Miracle Woman

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  The kids took it badly, Patrick wrapping himself in silence and not wanting to talk about it. Loyal to his father he didn’t want to hear anything bad said against Mike and Martha agreed with that. She was not about to attack his father or try to make him choose between them! As far as she was concerned her kids had a mom and a dad and were entitled to love them both. Patrick at fifteen was acting the man of the house and insisting on taking over some of Mike’s chores, trying to take care of her and the girls. Mary Rose on the other hand was angrier than she’d ever seen before, blaming Mike for walking out on them and Martha for somehow ruining their lives. Only Alice gave in to the true emotions she was feeling and admitted to being a small scared girl who missed her daddy.

  Martha was determined, once over the initial shock, to behave decently. Neither of them had done anything wrong and they deserved respect. Mike was surprised when she invited him to come home one evening a week to share a family meal with her and the kids. She forced herself to be polite and rational and proud on those occasions, all for the sake of their kids, who needed to know that their parents did not hate or want to destroy each other.

  Ruth was busy seeking out possible venues and dates for future healing sessions in a number of places. Martha had already agreed to do another in the Tanner Radford building, and a possible one in a school hall in New York.

  ‘Can’t we leave it for the moment, Ruth, until I see how things are with me and the kids? There is so much going on I just need to be there for them.’

  ‘Martha, if we leave it too late there is not a chance in hell of us getting a booking of a good venue, and the top venues will hold a better crowd and have adequate seating and the extra facilities like the wheelchair access and ramps that we need.’

  ‘I know, but I just feel that the kids might need me to be around and not off touring.’

  Reluctantly Ruth agreed to hold off making any bookings for at least a month, so Martha could have time to consider what she truly wanted.

  She preferred to work with the people who came to ‘the upstairs room’, where she had the time to talk and listen and get to know them individually, or to visit people like Thea with whom she had developed a relationship. Martha was the kind of person who couldn’t help becoming emotionally involved and caring for all those that came in search of healing.

  She still thought of Cass and prayed for her, and was upset when Sue Lucas told her that Beth and Tom Armstrong had sought legal advice about her so-called negative involvement with their child. Fortunately, it looked like it would go no further but Martha couldn’t believe how Cass’s parents had totally turned against her.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  HENRY MADISON TOOK the cab from South Station to the address written on the top of the envelope.

  William was sitting quiet beside him; the taxi driver glanced at him in the mirror. His brother had got himself all upset on the escalator stair in Penn Station, frightened he was going to fall off with the crush of people all around him, Henry trying to keep a hold of the sleeve of his jacket. He’d dropped a bag of peanut M&Ms and had lurched forward to try to bend down and catch them, as they skittered and bounced all over and down the moving stairs.

  Henry sternly told him to leave them and he’d buy him another packet when they got to Boston.

  He’d liked the train. A kind gentleman gave up his window seat so they could ride together as by the time he walked slowly to the carriage only single seats remained. Celeste, his neighbour, had suggested flying, but Henry was nervous of taking William on an airplane. He might not like or understand the notion of flight and get himself in one of his states; no, the train was a safer option.

  He was tired and would have loved to close his eyes and just doze as the high-speed train hurtled between New York and Boston, but instead kept his attention on his brother who seemed fascinated by the constantly changing view.

  He was nervous going to meet the healer woman in person after months of correspondence, but he’d come to look forward to those letters with their Massachusetts postmark. William looked tired and he squeezed his hand, passing him a small Hershey Cookies and Cream bar; the rest of the hidden candy he’d keep till later.

  They drove through the city, with the Charles river in the distance. William closed his eyes when they entered a long tunnel, emerging in bumper to bumper heavy traffic, eventually leaving the city behind them to follow the busy highway, turning off at the exit signs for Easton. The cab came to a stop outside a white-painted colonial-style home on Mill Street, which was definitely the right address. Henry paid the driver first before getting William organized to step out, as he lifted their overnight bag.

  He walked slowly up to the front porch and step, the car driver insisting on lifting the bag for him as he rang the house bell. He could feel his heart pound: what if the McGill woman wasn’t in? What if she’d forgotten the day he was coming? Or had been called away to deal with something more urgent?

  The door suddenly opened wide as Martha welcomed him and brought the two of them inside, Henry introducing William and explaining how he’d had to bring him as there was no-one reliable enough to sit with him.

  ‘That’s all right, Henry!’ smiled the healer, shaking hands with his brother. ‘I’m honoured to meet the two of you and glad you made the trip to see me.’

  Henry smiled, glad to finally have the chance to meet the woman he had so much faith in. She was younger than he’d expected, prettier too and had piercing blue-green eyes that seemed to almost see through you.

  ‘Let me make you a nice cup of tea or coffee. You must be exhausted after your long journey.’

  ‘Coffee would be nice,’ agreed Henry. ‘William likes it too.’

  Martha slipped out of the room leaving the two of them sitting there, William gazing around him, trying to make sense of these new surroundings which were very different from their own small living room at home.

  ‘It’s all right, William, honest it is,’ Henry promised, trying to allay his fears and growing apprehension. ‘I’m here with you and I’m not going to leave.’

  Martha came back into the room. ‘The coffee will be ready in a minute, my daughter will bring it in to us,’ she told them.

  Henry nervously made small talk about the journey, knowing the Martha woman was looking at William.

  A teenager with long dark hair and a heavy fringe carried in the tray and set it down in front of them.

  ‘Let me introduce my daughter, Mary Rose.’

  When the girl smiled it lit up her whole face, which became extraordinarily pretty.

  ‘This is Henry and his brother William. Henry and I have been keeping in touch with each other over the past few months.’

  He could see the kid had no interest in either of them, writing them off because of their age.

  ‘I brought some cookies and a few slices of that cherry cake that was in the tin.’

  ‘Thanks, Mary Rose, that’s great.’

  Henry put the sugar and milk in William’s cup, he didn’t want him knocking the sugar all over the carpet, and put a cookie and a slice of cake on a plate for him. He had an enormous appetite and seemed to burn his food. He then turned his attention to Martha.

  ‘Now tell me about your arthritis and what your surgeon says,’ urged Martha gently.

  Henry tried not to get himself upset when he thought of the choices ahead, his mobility becoming worse and worse and his use of painkillers growing. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he sighed. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

  When they had finished their coffee, Martha asked if he would lie down on the couch so she could lay her hands on him. However, Henry could sense that William, having cleared his plate, was getting anxious. ‘Martha, do you mind if William watches TV or a video?’ he asked. ‘He gets bored real easy.’

  ‘Oh, of course not. What kind of stuff does he like?’

  ‘Fighting or tough stuff usually,’ he laughed.

  ‘Well, hold on then, I think Patric
k’s copy of Gladiator is here somewhere. I’ll put it in the machine.’

  ‘He likes to sit right up near the TV,’ admitted Henry.

  He watched as the young woman moved one of the heavy armchairs almost up in front of the screen.

  ‘That better?’

  William nodded, already excited by the first glimpse of the Roman general and his legion.

  Henry breathed an inward sigh of relief that his brother was occupied and hopefully would not disturb them.

  He lay down on the couch, his shoes on the floor, his cardigan and tweed jacket folded in a neat pile as Martha stood over him.

  Her hands felt soft, gentle at first, almost like a child’s lightly running across him, skimming over his frame. Henry tried to stay calm and relaxed as the healer worked.

  He closed his eyes, feeling drowsy, aware of pressure, of heat pervading his tissues and bones, warming them. He could feel the intense heat radiating from the weight of those hands, to his hips, his spine, his shoulders and neck. Even his own breathing seemed different as if the air was filling his lungs, every little corner of them, bathing them with oxygen. Images of childhood, times of happiness came into his mind unbidden and he felt removed from his surroundings but unsure of where he was exactly. He was aware of Martha moving around beside him, and gave his total trust to the woman who was using her healing powers to restore him. His worries and cares seemed to slip away.

  ‘Henry! Henry!’

  Martha was standing over him, gently touching his shoulder.

  ‘It’s time for you to sit up now, Henry. Take it slowly, there’s no rush.’

  Henry felt mortified. ‘Was I asleep?’ he asked.

  Martha laughed a little.

  ‘I’m so sorry, it’s just I’m so tired I guess.’

  ‘Listen, lots of people doze off, it’s totally normal. I just let you have a bit of peace for a while longer.’

  Embarrassed, Henry pulled on his chunky cardigan and began to slip his swollen feet into his soft beige leather comfort shoes as he searched for his wallet. ‘Do you think I’m still going to need that surgery?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll be honest, Henry: the hip and knees are bad, just as your doctor says, but you are strong and I don’t see any complications. Just give yourself some time. I’ve tried to lift some of the pain away for the moment, and that may help.’

  ‘How much do I owe you, Martha?’

  ‘There’s no charge, honest there’s not.’

  ‘But I’ve taken up so much of your time,’ he insisted.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you,’ smiled the healer.

  Martha glanced over at William.

  ‘Would it be all right if I touched William?’ she asked.

  His brother was engrossed in the bloody spectacle at the Roman Games, jumping up and down in the chair, and barely looked up when Martha laid her hands on his shoulders. Henry watched as she lightly touched his head and neck, a shadow of concern flitting across her face. William looked up, puzzled by the attention, his eyes connecting with Martha.

  Without a word she leant forward and kissed his forehead, as you would a small, brave boy. Henry was touched by the kind gesture.

  They gathered up their things, Martha insisting they have a soda before they left and ordering them a cab.

  ‘We’re staying overnight at the Park Plaza Hotel and getting the train back first thing in the morning. I promised William I’d take him to the Aquarium and maybe take a tour bus ride round the city.’

  ‘That’d be neat,’ murmured Martha, switching off the video player. William stood up immediately. Henry asked if she’d mind if they could both use the bathroom.

  Henry hugged Martha close as they were leaving. He couldn’t believe it but somehow he felt connected with this person who’d been almost a stranger.

  ‘Now you promise me, Henry,’ said Martha, taking a hold of his hand and squeezing it, ‘that you’re going to take good care of yourself and try not to do too much.’

  Henry Madison was surprised by the realization that Martha McGill genuinely cared about him and William and their difficult situation.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  THEA WARRINGTON SAT out back on the deck, by the small rock pool, a drawing pad on her lap. The weather was cool but she enjoyed the fresh air as she worked, imagining in her mind’s eye a different landscape and the exact requirements of her client and his family. She always loved working on gardens for families, trying to ensure space for the adults to have quiet time, somewhere restful, with a seat or garden chair where they could unwind and forget their daily cares, and of course a family area, for entertaining, cooking and playing outdoors in the warm summer weather, and most important of all a hideaway spot for the children to run and imagine they were lost in a fairytale wood or cast away on a treasure island. There would be a sand pit and a swing and maybe a low stone bridge to cross from one world to another. She smiled, just thinking about it.

  Her own boys were at school and Erik would collect them later. It was funny how the kids had just accepted the change in their routine once she and Erik had explained a bit about her illness to them. They now knew that it would either be their father or their home help Valerie who would collect them, as their mom could no longer drive. It was strange, thought Thea, that it was the little things that she missed doing the most – the boring school runs, helping at the Scouts’ bake sale, taking the kids swimming, going to the market and complaining about the weight of her shopping kart and having to stand in line and check it all through. Now her groceries just seemed to magically appear as she could order all her requirements over the net, and her local store had a same day delivery service. The big things didn’t seem all that important any more as she adjusted to a life governed by the cancer cells which remorselessly attacked her body. She refused to wave the white flag of defeat and listen to the doom and gloom prognosis of her illness given by her doctors. She was still a young woman with plenty to live for, and was not about to give in.

  Like a good patient she had followed all the best of medical advice, tried the latest drug and radium therapies and when for the third time she had been told her cancer was back, agreed to go and see the hospice which her oncologist had suggested might be a good place for the final management of her illness, should she and Erik and the boys no longer be able to cope. The staff there had warmly welcomed her, giving her a guided tour. Thea had been impressed with the level of care and the holistic environment in which the patients enjoyed their final days. She had been fortunate enough to meet with its director and about two hours later, after explaining the reward and satisfaction she got from her landscaping work, she found herself being asked to design an informal garden for the younger patients and their visitors, a commission she had joyously accepted.

  The work kept coming in and she even did it flat on her back in the bed, where Erik had erected a drawing board for her. The computer could do the rest: catalogue the plants, the stones and tiles and bricks, trees and shrubs that she wanted to use, provide a display for her clients to mull over. Creating and shaping the earth and ground around her seemed to take over Thea’s thought processes and help her cope with the dark days as her illness took a hold. Her brain and mind were still virgin soil untouched by the creeping weed of her disease.

  Erik was her rock and without him she did not know how she could have carried on. He was there for her and the boys, unflinching no matter how bad things got, constant in a tornado of utter change. Her husband refused to give up and accept the time span the doctors had allotted her; he was ready to wage battle against the might of an unseen enemy, somehow believing they could win! It was Erik who had heard about the woman from Massachusetts, the woman who was said to have the power to heal, like a saint in the Bible able to perform miracles. Thea had little belief in miracles but seeing the hope in her husband’s eyes had agreed to his trying to contact her, pleading with him not to expect anything.

  The miracle was that Martha McGill had actual
ly responded, not to the letters and phone calls but to the five-minute home video that Erik had shot of the family, and that she had driven all the way up to West Hartford to see her.

  Thea had been embarrassed at first at the thought of a stranger coming to her home; would she be a bible-thumping Jesus freak or a wacky new age spiritualist who would chant around her? Much to her surprise, Martha was neither and the two of them had got along just fine, Thea feeling unusually relaxed and open. A wife and mother like herself, Martha with her understanding eyes and easy manner seemed to have a rare understanding and empathy for what she was going through, and a line of complete trust had developed between them. The healer had made her lie down and then without even saying a word laid her hands right on her.

  At once Thea had been aware of the enormous heat and energy that seemed to flow towards her as Martha began to lightly run her hands all over her body, concentrating on the areas that had been mentioned as trouble spots. She knew Martha had been startled when she touched the area where the aggressive tumour encased part of her spinal column, but unwaveringly she had continued, Thea giving herself up to the pleasant sensation of sunshine that enveloped her as Martha worked.

  Afterwards, she couldn’t explain it but she felt better – maybe it was a placebo effect, but whatever it was she was in less pain and seemed to have more energy. Erik kissed her and told her she even looked more beautiful.

  ‘That Martha lady sure has a special effect, in that case!’ she joked.

  Martha came again and again, once a month and with every visit the advance of Thea’s cancer just seemed to slow and halt. How Thea laughed when the doctors rechecked her X-rays and re-examined her, baffled, but admitting cautiously that perhaps she was in some form of temporary remission.