The Pull of the Stars(16)

Ita Noonan was muttering, It’s all bockedy, banjaxed.

Bridie Sweeney came over to murmur in my ear, Is she by any chance an alco?

No, no, Dr. Prendergast ordered that whiskey for her flu.

She nodded and tapped her temple. Will her pot stay rattled permanently now?

I assured her that delirium was only temporary.

So…she’ll get better?

I found myself crossing my fingers so tightly it hurt. A silly habit, I knew. I told Bridie Sweeney in a low voice: These mothers are often stronger than they look. Once her fever breaks…I’d lay money she’ll get through this and have her twelfth in January.

Her twelfth?

The young woman’s tone was so appalled, I didn’t mention that only seven of the Noonan children were alive. I said instead, Do you know that saying, She doesn’t love him unless she gives him twelve?

She grimaced. I couldn’t stand that.

With a small shiver, I admitted, Me neither. Well, they’ll put up no statues to the pair of us.

That made Bridie Sweeney snort with laughter.

The day had darkened again, and rain was fretfully spattering against the slanted glass. Trickles ran down from the partly open window.

Delia Garrett asked, Can we have that shut so we don’t get drenched?

Sorry, I said, but air is vital, especially for respiratory complaints.

She buried her head under the pillow.

I set Bridie Sweeney to catching the drips with a cloth before they got near the beds. Then I sent her off to the supply room for ice from the electric refrigerator. It’s a big box of a machine, I explained, and the cubes should be behind a little door at the top. If there’s none left, go up one floor and ask.

I checked temperatures, pulses, respirations. I changed my patients’ handkerchiefs and adjusted their pillows; I propped up Ita Noonan so she was in the semi-upright position that seemed to ease her breathing a little.

By that time Bridie Sweeney was back with a basinful of ice, so I left her in charge while I brought each woman in turn to the lavatory.

She seemed gentle and trustworthy enough for a little patient care, so I got her to show me she remembered how to wash her hands—she didn’t forget a single step—and then I set her to sponging Ita Noonan’s face and neck with ice water. Let me know once she’s finished her whiskey, won’t you?

Delia Garrett coughed in a bored way. Can I have some of that instead of this awful tea?

Alcohol was a helpful relaxant in pregnancy, but…Sorry, I told her, only if the doctor says so.

(Not that my patients had a doctor supervising their treatment at the moment. When did this Lynn person mean to show her face?) Would you like a hot lemonade instead, Mrs. Garrett, or some barley water?

Ugh!

On the other side of the room, Ita Noonan yanked Bridie Sweeney’s hands down onto her own belly.

Dread seized me. What is it, Mrs. Noonan?

My young helper was having to kneel on the cot so she wouldn’t fall. She stared down at the mound under her palms. Ita Noonan was clutching her wrists and humming, but as if she were excited rather than in pain.

Astonishment filled the redhead’s face. It’s moving. Banging away in her insides!

Delia Garrett said with mild scorn, What did you expect?

I told Bridie Sweeney, Every unborn baby swims and somersaults.

Get away! As if it’s alive?

I frowned. Could she be pulling my leg? Well, of course it’s alive, Miss Sweeney. I corrected myself: Alive inside its mother, part of her.

I thought it only came to life once it was out.

I stared, thinking what a conjuring trick that would be—God making Adam of mud and blowing his spirit into him all in a moment. But I knew I shouldn’t be surprised; some patients came in here ready to give birth with almost as little grasp of the state of things.

I took Jellett’s Midwifery down from the shelf and lifted the delicate onionskin to show Bridie Sweeney the frontispiece captioned The full-term uterus.

Her eyes widened. Janey mac!

It took me a second or two to deduce that she thought this was a drawing of a woman who’d been sliced in half. No, no, it’s a cutaway—sketched as if we can see right through her. You notice how the baby’s all curled up?

And upside down!

I smiled. Much happier that way too, I imagine. You’re learning a lot for one day, aren’t you, Miss Sweeney.

She murmured, It’s a little acrobat.

But fast asleep most of the time.

Delia Garrett broke in to say, My second one wasn’t. Clarissa kicked like a mule night, noon, and morning. But this one’s a good girl, aren’t you?

She rubbed her bump with a rueful fondness.

Bridie Sweeney suggested, Or a good boy, maybe?

Delia Garrett shook her head. I don’t care for boys, and besides, my mother-in-law can always tell by how I’m carrying. Show me that picture?

When I passed her Jellett’s Midwifery, Delia Garrett grimaced at the frontispiece but with a certain pride. Look how her innards are squeezed aside! No wonder my stomach’s been dicky.

I put the book back on the shelf. Almost eleven already; time to change the poultice Sister Luke had put on Ita Noonan. I heated the linseed over a spirit lamp. It had to be thick enough that a spoon would stand up in the mixture. I opened the tapes of her nightdress, unwound the bandage around her chest, and peeled back the old caked crust. Her face was looking drawn and yellowish. I wiped her reddened collarbones clean with flax-tow swabs and soapy water while Bridie Sweeney stood close, handing over supplies as I asked for them.