From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  As she went downstairs, she thought about what she might wear this afternoon. The couple she’d met last week with the social worker had been all right. They’d been married six years but couldn’t have a baby and desperately wanted one, and were thinking about adopting hers. Matron had said it was a real opportunity because they knew the baby would be half Maori and didn’t mind at all. So she was to be on her very best behaviour and present herself well. She expected that meant no smoking, or putting her feet on the furniture, or swearing. Well, she could refrain from being common for half an hour, she supposed. She’d wear the plain sapphire-blue dress with the short sleeves. She liked that one — it didn’t make her boobs look like balloons. And perhaps she’d just put her hair back in a half ponytail. Or would that make her look as though she was twelve? How had she worn it last time? She couldn’t remember.

  Passing though the kitchen on the way to the big bin out the back she asked the cook, Mrs Riley, ‘What’s for lunch?’

  ‘None of your business,’ Mrs Riley snapped.

  Well, it is if I have to eat it, Pauline thought. She didn’t like Mrs Riley, who was always in a shitty liver, and hadn’t met anyone at the home who did, not even the staff. Sister Atwood said privately they called her Rancid Riley, even though her cooking was quite good, which surprised Pauline because it didn’t sound very Salvation Army of them, but it made her laugh.

  She bumped into Sister Atwood on the way back upstairs.

  ‘Morning. Early shift this week?’

  Frances Atwood was hurriedly tucking her hair under her veil. ‘Yes, and I was late to work. The chain came off my bicycle. Matron was not happy.’

  Pauline couldn’t think of anything worse, or sillier, than cycling round Wellington, because it looked very hilly, at least from her bedroom window. She liked Sister Atwood, though, very much, whom she thought was anything but silly. She also wasn’t judgmental, or unkind, or prone to bad moods, and she was only in her twenties. She wore the Salvation Army epaulets yet she knew what it was to be a young woman. She went out to dances and the pictures, she had a boyfriend, and she had plans for the future, which she didn’t mind chatting about with the girls in the home. And instead of making them feel as though they were missing out they felt included, as though their lives were only on hold, not ruined. It was nice.

  ‘Why don’t you just catch a tram or a bus?’ Pauline said.

  ‘Cycling’s better for you, though I must admit it isn’t on really windy days. Oh, while I remember, Matron says she forgot to say, but could you please pop in and see her in her office twenty minutes before your appointment.’

  ‘What for?’

  Sister Atwood shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Pauline shrugged. ‘Well, here’s a message for you. Don’t go in the kitchen. Rancid Riley’s in a proper mood. She snapped at me just before and I only asked her what’s for lunch.’

  ‘Message received.’ Sister Atwood saluted. ‘Good luck with your interview if I don’t see you again before then, which I probably won’t. I’ll be in the delivery suite.’

  Pauline said thanks. She knew Frances Atwood would be busy; one of the girls in the next room had gone into labour in the early hours and been moved across to the new wing before breakfast.

  And she wouldn’t need luck for her interview this afternoon either. The couple would either take the baby, or they wouldn’t. And if they didn’t, someone else would.

  *

  ‘Sit down, please,’ Matron McCormack said.

  Pauline did. Matron’s little office was as tidy as she was, with everything in it straight, neat and dust-free. On the wall behind her desk were some framed certificates and a photograph of some old bloke in a Salvation Army uniform.

  Sitting behind her desk, Matron clasped her hands on her blotter. ‘You look very nice, Pauline.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron.’

  ‘Before this meeting shortly, I wanted to have a little word with you about your attitude.’

  Pauline tried really hard to suppress a sigh as she thought, here we go, but a tiny bit of it escaped and she saw Matron notice. ‘I won’t ruin things,’ she said. ‘I want the baby to be adopted.’

  ‘You won’t ruin things on purpose,’ Matron said. ‘But you really can be quite an angry girl, Pauline. I would be very disappointed if for some reason that anger happened to show itself in front of these prospective adoptive parents. It’s entirely possible they may worry that the personality of the mother may manifest in the child, and have second thoughts about the adoption. And that would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it?’

  Pauline nodded, because it would.

  ‘Have you ever stopped to think about why you have these angry feelings?’ Matron asked.

  Astounded, Pauline stared at her. Finally, she said, ‘Could it be, do you think, because my fiancé was killed, and now this baby’s got no father?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure your boyfriend dying—’

  ‘Fiancé,’ Pauline interrupted.

  ‘Fiancé, then. I’m sure your fiancé dying has a lot to do with your feelings, but Pauline, that’s life.’

  ‘No, it’s death.’

  Matron shook her head. ‘It’s life. It’s part of the great tapestry that God weaves for us. You must understand that, being Catholic. As Salvationists our theology, of course, is Wesleyan, and as you’ve seen we don’t celebrate the sacraments of holy communion, or of baptism, but the over-arching principles of our teachings aren’t dissimilar to Catholicism. God has a plan for us, whether we like it or not. It’s up to us how we accept that plan and ultimately use it to promote His message and bring hope and salvation to others. You can bring hope to another couple by giving them your baby. Don’t let your anger derail your gift to them.’ She leant forwards. ‘And don’t let your anger at what has happened derail your own life from now on, Pauline. Accept your loss as God’s plan and look for the good in it. It will be there.’

  Pauline was buggered if she knew what that good might be. Johnny was dead, he wasn’t coming back, and that was that. ‘I don’t have a life now.’

  ‘Of course you do. In a month or two all this will be behind you and you’ll go home, find yourself some work and everything will go back to normal. Perhaps you’ll even meet a nice young man and start a proper family one day.’

  ‘I was hoping to train as a stewardess for TEAL when I turn twenty-one,’ Pauline said. ‘That probably isn’t going to happen now, is it?’

  ‘I really have no idea what the criteria might be for a Tasman Empire Airways stewardess. I’ve never even been in an aeroplane!’ Matron said, then laughed as if the very idea were ludicrous. ‘But I can’t see why it shouldn’t happen. I do know, however, that won’t come to pass, and, in fact, I think you’ll find that hardly anything positive at all will happen, if you don’t curb your anger and stop behaving badly.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, please. I know other people try your patience, Pauline. They try mine too. You certainly do. But that’s no reason for you to be unkind, or rude, or to stir up trouble. Try not to pick fights with people.’

  ‘Do you mean Carol?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Well, tell her. She’s the one who’s always moaning and complaining and telling tales. What a miseryguts.’

  ‘Have you ever considered the possibility that there might be a reason for her unhappiness?’

  ‘Yes, she got herself in trouble. None of us want to be here, you know.’

  Matron sighed. ‘Try and find some serenity, Pauline. You’ll feel better if you do, I promise you.’ She looked at the watch pinned to her uniform. ‘Now, it’s time for your appointment. Go in there with your head up and do your best.’

  Pauline dashed to the toilet, had a wee, tidied her hair one last time then knocked on the door of the interview room. The social worker, Mrs Nash, let her in.

  ‘Good afternoon, Pauline.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Nash.’

  ‘You remember Mr and Mrs Web
b, don’t you?’

  Pauline nodded at the couple sitting at the table. ‘Hello.’

  Mr Webb half stood and did a little bob. Mrs Webb smiled and waggled her fingers. He had on the same sports coat and trousers he wore the previous week, but she was wearing a different dress, a blue spotted number with a white collar and a wide, tightly cinched red belt, and a little white hat. Pauline wondered if her waist would ever be that small again.

  She sat in the last vacant seat. No one said anything for a moment, then Mrs Nash and Mrs Webb spoke at the same time. They laughed in that embarrassed way people do when something isn’t actually funny, then Mrs Webb gestured at Mrs Nash to go first.

  ‘I was just going to say, Pauline, have you been well?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Getting bigger, but I feel good.’

  ‘That dress looks lovely on you,’ Mrs Webb said. ‘The colour suits you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  It was strange, Pauline thought, Mrs Webb was probably only a year or so older than Allie, but thinking of her as ‘Mrs Webb’ made her seem nearly middle-aged. Mind you, thinking of Allie as ‘Mrs Manaia’ made Allie seem nearly middle-aged too.

  ‘We’ve brought you a little something,’ Mrs Webb said, handing a parcel across the table. It was wrapped in paper decorated with poodles holding ribbons in their mouths.

  Pauline said, ‘It’s not my birthday.’

  ‘No, it’s just a small gift. For here, in the home. Go on, open it.’

  Rigid with embarrassment, Pauline unwrapped the present. It was a quilted pink satin bed jacket. ‘Oh, lovely. Thank you very much.’ She already had the one Allie had knitted for her, which she much preferred. Maybe someone else could use this one.

  Mr and Mrs Webb looked at each other and shared a little smile.

  Mrs Nash retrieved some forms from her briefcase and set them out on the table. ‘We were hoping you might consider signing the papers today, Pauline. How would you feel about that?’

  Pauline looked down at the forms. ‘To give up the baby?’

  ‘Only if you feel the time is right.’

  ‘It’s just that babies are in such short supply,’ Mrs Webb blurted. ‘We had our name down for two before this and we lost them. We . . . well, we really would like this one.’

  ‘How do you mean you lost them?’ Pauline was intrigued. Had she accidentally put them out with the rubbish?

  Mrs Nash looked annoyed by Mrs Webb’s outburst. ‘It really was rather unfortunate,’ she said. ‘The first mother decided at the last minute she didn’t want to give up her baby, and the second infant died minutes after it was born.’

  ‘It died?’ Pauline said. ‘Crikey, that’s unfortunate, all right.’

  Mrs Nash’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

  ‘But that’s not going to happen here, is it?’ Mr Webb said, opening his mouth for the first time. ‘You look as healthy as a horse. So if you could just sign the papers?’

  ‘I’m not sure today’s the right day after all,’ Pauline said. And it wasn’t the right day because she was starting to think she might not like the Webbs. She didn’t want the baby, but she did want it to go to nice people. ‘I’m not due for another five weeks. I’d prefer to leave the papers a bit longer.’

  She watched Mrs Nash glare at Mr Webb as though he’d ruined everything. Had he? She wasn’t sure yet.

  Mrs Nash stood, opened the door and said brusquely, ‘Thank you very much for coming, Mr and Mrs Webb. I’ll be in touch in a day or two.’

  The Webbs drifted towards the door, looking a bit bewildered. Mrs Webb said, ‘But the papers will be signed? We will get our baby?’

  ‘Oh, the adoption will go ahead, don’t you worry about that. I’ll be in touch.’

  Mrs Nash shut the door after them, and sat down again. She gave Pauline a long deliberate look, then took off her cat’s-eye spectacles and polished the lenses on her handkerchief.

  ‘Well, Pauline, you have come very close to ruining your chances there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They don’t have to take a little brown baby, you know. There are white babies available. In fact, there will be white babies available in this home very shortly.’

  ‘I know. But it’s true there aren’t enough babies to go round, isn’t it? If they don’t want it someone else will. I just thought they were a bit pushy. Actually, Mrs Nash, I think you’re a bit pushy.’ Whoops, she was back-sliding. Matron would be disappointed.

  ‘Well, dear, I won’t tell you what I think of you, because that isn’t really relevant. It’s my job to match babies with childless married couples, and that is what I intend to do. The Webbs are decent people. If your baby went to them it would receive everything it needs, it would be loved, it would grow up in a stable home, and it would be far better off than it would be if it stayed with you. Frankly, I firmly believe unmarried mothers who keep their babies are selfish. It’s a far more responsible thing to do to give up a child than to keep it. Now, I strongly suggest you sign these papers in the very near future, before the Webbs decide they can’t be bothered with you and look elsewhere.’

  ‘But how do you know they’re the right people for the baby?’ Pauline said. ‘I should have a proper say in where it goes, shouldn’t I? It’s my baby, after all.’

  My baby.

  *

  A week later Pauline caught sight of Mrs Nash after she’d visited one of the other girls in the home. She stood near the stairs and watched the social worker hurry outside in her sensible shoes, then went after her.

  ‘Mrs Nash! Wait!’

  Mrs Nash stopped, looking harassed. ‘What is it? I’m in a bit of a rush.’

  ‘I’ll sign those papers, if you want. Now.’

  The social worker was suddenly all smiles. ‘Well, I’ve certainly got time for that! You won’t regret your decision, you know. The Webbs are a lovely couple.’

  She took Pauline by the arm and steered her back inside, where they sat down in a pair of chairs in the foyer. Mrs Nash set her briefcase on her knees and ferreted around for the adoption papers she’d filled out for Mr and Mrs Webb, and which they’d already signed. ‘Don’t tell me they’re at the office,’ she muttered. ‘Oh, no, here they are.’ She ran her eyes over each page, then handed both to Pauline. ‘Here you go, dear.’

  ‘Where do I sign?’

  ‘Hold on, before you do, you’re legally required to read the form.’

  Pauline did, most of which she understood. Sort of. It was a bit lawyer-ish in places. Then she took the pen Mrs Nash offered her and signed her name at the bottom. Mrs Nash reclaimed the form, slipped it into her briefcase and snapped the lid closed.

  ‘You’ve made the right decision, Pauline. For everyone. But may I ask, why didn’t you want to sign before?’

  ‘It’s not that I didn’t want to. I just didn’t think I needed to. What’s the hurry?’

  ‘Well, surely the Webbs are entitled to some assurance? Try to look at it from their point of view.’

  ‘Do you ever try to look at it from our point of view? Us girls?’ Pauline asked.

  ‘Of course. No one’s ever forced to give up their child.’

  Pauline raised one arched eyebrow.

  Mrs Nash smiled brightly. ‘But fortunately for childless couples, plenty of you choose to.’

  Heaving herself to her feet, Pauline said, ‘Doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. Here’s your pen back.’

  *

  Early December 1956

  Two weeks previously, Carol’s baby had dropped. They’d all noticed, of course. She was still telling everyone she was due on 31 December, nearly a month away.

  ‘She might be early,’ Bev remarked, blowing twin jets of smoke out through her nostrils like a dragon.

  Nancy agreed. ‘She must have her dates wrong. You drop two to four weeks before you give birth and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Pauline asked. She was knitting a little hat, though why, she didn’t know. She had half a do
zen beautifully knitted and complete baby outfits in the suitcase under her bed.

  ‘Sister Gordon.’

  ‘What does she know?’ Pauline said.

  ‘Probably quite a lot, actually. She is a maternity nurse.’

  Bev said, ‘My mother told me you can drop a couple of months before the baby arrives.’

  ‘How many brothers and sisters have you got?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘That might have something to do with it.’

  They all giggled.

  Everyone looked up as Carol lumbered into the lounge, her hands beneath her enormous belly. She’d been for a physical examination, and looked grumpy and uncomfortable. Backing up to a chair she lowered herself onto it.

  ‘All right?’ Bev asked.

  ‘Well, did you get your dates wrong?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s hard to work it out,’ Bev said kindly.

  Carol stared at the window for such a long time Pauline thought she wasn’t going to answer. She can’t have been admiring the view, either — the net curtains were too heavy to see through. ‘Not for me it isn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ Pauline asked.

  Carol sighed and turned back to face them. ‘I’m so sick of keeping this a secret. I really am. I only had intercourse once.’

  Pauline exchanged a quick glance with the others: God, what shitty luck.

  ‘And I didn’t even want that,’ Carol said. ‘It was revolting. And terrifying.’ She lit a cigarette and puffed on it angrily.

  A heavy, embarrassed silence descended as the implications of her admission set in.

  Then Nancy asked tentatively, ‘Did you know the father?’

  ‘I knew who he was, but no, I didn’t know him.’

  More silence, then Bev said, ‘That must have been awful.’

  ‘Did you tell?’ Pauline asked.

  Carol shook her head.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I live in a really small town. Would you have told?’

  Pauline knew she probably wouldn’t have. And she knew she should apologise to Carol for being mean to her, but she probably wouldn’t do that, either. They all had private burdens.

  ‘The baby, then,’ Nancy said, indicating Carol’s belly. ‘How do you feel —?’