Miracle Woman (21 page)

Mike looked embarrassed, his hands shifting into his trouser pockets, a gesture that had always given him away ever since they first dated. Whenever they'd had a row or argument and it came time to say sorry or make up, Mike found it so hard to admit he was wrong or climb down. He was still the same.

‘Mike, I love you and all I'm asking is for you to give me a bit of support and to back me up. I know full well I'm not a businesswoman, you don't have to remind me of that, but I do know what I'm doing when I heal people. The feeling is so strong, so good that I feel energized and connected to them. I like talking to people, trying to understand them and find out what is going on in their lives. I think that also might be a big part of it, giving people time.'

‘Ah Jeez, Mar! I'm such a selfish bastard!'

She smiled despite herself, a laugh escaping into the stillness between them.

‘You don't have to agree with me!' he said defensively.

‘Mike, I'm still me and nothing is going to change that,' she pledged, wrapping her arms around his neck.

By the time the kids got back Mike had worked out a few pricing details on a sheet of paper and made some suggestions.

‘Are you sure you're happy about this?' he
pressed her. ‘That you're not taking on too much?'

‘Yeah, I'm fine about it. You were right, our family time together is precious and should be private. Renting here will solve the problem of people abusing our home situation and if they want or need a phone number or address to contact me, well, this will be it!'

‘Is Evie OK about all this?'

‘Mike, she was the one suggested it!'

‘OK! OK! It's just that landlord and tenant is a different relationship than being friends, you realize that.'

‘Yeah! And we're both fine about it.'

Any qualms Martha had about this new undertaking were resolved. She could hardly wait to get home and phone Evie with the good news.

Kathleen's older boy Joe and a friend had agreed to paint the place. They were trying to set up on their own as a decorating service and were touting for customers. Evie and Martha split the cost and were more than pleased with the resulting soft pecan-coloured walls and warm cream woollen drapes.

She took an old couch from their den and covered it with a navy throw and huge squashy cushions, with a rather modern elmwood desk and chair for herself. Framed photos from a gallery in Quincy Market of the sea, sky and earth
seemed to sit well together and were a constant reminder of her healing mission.

Mike helped her to organize a new phone listing and in the smaller room they placed two simple chairs and an old coffee table of Evie's.

‘Just in case someone is waiting,' she suggested.

To Martha it felt sort of scary having a place that was her own, like an office. She was used to the jumble of family life and tried to imagine herself arriving calmly at number 143 to try and deal with people who had a crisis in their life, and the responsibility it would involve.

Evie sensed her nervousness.

‘Martha, do you not remember how bad I was when I was opening the shop, I was sure not a sinner would cross the threshold for months and that I'd be declared a bankrupt! Thank God it all worked out and now I couldn't imagine not having the store! You'll see, after a few weeks, coming here and walking up the stairs will just become part of your routine. You already have a notebook full of people only desperate to see you, so you won't be sitting twiddling your thumbs, I can guarantee that.'

Martha hugged her friend, wondering how she had been so lucky to have been put beside Evie O'Connor on her very first day of school. The two of them had been inseparable ever since and had shared the ups and downs in each other's lives. When Martha's father had died from a bleeding ulcer brought on from his constant abuse of
alcohol, it was Evie who had listened to her rant and scream about how glad she was her father was dead and it was Evie who had eventually soaked a towel in cold water and placed it over her tear-sodden swollen eyes and held her till she fell asleep on the night before his funeral. You didn't forget a friend like that.

By the end of the week, everything was just the way she wanted it and the table she had ordered had arrived. Looking around her, Martha liked the clear simple lines she had created and hoped that nothing would distract her from her purpose – healing! Mike and the family all gave the place the seal of approval. Kim and Rianna had arrived with a huge bunch of white lillies and a magnificent dried floral arrangement of stretching dark wood branches, interesting violets and pale blue forget-me-nots.

‘We came to wish you luck!' they chorused and gasped with admiration when they saw the result of all the hard work.

‘Makes a big difference from all Evie's junk,' remarked Kim. ‘This place really looks something now.'

Martha smiled, hoping she had managed to create a space that those in need of her help would feel soothed and relaxed in.

‘It's just fine and dandy,' her mother declared, giving herself the great tour of inspection before sinking into the comfort of the couch. ‘You did a
wonderful job here, Martha pet, and I'm right proud of you.'

Martha smiled. Her mother was not generally given to fulsome praise. ‘Thanks, Mom, I'm glad that you like it.'

‘You know something? I always felt that you were a little bit different.'

‘Different!'

‘No, I just mean that you were going to do something different from the rest of the family!'

Different – this sure was different. Never had she imagined herself having such a calling.

On that first morning when she put her key in the lock and walked upstairs to her rooms her heart beat so fast that she could almost have convinced herself that she had a heart complaint. She resisted the urge to sneak down to Evie's and sit curled up in a chair gossiping, and settled herself at her desk drawing out the bundles of letters she had received that weekend. Kim had offered to help her file some of them and sort them out in terms of urgency, depending on the well-being of the writer or the person they were concerned about.

Martha sighed, reading of the sheer desperation of the family of a sufferer of terminal cancer of the oesophagus who had somehow or other heard of her and were willing to fly with the patient from Sacramento to Boston in the hope of seeing her. The condition of the almost fifty-year-old
husband seemed far too serious for them to contemplate such a journey. Martha turned on the laptop and began to compose a letter to his distraught wife and sons telling them this and promising to pray for him.

Louisa Roberts was her first appointment and Martha greeted the sixty-year-old warmly. ‘Well, Louisa, what do you think?'

‘You have a beautiful home, Martha, but I think here is a special place for you to do your healing work.'

‘How are you doing?'

‘I'm doing great! That shoulder of mine hasn't given me one bit of bother since you laid your hands on it and now I was wondering if you could do the same for my knee.' Without prompting she rolled up the leg of her pale lilac polyester trousers and shoved the discoloured swollen kneecap towards Martha. ‘It's giving me right torment at the moment and I can hardly go outside at all with the pain from it. The old steroids and tablets the doctor gave me don't seem to work so good no more.'

‘Louisa, you must keep taking the tablets the doctor prescribed for you but if you want I will lay my hands on the knee and see if it can in any way help.'

There was utter trust in the older woman's eyes as Martha touched her and began the healing session. Louisa had such faith that the healing
would remove the swelling from her knee that Martha could feel the intense heat that seemed to be drawn into the ageing tissues and muscles and joint. Working together both of them felt the healing energy as they said a few words of simple prayer.

Afterwards Martha realized that healing filled her with a unique joy and sense of the spirit and a deep gratitude that she had been called to do this work.

BETH ARMSTRONG PHONED
that Wednesday, all excited and nervous, the words tumbling from her mouth, as she told Martha the good news.

‘She's got a heart! Cass is getting a new heart!'

The transplant team from Children's Hospital had confirmed they'd found a perfect donor match for her daughter and Cass was already being prepared for surgery.

‘I still can't believe it! Can you come by the hospital and see her?' Beth pleaded anxiously.

‘Honest, Beth, I don't think that it's my place to interfere. Cass needs the doctors and nurses to look after her right now and get her through her surgery. You know she's in good hands. Why, I'd only be in their way.'

‘What about healing?'

‘Healing?'

‘Yes, I was hoping that you could lay your hands on her at the start of the operation.'

‘Beth, Cass has had healing, and now it's time to let the medical team do their work.'

‘But it's bound to help, Martha, you being there, and my little girl needs all the help that she can get!'

‘Beth, calm down. You've got to trust the surgeons,' she advised her gently. ‘I'll pray for Cass, I promise, but it's not my place to be there, honest it's not.'

‘So you're saying that you won't come when she needs you the most,' argued Beth Armstrong.

‘No, I'm not saying that at all. I know how hard it must be for you all, I can imagine how I'd feel if one of my kids was facing such a big operation, but me being there isn't going to help. I'm sorry,' whispered Martha.

There was a stony silence on the other end of the line and Martha could almost sense the other woman's desperation and fearfulness.

‘I'm sorry, Beth,' she repeated.

A few hours later Martha found herself kneeling in a bench in her parish church, enjoying the peace and stillness that a visit to St John's always brought her. She gazed up at the grey marble altar and the ornately carved cross; light slanting in through the stained glass windows above her sprinkled dashes of purple, pink, gold and blue along the wooden floor. A statue of Mary, the mother of Jesus, gazed down at her, opposite St Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, in his green
and gold bishop's robes. This place was an oasis of spirituality in a busy world, removed from the traffic and noise and constant music and sound that assaulted daily life. A place to come and offer silent prayer.

In quiet contemplation, Martha closed her eyes thinking of Cass, wishing her to be strong and for the Holy Spirit to watch over her. She found consolation and support within the walls of this simple church, felt her prayers were being listened to and that God was considering her requests. If that was faith, she supposed she was blessed with it. She had always felt close to the spirit, close to God and was unafraid to ask things of him, challenge him. Now she was asking for the child, words of prayer filling her mind in the silence.

She heard footsteps, and turning around spotted Father Eugene. She would have liked him to join her, to have told him about Cass, and for both of them to pray for her together. The priest, recognizing her, stopped for an instant, before turning his face away and collecting a book he'd left up near the lectern, disappearing inside the safety of the sacristy.

The day dragged on, Martha's thoughts constantly with Cass. She found herself barely able to concentrate all afternoon and was abrupt with Mary Rose when she collected her from piano lessons.

‘You OK, Mom?' asked her teenage daughter perceptively.

She kept waiting for the phone to ring back home, and almost whacked Patrick when he tried to phone one of his football team-mates to discuss arrangements for the following Saturday's game.

‘Get off the phone, Patrick, you know I'm waiting on news of someone.'

A look of bewilderment crossed his broad face and Martha knew her son had no comprehension of her involvement with people he considered just strangers.

Thoughts of the child haunted and disturbed her, in a strange irrational way that made her question her ability and the powerful call to healing. There was still no word by midnight and she paced the floor of her home wondering what she should do. Her repeated calls to the hospital had elicited zero information.

‘For God's sake, will you relax and calm down,' Mike implored her.

‘I can't,' she admitted. ‘I just can't! I can't put her out of mind. You should see her, she's so sick.'

Her husband was a good and kind man; all right, maybe a little too wrapped up in his career and work, but he was a good father and had always been there for her and the kids.

‘Mike, imagine if one of . . .'

‘I'm not going to imagine, Martha. I don't want to do that, and if you have any sense you'll stop
thinking of her too and concentrate on our kids. Patrick told me you almost bit his head off today when he tried to check if he was playing in Saturday's football team.'

‘Oh Mike, I didn't mean it. Patrick knows that.'

She moved towards her husband, wanting to make things right between them, and was hurt when he turned away and began to read the newspaper, the conversation ended.

She couldn't sleep and stayed up late watching an old Hollywood musical on the TV. When she came upstairs, her husband rolled to one side of their bed, anger and confusion radiating from the hunched curve of his neck and spine as he turned away from her. Instead of undressing and lying warm beside him, Martha took a heavy sweater from her drawer and her purse. Beth hadn't bothered to phone and since there was no reply from her home phone number, it meant she was still likely to be at the hospital. Surely the operation was over by now.

Getting into her car and switching on the headlights, she pulled out onto the road and drove up on to the Mass Turnpike, her instinct leading her towards Children's Hospital. The road was quiet as it was after midnight and listening to David Gray, she tried to keep herself awake.