Miracle Woman (17 page)

MARTHA STUDIED THE
map of New England in her car, hoping that she had taken the correct exit off Route 84 to get her to West Hartford. She had driven almost a hundred and fifty miles to visit a thirty-two-year-old mother of three who had a large inoperable tumour on her spine. Thea Warrington had already undergone massive chemotherapy and radium treatment over the past few months but seemingly all to no avail. It was her husband Erik who had contacted Martha, deluging her with letters and phone calls and even a video of his family until she had finally agreed to come and see her.

Secretly, she'd been dreading the visit and expected dealing with the cancer victim to be harrowing. Instead she had met one of the most intensely peaceful and joyous African-American women she had ever been privileged to be introduced to.

Thea, despite the ravages of her illness, greeted
her with a warm smile which showed off her beautiful eyes and bone structure. Her grace and charm were endearing and it was clear she was adored by Erik and their three young sons. They had a striking modern home with tall glass windows about two miles out from the town centre surrounded by the most amazing landscaped gardens.

‘I'm a landscaper,' said Thea proudly. ‘Erik and I have our own business.'

Martha felt an immediate bond with her and although she had expected Thea's life force to be low and weak she was surprised by its balance and strength.

‘The doctors tell Erik that I am going to die soon but, Martha, I don't feel it! I don't believe it! The Lord is good. He would want me to raise those three fine boys he sent me, live to watch them grow and get through school, I know that. The Lord is merciful, that I am sure of.'

Martha was amazed by Thea's faith and lack of anger, and by her incredible willpower. From the minute she laid her hands on her she could sense Thea's resolve to stay on this earth. She was grounded with a love of the soil and nature, which was probably due in some part to her calling as a gardener. The mass of the tumour was large and complex and Martha found she had to focus strongly on its congealed heavy structure as she sent healing to it, with Thea's own energy equally concentrated during the session. Her hand grew
hot, vibrating as if filled with a pulsing energy as she tried to dry it out, draw off the fluid-saturated tissue and shrink it, pull it away from the cord and nerves it was damaging and negate its ability to spread.

‘That sure feels good,' murmured Thea as she worked.

Passing her hands along the rest of Thea's body she could sense an incredible balance, and despite or maybe because of all her medical treatment there was very little spread and few hot spots she could detect.

At the end of the healing she joined Erik and Thea for lunch served in a bright wooden kitchen, with floor to ceiling windows which looked out over their acres of garden.

‘It's stunning! I can't believe the range of planting and colours and shapes you've got,' she said admiringly as she took in a bed swathed in a variety of blues and mauves, flame-coloured grasses setting alight a dark corner. ‘I've never seen anything like it.'

‘I know it's our business, but it's a labour of love,' admitted Erik.

‘Have you and your husband got a nice garden?' enquired Thea.

‘I'm afraid I'm not much of a gardener,' lamented Martha, ‘and I'm so busy it's been very neglected of late.'

‘Gardens need time,' suggested Erik. ‘They don't like being rushed and need a whole heap of
coaxing. Every season brings its own work.'

‘This place of ours is just coming into its own now, after five years' hard work. Now there's winter roses and heathers and pansies for colour, last flowerings likely before the first snow falls, but you should have seen it at the height of summer. Paradise – so pretty and the scents that came from that border I've created outside the window! Why, it's just glorious! Erik built it for me on a height so that I can still work on it from my wheelchair as I'm not prepared to give up the pleasures of weeding.'

Martha thought of her own overgrown back yard, where weeds rambled and propagated unchallenged.

‘I hate weeding,' she laughed. ‘I'm much too lazy.'

Thea was tired, drowsy after the session, and as Martha had a long drive back to Boston the two women eventually agreed to say goodbye.

‘I'll have a nap when you're gone, Martha, that way I'll be awake when the boys get in from school.' Thea smiled, squeezing her hand. ‘Erik and my boys are all that matter to me right now.'

Martha tried to hold back on the emotions she herself was experiencing as she kissed her forehead.

‘You take care of yourself, Thea.'

‘Will you pray for me?'

‘Of course I will,' she agreed. ‘And you keep
after the Lord for what you want. I think he listens to you.'

Erik Warrington had a selection of tall plants and small pots set out on the step near her car. He insisted she take them, and spread a sheet of plastic in the trunk before loading them into the back of the Volvo.

‘Oh, thank you, Erik, that's so kind of you.'

‘Some you can leave in the big pots till next spring, just keep them watered, and the rest, why you can plant them out right now.'

‘I'm not much good with plants,' she warned him.

‘These will grow,' he promised. ‘Thea seeded and grew all of them from cuttings herself. Her green fingers seem to make everything grow.'

He stood in front of her, a strong stocky man, his face filled with concern for his wife. ‘I don't want to lose her,' he blurted out, trying to control himself.

Martha touched his arm.

‘I can't make any promises,' she said. ‘You know I can't, but Thea is strong, and her body and mind and soul are joined in fighting this illness. She has faith and such a strong belief. I know what the doctors say, but sometimes they are wrong.'

‘Sometimes there
are
miracles,' he insisted, staring at her. ‘Sometimes!'

‘God is good,' agreed Martha. ‘And I pray he'll be good to her, to both of you.'

Back on the highway she couldn't get Thea out of her mind, asking herself why in heaven's name she was getting herself emotionally involved with someone else, when already so many were dependent on her. Yet thinking of Thea she knew that despite the poor prognosis of her illness Martha had felt during the healing a very definite sense of hope for the mother of three.

Her thoughts turned to her own family as she drove home and she realized the love of her husband and children were all that truly mattered to her.

THE THANKSGIVING MASS
at St John's, their parish church, had been packed but she and Mike and the kids had managed to squeeze into a bench up near the front of the crowded Easton congregation. Martha had always found the ritual of the mass with its Old and New Testament readings and gospel, offertory prayers and communion, deeply satisfying. Not just from the spiritual point of view but also from a community one, as the traditional wooden church was mostly filled with their neighbours and people she knew. Glancing around at the heads bent in silent prayer, one could almost hazard a guess as to their needs and intentions. Patrick used to serve mass here along with other boys from his class but at the ripe old age of twelve had refused to do it any more.

Father Eugene Reagan, their ageing parish priest, stepped slowly up to the altar, but his voice and conviction were as strong as ever as he welcomed the parishioners and began the mass.
He preached a sermon on charity being its own reward. Patrick and Mary Rose both cast their eyes upwards, bored. At the offertory procession the small kids proudly carried up a range of gifts to the altar, including the large hamper which had been left at the door and would be distributed to needy families in the parish later.

Martha smiled to herself, watching Alice be very self-conscious and holy as she went up to communion with the rest of them. She tried to concentrate on her daughter and ignore the stares of recognition as they filed back down to their seat.

Afterwards they joined the large group outside on the step, chatting to each other. Evie and Frank with their kids Becky and Niall came over to join them. Father Eugene greeted the two men warmly and shook Evie's hand. Martha was totally ignored.

‘Father Eugene, that was a lovely sermon,' she started to say, but before she could continue he interrupted her.

‘Mrs McGill, I'm reading very sad things about you, very sad. You seem determined to get yourself involved in something you know nothing about, which is always a dangerous thing.'

‘Dangerous!' She all but laughed.

‘Yes, I believe so.'

Her cheeks reddened. How dare he! She felt like a small child being admonished and belittled in front of her husband, children and close friends,
there on the steps of the church she had just worshipped in.

‘Hey, Evie!' Embarrassed, Frank Hayes jangled his car keys. ‘I think it's time we were going, if we want to get something to eat.'

Evie shot her a glance of commiseration. ‘Martha, don't forget we've got supper at Kim's on Thursday. If you want I'll pick you up.'

‘That'd be great.'

The priest was clearly annoyed with her and she was not about to let herself be bullied about what she could or could not do by some elderly man, priest or not!

‘Do you wish to speak with me, Father?' she asked angrily.

‘I do.' He stiffened.

Mike and the kids decided to make themselves scarce and to go sit in the car. Now that the mass crowd had cleared, Martha was nervous as to what the priest could want with her. As their church donation had been given on time and both she and Mike had helped out at church within the past few months, Martha knew exactly what he wanted to discuss.

‘Yes, Father?' She tried to appear respectful to this man of God.

‘Martha, I'm worried about you. These things I read in the newspapers and hear on the radio about you are upsetting, especially when we know that none of it is true. So why won't you come out and deny them and put an end to all
this gossip and rumour and talk of miracles?'

‘Don't you believe in miracles, Father?'

‘Jesus and the holy saints performed miracles, not some Easton housewife with nothing better to do,' he said, acidly.

‘Father Eugene!' She gasped, hurt by his tone. ‘I have never claimed to perform miracles, never,' she insisted. ‘All I do is try to help and heal those that need it.'

A vexed expression crossed his face.

‘You make a mockery of your faith and this church. All this publicity and shenanigans is giving poor innocent people false hope.'

‘Father Reagon, let me assure you my faith is strong, and although I may not have degrees in theology or Bible studies like you, I do believe that I am doing the Lord's work too. Now if you'll excuse me, my husband and children are waiting.'

Almost shaking, she walked back to the car, trying to control herself so that the kids didn't see how upset she had been by the patronizing words of a man who believed his was the only way to connect with the Holy Spirit.

Mad as hell by the time they reached Mike's parents' house, Martha realized she could not let the priest's words mar their family Thanksgiving celebration meal. It was the one day of the year when Pat McGill rolled out the red carpet and invited her son and daughter and their families to
a huge meal. Aunt Dot and Uncle Harry, who'd no children, joined them.

The McGills had a beautiful home out near Beaver Brook, a white-painted colonial with a deck out back. The green lawn was perfectly mowed, the hedges clipped, shrubs and bushes pruned hard. The shame of it was that by the end of the week Patricia and Ed McGill would have packed and moved to the small bungalow they owned in Sarasota, Florida. The first snows and cold drove them south like the rest of the snow-birds to the sunshine state. At sixty-five years of age Patricia McGill had decided that she'd had more than enough of the cold, and would no longer contemplate another New England winter. Ed agreed and, packing up his golf clubs, looked forward to a daily round of golf followed by a leisurely swim under constant blue skies. The Thanksgiving meal was an annual farewell to their children and family until they returned after Easter.

‘Martha! You OK?' asked Mike, squeezing her hand as the kids jumped out of the car and ran up the path and into Grandpa Ed's open arms, Alice squealing as her grandfather greeted her with a mighty bear hug.

‘Sure, Mike, sure,' she replied, determined not to let the priest's words spoil the day.

GINA FORRESTER THEW
up in the kitchen first, feeling weak and clammy as the wave of nausea washed over her. The second time she made it to the bathroom at least. Wetting a towel, she dabbed it against her skin as she leaned her head against the cool of the expensive Italian marble, in the vain hope that she would feel somehow better.

Bob hovered anxiously, trying not to invade her privacy but wanting to help. She reckoned she must have picked up one of those twenty-four-hour stomach bugs and decided it was better to go back to bed and take it easy for the rest of the day. She'd get Bob to phone and cancel their lunch reservations at the golf club. The thought of even reading a menu let alone ordering made her feel worse.

Four days later the possibility of it being a simple stomach flu seemed more remote and Gina had to admit to also feeling absolutely exhausted.
Bob wanted her to see their physician, have tests. Nervous, she told him of her suspicions.

‘Then all the more reason to see the doctor,' he argued.

Gina shook her head. She could not face the possibility of sitting in one more doctor's office having yet another test done.

Grabbing her coat, she persuaded Bob to drive to the local drugstore, the two of them giggling like a pair of teenagers as they went up and down searching the aisles. Eventually they found the home pregnancy testing kit. So nervous her hands were shaking, Gina followed the instructions exactly the next day, sitting watching
Good Morning
on the corner of the bed as Bob went in the bathroom and checked the results.