Miracle Woman (32 page)

Erik was her rock and without him she did not know how she could have carried on. He was there for her and the boys, unflinching no matter how bad things got, constant in a tornado of utter change. Her husband refused to give up and accept the time span the doctors had allotted her; he was ready to wage battle against the might of an unseen enemy, somehow believing they could win! It was Erik who had heard about the woman
from Massachusetts, the woman who was said to have the power to heal, like a saint in the Bible able to perform miracles. Thea had little belief in miracles but seeing the hope in her husband's eyes had agreed to his trying to contact her, pleading with him not to expect anything.

The miracle was that Martha McGill had actually responded, not to the letters and phone calls but to the five-minute home video that Erik had shot of the family, and that she had driven all the way up to West Hartford to see her.

Thea had been embarrassed at first at the thought of a stranger coming to her home; would she be a bible-thumping Jesus freak or a wacky new age spiritualist who would chant around her? Much to her surprise, Martha was neither and the two of them had got along just fine, Thea feeling unusually relaxed and open. A wife and mother like herself, Martha with her understanding eyes and easy manner seemed to have a rare understanding and empathy for what she was going through, and a line of complete trust had developed between them. The healer had made her lie down and then without even saying a word laid her hands right on her.

At once Thea had been aware of the enormous heat and energy that seemed to flow towards her as Martha began to lightly run her hands all over her body, concentrating on the areas that had been mentioned as trouble spots. She knew Martha had been startled when she touched the
area where the aggressive tumour encased part of her spinal column, but unwaveringly she had continued, Thea giving herself up to the pleasant sensation of sunshine that enveloped her as Martha worked.

Afterwards, she couldn't explain it but she felt better – maybe it was a placebo effect, but whatever it was she was in less pain and seemed to have more energy. Erik kissed her and told her she even looked more beautiful.

‘That Martha lady sure has a special effect, in that case!' she joked.

Martha came again and again, once a month and with every visit the advance of Thea's cancer just seemed to slow and halt. How Thea laughed when the doctors rechecked her X-rays and re-examined her, baffled, but admitting cautiously that perhaps she was in some form of temporary remission.

Thea didn't care what the reason was, all she knew was that the Good Lord was giving her more time to spend with her husband and boys, more days to sit in the sun and enjoy his greatness, and that somehow the healer, Martha, was connected with it . . .

MARTHA'S TIME WAS
taken up by her healing work. Many people were so sick, their conditions gone too far for her to be able to heal, that instead they needed the gift of acceptance. Wounds and injuries, twisted muscles and nerves, responded best to her touch, and like her forebears she seemed to be able to stop bleeding and encourage scars and tears and breaks to the body to renew and mend. Other diseases proved more difficult, the willpower and faith of the sufferer determining much.

She was surprised to get a call from
Soul and Spirit,
the network's popular daytime TV show which looked at new age therapies and ways to enjoy life as it explored the human mind, body and soul. The programme's producer asked Martha if she'd be prepared to take part as they would love to have her on the programme. At first reluctant to place herself in the public eye again, she agreed to do it only when the producer
told her that Catherine Morgan the healer had already agreed to present five of the shows and had suggested inviting Martha on. Talking to Catherine later on that night at home, Martha hoped she'd made a wise decision.

‘Martha, half Boston is talking about you already! This way the viewers will get the truth and find out about your work and your dedication to it and make up their own minds,' Catherine assured her.

The show was a great success, Martha at ease with Catherine as they discussed many aspects of healing and the aspirations of those who came to her. Catherine got her to talk about her childhood and the influences they shared. Long after they were off the air they continued the discussion when they had supper with a few of the crew in a restaurant near Catherine's home.

The days after the show saw a fresh wave of people in search of miracles and hope contacting her, from Texas to Utah, from Baltimore to Sacramento. Martha was unfortunately unable to meet even a tiny percentage of those who pleaded their case. Kim and Kathleen handled the huge amount of enquiries and diplomatically wrote and said no on her behalf.

Glenn Harris, a stockbroker and investment dealer, the darling of Boston's business press and financial community, was among them. Martha was amazed when she was approached directly by
his personal assistant and asked if she would make an exception and meet Mr Harris for lunch. Politely she refused: wealth and prestige had absolutely no bearing as far as she was concerned and the man was welcome to join the huge waiting list if he wanted to.

She was busy in the upstairs room working on a small baby that suffered from terrible colicky pain when Glenn Harris in person came knocking on her door.

Excusing herself for a minute, she stepped outside, annoyed at the interruption. Politely she asked him to leave as she was busy.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Harris,' she said, ‘but I thought I'd made it very clear that I can't see you.'

‘My, but you are a hard woman to track down,' he interrupted, standing in his immaculately tailored suit looking totally out of place.

‘Please, Mr Harris, I am very busy with people who need my help,' she insisted. ‘If you want to see me I'm afraid you will have to join the waiting list.'

She could sense his annoyance and his struggle to contain his anger. ‘Is there any exception to this list?' he asked.

Obviously he was used to bribing his way to the top of every queue, just dangling his chequebook in order to be seen.

‘The only exceptions are those that are extremely sick and in desperate need,' Martha added firmly.

‘Then this definitely meets your criteria,' he said emphatically.

Martha looked directly at him. Silver haired and of average height, with a muscular build, which perhaps veered on being overweight, Glenn Harris looked otherwise fit and healthy. She waited for him to confide his problems to her.

A serious expression crossed his face.

‘I'm not talking about myself, woman! It's about my son.' All his bluster and arrogance suddenly disappeared at the mention of his son's name. ‘I need to talk to you about Joshua.'

Martha gestured for him to take a seat in the waiting area.

‘I will be about another twenty minutes or so with the little fellow inside,' she said. ‘Perhaps we could have a quick word then.'

Glenn Harris was still waiting for her. She sat across from him in the other chair. ‘I don't know where to begin,' he apologized, obviously trying to control his feelings.

‘Mr Harris, just tell me about your son, tell me about Joshua.'

‘I guess Josh was the best kid any man could have!'

She passed him a glass of water as she could see how emotional he was.

‘My wife Wendy and I adore him, and everything he has ever wanted or needed I have been lucky enough to be able to provide for him. That
is . . . until recently. Two, maybe three years ago, when he went to college he got mixed up with a bad crowd, well, a wrong crowd! They started experimenting, messing with drugs. He had the money, and my son developed a very expensive habit and dropped out. It's been a nightmare ever since. His drugs, his uppers and downers, quack doctors, leeches of friends, hangers on, I refuse to pay one more red cent for the tools that are destroying my son.'

Martha sighed. The same old story – a kid gone off the rails and the parents expecting someone else to clear up the mess. ‘What do you want me to do?' she asked.

‘I want you to help me get my son back, work one of those famous miracles of yours and restore my son to me, cured of these addictions,' he said emphatically.

‘With the best will in the world, Mr Harris, it needs to be your son sitting in this chair, not you.'

‘I know that,' he said, leaning forward. ‘God knows I know that, but to get him to come to you, I'm not sure. He's been in and out of every rehab and detox centre on the East Coast. There's always promises, programmes and . . .'

‘Then?'

‘Then – then he falls off the wagon.'

Automatically Martha reached for his hand, feeling the struggle within him.

‘I love my son, Mrs McGill. Wendy and I had only the one child and I guess we poured all our
love and energy into him. They say it's tough being an only child. Being the only child of a very wealthy man is even tougher.'

‘Well, what do you want me to do, what are you expecting? I have no actual experience of dealing with drug addiction or addicts. Most of the people I see are in extreme pain and have severe and chronic illness. Any alleviation of their distress is an improvement; with someone like your son I'm not sure if I can help at all.'

Glenn Harris stayed motionless in the chair.

‘You're all he's got right now, Mrs McGill! That's why I want you to see him.'

Almost as soon as the man had walked out the door, Martha regretted impulsively agreeing to meet him and his son later that week.

The lunch was supposed to be casual, a meeting of old friends, and although Glenn Harris had offered to send his driver to collect her Martha had insisted on making her way to the famous glass-fronted seafood restaurant right on the harbour.

It was packed at lunchtime with well-groomed young men and women in expensive designer black and cream. Martha was glad that she had chosen to wear a simple jacket and an above the knee black skirt and tights. She glanced around and as soon as she mentioned her host's name was shown to one of the best tables overlooking the waterfront.

Glenn immediately ordered a drink and Martha
asked for a sparkling mineral water; wine at lunch always made her fuzzy and relaxed, and she felt this was most definitely one of those occasions when she needed to keep her head. Glenn welcomed her warmly and she noticed people at one or two other tables glance over in their direction curiously.

The menu was extensive and she read through it deciding to opt for snapper, with shrimps to start. Glenn once he'd ordered began to fill her in with details about his son, who was due to meet him in about ten minutes' time.

‘How are you going to explain me?' she asked, slightly amused.

‘I'm going to pretend you're an old friend, and that we just bumped into each other and I insisted you join me for lunch.'

Martha was about to ask a hundred more questions when her eyes were drawn to the tall intense-looking young man talking to the waiter and then making his way to the table. He was the spit of his father, a younger, maybe less attractive version. Glenn Harris jumped out of his seat and threw his arms around his son, directing him to the chair beside him.

‘Hey, Josh, you're on time!'

The boy nodded and sat down, staring over at Martha.

‘Josh, let me introduce you to Martha McGill, she's an old friend. We haven't seen each other for years, and then we go and bump into each other
up near the Hancock building. I hope you don't mind but I've invited her to have lunch with us.'

Josh Harris looked over at Martha, weighing her up: her face, her figure, her hair, her style. She could read the contempt in his eyes, as if he was used to his father introducing him to a series of different women.

She smiled and stretched out her hand to shake his, picking up on the nervous energy that exuded from him. He ordered quickly, barely interested in the food, and complained that they were sitting in a non-smoking area.

His father made it clear that he had no intention of moving table.

‘How's your mom?' enquired Glenn.

She could see the dart of anger flicker in the young man's eyes.

‘She's OK, I guess. She's planning a trip to Italy to visit the famous cities – Florence, Rome and Venice. She's got all the guidebooks out and well, you know her, she's planning her itinerary and all the palaces and churches and paintings to see that will tie in with her fine art course.'

‘That should be interesting. I hope that she'll enjoy it.'

‘She should, John is going with her.'

This time Martha could see the pain in Glenn's eyes. She should have remembered that the Harris divorce had filled the papers and the courts for days about four years ago, Wendy Harris citing her husband's appetite for affairs with a host of
younger women as leading to the breakdown of their marriage. Martha felt she was involved in a weird tit-for-tat match like a tennis game where the players were throwing balls of resentment and misunderstanding between them and she was the umpire in the middle of it all.

Martha's eyes drifted off to the distance where a group of schoolchildren queued with their teacher to visit the aquarium. Her kids had loved it, and no doubt these young students would too.

‘It's an amazing location,' murmured her host, looking out the window. ‘One of my best investments was an old warehouse property over there to the left which got turned into a multimillion luxury hotel. Can't beat the waterfront, it's what people want.'

Bored, Joshua, was tearing up a fancy type of bread roll and spreading it thickly with golden butter.

‘Josh!'

‘I'm starving, Dad, I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast, so this will fill me till the food comes.'

‘My son Patrick goes through a mound of bread and butter every day, he always seems to be hungry, no matter what I cook.' She laughed, trying to ease the situation.