ON WEDNESDAY MORNING Martha was glad to escape the phone calls and visitors and drive up to Highlands Animal Shelter, where she’d worked as a volunteer for almost three years. Things had gotten crazy since that journalist’s article and she’d been approached by four magazines, who wanted to do a feature on her. The local radio station had invited her in to the studio to do an interview but she’d refused, and she’d been asked to appear in an open forum discussion on The Morning Show about faith healing, which she had absolutely no intention of doing. Coming up here to walk the dogs and care for the animals seemed a lot more appealing.
The small animal rescue centre was situated off Highway 128 on a piece of run-down land at the side of an old gas station. It wasn’t an ideal setting but the volunteers all did their best to find homes for the animals. For those that had lost all trust in humans and would never be likely to fit into living with one of that species again, they provided as good a care as they hoped a distressed animal needed.
Martha usually worked from 8.30 to two o’clock and would do another morning if they were low on volunteers, covering for others during holidays and flu epidemics and the like. She loved walking into Highlands and hearing the excited bark of the dogs who recognized the volunteer staff, their tails wagging furiously as she went and said hello to them all. The phone lines were always busy and she could never get over how many unwanted and uncared-for animals existed. Neighbours, annoyed shopkeepers, security guards all phoned in with problems, which they hoped the shelter could help them with. Old people who had to go into hospital or into long-time care, who’d nobody to take their pets and could not possibly afford the cost of expensive kennelling, regularly called. Their dogs and cats, often elderly too, had a look of resignation and betrayal when they were brought in which no amount of volunteer care could remove. Martha tried to console those noble companions of man as best she could.
The hours she spent in the shelter went all too quickly. She enjoyed not only tending to the animals but also meeting the eclectic mix of people who were volunteers. Women like Joanna Little who had raised large families and were still willing to give of themselves again, Hank Caulfield, a retired army man who had a way with large dogs and worked two full days there. He also had a keen interest in reptiles and was an expert in their care. Mim Brewster, a former heroin addict who had been sentenced to community work eight years ago and still kept coming back to help, never blinking an eyelid at the distressed and diseased animals that she helped to clean and brush and groom every Wednesday. Teachers, plumbers, a librarian, college students – all of them gave of themselves without looking for payment.
Now the dogs went crazy when they saw her, sensing that because she was still wearing her jacket she might take them out. The dogs always needed exercise, though sometimes a little holding and petting could help them feel just a little bit loved.
Mim indicated the ones that she was going to groom, and Martha took down three leashes. She clipped one onto the collar of a boisterous golden retriever that had been found wandering up at the parking lot at the drive-in Dunkin Donuts near the shopping mall. Its owners obviously decided that it was a good place to abandon the animal, who was probably eating them out of house and home and couldn’t be accommodated in a small environment. He jumped up on her nearly knocking her over, his paws pushing against her chest. Martha gave him a huge welcoming hug in return.
‘Take it easy, Donut. Take it easy. That’s a good boy!’
A few cages down she clipped a leash onto a jaunty black and white mongrel who’d been with them for about five months. He yapped excitedly, running round in circles so she could hardly catch him as she tried to fasten the leash securely. Last but not least she took Dollar, an overweight black Labrador who could do with the exercise. Donna Brady, a retired beautician, decided to join her, and hooked up four more dogs to join the walk. Martha had a great respect for the middle-aged woman who had successfully battled with cancer over the past three years yet was willing to give her time and energy to the shelter. She was a stalwart fundraiser and organized suppers, breakfasts and Christmas parties to ensure the shelter could remain open.
Walking across the back fields, which stretched along behind the highway, with Donna, Martha felt totally relaxed, both of them laughing at the antics of the animals and their different personalities. Donna already had three dogs of her own, two of them from the shelter, but still volunteered. She had the most generous spirit and Martha found her a pleasure to be with. Donut pulled ahead, anxious to run and race around, Minty, a Jack Russell cross, trying to keep up with him. They came to a spot the volunteers called the Gallops, which was unofficially fenced off and was the only place they could safely let the dogs off for a run around. Donna’s beagle pair were in an ecstasy of doggy joy as they romped together.
Donna and Martha kept a close eye on them all.
‘I’ve been reading about you,’ Donna said.
Martha gazed directly ahead, watching Dollar who had found a patch of sunlight and sat down in it.
‘Is it true?’
‘I suppose, but you know what those papers and magazines are like, Donna, they just write what suits them.’
‘Healing is a wonderful gift, Martha, a wonderful gift. I’m pleased for you. Humanity can do with all the help it can get, believe me. There are a lot of sick people out there who could use a bit of healing, and I don’t just mean the likes of myself. What about the sons of bitches that tortured those two?’
Martha remembered how the beagles had been when they came in. They were missing pieces of skin, had been shaved all over and had claws pulled. They had whimpered and cried for a week, the noise disturbing the rest of the animals. The vet had wanted to put them down, but Donna and Janet Rimaldi, the head of the shelter, had pleaded on the dogs’ behalf, and had got a stay of a week to see if they improved. Watching them now Martha knew that Donna’s instinct and perseverance had been well rewarded.
‘They’re fine dogs now,’ Donna said proudly. ‘Janet thinks a family out in Newton might take them. They love beagles apparently and lost their one two weeks ago.’
‘Ah, that’d be great, especially if they get to stay together!’
‘It’s the least they deserve.’
Calling the dogs, they began the half-hour walk back, chatting easily about their families and the latest pets that had arrived and the condition they were in.
Martha managed a quick cup of coffee before she went on the phone line, knowing well she would hardly get time to draw breath once she sat down, her notepad and pen at the ready to write down names, addresses and contacts. A cat who’d a litter of kittens in a packing case behind a liquor store and seemed to be in a distressed condition; a white rabbit found on the landing of a building on Store Street and refusing to budge.
‘He sounds like he’s in shock, ma’am.’
‘Do you think you could lift him in a blanket and drive him over to us? I have no-one available right now to collect him, but if you could get him to us it would be much appreciated. No, there’s no charge.’
She scribbled down the details as more and more calls came in.
‘Martha, that you?’
Smiling, Martha recognized the voice on the line immediately. It was Frank Graham. ‘Hello, Frank, how are you? How are things going?’
Every Wednesday the old man called from the public phone at the Emmanuel Residence for the aged and infirm to enquire about his pet.
‘How’s Dollar?’
‘I took him for a long walk this morning, Frank, and he’s doing fine.’
‘Does he still miss me?’
‘You know he does, Frank, but he’s not pining. Labradors are loyal.’
‘Has that Mrs Rimaldi said any more about getting him a home?’
‘We have tried, Frank, but Dollar’s an old dog and set in his ways. He’s not suitable for a young family or anyone out at work all day.’
She could sense the relief in his voice.
‘So I guess he’ll just have to stay put for the moment then.’
‘Yes, we expect so.’
‘Did he get the biscuits I sent?’
Martha tried to suppress a smile. Every week without fail a package was delivered by Fedex to the shelter containing sweet digestive biscuits, the type the Labrador loved. ‘We got them, but you know we’re trying to cut him back a bit, Frank,’ she told him.
‘I know, I know. It’s just that they were always his favourites.’
‘You could come and see him if you’d like.’ She could picture the old man standing at the phone thinking of his best friend.
‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
There was silence for a minute and she wondered if she had lost the call.
‘That would be too upsetting for us both. It’s best to leave it as it is, Martha.’
She told him about Dollar lying stretched out in the sun, giving Frank time to compose himself.
‘You have my number here?’
‘Yes,’ she assured him.
‘Should anything happen.’
‘We know, Frank.’
‘I’ll phone again next week. Thanks a lot, Martha, thanks a whole lot.’
She had barely finished his call when a woman phoned looking for a mature tabby that had escaped from a ground-floor apartment about two blocks away. She was pleased to tell the distressed owner that a cat matching the description and wearing a pink diamanté collar had been brought in, none the worse for wear, by a concerned patrol officer the evening before.
‘Thank God.’
Martha transferred to another line.
‘Hello, is that the Highlands Animal Shelter?’
Martha responded to the male caller.
‘I want to talk to the woman, the healer that works there, the miracle lady. Is she there?’ he asked.
Martha almost dropped the phone. Quickly she glanced around. Janet was on another line in her office, arguing with some animal feed supplier by the sound of it, and Donna was sitting with a cat in her lap trying to put eye drops in its eyes.
‘I’m sorry, this is an animal shelter. How can I help you?’
‘I want to speak to her. Is she there?’
‘Is there a problem with an animal, sir?’
‘I want to speak to that woman, it’s urgent! Put me on to her!’
Martha didn’t know what to say. The man was screaming down the line at her. She held the phone away from her. How could she pass the call on to one of the others? They were already busy enough. And how did the caller know about her volunteering at the shelter? She had no choice but to deal with him.
‘This is Martha,’ she said resignedly. ‘What is the matter, sir?’
A torrent of misery followed as the man, called Pete, told her of years of addiction to alcohol and prescription drugs which had ended with him trying to take his own life only a month before. Appalled, she closed her eyes thinking of his disturbed spirit and the torment he endured. Now he was threatening to do the same again. He had failed his wife and five-year-old son and had abandoned his promise to attend an addiction clinic daily, as he felt it was doing him no good.
‘I have no options left, Martha, there is no cure to this, no end to it all.’
Desperately she tried to reason with him, asking about what would happen to his son and wife if he did what he planned and trying to persuade him to attend the clinic one more time.
‘That’s no good!’ he screamed, demanding instant answers, instant results.
She closed her eyes. Imagining him, she tried to get a sense of placing her hands along his chest, above his ribcage, near his heart and soul.
‘I am going to send you healing, Pete, but I need you to sit down quietly and to be silent and still so I can think of you, try to help you,’ she pleaded.
She could sense the heat and energy running through her already, as perspiration began to gather on her forehead and hairline.
‘I’m sending you healing, Pete. Can you sense it?’
There was silence and for a minute she imagined the worst. The lines were going crazy. Ten calls were waiting. Janet looked over at her, puzzled as to why she was not dealing with them.
‘I can feel it,’ he said finally.
‘Will you promise me you will go to the clinic today?’ she begged, ‘and tell them how bad you are feeling?’
‘I suppose,’ was all Pete said.
Martha imagined the worst as he suddenly hung up. She had no control over what he might or might not do and no way of warning his family or doctor.
‘You OK, Martha?’ Donna asked, concerned. ‘Was that some crazy on the line?’
Martha nodded. She felt sick to her stomach thinking of him and the state he was in. Janet Rimaldi stared over at her and Martha made a show of looking busy. The next caller had found an injured squirrel in her yard and wanted directions to Highlands.