Miracle Woman (26 page)

‘Martha, it was just amazing what you did there today. The response from those who got to meet you and have healing, I've never seen anything like it,' admitted Kim, who was whacked herself and longed for a soothing warm bath.

‘All those people believing in you and having such faith,' Kathleen commented. ‘I don't know how you handle it so well, I'd have a freakout!'

‘And what about that guy in the leather jacket? God, did you see him! He was limping real bad when he came up to you and then after, he could put weight back on the foot and walk.'

‘Hey, that was something! Did you know you were going to be able to do that?'

‘Sean was in a lot of pain, I just helped to release some of it, that's all,' she insisted, twisting her long hair back up in a clip neatly.

‘There was a news hound there with a camera,' said Mike seriously. ‘I told them to stop filming but I think they got your friend Sean on tape. I saw them talking together outside afterward.'

‘Shit,' said Evie. ‘That's all we want!'

‘Lara Chadwick was there too,' Kathleen added. ‘She wanted you to do an interview with her, but Kim and I put her off and told her you'd be much too tired.'

‘Thanks,' murmured Martha, as Mike refilled her glass.

Her husband was unusually quiet, talking to Jim at the far end of the table. Martha wondered what was bothering him. ‘Mike – what did you think?' she asked.

Martha knew her husband well, and if there was one thing she could always be sure of as far as he was concerned it was his honesty.

‘I have to admit everything went well today, better than I imagined. You girls had everything well organized and I guess I was surprised by how many people are out there, needing help.'

‘We told you!' teased Kim.

‘I'm just worried about that news guy and his pal with the fancy camera, that's all.'

‘C'mon, Mike, forget it and enjoy your food,' urged Jim as the waiters carried over trays of piping hot pizza, layered with tomatoes and
peppers and cheese and mushrooms. ‘There's nothing you can do about it now. So enjoy!'

Martha glanced around the table, raising her glass to them all.

‘Thank you! Thanks, everyone, for helping today. I don't know what I'd have done without you all. One thing I am sure of is that I am blessed to have such good friends.'

Martha barely tasted her pasta and salad as she thought back over the past few hours and all those who had come to her, confided in her, and asked for help; she hoped that she had not failed them.

As the others chatted and talked around her she was quiet, tired out, yawning by the time they came to say goodnight, and dozing in the leather back seat of their Lincoln sedan as Mike dropped Evie home first.

TAYLOR FARENTINO TURNED
around in the bed, feeling the sheet wrap around his middle. His soft Tigger toy fell to the floor as he waited for that familiar cold wet feel and the strong smell of his urine to assail him.

He turned around and glanced at the clock. It was almost seven and he waited for his mom and dad to come in and shout and give out. His hand slipped down to his pyjama bottom. It was dry! Maybe it had dried out in his sleep. He felt around him, then rolled out of the bed, pushing off his navy and yellow patterned planets and stars bedcover, letting his hand rest against his mattress cover. It was dry.

He blinked and ran across the landing, pushing into the unlocked bathroom behind his dad, who was busy shaving.

‘Hey, Taylor!' he shouted.

Taylor made straight for the toilet and let the
yellow gold of his urine flow down into the white bowl.

The lady had told him he could do it! She'd told him, and somehow he'd believed her.

Hank Freeman worked at his desk in the newsroom at WBZ4. The footage was great, Don had got the crowds and the Peterson guy walking back down the aisle. OK, so they didn't have the actual moment of truth, but they had a bloody miracle on film.

Hank had wanted to run with the story on the Saturday nine o'clock spot but T.J., the show's editor, had insisted on him checking out this Sean Peterson and getting confirmation of the bike accident he'd been injured in, and some background in case the guy was a con artist or some sort of nut. Hank had spent all day Sunday in the clippings room and had come up with a few lines about the Tragic Bike couple story. Taking the address, he had phoned and organized an interview with Sean's mother. A born talker, she had told him all he needed to know. With the corroboration he needed the story would definitely run, T.J. saying the network might pick up on it too.

IT'S A MIRACLE!
and MIRACLE WOMAN HEALS AGAIN!

Martha ignored the headlines as best she could, Mike and the kids poring over the papers that carried photos of the young motorcyclist Sean, who claimed to have been healed by her.

The story was given huge coverage on the local news channel. Hank Freeman had interviewed both Sean and his mother and scooped with actual footage of Saturday's session and the tragic fact that Sean Peterson's girlfriend had died in the motorbike accident. Poor Sean, thought Martha, glad that she had been instrumental in freeing him of his pain and his guilt.

All hell broke loose when she got to the store. Evie told her that there had literally been hundreds of callers trying to get in touch with her and that she had caught some people taking photos of her premises.

‘I'm sorry,' Martha apologized.

‘Hey, come on! It could be good for business!'

Trying to ignore the constant interruptions Martha did her best to focus on the morning's clients, Kim, much to her relief, arriving to answer the phone. ‘I guessed it would be all hands on deck today,' she joked as she took over.

It was crazy and by lunchtime Kim and Kathleen had been approached by numerous organizations and halls both local and out of state from Providence to Springfield, New York to Philadelphia, asking could they book a healing session with the Miracle Woman? Both of them took down the details. Ruth had made a list of those journals and magazines who wanted to interview Martha or do a feature on her, curious to discover about her healing gift, and she had been invited on to morning TV for an interview. Evie advised her not to rush into anything and to take her time about making decisions: there was no need to go running around exhausting herself if she didn't want to.

‘I counted the money left in envelopes in the donation box in the Tanner Radford hall,' Ruth informed her, ‘and it more than covers the rent, so I suggest we put it in the bank account to go towards all your expenses.'

‘Expenses?'

‘Your rent here, the phone, gas.'

‘Ruth, I told you I didn't want to start charging people. I don't want to be like those guys on the TV getting poor sick people to donate every spare
dollar to me, or making them pledge their savings. I'm not doing this for the money.'

‘I know that, but you know Mike is going to get pretty pissed if he has to start paying for all these things. It's not like you're charging anyone, believe me! Only those that can genuinely afford it will make a donation.'

Martha felt uncomfortable about the money situation but she knew that Evie had hardly taken any money from her, even though she was renting the whole building. It wasn't right to take unfair advantage of their friendship. She'd talk to Evie and to Mike about it.

Alice had a half-day from school on Wednesday and Martha promised to collect her, and then drive her to her friend's later. Back home she made a big fluffy omelette, which the two of them shared.

‘You OK, honey?'

Alice just nodded, not saying much.

Martha watched as her youngest daughter sat on the carpet playing, a selection of plastic Barbie dolls and ponies and horses placed strategically around the furniture. ‘I thought you were going to Jessica's house today, pet? What time do you want me to drop you over?' she asked.

Alice kept on playing with a skewbald jumping along the blue-lined carpet edging, her head down, concentrating. Her chin stuck out.

‘You don't have to drop me, Mom.'

‘Is Jessica's mom collecting you here then?'

Her eight-year-old daughter shook her head firmly, her red-gold hair catching the afternoon sunlight.

‘I'm not going to Jessie's today, or any day,' she said matter-of-factly, her head and eyes glued to the floor again.

Martha stopped what she was doing, leaving the pile of washing she was sorting and folding down on the table.

‘What is it? Did you two have a fight or something?'

Her daughter remained silent. Obstinately she bounced the soft brown and white animal higher.

‘I'm not going over to her stupid house, that's all, Mom, no big deal.'

Martha sat down on the couch beside her, displacing a vivid pink sports car that her brother had sent Alice on her last birthday. ‘Are you sure the plans have changed, Alice?' she asked.

Her daughter shook her head.

‘Do you want to phone your friend and ask her to come over here? I'll collect her if you want. Maybe her mom is busy?'

Alice made no response, studiously avoiding answering her.

‘Didn't you hear me, Alice?'

‘I'm not phoning her mom! I'm not! Anyways she won't be let over here to play,' declared her daughter firmly.

‘You don't know that!'

‘I do, Mom, I do.'

‘What is it, baby, what is it?' asked Martha, hunkering down beside her, knowing that Alice was trying to hide something from her. ‘Just tell me what it is.'

Alice hesitated, glancing up at her as if watching for a reaction. ‘Jessie's mom says that you're some sort of freak. A witch! And that Jessie ain't let play with me any more,' she said.

‘Jessie's mom said
that
?'

‘She isn't let come play with me any more. Jessie said she don't want to come to a witch's house anyways.'

Martha was appalled by the stricken look on her daughter's face, the hurt brought upon her for no reason. ‘You don't believe that, Alice. That's crazy talk.'

Alice made no reply.

‘Alice baby, you
know
that's crazy sort of talk,' Martha insisted. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. From what she remembered of the child's mother from her last school meeting she was one of those parents who complained loudly and pointedly about everything.

Alice screwed up her small face, wrinkling her nose, trying not to cry, a sniffle escaping despite herself. Martha pulled her onto her lap.

‘It's all right, Alice pet, I'm sorry about your friend, honest I am. Some people when they don't understand something they put a label on it, more
often than not the wrong label,' she said angrily. ‘You don't think I'm a witch, do you?'

Alice shook her tousled head emphatically. ‘No! You're my mom.'

Martha held her daughter close, breathing in the smell of her skin and hair. That child smell she so loved was now almost gone, but Alice still needed protection and support like she did when she was an infant.

‘What did you say to Jessie?'

‘I told her you don't have a pointy hat or a broom and that you're not a witch, but that you can help sick people when you lay your hands on them and that the earth and spirit help you.'

Martha put her hand across her mouth.

‘Sort of like magic, a Harry Potter thing!'

Martha burst out laughing, hugging Alice tight.

‘Good girl!'

Mike was angry that night when he heard.

‘Narrow-minded bigots,' he said angrily, flicking off the computer screen. ‘How dare that woman say such things to her child. God knows what rumours she's spreading around about you.'

‘Calm down, Mike. People won't believe such things. I know a lot of the parents in the school, do you honestly think they'd believe that of me?'

She was disquieted by her husband's non-committal shrug.

‘Martha, at eight hearing people call your mother a fucking witch is no fun, believe me! It's
not fair on Alice or Mary Rose or Patrick to be subjected to something like this.'

‘They haven't been!'

‘Come off it, Martha, Patrick was in a scrap last week.'

‘He never said anything to me about it, Mike!' she protested.

‘He's not going to do
that
– come and tell you the other kids are saying things about his mom? Wanting him to perform miracles in the school canteen, turn bread rolls into pizza!'

‘God, I don't believe you!'

‘Pete Golden told me about it,' said Mike, raising his eyes to meet hers. ‘His boy's in the same year.'

‘Mike, I can't believe it. What kind of people would let their kids say or do such things? Hurt a little kid like Alice who has done nothing, absolutely nothing to anyone.'

‘Except be your daughter.'

‘Oh, Mike, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I never imagined people could be so mean.'

Mike swivelled his chair around to face her.

‘Patrick gave as good as he got, but you know he's at a sensitive age. Last thing a boy his age wants is to be picked out as different from his friends. You know he just wants to be part of the pack.'

Martha nodded. Their son was not yet one of those tall hairy creatures who appeared every so
often at their home, acne-marked skin and deep voiced, legs and arms stretched to some new proportion. Patrick was witty and funny and had much of his father's good looks and charm, yet they both knew his young confidence could be easily shattered.

‘I'll talk to him tomorrow,' she promised. ‘There's got to be something he can say or do to . . .'

‘Will you stop kidding yourself!' Mike shouted. ‘You know what's happening to you is having a huge impact on the lives of everyone in this house. We can't pretend it isn't.'