Chapter 2

It was almost immediately apparent – as soon as anyone tried to question Emmanuel – that he was going to need a psychiatric assessment. Like most people these days, he carried a mobile phone, though he didn’t have many entries on his phone book. He did however, have an ICE number (in case of emergency) which was his parents’ home number. It might have been better had it been one of their mobile numbers, as it was late in the evening before they responded, but respond they did, horrified that their son was in a psychiatric acute admissions ward. He had not uttered a word, or looked at his questioners, since Gillian’s tirade. There was no question but that he’d done nothing wrong; that, in fact, he had acted promptly and at some risk to himself to aid the occupants of the vehicle and had, understandably, rescued the child first. The truck driver was very clear. For some reason, however, he had retreated within himself and was not responding on an emotional or intellectual level.

The Wagners, unimpressed with NHS psychiatry, found a private clinic in the country between Colchester and Maldon, the ‘St. Martin’s Retreat’, and Emmanuel was duly installed there. Over the following year he said nothing and his face betrayed no emotion. He would follow a simple instruction; he would eat, when told to do so, a meal placed in front of him. Without the instruction he would probably starve. He would, when told to do so, get into a bath or shower, but had to be told to wash, then to rinse and finally to dry himself.

The staff ... and his parents ... were at a loss. Emmanuel lost weight, though, and became much fitter than he had been, just because he obeyed instructions and his key-worker had prepared a comprehensive and effective plan of care to maintain and improve his physical health. But he never spoke.

Gillian, despite her words to Dulcie, didn’t contact her and, as time passed, her decision to do so gradually faded. As is the way of such things, the longer her procrastination continued, the harder it was to overcome. Karen remained quiet and withdrawn. A child psychiatrist was consulted and reassured Gillian that she would ‘grow out of it’.

“She’s lost her Daddy, and it’s to be expected it will take time for her to adjust.”

Gillian didn’t mention that Karen never mentioned her ‘Daddy’, only ‘Mr. Cuddles’

Dulcie, of course, was thoroughly occupied by her role as ‘Rector’s Wife’ and as a Non-Stipendiary Minister. After the wedding of Paul and Eileen and Roger Marshall’s funeral came the events of ‘All Hallow’s Eve’, followed by Delia’s story over the following eighteen months before Dulcie crossed paths with any of the participants again.

Karen had started infant school; the teacher had expressed concern about her passivity.

Emmanuel was still in ‘St. Martin’s Retreat’ and his parents had almost despaired of finding a solution to his condition; the doctors were scratching their heads.

Gillian, thinking some fresh air would be a good idea, was walking down Church Street towards the quay, Karen listlessly holding her hand. There was a wedding at the church and Gillian watched as the groom, a handsome man in uniform, bend to kiss his bride at the church door – supposedly for the benefit of the photographer. The wedding party moved round the church to find a suitable place for more photographs and Gillian stood still, looking at the open door of the building.

To her surprise, Karen tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the church. Partly from surprise, partly out of curiosity, she didn’t resist the first initiative her child had taken since the accident. They entered the cool, quiet church and Gillian stopped and looked around.

Karen didn’t. She disengaged her hand from Gillian’s and walked purposefully down the centre aisle. She reached the altar-rail and knelt, looking up at the cross on the altar as her mother stood, mouth open, watching. Gillian was about to run down the aisle to collect her child when a voice spoke in her ear.

“Let her be; she clearly knows what she’s doing.”

Gillian turned to look at the owner of the soprano voice. She recognised the heart-shaped face framed with glossy chestnut hair, though the elaborate robes were unfamiliar.

The woman smiled. “Dulcie Hanson,” she said, “and I know you ... Marshall. Mrs. Marshall. And the little girl...”

“Karen,” Gillian said, “and I’m Gillian.”

“You never came to see me,” Dulcie said gently.

Gillian might have bridled at the words, but Dulcie’s tone was not an accusation and she could sense the love behind them.

“I know...” Gillian stopped, “I ... I’m sorry.” she finished, eventually.

“No need,” Dulcie said, “why don’t we see what Karen’s up to?”

They walked together, slowly, down the aisle towards the sanctuary. As they got closer, they could hear Karen’s voice, though not what she was saying. As they passed the chancel arch, the child stood and turned towards them; seeing Dulcie she trotted over and held up her arms to be lifted as she had once before. When Dulcie picked her up the little girl flung her arms round her neck.

“The man said you’d help me find Mr. Cuddles,” If the assurance in Karen’s voice surprised Dulcie, it stunned and amazed Gillian.

“Who was that, Sweetheart?”

“The nice man I was just talking to...”

Gillian looked at Dulcie, who shrugged and said, “We didn’t see anyone, Duck.”

Karen twisted in Dulcie’s arms to look back at the altar. “Well, he was just there. He was nice. I think he was a workman or something. But he said you’d know what to do.”

“Did he now? I don’t suppose he said his name, did he?”

Karen screwed her face up. “No ... but he knew mine. He said, ‘Karen, go and talk to Dulcie, little sister. She’ll know what to do.’”

Gillian wasn’t following the conversation at all, confusion clear in her expression.

“Tell you what,” Dulcie said, “why don’t we go and see if I can talk to him too?”

“Okay!” The child wriggled and Dulcie set her down on her feet; she took Dulcie’s hand and they walked up to the altar-rail and knelt there.

“Well, Lord, you need to help me out, here.”

Dulcie felt a slight pressure on her shoulder and was suffused by a feeling of warmth and love. And ... amusement?

“I told her you’d know what to do, and you did it.”

“Oh, dear Lord...”

“St. Martin’s Retreat. You need to take them to see Emmanuel.”

“But that’s...”

“My name, too. But it isn’t me. Karen is the key to his healing.”

Then the sense of a Presence was gone, leaving a slight ache of loss.

Karen’s voice broke in to Dulcie’s reverie. “He was here again. He touched your shoulder.”

“You don’t have to come here to talk to Him, you know,” Dulcie said, “He’ll be your friend if you just talk to Him.”

The little girl’s face lit up.

Gillian found her voice. “What ... just happened?”

“Your daughter just met Jesus,” Dulcie said.

“But ... I don’t understand...”

“Karen just asked God about her ‘Mr. Cuddles’, and she had a vision of Jesus. Twice, actually, because she said she saw Him touching me as I was praying. He told me...”