THE HOUSE WAS still and quiet when she finally got back; the family, in their beds, already fast asleep. Bone weary, she climbed the stairs, too exhausted to eat or drink, only wanting to crawl into bed and sleep.
She couldn’t get Cass out of her mind and a deep feeling of anger raged inside her at the loss of such a life, and that good people like the Armstrongs had been denied the joy of watching their daughter grow to be a young woman. What was the reason for it? Why had the Lord chosen Cass? There was no answer!
She – the healer! the chosen one! – had been asked to help and heal the child and get her well again. There had been no cure. No miracle. For in truth all she had been able to do was to relieve some of the child’s pain and distress, perhaps provide some little support for her as she lay dying, but not nearly enough. Putting her head in her hands she gave in to the waves of despair she felt, self-doubt clouding her mind. She was stupid to have imagined that she could change anything!
Patrick was snoring softly when she looked in on him. His long frame almost off the bed, he’d managed to kick off his quilt. Martha pulled it back gently over him as she didn’t want him to get cold. Mary Rose lay hunched up in her room, curled in the foetal position as she always was, as if she was trying to protect herself from someone or something that could wound her. Why her daughter was so argumentative and set in her ways was beyond her. She seemed to make everything difficult no matter how much reassurance Mike and she tried to give her. Alice, in the other room, slept soundly, her long wavy hair spread out along the pillow. Martha couldn’t resist bending down to kiss her, and as she did so Alice stirred ever so slightly, a smile passing across her pretty face.
‘It’s all right, honey,’ Martha reassured her. ‘Mom’s home.’
Mike had the bedroom door closed; she always left it open so she could hear the kids, whether they came in late or just called out in their sleep or needed her. He was fast asleep, his reading glasses perched on his nose, his side lamp still on. Wordlessly she removed the glasses, putting them safely back on the bedside locker, then lowered the latest John Grisham novel to the floor before slipping into their bathroom.
Switching off the bedside lamp, she climbed in beside him. Mike felt warm, and she did her best not to disturb him. Lying silent on the edge of their bed she gave thanks for her husband and children, and thought of Tom and Beth and the agony they must be enduring during these long, lonely hours.
Tears burned in her eyes and she did her best to control them, reaching in the dark for the tissues on the shelf near the bed. Gradually the warmth of the bed and the comfort of her husband’s breathing lulled her into a sort of sleep.
Mike was gruff and annoyed with her in the morning as he shaved, showered and dressed.
‘What in God’s name time did you get home last night, Martha?’
‘Late.’
‘They don’t like you spending so much time with other kids, they resent it.’
‘Mike! She died.’
‘Died!’ Mike McGill swung around, half dressed, his cotton boxers and shirt on. ‘Died?’
‘Yeah,’ she added wearily. ‘Cass died. Did you know she was only two years and one month older than our Alice?’
‘Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.’
‘I sat in the car for a while after, I don’t know how long.’
‘You should have called me and I would have come and got you.’
His sympathy nearly destroyed her. Martha longed for him to climb back into bed and enfold her in his arms and make everything seem all right again. She watched as he turned his back to her and continued dressing.
‘There’s a department heads meeting this morning over this new encryption strategy we’re testing and I have to be there. I’m late,’ he explained, the scent of his splash cologne lingering in the bedroom even after he’d gone.
Slowly Martha got herself out of bed and into the white-tiled shower, the hot water sluicing down her as she lathered chestnut gel into her skin and tension-filled muscles, trying to revive and wake herself up.
Patrick and Mary Rose gave her the freeze treatment the minute she stepped in the kitchen, not even bothering to look up as she passed them fresh-squeezed orange juice and made toast. Deliberately she put the peanut butter jar out of reach to see if Mary Rose would ask her for it. Instead her daughter got up and walked around the table.
‘Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday, about having to get home early and not being back for dinner, it couldn’t be helped.’
Alice tried to keep her eyes concentrating on the bowl of Rice Krispies. Ignoring the traitorous glances of her siblings, she asked, ‘How’s that girl, Mom?’
For an instant Martha debated the merit of keeping it from them but then decided it was better they knew the truth.
‘Cass died yesterday evening, Alice. She was very sick and weak.’
‘Jesus!’ Patrick let the word slip out. ‘Jesus! She died?’
Mary Rose’s eyes met hers.
‘You were there with her, Mom?’
Martha nodded.
‘And still you couldn’t save her?’
Martha didn’t know what to say.
‘No, Mary Rose, I couldn’t. The healing doesn’t work like that, not always.’ She could see a look of disbelief flicker across her daughter’s eyes but chose to ignore it.
Her children were standing beside her awkwardly, not knowing what to say when confronted by raw grief and pain.
‘Come on you three, hurry up or you’ll be late!’ she urged, swallowing hard.
Patrick grabbed his bag and jacket and hugging her briefly pushed out the back door, Mary Rose following on behind him in a helter-skelter of scarves and bags and long untidy hair as they ran for the school bus.
Fifteen minutes later she and Alice set off. Looking in the mirror she could see the sombre expression on her youngest child’s face.
‘You OK, Alice?’
‘Yes, Mom.’
‘Sure?’
There was no usual ‘for sure’ back.
‘What is it, honey? Is it about yesterday?’
Alice pushed her chin down. ‘I’m just sad about that girl.’
‘Cass, that was her name, Alice. It’s all right to say it and it’s all right to be sad about it cos I’m real sad too.’
When she stopped the car outside Bishop Delaney’s, she pulled Alice onto her lap. ‘Did I tell you that you are the best girl in the whole big wide world, Alice Kathleen McGill?’
Alice looked up, understanding in her eyes.
‘Mom, you are the best mom in the whole big wide world too.’
Of all days that was the day she needed to hear it most. Profoundly grateful, Martha took Alice’s hand in hers and walked as far as the school entrance.
Today she knew she couldn’t face it: the faith and trust of those who expected her to heal and chase away the demons of pain and depression and channel energy into their bodies. She had no energy, nothing to offer them. Drained and defeated she could not face the upstairs room and those waiting for her. She called Evie at the store and asked her to cancel the first two appointments. The rest of the people she would try and contact herself.
‘Are you sick, Martha?’ asked Evie, concerned.
‘Cass is dead,’ she said simply, almost breaking down.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I know how attached to that kid you’d got.’
‘I knew she was going to die from almost the first instant I saw her, and that there was nothing anyone could do, Evie, only maybe help her prepare for it.’
‘You saw that?’
‘Felt it, I don’t know.’
‘Don’t go blaming yourself, Martha, it isn’t your fault.’
‘Beth Armstrong thinks it is.’
‘You know deep inside you helped that little girl, no matter what her mom says!’
‘I pray so.’
‘Now listen, don’t worry about things here, I’ll sort it out. You try and get some rest and I’ll talk to you later, OK?’
Mid-morning, when she tried to place a call to the Armstrongs, young Billy answered the phone. She could sense his embarrassment when he told her that his mom was unable to take the call, and that his dad was off meeting the funeral director. Hurt, she sat there not knowing what to do, wondering what the funeral arrangements would be.