The Pull of the Stars(48)

Mary O’Rahilly, in the middle, was a snail curved around her own bump. Dr. Lynn had pierced the sac and let the girl’s waters out, so it really wasn’t safe for delivery to be delayed too long; there was a higher risk of infection. I murmured, Any progress there?

Sister Luke grimaced. Pangs every eight minutes. Stronger than before, but the doctors aren’t happy with the pace.

I doubted Mary O’Rahilly was either. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her black hair limp with sweat; even her cough sounded weary.

It occurred to me that Bridie might in fact be here this morning but on a different ward. The office would assign every volunteer to where she was most needed, of course.

Honor White was telling her beads with bloodless hands, mouthing the words.

That one makes a great show of piety, said the nun in my ear.

My temper flared. I answered, very low: I thought you’d approve of prayer.

Well, if it’s sincere. But a year of praying did nothing to reclaim Her Nibs.

I turned to stare. Mrs. White? I whispered. How can you possibly know that?

Sister Luke tapped her nose through the gauze mask. A sister at our convent serves at that mother-and-baby home, and I asked her all about Mrs. over there. It’s her second time there. Not six months after release, didn’t she show up in the exact same condition again?

I gritted my teeth. And then a question occurred to me: She stayed on for a whole year after the first birth?

Well, that’s their term, if the infant lives.

I didn’t follow.

Sister Luke spelled it out: How long a woman has to do housework and mind the little ones to work off the costs if she hasn’t been able to pay.

I puzzled it through. So for the crime of falling pregnant, Honor White was lodging in a charitable institution where tending her baby and those of other women was the punishment; she owed the nuns a full year of her life to repay what they were spending on imprisoning her for that year. It had a bizarre, circular logic.

I asked, Does the mother keep…can she take her child away when the year is up?

Sister Luke’s one eye bulged. Take it away and do what with it? Sure most of these lassies want nothing more than to be freed from the shame and nuisance.

Perhaps my question had been naive; I knew unwed motherhood couldn’t be an easy life. I wondered whether such a woman might pretend to be widowed.

Sister Luke conceded, The occasional first offender, if she’s truly reformed and very fond of the child and if a married sister or her own mother is willing to call it theirs, she might be allowed to bring it home to her family. But a hardened sinner? (Narrowing her eyes at Honor White.) That one will have to stay two years this time. Some are kept on after that, even, if they’re incorrigible—if it’s the only way to prevent another lapse.

That left me speechless.

When I saw the red curls coming in the door, the relief staggered me. Morning, Bridie!

She pivoted towards me with her mile-wide smile.

But I shouldn’t have used her first name, not in front of Sister Luke. Bridie didn’t call me anything, I noticed—just bobbed her head.

I asked, Have you breakfasted?

She nodded appreciatively. Black pudding and lashings of sausages.

The nun said, Sweeney, sprinkle this floor with disinfectant and rub it all over with a cloth tied around that broom.

The day shift was mine, so why was the nun giving orders? I pointedly waited for Sister Luke to leave.

She shed her apron and put on her cloak. Have you heard mass yet, Nurse Power?

That confused me for a second, because it wasn’t Sunday. Oh, for All Souls, yes. (God forgive me the lie; I couldn’t bear a scolding from her.) All Saints, you mean.

I could hear the pleasure Sister Luke took in correcting me.

On the first of November, she reminded the whole room, we celebrate the church triumphant in heaven, watching over us poor sinners on earth. Whereas tomorrow, the Feast of All Souls, we honour the church penitent—the holy souls in purgatory.

Could she really imagine I wanted a lecture on the finer points of the liturgical calendar? Bridie was cleaning the floor already. I got on with putting my coat and bag away and scrubbing my hands.

Honor White let out a wet cough.

Sister Luke said, You could try a poultice on Mrs. White.

I reminded myself that the night nurse wasn’t in authority over me. Actually, Sister, in my experience poulticing isn’t much help in these chest cases.

Her visible eyebrow—the one not covered by the patch—disappeared into her coif. In my much longer experience, it will help if you do it correctly.

I could tell by Bridie’s shoulder blades that she was attentive to every word of this.

So tempting to point out that much of Sister Luke’s experience and all of her training was from the last century. Instead I said mildly, Well, as we’re so short-staffed, I believe I’ll use my good judgement.

A faint sniff.

I told her, Sleep well.

The nun buttoned up her cloak as if she had no intention of doing anything so feeble.

Sweeney, she said, don’t get under anyone’s feet today.

The minute Sister Luke had swept out, Bridie leaned on her mop and let out a snort. You told the old crow, all right. You told her something fierce.

But it would do this young woman no good if I stirred up trouble between her and the nun, given that they lived under the same roof. And besides, patients shouldn’t be made uneasy by dissent in the ranks. So I shook my head at Bridie. But I added, I’m glad you came back today.