Miracle Woman (7 page)

‘Chadwick. Lara Chadwick.'

‘How can I help you?' Martha was very unsure about talking to a journalist and worried about what sort of questions she might be asked. ‘Is it about the driver?' Martha was reluctant to discuss Sarah and the accident.

‘No, not particularly,' Lara admitted. ‘But please, could you just tell me in your own words about the accident?'

Martha sat for a minute trying to recollect the details. It had all happened so fast and she had been distracted trying to get organized for her mother's party. Taking a breath, she slowly
recounted what she had seen and what she had done. She was slightly put off by the small tape recorder that the journalist placed on the coffee table and though she tried not to dwell on it was over-aware of her words and thought she probably came across as being slightly nervous and jumpy.

‘I interviewed the store security guard and Mrs Lucas. Both of them mentioned to me about your laying of hands on the boy and how somehow your action seemed to have saved him,' offered Lara.

‘No, no!' Martha protested. ‘It was just that I was there, that's all.'

‘A Good Samaritan.'

‘I was hardly going to walk on by and let a small child die,' Martha replied edgily. ‘Maybe Timmy heard my voice or felt my hands touching him. He just needed to hang on till help came and I just happened to be there. All the while I had my hands on him it felt almost like there was a narrow connection between us, but that was enough to keep him here on this good earth.'

‘Are you a religious person?'

‘I was born and raised Catholic and go to church every Sunday, if that's what you mean.'

Lara didn't reply.

Martha could feel a stirring sense of annoyance. What exactly did this journalist want from her? What angle was she trying to exploit or use for her purpose? She just couldn't figure it out.

‘You are a good person, by all accounts.'

Martha felt embarrassed. The street was full of good people – the world was, for that matter – what in heaven's name was this journalist woman trying to get at?

‘The people I spoke to all said that you had healed Timmy Lucas, that you had saved his life when you laid your hands on him.'

Martha sat stock still.

‘Are you a trained healer of some sort?' Lara persisted, pushing for some sort of a response.

Martha just shook her head. She didn't understand it herself so how could she possibly rationalize what was happening?

‘There are many witnesses who say the same thing,' murmured Lara, staring intently at her. ‘That you healed the boy.'

These accusations: Martha did not know what to do to refute them. ‘I don't know what to say,' she admitted honestly. ‘I just happened to be there when Timmy needed me.'

‘Thankfully,' said Lara softly. ‘And Martha, have you ever helped or healed anyone else?'

‘Just one or two kids down at the school, I . . .' Martha replied without thinking, suddenly remembering the tape recorder and immediately regretting her own stupid honesty.

The journalist wrote something on her pad. The two women's eyes met, the information hanging between them.

‘Look, I'm really glad that Timmy's improving
and recovering but there's no story here,' insisted Martha. ‘I simply did what any other parent coming along would try to do. I helped an injured child – nothing more.'

‘People said it was a miracle!' interjected Lara. ‘That's what they actually called it.'

‘Listen, Miss Chadwick, I'm just a stay-home mom with three kids, who helps at the school, helps at the animal shelter and gets to do all the things moms get to do. It's no big deal! I'm ordinary. Just plain old ordinary!'

Lara stood up and switched off the recorder. She didn't intend antagonizing Martha McGill, not at all, but she knew in her heart that she had stumbled onto something and that even if the woman across from her was unaware of it, the gift she had was one she would not be able to keep secret much longer.

‘If you'll excuse me, Miss Chadwick, I have to go pick up my mother.' Martha didn't have to leave for another half-hour but she wanted this young woman out of her home.

Lara, sensing her change in attitude, regretted the way she had approached things. Picking up her keys, she tried to make amends.

‘Martha, thank you for speaking to me, and letting me into your beautiful home. I'm sorry for disturbing you and holding you up.'

She stretched her hand out to shake the other woman's hand. The farewell handshake was brief but even in that few seconds Lara could feel
it, the heat and energy that radiated from Martha.

Relieved, Martha stood watching her go, inwardly cringing at her own sheer stupidity.

‘Martha!' Lara called back as she went down the front path. ‘Ordinary? I don't think you're ordinary at all!'

Furious with herself afterwards, Martha replayed the interview in her head, admonishing herself for being foolish enough to have let the journalist across the threshold of her home. God knows what that girl would write! She picked up the phone and punched in Mike's number: her husband would be angry but at least she could talk to him about it.

‘Mom,' interrupted Alice. ‘Can Katie and Rachel and I have a drink? We're real thirsty.'

The three of them looked hot all right, they'd been playing some makeup pony and jumps game in the back yard and needed some time out in the shade.

Disappointed to find that Mike was away from his desk, Martha left a message on his voicemail.

‘Alice honey, I've got a jug of almost ice cold orange in the fridge, how's that sound?'

The girls did a joyous canter, Rachel O'Malley tossing her long red hair over her shoulder and almost neighing. Martha laughed aloud. She was just being foolish worrying about something that might not even happen.

THE
BOSTON HERALD
carried the story about three days later. Martha hid her head in her hands, disbelieving the words on the page. How could any respectable, responsible newspaper print such things!

Mike read it over and over, as if by looking at it long enough somehow or other he could manage to change the content of Lara Chadwick's article. ‘Those bastards!' he complained, smashing his hand against the kitchen counter.

Mary Rose gave Martha a scared, embarrassed look and she only thanked heaven that Alice was in the other room engrossed in
Songs from the Little Mermaid
on the TV.

‘New England Miracles'. That's what she'd called it.

‘At least it's not on the front page,' argued her husband, clenching his jaw and mouth with tension.

‘Mike!'

A threatened airline strike at Logan, a profit warning from one of the huge over-hyped new technology companies and the fining of a local actress for drink driving had mercifully saved her from that.

Martha sat on the kitchen chair feeling numb and miserable, her family around her. Patrick bent down and wrapped his arms around her.

‘It'll be all right, Mom, no-one really reads the newspapers and if they do no-one believes them!'

‘D'ya think?'

‘Yeah, Mom, definite!'

‘For sure,' Mike added, coming and sitting beside her.

‘The only thing is, Mom,' added Mary Rose, ‘is that you
did
do it! I saw you heal him. Everyone else saw you too, so it's not like that journalist woman made it up or anything.'

Martha gazed at her daughter's serious face, the slightly lopsided full lips, the pale fair skin, the intelligent, brown-green eyes that were scrupulously honest and fair. Mary Rose had never been able to lie and had a forthrightness about her that some considered difficult and that often got her into trouble both at school and with her friends.

‘Most of what she actually said in the paper is true.'

Faced with such honesty, Martha had to agree, but it just was so weird to read words written about yourself and try to be rational about what was printed. She was only getting used to the
healing gift herself and certainly hadn't reckoned on anything like this happening.

Alice ran in. ‘Granny's on the phone, Mom,' she said.

Mike cast her a knowing look, warning her not to say too much to her mother who could spread news quicker than anyone.

‘Hi, Martha love, how you doing?'

‘Fine, Mom, fine,' she lied.

‘Did you see today's paper yet?'

She was tempted to play dumb and ask which one but could hear the concern in her mother's voice.

‘I saw it, Mom, I saw it already.'

‘How did that journalist woman ever find out those things? That's what I'd like to know.'

Martha let out a deep breath.

‘She came here to the house, Mom.'

‘What! You let her into your home!'

‘I know, but I didn't realize what she was writing, honest I didn't.'

‘You didn't think to ask?'

‘No, I didn't.'

There was silence at the other end, which was a pretty rare occurrence when her mother was on the telephone line.

‘Anyways, I'm right proud of you, darling,' admitted her mother a few moments later. ‘Ever since you were a little girl you always wanted to help people. Your daddy and I were sure you'd end up a nun or a nurse.'

Despite herself Martha laughed.

‘Maybe you always had the healing power and we didn't notice,' pondered her mother. ‘Sure, do you remember the time poor Brian got his hand caught in the door of your daddy's car? He set up such a ruckus with the pain and you were the only one could get him to quiet down and he let you hold his poor hand under the cold water and you kept on rubbing his arm and wrist until the pain went away. He had the worst bruising I ever saw, his fingers nearly turned black, but funnily enough, he hardly complained of the pain at all afterwards.'

‘Mom,' said Martha, genuinely surprised that her mother could remember such a childhood event.

‘I do remember, Martha,' declared her mother, as if reading her mind.

‘Listen, Bee wants to say a word for a minute.'

Beatrice Patterson was her mother's best friend and confidante, the two of them having become close companions on moving into the Belmont Retirement Home. Somehow or other Bee had almost managed to replace Joe Kelly in her mother's eyes. Two elderly women, enjoying the years they now shared together.

‘Hello, Martha,' she now interrupted in her distinctive husky voice. ‘Frances is all of a fluster here, but I'm just wishing you all the best and I'm so glad that the Lord has blessed you with this gift, for in this cruel world there is much good work to be done.'

‘Thank you, Bee.'

Martha appreciated the other woman's sincerity and she found that talking to her mother's best friend had released something within her. Martha realized that being scared was plain stupid for in reality she had been granted a blessing, the gift of healing people, and she must learn to overcome her reluctance and embarrassment and
use
this gift.

‘You OK, Martha?' Her mother came back on the line.

‘I'm fine, Mom, just fine.'

‘Don't you mind what those papers say, honey, or journalists write about you! Martha, do what you have to do helping people. Just you remember that if you hadn't been there the other day that poor Lucas woman would likely have buried her son, and nothing is worse than the loss of a child – nothing!'

‘I know, I realize that.'

‘Good!'

Frances Kelly rang off, and no sooner had Martha put down the phone than her sister-in-law and her brother came on the line. Jack was calm and nonplussed by what he'd read, but Annie was in a right state.

‘Martha, I can't believe it! They are actually saying that you are able to work miracles. God Almighty, it's so crazy! Jack's baby sister – I can't believe it. That boy you told us about –
and
the kids in the school yard.'

‘Listen, Annie, hold on, this thing is being blown up out of all proportion. You know what the papers are like, the things they write.'

‘It isn't true, then?'

‘No, it is true about Timmy, but it's not like what they say.' She tried to explain, knowing full well that Annie was so excited she wasn't even properly listening to her.

‘Imagine, I'm related to someone like that. Martha, it's just so amazing.'

‘You don't believe it, then?'

‘Martha, come on, you are a truly good person, even Jack says you're a saint the way you're always doing things for people – looking after Frances, helping out with the kids and the family. You're always there when people need you. I guess if I were to pick someone to help and heal people, I'd pick you.'

Martha was silent. Annie's sincerity and trust and faith in her had both moved and surprised her. She had not expected it and was genuinely touched by her sister-in-law's honesty.

‘Thank you, Annie,' she said simply.

The phone continued all day: family and friends curious, offering support and trying to glean more information from her.

By afternoon the tone of the calls had changed: strangers' voices, urgent, pleading, asking her to see their child, heal their wife, help with a dying parent. Martha sat cradling the receiver listening
to their torrent of words, hesitant, unsure of the help or comfort she could give them but none the less arranging to see those who needed her and trying to find words for those whose spirit was wounded and broken and in need of healing.

Mike returned from work that evening, his eyes blazing with temper as he walked by the scattering of cars parked all along Mill Street: cars of those who had parked in the hope of seeing Martha, or touching her.

‘We'll sue that paper for what they've done!' he shouted, getting himself a cold beer from the fridge. ‘We have a life, a family. This is a total invasion of our privacy! Who the hell do these people think they are, coming along and parking in our street, disturbing our neighbours?'