The Godforsaken Daughter (27 page)

Chapter thirty-three

M
artha Clare recovered sufficiently to leave intensive care, but unfortunately suffered a further setback: she had a stroke. She was discharged from hospital to be tended to at home. Paralyzed down one side, but still able to communicate, her speech slow, if a little slurred, meant that her daughter now became her full-time nurse and carer. Ruby did not resent this change, so suddenly foisted upon her. It was payback for all the trouble she’d visited on Oaktree, and her poor mother in particular. Being more confined to the house than ever before was her penance.

Ida Nettles proved a godsend in this regard. She agreed to look after Martha, so Ruby could continue her sessions at Rosewood Clinic and do the shopping once a week.

Today was one of those days. Ruby was seeing Dr. Shevlin for the first time since the accident.

She sat self-consciously in the consulting room, awaiting his arrival. She was nervous, not knowing what she was going to tell him. The last time she’d seen him was with her mother, who’d fainted, midsentence, right there beside her.

A lot had happened since that fateful day. Edna and the case were out of her life, but they weren’t out of her thoughts. She could not sleep. She was having fitful nights and frightening dreams.

Added to that, a conversation she’d had with May and June at the weekend had really upset her. They’d only just sat down at the supper table, having spent an hour behind closed doors with Martha.

“You know, if Mummy dies, this place will have to go under the hammer,” May had said, poking through her food and studiously avoiding Ruby’s eye.

“Hammer? What hammer?”

“Well, this house and farm will be left between the three of us. June and I want no part of it. You’ve brought it on all on yourself. God knows what you’ve let loose here, with that stupid case and your crazy antics. Nothing but bad luck, no doubt—as if we didn’t have enough.”

“Yes, so that’s why we want no part of it,” June chimed in. “We’ll be selling the lot. We’d like to buy a house in Belfast anyway, so the money from here will be very useful.”

Suddenly, the worst-case scenario, one she’d never for a minute anticipated, was being laid before Ruby. She was devastated.

“You
can’t
do that! You just
can’t.
This . . . this is
my
home. And Daddy’s land cannot be sold. Not
ever
!”

“Well, there’s only one way around it, Ruby.” May fixed her with a determined eye. “You’ll just have to somehow raise the money and buy us out. And there’s not much chance of that happening, because you don’t have anything, do you?”

“Or,” June said, taking up the baton, “or you get down on your knees, Ruby, and pray Mummy’s health improves and she lives a very long, long time.”

Dr. Shevlin opened the door of the consulting room, to find Ruby Clare in tears. She looked thinner than before, which wasn’t so surprising, given what she’d been through of late.

He shut the door, gently. “Ruby . . . good to see you again.”

“Hello, Doctor. I’m . . . I’m sorry I-I missed my appointment.”

“That’s all right. I understand. How is your mother, by the way?”

“She’s at home now, Doctor. She had a stroke . . . but . . . but she’s still able to talk.”

Ruby started to sob again. Henry sat down. He pushed the tissue box across the coffee table. Just let her cry for a while more. Then: “In your own time, Ruby. There’s . . . there’s no rush.”

Ruby balled the sodden tissue in her hand and withdrew another one. “When . . . when Mammy dies,” she began. “When Mammy dies, I’m going to have nowhere to go . . . ’cos May and June say they’re gonna be sellin’ the house and farm ’cos of what I did. And . . . and I knew something terrible like this was gonna happen ’cos I burned the case . . . And now . . .”

“Ruby, do you know that ninety percent of what we worry about never actually happens?”

She shook her head.

“Now, first off: nobody knows when your mother’s going to die, not even your sisters. She’s still in her sixties, and many people can recover from strokes at her age.”

“Can they?”

“Yes. Secondly: you can clear that other thing up by asking your mother how she’s made her will.”

“I can’t ask her that, Doctor! She
. . .
she would only think that I was just wantin’ her to die even more. I know what she’s like.”

“Her friend, the priest. Father what’s-his-name?”

“Kelly.”

“Father Kelly . . . You know, we psychiatrists and priests have quite a bit in common. We can help things along. You could ask Father Kelly to ask your mother. She wouldn’t mind telling
him
.”

“Maybe,” Ruby said, brightening a little. “Father Kelly’s very good. He
. . .
he helped me burn the case.”

“Good. You burned it, then? How did that make you feel?”

“I was glad. But then . . . but then I kept thinking something bad’s gonna happen. And now it
is
happening, ’cos they’re gonna be selling Oaktree.”

“And why do you think that something bad is going to happen?”

“’Cos Edna—that’s my grandmother—she . . . she didn’t want it burned. Now that it’s burned, the house and land has to go, too.”

“How do you know that’s what your grandmother wanted?”

“She tolt me.”

“So she was alive until recently?”

“No . . . she died when I was a baby. But . . . but when I found the case she started to talk to me.”

“I see . . . So . . . if she died when you were small . . . how did you know the voice belonged to
her
?”

“I didn’t, but it must of been her . . . or . . . or Dana.” All at once, a look of terror came into Ruby’s eyes. “Oh God, I shouldn’t have tolt you about the voices. Now
. . .
now you’ll put me in St. Ita’s!”

“No, Ruby, I’m not going to put you in St. Ita’s. Who’s Dana?”

“She’s-she’s a goddess . . . an Irish goddess.”

“Ah . . . the mother of the Tuatha de Danann.”

Ruby amazed. “You know about them, Doctor?”

“The children of Danu? Yes, also known as the faerie folk.”

“But, how did you know that, Doctor?”

“Oh, I read a lot and I studied Celtic mythology at school. Was it Dana you were celebrating at the lake that night?”

Ruby nodded and hung her head. “I thought . . . I thought I’d see her, but I only saw meself.”

Ruby might be claiming that she heard voices, but Henry could see that she was no schizophrenic.

“Hmmm . . . And the voices you heard. Those voices, Ruby, they were yours, too.”

“Aye, maybe.” She kept her head bowed, too ashamed to meet the doctor’s eye.

“Now, what I am going to do is help you to relax so that you can forget all about your grandmother and her case. All right?”

From listening to Ruby, and what he’d gleaned of her family circumstances to date, Henry drew the following conclusions.

She was a young woman who had suffered the loss of the two things in her life she held dear: her beloved father and the farm. The mother, while not the architect of that first tragedy, was certainly the author of the second one. Little wonder that Ruby went against her wishes by not burning the case. It was the only way she had of gaining some control in an otherwise dire situation. When Ruby opened it and found her grandmother’s magical effects, her subconscious had set about creating the life she yearned for.

He thought back to the Tarot cards, the items from her ritual by the lake. Those objects she put her trust in because she couldn’t face reality. It was safer to retreat into dreams and delusion. And, in that respect, the case had been of some benefit. It filled a need. Mysticism saved Ruby from suffering a dark depression. Something she was now in danger of falling into, since everything she’d put her faith in had been taken away.

Given how suggestible she’d shown herself to be, Henry concluded that a few sessions of hypnotherapy might prove to be the most beneficial approach in the first instance.

“Now, Ruby, we’re going to try something called hypnosis to help you get rid of all these unhelpful thoughts.”

“Are you . . . are you gonna put me to sleep, Doctor?”

“No, you’ll hear my voice but you’ll feel very relaxed, that’s all. Afterwards, you’ll remember all we talked about, but your worries and your thoughts about your grandmother—and the case and the voices you heard—I’m going to take them all away, so you won’t be bothered by them anymore.”

“Can you really do that?” Ruby asked in surprise.

“Yes. Trust me. The method I’m going to use is even more powerful than those Tarot cards you showed me. And more powerful than any of the objects you found in your grandmother’s case. Okay?”

Ruby settled herself on the couch and, at Henry’s instruction, closed her eyes.

“Now, I want you to imagine you’re lying in a beautiful meadow . . . a beautiful meadow with the loveliest pink flowers. The sun is shining . . . the birds are singing. Everything is calm
. . .
calm and relaxed. You feel warm
. . .
and comfortable
. . .
and very relaxed.” Henry slowed down his words to mirror Ruby’s breathing. “You can smell the beautiful scent of the flowers. You can hear the birds singing
. . .
and feel the warmth of the sun on your face. Your body feels heavy
. . .
arms and legs heavy and comfortable and very relaxed
. . .
going deeper and deeper into this beautiful state . . .”

Very soon, with soothing repetition, Ruby had slipped into a trancelike state of measured, slow breathing.

“Now your body is floating, Ruby. Floating off the ground and above the meadow into the sky . . . and gently . . . very gently, you land on a cloud . . . the most beautiful, soft, white cloud. And the more you sink down into that cloud, the more relaxed you become. All the worries
. . .
and stress
. . .
they’re all melting away
. . .
and now you are resting comfortably in a deep and peaceful state, lying on this soft, fluffy cloud
. . .
going deeper and deeper
. . .
relaxing deeper and deeper
. . .
until
. . .
I call you back. But for now
. . .
you will only hear my voice and accept those suggestions which will be of benefit to you, and which you are willing to accept.

“The past is over
. . .
the future is new and full of possibilities. You are happy and contented. Everything comes easily to you. Money
. . .
good friends
. . .
fine health
. . .
restful sleep. Every morning, you wake up full of joy, and this joy remains with you throughout every hour of the day, no matter how people treat you. No matter what happens. When others say bad things to you or treat you unkindly, you know they are just unhappy with themselves and their own lives. But that has nothing to do with you, Ruby, because you have the power within you to remain in this beautiful state of peace and joy. And no one—absolutely no one—can take this joy away from you, because they don’t have the power to do that. You no longer give them the power to do that. For, anytime you feel threatened, you will bring your thumb and forefinger together to form the letter
O
, and this
O
will be a sign to your subconscious mind that you have the power
. . .
and you will use this power
. . .
this power that is always here within you, waiting to be used
. . .
waiting to help you.”

Ruby’s thumb and forefinger came together to form the
O
at Henry’s prompting.

“This feeling
. . .
this beautiful feeling of peace and joy
. . .
is your natural state, Ruby. It was ever thus. Every night, you will go to bed contented, and fall immediately into a deep and restful sleep. Every morning, you will wake up renewed and refreshed, ready to face the day.”

Ruby’s features relaxed more, a smile forming.

“You will look back on this experience as the day your life changed, turning all the coming days into happy
. . .
fulfilling days. Turning all the nights into peaceful, restful nights. From this day forward, you will be able to act and think and feel like everything is possible
. . .
everything is possible.

“Now I am going to count from one to five, and at the count of five, Ruby, you will open your eyes and be wide awake, fully alert and completely refreshed.”

Henry began slowly counting down. On the cue of five, Ruby opened her eyes. She smiled, looked down at her hand, and gasped.

“That’s the sign of the Goddess,” she said, eyes wide with wonder.

“Yes, it may well be, Ruby. It’s the sign of creative power and now it’s yours. Just make that sign anytime you feel stressed, and all the calm you felt during our session will return to you.”

“It will?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s not bad
. . .
the sign?”

“No. Why do you think it might be bad?”