Miracle Woman by Marita Conlon-Mckenna

feeling the ribs and the telltale erratic flutter and pattern of her dysfunctioning heart, willing it to steady and fall into a more defined logical gentle rhythm than the staggered one she was picking up. She moved her hands slowly, gently, hoping some of the warmth and effort would pass through into Cass. It was like running up anddown a maze of circuit paths, hoping that one or two were free and clear to work, trying to hide her dismay at what she was picking up and realizing the precariousness of Cass’s grip on life. Silently she prayed for strength and energy for this child. Cass’s eyes followed her own, understanding as Martha finished.
    â€˜Well?’ Beth’s skinny face was full of expectation.
    Martha took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.
    â€˜Thank you, Martha. Thank you so much.’ The mother’s voice was choked with appreciation and hope.
    Martha had no idea how much or little she had done.
    â€˜Well, Cass, how do you feel?’ urged Beth.
    The small girl was busy re-buttoning her pyjamas, concentrating. ‘I could feel it! As if something was moving inside me, I don’t understand it,’ she said.
    Martha laughed nervously.
    â€˜To tell the truth, Cass, neither do I! But when I’m laying my hands on I ask the good earth and sky and the Holy Spirit to help heal the person who needs it. I guess I’m just a sort of go-between, that’s all.’
    â€˜Didn’t you feel anything more, Cass? Anything?’ insisted her mother.
    Cass stared right over at her.
    â€˜It felt real nice.’
    Beth Armstrong looked triumphant.
    Martha stood up to go, wanting desperately to be out of the room and extricate herself from this impossible position. ‘Listen, Beth, I have to go and pick up my youngest,’ she told her.
    â€˜Thank you so much for coming up to see Cass, it’s much appreciated, Martha, and I hope it didn’t delay you too much.’
    â€˜Martha!’ said the small voice. ‘Martha, will you come visit me again?’
    She sighed. It had been inevitable. The child needed help, needed support. The path of her illness was such that it would be too much for her to deal with on her own.
    â€˜Yes, I’ll come again, Cass. I promise.’

Chapter Nine
    MARTHA WATCHED PROUDLY as Alice and Becky hopped, light-footed as two fairies, to the music of the lilting reel, Alice’s long fair hair bouncing on her shoulders. The crowd of eight-, nine- and ten-year-old girls weaving in and out, learning the complicated steps of the traditional dance, were giggling and laughing, bumping into each other as they swirled around the room.
    It was her turn to collect the girls from Flannery’s Irish dance class, which was held in the old Lutheran school hall on Tuesdays. Thanking Mrs Flannery, she gathered up their bags and shoes. She dropped Becky off and had a few quick words with Evie before returning home.
    She could scarcely believe the apparition that greeted her when she turned into Mill Street, for there were at least twenty cars parked in close proximity to their driveway. At first she wondered if one of her neighbours was throwing a party or having some kind of meeting, but seeing nosign of any such occasion she realized that the occupants sitting inside the silver and grey and blue vehicles were all waiting for her. Car doors slammed and three or four people began to approach her as soon as they recognized her.
    Martha grabbed Alice by the hand, as she quickly pulled her key out of her purse and let herself into the house. Patrick was sitting at the kitchen counter and she was surprised by the look of relief in his face.
    â€˜Where the hell were you, Mom?’
    â€˜It’s all right, Patrick, I’m here now,’ she comforted him, wrapping her arms loosely around his broad shoulders. It was unlike her fifteen-year-old son to make any enquiry as to her whereabouts and she guessed that he’d been anxiously