If Glenn Harris was disappointed in her, he managed to mask it and on finishing the meal insisted she take a ride home with him. The limousine was parked only a few seconds away.
‘You’ve already given my family a huge amount of your time, Martha, at least let me do this for you.’
He was a generous man and Martha graciously accepted his offer, the driver dropping him off at his office before taking her on to Easton.
Chapter Forty-one
ON MARTHA’S RETURN visit, the Tanner Radford building was packed to capacity. Those queuing outside were told there was no possibility of a seat and advised to go home. Martha experienced a sudden burst of stage fright on seeing the crowd, and quaked at the long line of people, filing up to meet her, but the wave of good will that enveloped her as she stepped up on the podium helped to settle her nerves. Ruth had insisted on listing those who were severely ill or disabled and seating them in the front two rows, so that Martha could step down to them.
‘We don’t want any accidents, believe me!’
Overwhelmed by the immense faith people had in her healing skills, Martha knew full well it would be impossible for her to help everyone, but even if one or two were relieved of their pain it would be something.
She began by saying a quiet prayer, asking the Lord God and the Good Earth to help and guide her as Evie led an elderly man towards her. It always amazed Martha how many elderly people came to the healings, pushing their way forwards, demanding to be seen, clinging to life. She talked and prayed and laid on her hands until the sweat ran off her, repeating it all the following week in a small school hall in Bronxville, New York, where the hushed crowd of only a hundred people broke into a tumultuous cheer when a middle-aged woman began to weep and declare that the chronic back pain that had twisted her spine had lifted. In Manhattan some of the people had arrived in expensive cars and limousines to the racquet ball club hall they’d hired; Martha noticed it made no difference, as they were plagued with the same illnesses and fears as others.
Ten days after she got back Joshua Harris came to see her totally out of the blue. He’d phoned asking her to come to his apartment but she had insisted that he visit the upstairs room, Kim fixing an appointment for him. Casually dressed, his dark hair unwashed and unkempt, pale skinned and nervous, he’d lit up the minute he sat down opposite her. She was tempted to ask him to put out the offending cigarette, but realized he was only smoking it in order to distract himself.
‘How are you doing, Josh?’
‘Have you seen my father lately?’ he asked, fixing her with his green eyes.
‘No, actually I haven’t.’
‘OK,’ he said, relaxing a little.
‘How are you?’ she repeated.
‘I’m crap, I feel like crap. Every bit of me is sore, the pain is so bad that I can’t eat or sleep or think. I’m screwed!’
‘Have you taken anything?’
‘I’m not using, if that’s what you mean. If I was I wouldn’t be going through this!’
‘Maybe the clinic or the doctors you saw the last time might be able to help you better,’ she suggested, feeling out of her depth.
‘Screw them. You told me that you could help me. I got your fucking card and I came!’
‘I’m sorry, Josh, I’m not sure that I can help.’
He looked up at her, the expression on his face lost, scared. Martha saw that he was in such a deeply agitated and unhappy state that there was no way she could turn her back on him or reject him further.
‘It’s OK, Josh, really it’s OK. Your body has gone through huge turmoil and change and physical shock. It’s probably totally out of balance and that might be why you are feeling so bad right now. The healing should help.’
‘For sure!’
‘For sure.’ She smiled. ‘Is it all right if I lay my hands on you and just get a sense of what is happening to you? My fingers and hands might feel rather warm but that’s just a part of the healing process.’
She got the young man to stretch out on her table, ordering him to kick off his trainers and heavy Abercrombie and Fitch hooded sweatshirt as she walked around him, getting a sense of what his energy level and life force were like. She stopped, confused. Both were scattered and weak. The brightness and spirit she usually associated with youth were absent and she felt the darkness and almost impenetrable depression that engulfed him. Every cell of his body had been affected and Martha had to control her expression in order to mask her dismay. He was healthy in that his heart pumped, perhaps a little faster than it should, his blood flowed, his lungs and kidneys and other organs worked yet he was deeply deeply wounded and carried an intense grief and pain, which he obviously had used drugs and alcohol to relieve. This internal wound was festering, poisoning every part of him as sure as if he had a septic cut. He’d been carrying this pain for a long long time and Martha felt that unless he released it his physical body would be overwhelmed.
Laying her hands over his heart she tried to send light into that darkness and to draw some of it away from Joshua.
A shudder went through him. As she worked, Martha realized how sensitive Glenn Harris’s only son was.
‘Where does it hurt the most?’ she asked gently.
‘All over, I told you!’
‘I know but where is the pain really bad?’
‘My shoulder and head, I guess.’
Concentrating on those two areas, Martha tried to unravel the tension and fear that had buried themselves deep within the walls of his muscles. Finishing off by placing her finger and hands over his head, she had to stifle her own gasp of pain. His mind was in utter turmoil, anger and self-hatred snaking through his thoughts. He had closed his eyes, no longer staring at her, which she found strangely disconcerting. She wanted him to feel a calming sense of peace and to open himself more to receiving the love which he so yearned for.
‘You OK, Josh?’ she asked afterward as she washed her hands.
He nodded, his head bent down as he retied the laces of his expensive trainers.
‘I’d like you to come see me again. What about next week?’
He looked up and she could see a flicker, only a tiny flicker, of hope in his eyes. ‘All right,’ he agreed.
‘Same time.’
Watching him walk out in the street and climb into the old beat-up Chrysler, Martha wondered how father and son could possibly be so different and have ended up causing so much pain to each other.
Chapter Forty-two
THE JOURNEY FROM Newton to Providence had taken an age, an accident on the highway slowing things as Gina Forrester drove to the Rhode Island nursing home where her father now resided. She had brought him candy and some lightweight pyjamas and a smart short-sleeved polo shirt. For some strange reason she was anxious to see him.
He was sitting outside his bed in a comfortable support chair, and she kissed the top of his head as if he was a child. His lips and eyes smiled at her. There was no recognition, just a response to the kiss and the sight of the bags with her gifts.
‘Here, Dad! You can open these.’
She watched as he pulled frantically at the wrapping paper and cellophane, tumbling the items onto his lap and the bed. The clothes ignored, he stripped a peanut butter cup of its wrapper and began to eat. She laughed: he’d always loved peanut butter ever since they were kids. Any time he’d ever minded them while her mom was out or away, his solution to feeding them had been a massive plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
She rambled on, talking to him, knowing he would not tell her anything of his daily routine and that it was up to her to fill the silence between them. She told him he was going to be a grandfather, and about her last visit to the obstetrician who’d told her everything was going well and that the baby was in the right position. She told him of the spare bedroom, beside their own, which was to be turned into a nursery. The colours and curtains and expensive wooden cot and changing table and wardrobe were already picked and paid for, but Gina wa
s too superstitious to let Bob or the decorator touch the room till her child was born.
One of the nursing aides walked by and kindly offered her a cup of tea. Gina was glad of the refreshment as she sat there all afternoon with her father, fussing with his locker and checking if he needed anything, though she knew her half-brother Scott who lived close by would drop in once or twice a week to make sure the old man was all right.
When his evening meal was served at 4.45 p.m. she helped him to eat, knowing that not long after he would be prepared and changed for bed. She got ready to go, kissing him and promising to come back soon.
‘Dad, I’ve got to go home now, Bob will be waiting for me,’ she said, stroking the side of his face, wondering if in a few minutes’ time her father would remember anything about her or the baby.
Driving home she felt a little tired and disappointed; perhaps she’d hoped that her father would react more to her good news and be excited for her, something she knew in her heart he was no longer capable of. The traffic was heavy, only easing off as she got up onto the highway, listening to the news channel as she drove. A half-hour out of Boston she felt it, a warm trickle of water running down her legs as if she was peeing herself and soaking the seat of the car. Shit! she thought, scared. The baby wasn’t due for another four weeks! And now her waters had broken. Undecided between pulling over into a lay-by and phoning for assistance or putting her foot on the pedal and driving to Mass General Hospital, she chose the latter. Praying under her breath, she tried not to think of the cramping pains in her stomach as she drove . . .
It was 5 a.m. when the phone went. Martha jumped up in bed and reached for the receiver, relieved to hear Bob Forrester’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Martha, it’s a girl! We have a baby girl!’
‘Oh, that’s great, Bob, I’m really pleased for you.’ She yawned, still half asleep. ‘How’s Gina?’
‘Oh, she’s fine. She asked me to phone you cos she’s concerned. The baby’s a little early and she’s small. Real small! They put her in one of those incubator things and she’s up in a special ward with all the other premature babies. Gina’s real worried for her and she wondered if you’d come in as soon as you can and see her.’
Martha agreed straight away, knowing that neither Bob nor Gina were alarmist and wouldn’t have asked unless they thought it necessary.
‘Tell Gina I’ll be there first thing this morning,’ she promised, putting down the phone.
The baby was beautiful, her tiny head a cap of black hair with the face of a pixie. She lay still under the special lights and kicked her legs gently now and then.
‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happens to her.’ Gina broke down. ‘I couldn’t take it, Martha!’
‘Hush now, don’t go upsetting yourself. You have a beautiful daughter who is already a born fighter.’
Martha studied the baby closely, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm of the pulse in her veins. She was fragile. Another few weeks would have made a big difference but at least here she had all the medical equipment she needed. Without thinking she reached across into the incubator, her fingertips touching the baby’s little hands and fingers, one connecting to the other, warmth and strength flowing from the healer towards the sleeping infant.
Chapter Forty-three
MARTHA LOOKED AT her black leather-covered diary. She dreaded all the pencilled-in dates, the crowding out of her time, the hour by hour meetings and sessions and lack of freedom that such organization had brought. The kids were complaining about it too and the weekends were sacrosanct, only for her family.
Checking the date and time, she realized Joshua Harris was late. She’d seen Joshua several times over the past few weeks, and was convinced they were finally making progress. He looked stronger, healthier and had told her he was eating again. Diseases of the soul and spirit were a lot harder to heal and treat than the relatively simple ones of the body and she was much gladdened by his recovery.
She was concerned when Joshua failed to show up for his session. She sat waiting for him for over an hour and a half, imagining the worst, and when she finally got through on his phone was greeted by an indifferent apology about forgetting the time. She swallowed her annoyance and rescheduled. Four days later Wendy Harris called her at home and confided that she was desperately worried about her son and asked her to see him immediately. Evie, Kim and Martha were due to go to the movies to a special showing of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and then for a drink.
‘Say no!’ mouthed Mary Rose, listening to her conversation.
‘I can’t, I can’t!’
Mary Rose got up and tossed the magazine she was reading on the floor, as Martha ended the call and took Wendy’s home address, promising to be there within an hour.
‘Mom, what about Evie and Kim? They’re expecting you to go with them.’
‘Listen, Mary Rose, it’s no big deal. I’ll phone them. I can catch it again another time. OK?’
Crossing the Mass Turnpike she drove for more than a mile and a half, taking the next exit and following directions for the turnoff to Wendy Harris’s home. Pressing the silver button on the automatic gates she gained entry.
Joshua’s mother was more beautiful and petite than she had imagined. Her white blond hair pulled up off her face, she wore a simple knitted sweater and denim jeans.
‘Oh, thank you, thank you so much for coming and giving up your Saturday night, Martha. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that but when Joshua talks about you he always uses your first name.’
‘No, that’s fine. How is he?’
His mother looked like she was going to cry.
‘He moved back in with me about three weeks ago, he’s always had his room here naturally, and it was just so good to have him back. Seeing you has helped him enormously and he was getting back to the old Josh, the one before . . .’
‘And what happened?’
‘I don’t know, he went out last night to meet one of his friends at some nightclub. It was nearly breakfast time when he got back.’
‘And?’
‘And he had that look – the pupils dilated, that white tone to his skin, that stupid mellow expression on his face, I’ve seen it so many times before. I said it to him. He denied it of course!’
‘Mrs Harris, surely you should be talking to one of Josh’s counsellors or the clinic he was in,’ suggested Martha, feeling well out of her league.
‘He just wanted to see you, Martha, that’s all.’
She followed Wendy Harris upstairs and knocked lightly on Josh’s door before she entered.
He looked awful: skinny and pale, he was lying on the bed in a crumpled T-shirt and a pair of shorts, strung out, his eyes bleary.
‘How you doing, Martha?’
She said nothing, torn between anger and disappointment in him.
‘So Mohammed came to the mountain!’ he joked, scratching his head and greasy hair.
‘Josh – why?’
He laughed.
‘I got high, and it’s good, you know!’
‘I can’t help you when you’re like this,’ she insisted, staring at him. ‘Why did you ask your mother to phone me?’
‘I wanted you to touch me,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s the only way to take the pain away, I need you to heal me.’
‘Heal you? Joshua, I can’t heal you, the only person that can heal you is you.’
‘I can’t do that,’ he mumbled. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Yes you can, you know you can,’ she cajoled.
He stayed silent, considering. Martha hoped that he would at least try again.
Wendy came into the room. ‘His father wants him to go back into rehab again,’ she said nervously, pressing her arms and looking out into the dark. ‘They have a place for him.’
‘What do you want to do, Josh?’ enquired Martha.
He turned his face to the wall, his eyes welling with tears.
Martha moved forward to comf
ort him. Putting her arms around him she could sense his disappointment in himself and his need to regain some independent control of his life. Her hands picked up that he was bloody and torn and battle weary. She tried to lift the gripping pain from him, only succeeding in creating a small chink of light in such darkness.
‘I’ll still be here, Josh,’ she promised. ‘We can take up where we were and I’ll work with you for as long as it takes, but first you have to sort out your drug problem.’
‘Josh baby, you need help!’ pleaded his mother. ‘Your father has it all set up, we just have to call him.’
‘Joshua, listen to your mom and dad, they both love you and want what’s best for you.’
Finally he agreed to be readmitted that night. Wendy phoned his father to arrange it. Glenn Harris was insistent that he would drive his son to the clinic in New Haven himself.
Chapter Forty-four
KIM AND RUTH and Kathleen were all excited by the ‘Miracle Tour’. They had persuaded Martha that it was the only way she could get to see so many people and promised her there would be no cheap showmanship or freak show element to her visits to specifically chosen venues across the country.
‘There’s enough money in the bank account to pay rental on the first few halls,’ confirmed Ruth, who had taken over organizing the finances, ‘and to cover transport and accommodation.’
Unsure about the increased expansion of her healing and realizing it was unfair to expect her friends to put in so much work without payment, Martha proposed they should all take some form of salary.
Evie and Rianna said they didn’t need it but Kim and Ruth admitted that with the hours they were putting in, it was welcome. Martha left the arrangement of insurance, tax, and charity status to Ruth, who was the expert.
The ‘Miracle Tour’, as the press called it, hit the road that fall, starting off in her home area and travelling up first of all to New York and New Jersey. Martha met hundreds of people as word of her visit spread. She tried to limit the size of the crowds so that she would have time with the sick, the hurt and the lonesome who came to her for comfort. She told them of their own energy and how they must harness and use it as she struggled to remember their names and faces.
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