Miracle Woman (24 page)

HENRY MADISON PUT
his hand in his trouser pocket, searching for the pen. Trying the top drawer and the cracked blue jug on the middle shelf of the dresser, eventually he found the good silver fountain pen he wanted. He got out the heavy quality writing paper and sat himself down at the kitchen table. Thankfully William was otherwise occupied watching
Star Wars,
his favourite movie.

It felt awkward composing a letter to a total stranger, something he really was not given to, but at this stage he had to resort to desperate measures. Every day he was becoming more and more incapacitated and immobile; the pain when he walked was excruciating and even standing for too long was making him grimace. The local clinic had made an appointment for him with a specialist who'd done all the tests and recommended a hip replacement, saying there had been a huge amount of degeneration of the joint. A few
weeks in hospital, time afterwards convalescing and no heavy lifting or work for a few months, the surgeon had explained to him. Already Henry knew it would be impossible for him to go ahead with such a procedure. First off, who would mind William while he was in hospital and convalescing? His forty-five-year-old brother did not take well to strangers or to change. Then there was the whole question of not being able to lift or work for a long time afterwards. Who would there be to wash and dress him and take him for walks if he couldn't do it? The quandary was that if he didn't have the operation, in another year or two he might no longer be able to manage looking after his disabled brother anyways.

The responsibility lay heavy with him and Henry had consulted a few people about it. Regina Brown his social worker had assured him that she could pull a few strings and fix up a respite care bed for William somewhere close by and keep a good watch that he was doing OK. But Henry knew how upset William got whenever he attempted to leave him, crying and hollering like a toddler, and seeming totally bereft. Assurances and promises that he would come back were of no value as his brother had no concept of time or the future. It sure was a headache and he could see no way of resolving the dilemma. Celeste McGraw his neighbour, who sometimes watched William for him, had even offered to move into the apartment and mind him. It was a kind offer but one he
would not be taking her up on, as even after a morning or evening minding him Celeste was exhausted. So how on earth would she last out for weeks!

Henry had no sister or other family he could turn to, and was not prepared to just go abandon his troublesome brother. There had to be another way.

He had been depressed about it, so depressed he had missed his meeting of the local historical society and the monthly poetry group. He was not in the mood for rhymes and words and research papers, with William totally unaware of the concerns he had about him.

Then by chance he had read the interview with the woman in Boston who was said to be able to heal, to perform miracles. Apparently many believed in her and said she was a truly good person. Henry, at first sceptical, reading it over and over again, wondered if this Martha McGill person might be able to help him. He had never been the type of man looking for charity or help but reading about the New England housewife and the numbers of people who had claimed to have been healed by her, he couldn't help but wonder if the Good Lord might see fit to help him, through this woman.

His own Presbyterian faith had always been strong and had sustained him through many difficult years. Growing up he supposed he had never really realized the burden his young brother had
placed on their mother and father. He'd been busy at school and then later college and studying to become a teacher, something he had always wanted, the chance to grow and learn himself and the opportunity to open young minds. William had been in and out of special schools and day care facilities since about the age of five, his mother and father ignoring the advice to place him in a state-run institution that could deal with his needs. His mother was insistent she could cope and was not going to put her ‘special child' away, no matter what the psychologists and psychiatrists recommended.

By twenty his brother was tall and big and a whole heap of trouble, needing constant watching. Henry would relieve some of the pressure on his ageing parents during school holidays, entertaining William, taking him for walks, devising activities that would help to keep him occupied, but he was always grateful when summer ended and he could return to the classroom. Marilyn and Joe Madison were left to manage on their own. They had died within four months of each other and Henry had taken leave from Rigby Junior High to look after his brother temporarily.

The weeks had stretched to months and by the end of the year he knew he would never be able to work a full-time job while his brother needed him. So he had stayed home, correcting exam papers, contributing articles on education and history to various journals, and privately tutoring local
students who were weak. The opportunity to have a wife and home and family of his own somehow just passed him by. Sophia Ferrari, the pretty young science teacher he had developed a passion for, was put off for ever after a distressing dinner at their home when William had peed himself. He was not carping about his life, the pattern it had followed, the journeys to Rome and Venice and Paris never taken. His only concern was here and now and what would happen to his brother if he was not able to take care of him . . .

A MULTITUDE GATHERED
in the old Tanner Radford school building waiting for the Healer, the Miracle Woman, Martha McGill to appear. Kim and Ruth and Kathleen had organized it all – the rental of the building, and the discreet notice in the paper – and had contacted all those on the crowded appointment waiting list, inviting them to come along to Martha's first open healing session.

Mike McGill drew in a deep breath on seeing the large number of people who had turned out on a cold wet Saturday afternoon in mid-February to see his wife. Nervously his eyes flicked to the exit door at the back of the hall.

Also nervous and full of misgivings, Martha could feel herself trembling, for she was not used to standing up in public in front of groups of people. Evie gave her arm a reassuring squeeze as she took in the huge crowd that had gathered for the healing session. There were far more present
than any of them had expected. How could she possibly help so many people, talk to them, even connect with them! Martha's stomach churned with anxiety and dread; she had no idea what lay ahead.

As she walked up the hall through an open passageway between the metal chairs, every eye seemed to follow her, every head turn. Curious, needful, sick and hopeful, they stared at her. Martha's mouth was dry with anxiety, perspiration already clinging to her pale lilac shirt. Mary Rose, Evie and Martha had spent almost an hour back at home trying to figure out what was the right kind of thing to wear for a healing session without wanting to appear too clerical or flaky. A white suit, a long floor-length cream dress, a smart, figure-hugging black two-piece? Eventually they decided on a pale grey knitted suit that was both comfortable and classic. Mary Rose, hugging her, told her she looked just great.

‘You OK, Martha?' asked Mike, concerned and sensing her shock at the numbers.

‘Yeah, I guess.' Taking a deep breath, she tried to reassure him as much as herself, knowing full well his opposition to the afternoon and his reservations about holding such an event.

‘They've all crawled out of the woodwork,' he muttered darkly, ‘the poor divils!'

‘Mike!' she chastised.

Evie marched on ahead of her. Kim, Ruth, Kathleen and Rianna, already sitting there in
the front row, got up and hugged and warmly welcomed her, the crowd breaking into a spontaneous round of applause as if she was some sort of entertainer who was going to perform for them.

Evie stood on the raised dais and turned to face them all. She began to speak but a few people from the back called out that they couldn't hear her, as the microphone wasn't working. Martha and Evie's eyes locked apprehensively. How on earth had they got themselves in such a position? The janitor appeared from the side and produced an old-fashioned microphone. After a few minutes' fumbling, he got it to work, it crackled loudly before settling into the level necessary for Evie to speak.

Evie coughed, clearing her throat, and Martha recognized the familiar dogged ‘I can do this!' expression set firmly on her face as she began to speak to the audience.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are all very welcome to this hall today. I know that many of you have been writing and phoning and emailing Martha for the past few months, trying to reach her and hoping that she might be able to provide some healing for you and whatever situation you find yourself in. Today is a response to that need, and I can tell you that both Martha and I are amazed at the numbers here.

‘Martha McGill is one of my oldest and dearest friends and I count myself lucky to have known her for so long and to witness this gift of healing
that has been bestowed on her. Martha is a good person, she has always been that way and I know hand on heart that she will do her best to help each and every one of you!' Evie smiled, looking over at her. ‘The format will be as follows. For those that need healing: each one of you come up, in turn, to meet Martha. There will be no singing or choirs, and Martha asks that you all try and keep as quiet as possible during this session of her laying on her hands, so that she can hear and talk to those she is working with. We hope that you will all have individual time with Martha and ask those who are finished to exit quietly by the side door on my right. Now I would like to introduce you to the woman herself – Martha McGill.'

A ripple of applause went through the room as Martha stepped forward. She could feel herself almost shaking at the huge expectancy of the crowd, but managed to steady herself as she greeted them.

‘Friends! Thank you for coming along today. I don't know what will happen over the next few hours but all I can do is ask the Holy Spirit to guide all of us gathered here.' Glancing around the hall she felt the overwhelming wave of good will towards her, but was slightly taken aback to notice the journalist Lara Chadwick sitting only about six rows from the front.

She stepped back from the microphone as Evie called the first person. An elderly woman walked stiffly forwards, her joints obviously causing her
pain and slowing her down as she approached the dais.

‘Marjorie Buchanan from Lexington,' she introduced herself. ‘My daughter Felice drove me here.'

Martha studied the resolute face of a woman who had lived through much joy and sorrow in her long life, and was now almost disabled by chronic rheumatoid disease. ‘Sit down, Marjorie,' she offered, taking hold of her hand automatically, feeling the stiff swollen fingers and sensing the other woman's discomfiture at having to seek help from anyone.

‘Can you do anything to help? I know I'm no spring chicken and I shouldn't expect much at my age, it's just that sometimes the pain gets so bad that I . . .'

‘It's all right, Marjorie.'

Martha ran her hands over the older woman's shoulders and down the length of her arms, feeling the pain and discomfort there. She then placed a hand firmly on either knee and felt the jarring misplacement of inflamed and diseased joints, an intense heat flowing from her hands, soothing the inflammation and damping it down. Very gently she ran the palms of her hands down along each leg and foot in turn.

‘Can you feel anything, Marjorie? The healing is passing through me to you.'

The grey-haired head nodded. ‘I feel like a burning inside me, everything feels hot and different.'

‘That's good,' murmured Martha, concentrating.

She took Marjorie's hands in her own, massaging the fingers and knuckles with her own hands, wanting the joints to ease and loosen. The older woman watched intently as Martha prayed.

When she'd finished, Marjorie slowly left the platform and the crowd watched in expectation as her daughter stepped forward to help her. If they had expected the seventy-five-year-old woman to bounce out of the hall like a twenty-two-year-old then Martha knew they must be disappointed, but she herself felt better, noticing that Marjorie was a little less stiff and took her daughter's hand easily.

A tall handsome young man was next and Martha tried not to flinch when Harry Broderick told her that he had been diagnosed with Aids two years previously and wasn't ready to die no matter what any doctors or hospitals said. She embraced him, feeling the pain deep within the realms of his soul, the pain of rejection and fear that was making him worse. Closing her eyes she laid her hands on his chest, right over his heart, sending the warmth and healing through his body and spirit, asking the Lord to mind this precious son and protect him from further hurt. A shudder went through him and Martha sensed some of the release that Harry was going through. ‘You OK?' she asked as she held his hand and prayed,
touched by his inner spirituality, which would help him much over the coming months.

Andrea Bennet blushed when she first stepped up. The overweight young woman from Cambridge was deeply embarrassed as she told the woman healer about the medical condition that made the hair on her head fall out yet forced her to have to shave her body; her ovaries were covered in small cysts that she felt had destroyed her chance of becoming a mother even though she and her husband George were anxious to start a family. ‘I don't feel like a woman no more,' she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. ‘I don't know how George can stand it.'

Martha's sympathy went out to the young wife and she placed her hands firmly over the area that was causing the problem, both of them praying for the spirit to help. When Andrea stood up to leave, Martha wished her and her partner well.

‘You are a wonderful young woman, Andrea, and when the time is right you will be a wonderful mother too.'