Miracle Woman (34 page)

She rambled on, talking to him, knowing he would not tell her anything of his daily routine and that it was up to her to fill the silence between them. She told him he was going to be a grandfather, and about her last visit to the obstetrician who'd told her everything was going well and that the baby was in the right position. She told him of the spare bedroom, beside their own, which was to be turned into a nursery. The colours and curtains and expensive wooden cot and changing table and wardrobe were already picked and paid for, but Gina was too superstitious to let Bob or the decorator touch the room till her child was born.

One of the nursing aides walked by and kindly offered her a cup of tea. Gina was glad of the refreshment as she sat there all afternoon with her father, fussing with his locker and checking if he needed anything, though she knew her half-brother Scott who lived close by would drop in once or twice a week to make sure the old man was all right.

When his evening meal was served at 4.45 p.m. she helped him to eat, knowing that not long after he would be prepared and changed for bed. She got ready to go, kissing him and promising to come back soon.

‘Dad, I've got to go home now, Bob will be
waiting for me,' she said, stroking the side of his face, wondering if in a few minutes' time her father would remember anything about her or the baby.

Driving home she felt a little tired and disappointed; perhaps she'd hoped that her father would react more to her good news and be excited for her, something she knew in her heart he was no longer capable of. The traffic was heavy, only easing off as she got up onto the highway, listening to the news channel as she drove. A half-hour out of Boston she felt it, a warm trickle of water running down her legs as if she was peeing herself and soaking the seat of the car. Shit! she thought, scared. The baby wasn't due for another four weeks! And now her waters had broken. Undecided between pulling over into a lay-by and phoning for assistance or putting her foot on the pedal and driving to Mass General Hospital, she chose the latter. Praying under her breath, she tried not to think of the cramping pains in her stomach as she drove . . .

It was 5 a.m. when the phone went. Martha jumped up in bed and reached for the receiver, relieved to hear Bob Forrester's voice on the other end of the line.

‘Martha, it's a girl! We have a baby girl!'

‘Oh, that's great, Bob, I'm really pleased for you.' She yawned, still half asleep. ‘How's Gina?'

‘Oh, she's fine. She asked me to phone you cos
she's concerned. The baby's a little early and she's small. Real small! They put her in one of those incubator things and she's up in a special ward with all the other premature babies. Gina's real worried for her and she wondered if you'd come in as soon as you can and see her.'

Martha agreed straight away, knowing that neither Bob nor Gina were alarmist and wouldn't have asked unless they thought it necessary.

‘Tell Gina I'll be there first thing this morning,' she promised, putting down the phone.

The baby was beautiful, her tiny head a cap of black hair with the face of a pixie. She lay still under the special lights and kicked her legs gently now and then.

‘I couldn't bear it if anything happens to her.' Gina broke down. ‘I couldn't take it, Martha!'

‘Hush now, don't go upsetting yourself. You have a beautiful daughter who is already a born fighter.'

Martha studied the baby closely, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm of the pulse in her veins. She was fragile. Another few weeks would have made a big difference but at least here she had all the medical equipment she needed. Without thinking she reached across into the incubator, her fingertips touching the baby's little hands and fingers, one connecting to the other, warmth and strength flowing from the healer towards the sleeping infant.

MARTHA LOOKED AT
her black leather-covered diary. She dreaded all the pencilled-in dates, the crowding out of her time, the hour by hour meetings and sessions and lack of freedom that such organization had brought. The kids were complaining about it too and the weekends were sacrosanct, only for her family.

Checking the date and time, she realized Joshua Harris was late. She'd seen Joshua several times over the past few weeks, and was convinced they were finally making progress. He looked stronger, healthier and had told her he was eating again. Diseases of the soul and spirit were a lot harder to heal and treat than the relatively simple ones of the body and she was much gladdened by his recovery.

She was concerned when Joshua failed to show up for his session. She sat waiting for him for over an hour and a half, imagining the worst, and when she finally got through on his phone was
greeted by an indifferent apology about forgetting the time. She swallowed her annoyance and rescheduled. Four days later Wendy Harris called her at home and confided that she was desperately worried about her son and asked her to see him immediately. Evie, Kim and Martha were due to go to the movies to a special showing of
Breakfast at Tiffany's
and then for a drink.

‘Say no!' mouthed Mary Rose, listening to her conversation.

‘I can't, I can't!'

Mary Rose got up and tossed the magazine she was reading on the floor, as Martha ended the call and took Wendy's home address, promising to be there within an hour.

‘Mom, what about Evie and Kim? They're expecting you to go with them.'

‘Listen, Mary Rose, it's no big deal. I'll phone them. I can catch it again another time. OK?'

Crossing the Mass Turnpike she drove for more than a mile and a half, taking the next exit and following directions for the turnoff to Wendy Harris's home. Pressing the silver button on the automatic gates she gained entry.

Joshua's mother was more beautiful and petite than she had imagined. Her white blond hair pulled up off her face, she wore a simple knitted sweater and denim jeans.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you so much for coming and giving up your Saturday night, Martha. I
hope you don't mind me calling you that but when Joshua talks about you he always uses your first name.'

‘No, that's fine. How is he?'

His mother looked like she was going to cry.

‘He moved back in with me about three weeks ago, he's always had his room here naturally, and it was just so good to have him back. Seeing you has helped him enormously and he was getting back to the old Josh, the one before . . .'

‘And what happened?'

‘I don't know, he went out last night to meet one of his friends at some nightclub. It was nearly breakfast time when he got back.'

‘And?'

‘And he had that look – the pupils dilated, that white tone to his skin, that stupid mellow expression on his face, I've seen it so many times before. I said it to him. He denied it of course!'

‘Mrs Harris, surely you should be talking to one of Josh's counsellors or the clinic he was in,' suggested Martha, feeling well out of her league.

‘He just wanted to see you, Martha, that's all.'

She followed Wendy Harris upstairs and knocked lightly on Josh's door before she entered.

He looked awful: skinny and pale, he was lying on the bed in a crumpled T-shirt and a pair of shorts, strung out, his eyes bleary.

‘How you doing, Martha?'

She said nothing, torn between anger and disappointment in him.

‘So Mohammed came to the mountain!' he joked, scratching his head and greasy hair.

‘Josh – why?'

He laughed.

‘I got high, and it's good, you know!'

‘I can't help you when you're like this,' she insisted, staring at him. ‘Why did you ask your mother to phone me?'

‘I wanted you to touch me,' he said slowly. ‘It's the only way to take the pain away, I need you to heal me.'

‘Heal you? Joshua, I can't heal you, the only person that can heal you is you.'

‘I can't do that,' he mumbled. ‘I can't do that.'

‘Yes you can, you know you can,' she cajoled.

He stayed silent, considering. Martha hoped that he would at least try again.

Wendy came into the room. ‘His father wants him to go back into rehab again,' she said nervously, pressing her arms and looking out into the dark. ‘They have a place for him.'

‘What do you want to do, Josh?' enquired Martha.

He turned his face to the wall, his eyes welling with tears.

Martha moved forward to comfort him. Putting her arms around him she could sense his disappointment in himself and his need to regain some independent control of his life. Her hands picked up that he was bloody and torn and battle weary. She tried to lift the gripping pain from
him, only succeeding in creating a small chink of light in such darkness.

‘I'll still be here, Josh,' she promised. ‘We can take up where we were and I'll work with you for as long as it takes, but first you have to sort out your drug problem.'

‘Josh baby, you need help!' pleaded his mother. ‘Your father has it all set up, we just have to call him.'

‘Joshua, listen to your mom and dad, they both love you and want what's best for you.'

Finally he agreed to be readmitted that night. Wendy phoned his father to arrange it. Glenn Harris was insistent that he would drive his son to the clinic in New Haven himself.

KIM AND RUTH
and Kathleen were all excited by the ‘Miracle Tour'. They had persuaded Martha that it was the only way she could get to see so many people and promised her there would be no cheap showmanship or freak show element to her visits to specifically chosen venues across the country.

‘There's enough money in the bank account to pay rental on the first few halls,' confirmed Ruth, who had taken over organizing the finances, ‘and to cover transport and accommodation.'

Unsure about the increased expansion of her healing and realizing it was unfair to expect her friends to put in so much work without payment, Martha proposed they should all take some form of salary.

Evie and Rianna said they didn't need it but Kim and Ruth admitted that with the hours they were putting in, it was welcome. Martha left the
arrangement of insurance, tax, and charity status to Ruth, who was the expert.

The ‘Miracle Tour', as the press called it, hit the road that fall, starting off in her home area and travelling up first of all to New York and New Jersey. Martha met hundreds of people as word of her visit spread. She tried to limit the size of the crowds so that she would have time with the sick, the hurt and the lonesome who came to her for comfort. She told them of their own energy and how they must harness and use it as she struggled to remember their names and faces.

Kathleen and Ruth had volunteered to come with her to Chicago and California, but Evie was unable to leave her shop. Because of the distances involved, Kim and Ruth had decided to use an events organizer to book the halls and make arrangements for them and do some low-key publicity.

In Chicago, over a month later, it lashed rain, but even the downpour could not deter those who came along to meet her at the converted gospel hall. Every race, every creed, excited and hopeful, were there ready to believe in her and the miracles. They opened themselves to the healing energy and her exhortation that they should try and heal themselves. Some sang, some prayed out loud as Martha worked.

Back in her hotel room Martha felt so alone, wound up, her thoughts racing after the session,
with no-one to talk to as the others had gone to bed. She missed the kids and resolved to phone them before she caught her early morning flight, glad that Mike had agreed to move back in and mind them for her for the few days.

California was different. She felt more relaxed as despite the three shows that were booked she was getting a chance to visit with her brother Brian and his wife Lisa, staying in their beautiful home in Mountainview, about an hour out of San Francisco.

They'd always been close as kids and when her older brother had pulled her into his arms asking, ‘What's up, sis?' she could honestly have wept.

They'd sat over a bottle of red wine late into the night, Lisa discreetly slipping away to bed so brother and sister could talk. She told him about the collapse of her marriage to Mike, the fights and bitterness between them, and the mounting pressures that had been too great to resolve.

‘Are you still speaking or communicating at all?'

‘We see each other once a week when he comes to dinner or when he collects the kids, and at the moment he's staying in Mill Street whilst I'm here,' she said.

‘Well, that's something!' her brother agreed, raising his eyes to heaven. ‘You know, Martha, I still can't believe it, the things you're doing. Jack and Annie were telling me about all the people you've helped. That sure must feel good!'

‘Sometimes. Other times it's not so good,' she said softly, telling him about Cass.

‘God, if the old man were alive he'd have you running for Congress!'

‘Oh hush, Brian!'

‘How are you feeling?'

‘I'm fine, not really tired at all. Believe it or not, my energy seems to go right up when I need it, when I'm healing.'

‘I don't know how in the hell you're keeping this all together, what with the kids and Mike. I honestly don't.'

‘I've got good people around me, old friends like Evie and Kathleen. I don't know what I'd do without them. Then there's Kim and Ruth and a whole bunch of other people that you mightn't know.'

Her brother topped up her glass with more wine, then sat on the couch. His dark curly hair was now receding, and he'd grown a beard since she last saw him.

‘How's Mom doing?' he asked.

‘She's fine. She and Bee play bridge one day a week and keep themselves occupied with all sorts of things.'