irish family in which she had been raised.

  ‘I envy you, Martha, my parents divorced when I was eight, and my mom remarried when I was ten and then again when I was sixteen,’ admitted Gina. ‘I must have been a right brat to those new husbands of hers and given my mom a real hard time.’

  ‘What about your dad?’

  ‘I saw him a few times over the first year or two after the divorce, and then we moved to New Jersey and he got a job as a project engineer in Nebraska. We wrote and phoned for a while and then I guess just lost touch.’

  Martha couldn’t imagine how one would lose touch with a parent or child no matter how good or bad they might be.

  ‘I was just a kid then, and I guess I didn’t know any better. Meeting Bob changed things, and I made contact with my dad again. He’s in a retirement home now, and I’m not sure if he remembers that I’m his daughter any more, but darned sure I remember and know that he’s my dad.’

  ‘I’m glad you found him again,’ said Martha.

  ‘Along with my four stepbrothers, which was a bit of a surprise,’ she giggled.

  Gina was yawning by the time the waiter brought their coffees. ‘I seem to get tired more easily,’ she apologized. ‘I guess with the baby I just can’t keep up the pace of being a night owl any more.’

  ‘That’s OK. Martha used to be just the same when she was having our three,’ smiled Mike, passing her the cream jug.

  A half-hour later they had said their goodbyes.

  ‘You take care of yourself, Gina, and try to put your feet up and rest over the holidays if you get the chance,’ said Martha, thanking the Forresters warmly for the lovely night out. She was relieved that Mike had enjoyed it and had got on so well with Bob.

  ‘They’re a nice couple,’ she said matter-of-factly as they rode home in the cab, the Christmas trees in the store windows sparkling like stars. Mike agreed. Laying her head on his shoulder she was glad that the awful row they’d had before going out about her interfering in his life, and overstepping the mark by trying to help his boss’s wife, had blown over and that her husband had calmed down. Mike’s lips tasted of mint chocolate as they began to kiss.

  That season they spent a quiet Christmas at home. Frances Kelly and her friend Bee, as well as Martha’s brothers Sean and Jack and their families, joined them for the usual slap-up Christmas dinner of roast turkey and boiled ham, followed by Christmas pudding and mince pies, all of their stomachs groaning with the excess food. Alice had lit the candle in the window to welcome the child Jesus, and the red felt stockings hung from the banisters in the hall, the scent from the pine Christmas tree Mike had put up filling the house. Evie and Martha had gone carol singing with a group from the church on Christmas Eve, ending up making creamy Irish coffees at midnight in the Hayes kitchen as Evie prepared the stuffing for the turkey.

  After Christmas dinner Martha was so tired she’d fallen asleep on the couch watching an old Bing Crosby movie.

  ‘Are you all right, Martha pet?’ asked her mother, concerned.

  ‘I’m grand, Mom. It’s just been a busy day and I think Evie was a bit heavy handed with the whiskey in the coffees last night.’

  ‘No harm in that,’ murmured Frances, waiting for her son-in-law to refill her glass. Looking out at the deserted, snow-covered street Martha realized how relaxed she’d felt all day, despite the crowd and rushing around. There’d been no post, no phone calls except to her brother in California and to Mike’s folks in Florida, and no unexpected callers looking for the Miracle Woman. Curling up in front of the fire with Mary Rose and Alice, she acknowledged how good that felt and the utter freedom of it.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  HENRY MADISON PUT his hand in his trouser pocket, searching for the pen. Trying the top drawer and the cracked blue jug on the middle shelf of the dresser, eventually he found the good silver fountain pen he wanted. He got out the heavy quality writing paper and sat himself down at the kitchen table. Thankfully William was otherwise occupied watching Star Wars, his favourite movie.

  It felt awkward composing a letter to a total stranger, something he really was not given to, but at this stage he had to resort to desperate measures. Every day he was becoming more and more incapacitated and immobile; the pain when he walked was excruciating and even standing for too long was making him grimace. The local clinic had made an appointment for him with a specialist who’d done all the tests and recommended a hip replacement, saying there had been a huge amount of degeneration of the joint. A few weeks in hospital, time afterwards convalescing and no heavy lifting or work for a few months, the surgeon had explained to him. Already Henry knew it would be impossible for him to go ahead with such a procedure. First off, who would mind William while he was in hospital and convalescing? His forty-five-year-old brother did not take well to strangers or to change. Then there was the whole question of not being able to lift or work for a long time afterwards. Who would there be to wash and dress him and take him for walks if he couldn’t do it? The quandary was that if he didn’t have the operation, in another year or two he might no longer be able to manage looking after his disabled brother anyways.

  The responsibility lay heavy with him and Henry had consulted a few people about it. Regina Brown his social worker had assured him that she could pull a few strings and fix up a respite care bed for William somewhere close by and keep a good watch that he was doing OK. But Henry knew how upset William got whenever he attempted to leave him, crying and hollering like a toddler, and seeming totally bereft. Assurances and promises that he would come back were of no value as his brother had no concept of time or the future. It sure was a headache and he could see no way of resolving the dilemma. Celeste McGraw his neighbour, who sometimes watched William for him, had even offered to move into the apartment and mind him. It was a kind offer but one he would not be taking her up on, as even after a morning or evening minding him Celeste was exhausted. So how on earth would she last out for weeks!

  Henry had no sister or other family he could turn to, and was not prepared to just go abandon his troublesome brother. There had to be another way.

  He had been depressed about it, so depressed he had missed his meeting of the local historical society and the monthly poetry group. He was not in the mood for rhymes and wor
ds and research papers, with William totally unaware of the concerns he had about him.

  Then by chance he had read the interview with the woman in Boston who was said to be able to heal, to perform miracles. Apparently many believed in her and said she was a truly good person. Henry, at first sceptical, reading it over and over again, wondered if this Martha McGill person might be able to help him. He had never been the type of man looking for charity or help but reading about the New England housewife and the numbers of people who had claimed to have been healed by her, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Good Lord might see fit to help him, through this woman.

  His own Presbyterian faith had always been strong and had sustained him through many difficult years. Growing up he supposed he had never really realized the burden his young brother had placed on their mother and father. He’d been busy at school and then later college and studying to become a teacher, something he had always wanted, the chance to grow and learn himself and the opportunity to open young minds. William had been in and out of special schools and day care facilities since about the age of five, his mother and father ignoring the advice to place him in a state-run institution that could deal with his needs. His mother was insistent she could cope and was not going to put her ‘special child’ away, no matter what the psychologists and psychiatrists recommended.

  By twenty his brother was tall and big and a whole heap of trouble, needing constant watching. Henry would relieve some of the pressure on his ageing parents during school holidays, entertaining William, taking him for walks, devising activities that would help to keep him occupied, but he was always grateful when summer ended and he could return to the classroom. Marilyn and Joe Madison were left to manage on their own. They had died within four months of each other and Henry had taken leave from Rigby Junior High to look after his brother temporarily.

  The weeks had stretched to months and by the end of the year he knew he would never be able to work a full-time job while his brother needed him. So he had stayed home, correcting exam papers, contributing articles on education and history to various journals, and privately tutoring local students who were weak. The opportunity to have a wife and home and family of his own somehow just passed him by. Sophia Ferrari, the pretty young science teacher he had developed a passion for, was put off for ever after a distressing dinner at their home when William had peed himself. He was not carping about his life, the pattern it had followed, the journeys to Rome and Venice and Paris never taken. His only concern was here and now and what would happen to his brother if he was not able to take care of him . . .