by Emma Fraser
‘I’m Jessie,’ she said, discarding her coat. ‘I see you have a pan on the stove. Good. Now, why don’t you lie down so I can have a look at you? I’ll just put my instruments on to boil.’
Jessie dropped her scissors into the pan. That was as far as her instruments went, but it sounded more reassuring to pretend there were several. Then she took a clean apron out of her bag and put it on. She had also brought a freshly laundered towel and sheet, but from what she could see in the hazy light of the one gas lamp above the stove, the sheets on the bed were reasonably clean.
‘I’ll light this other lamp, if that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I need to be able to see what I’m doing.’ A second lamp would be an extravagance for Agnes, but it had to be done. ‘Your children are with the neighbour downstairs.’
Agnes grunted as a contraction swept over her. ‘My man will no’ like that.’
‘Seeing as he’s not here, it can’t matter. Anyway, I’ll deal with him if he comes back.’ Jessie wasn’t scared. However badly some of the men treated their wives, they would never dare lay a hand on them when the howdie was around. Unfortunately she couldn’t stop them once she had left. Sometimes she would stay a couple of days with the mother to help her cope with the new baby, but that wouldn’t be possible in this already overcrowded room.
Jessie pulled up Agnes’s nightdress and gently palpated her abdomen. Good. The baby was lying normally. ‘The head is down,’ she told Agnes. ‘You were quite right. It won’t be long now.’
Agnes grunted as another contraction hit her. With their first, mothers screamed with the pain and the shock, but Agnes had been through this several times before. And judging by her black eye, she was used to suppressing cries of pain.
Jessie would have liked to break a poker over the heads of men like Agnes’s husband. Thank God her Tommy would never dream of laying a hand on her.
‘Lift your knees,’ Jessie instructed, after she had washed her hands in water as hot as she could bear, ‘and let them fall apart. I’m going to have a wee feel to see how far along you are.’
Agnes did as she was asked, her face contorted with pain and concentration.
Jessie slipped her fingers into the birth canal and felt for the cervix. It was almost completely open. Her instincts had been right. Agnes’s baby would arrive shortly. ‘Only another little while and you can start pushing. But not until I tell you, all right?’
Agnes nodded.
Jessie spread out the clean towel on the kitchen table ready for the baby. The stove was burning well, heating the room. Often the babies were small and needed the heat from the fire. Jessie examined Agnes again. This time the cervix was fully dilated. ‘You can put one of your feet on my shoulder if it helps,’ she said. ‘The next time you feel a contraction I want you to push, and when I say stop, stop.’
She had found that if she eased the baby’s entry into the world slowly there was less chance of tearing. Tears down below could mean weeks of pain for the woman when she was expected to carry on looking after her family. Wounds might also become infected.
With the next contraction, Agnes pushed. From her position at the end of the bed, Jessie saw something dark appear at the opening of the birth canal. As the contraction eased, the baby disappeared again. This was the part she loved. In some ways she was like one of the conductors she’d seen in the Botanic Gardens, leading the brass band in the free open-air concerts.
‘You can rest for a bit, Agnes, until the next contraction.’
She laid a hand across Agnes’s taut abdomen. She would feel the uterus tightening almost as soon as Agnes did.
After another couple of contractions the baby’s head popped out. To Jessie’s dismay the cord was wrapped tightly around its neck. ‘One more push, Agnes,’ she said. She wished she had someone, preferably her mother, to help, but she was on her own and would have to do the best she could. When, with a final push from Agnes, the baby slipped out, Jessie unravelled the cord. The baby was a dusky shade of blue. Her heart hammering, she flicked her finger round the inside of the tiny mouth to check for any obstructions, then bent her head, placed her lips over the nose and mouth and blew gently.
‘What is it?’ Agnes pushed herself up on her elbows, straining to see what Jessie was doing. ‘Why isn’t it crying?’
Jessie couldn’t stop what she was doing to answer. She blew a few more times, watching the miniature chest rise with every breath. Then the baby’s chest squeezed in an attempt to draw in a breath. She raised her head. When the child gave a feeble cry, she felt dizzy with relief.
After rubbing the baby down, she wrapped it in the clean towel and passed her to the mother to feed. ‘A wee girl, Agnes.’
Disappointment pulled at Agnes’s mouth. ‘He was hoping for another boy. He’ll no’ be very pleased with a girl.’
Stupid man. As if fathering boys were an indication of manhood! Jessie hoped that he wouldn’t take out his disappointment on his wife.
‘You get her feeding while I finish off down below. You’re going to have to give me another push in a minute.’
When she had delivered the placenta, Jessie cut the cord. Then she wrapped the afterbirth in newspaper for Agnes to dispose of later. She washed her hands again and packed away the scissors. She would boil them when she got home.
‘I want you to stay in bed as long as you can and get some rest,’ she told Agnes.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me, hen. He’ll be expecting his breakfast on the table same as always when he comes in off the night shift.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea before I go, then. Perhaps your neighbour will keep the children for a few more hours so you can get some sleep. I’ll ask her on the way out.’
From her bed, Agnes gestured towards a pile of coins on the table. ‘It’s all I’ve got, for now. I’ll try to get some more for you when you come back.’
Jessie always returned to check up on mother and baby for a few days afterwards. She was paid for the delivery, and for each visit after, or that was the idea. In reality, the women could only pay her half of what they were supposed to. Sometimes they would offer her a few haddock or whatever they had instead of money, but Jessie usually refused. Now it seemed to be getting about that she was an easy touch, but she couldn’t leave the women to give birth on their own when she could help; neither would she refuse to come back and check up on them. Still, it would be nice if she were paid properly every now and again. God knew she and Tommy needed the money, if they were ever going to get themselves out of their own small room.
‘Don’t worry. This will do fine.’ If she refused to take anything, it would be almost as bad. Most of the women were fiercely proud, and anything that could be construed as charity was resented. At least she could add the few coins to the small pile she had already collected. Another ten years, she thought despairingly, and they might have enough to move into a bigger flat, in a better street. If Tommy hadn’t joined up, he might have got the supervisor’s job down at the docks, which would have meant a terraced house with a separate bedroom and more money. Maybe then she would have risked having another child.
Once she had finished making the tea and tidying up, she checked Agnes again. To her horror she saw a spreading red stain on the sheet. At this stage bleeding should have been minimal. If Jessie couldn’t stop it, the mother might die. ‘Agnes, I’ll have to call for a doctor,’ she said, keeping her voice calm and matter-of-fact. ‘I’ll have to leave you for a few moments to go for help.’
‘Whit is it? Whit’s wrong?’
‘You’re bleeding a little more than I’d like. You may need the doctor to give you something to stop it.’
Ignoring Agnes’s frightened eyes, Jessie hurried downstairs and knocked on the neighbour’s door.
‘Send Billy or someone to the hospital for a doctor. Whoever you send has to tell them it’s a post-partum haemorrhage and they must hurry.’
Billy appeared in the doorway. ‘I’ll go, Missus.’
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��Run as fast as you can, Billy. There’s no time to waste.’
Jessie hurried back upstairs. Not knowing if a doctor would come in time, or even if a doctor would come at all, it was up to her to control the bleeding. ‘Do you have some clean pillow cases, Agnes?’ she asked.
Agnes pointed to the sideboard. ‘You’ll find a couple in there.’
Working quickly, Jessie ripped them into strips. Then she rolled each strip into a wad and used them to pack the entrance of the birth canal as tightly as she could.
After she’d finished, she checked Agnes’s pulse again. It was rapid and weak. If she continued to bleed there was no more Jessie could do for her, and those poor mites downstairs would be motherless.
Just as Jessie was giving up hope that a doctor would arrive, there was a brief knock on the door and a slender figure holding a leather medical bag stepped into the room. Although it had been years since she’d seen the doctor’s daughter, Jessie recognised her straight away.
‘Someone sent for a doctor?’ Isabel said, wiping her feet on the mat. When she raised her eyes, her face paled in the half-light. ‘Why, it’s Jessie MacCorquodale! You’re the midwife!’
For a moment, shock rendered Jessie speechless.
Isabel unwrapped her headscarf and started undoing the buttons of her fashionably cut coat. Her face was thinner than Jessie remembered, emphasising her high cheekbones and making her lips seem fuller. Despite the shadows under her eyes, she was more beautiful than ever. No wonder Archie had been besotted with her.
Jessie’s heart thudded. At last she could ask Isabel what had happened that day on Galtrigill. But now was not the time, not while Agnes was bleeding to death.
Jessie found her voice as she took the coat from Isabel. ‘It’s Stuart now, Miss – I’m married.’
‘Congratulations,’ Isabel said, rolling up the sleeves of her pin-tucked blouse. ‘And can you believe that I’m Dr MacKenzie now, Jessie? But we’ll talk properly later. What’s the problem?’
Jessie quickly explained what had happened and what she had done so far for Agnes.
Isabel nodded her approval while she felt Agnes’s pulse. ‘You’ve done everything right. She’s fortunate to have you looking after her. Now, I have some ergot in my bag. It will help the uterus contract and should control the bleeding. If it doesn’t, we’ll have to take her to hospital.’
Isabel took a syringe from her bag, drew some fluid from a small bottle and injected it into Agnes’s arm. ‘We’ll know in the next couple of minutes whether it’s working.’
The women waited in silence, watching Agnes closely for signs of collapse. Then Isabel checked the wadding in Agnes’s birth canal and nodded. ‘The bleeding seems to have stopped,’ she said. ‘Well done, Jessie. If you hadn’t acted so quickly, it might not have turned out so well.’ She smiled again. ‘You were always a natural at this. I remember my father had a great deal of confidence in you.’
Once, Isabel’s praise would have meant everything to Jessie. Now, thinking of Archie and his admiration for this confident and privileged woman, her words only made Jessie feel patronised and resentful. Whatever had happened on Skye, it hadn’t affected Isabel. She had gone on with her charmed life. Admittedly Jessie didn’t know that Isabel had had anything to do with Archie’s sudden departure, but she just had a deep, unwavering intuition that she had.
As soon as Agnes was sleeping peacefully, her baby wrapped snugly in her arms, Jessie offered Isabel a cup of tea.
Isabel tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Thank you,’ she said, after a brief hesitation. ‘I’d like to stay here until I’m certain she won’t start bleeding again.’ She removed a pile of clothes from a rickety chair and sat down, with a sigh. ‘What a day! It’s good to be finally off my feet.’
Jessie set the kettle on the stove to boil. She had to ask Isabel about Archie, but she wasn’t sure how. ‘I still have the book you gave me the last time we saw each other,’ she said, choosing her words with care.
‘Oh, Lord, Jessie! I was meant to pass on the address of the people my father found for you but until now I’d quite forgotten. After he died, everything was so … so confused.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered if you had. In the end I couldn’t leave Mam. She was sick and, with Archie gone, I had to stay. Did you know he’s no longer on Skye?’
Isabel ran her tongue across her lips. ‘Yes. Where did he go?’
‘He’s in America. At least, he was when I last heard from him.’
‘America! He always talked of going there.’
Was she mistaken or did Isabel look relieved?
‘Anyway, with Archie gone and Mam sick, I couldn’t leave her on her own and I couldn’t take her with me. She died a few years ago.’ Jessie watched Isabel closely for her reaction, but apart from another little flicker in her eyes, there was nothing except sympathy in her expression.
‘I’m sorry,’ Isabel replied, ‘Yet you found a way to become a nurse.’
Jessie poured water into the teapot and left it to brew. ‘When Mam passed away, there was nothing to keep me on Skye so I came to Edinburgh. I tried to get a position at the Royal Infirmary, but they wouldn’t take me because I didn’t have enough schooling. Besides, they wanted me to pay them for my training and I didn’t have the money. In the end I found a job as a nurse at Craigleith.’
‘I didn’t know you were at Craigleith! I used to go there on occasion to help in theatre.’
‘I was there for three years. Although the Royal Infirmary wouldn’t have me, the workhouse wasn’t so particular about whom they took on.’ But she didn’t want Isabel to think she wasn’t a real nurse. Despite everything, she still wanted her approval. ‘I did a good job there. A new matron started just before me and she wasn’t happy with the way things were run. Together we made the wards as good as anything you’d find in the Royal Infirmary. The matron had trained at the Glasgow Infirmary and she knew what she was about, so I had a decent training.’
She turned back to the stove and, using the cups and saucers she found above the mantel, poured the tea.
‘Why did you leave?’ Isabel asked, taking her cup from Jessie.
‘I met my husband, Tommy. They don’t like nurses to be married.’
‘Do you miss it? Nursing in a hospital, I mean. Of course, you still have your deliveries, and I’m sure the women of Leith have cause to thank God that you’re here to help.’
‘I didn’t miss it at first. I was too happy about getting married and having a baby…’ She tailed off.
Agnes’s baby stirred in her sleep and Jessie went over to the bed to check on her and her mother. The baby had already gone back to sleep, a little bubble of milk still on her lips.
‘You have a child?’ Isabel said, when Jessie returned to her chair.
‘I had a son,’ Jessie replied shortly.
‘Had?’ Isabel repeated. ‘Oh, Jessie, what happened?’
Jessie took a sip of the scalding tea. ‘He died. Diphtheria. I took him to the hospital. It was a woman doctor who saw him. She was useless. I kept telling her she needed to make a hole in his throat to help him breathe, but I reckon she thought the likes of me wouldn’t know what they were talking about. But Seamus was my baby. If I’d had the stuff the doctor had, I would have saved him. I know I would.’
‘I’m so very sorry,’ Isabel said softly. ‘What was the doctor’s name? Do you remember?’
‘I’ll never forget it. Dr Harcourt.’
Isabel pursed her lips. ‘I know her. She’s left now. Set up a practice in the New Town, I understand.’
‘I pity her patients.’
Isabel leaned across in her chair and touched Jessie’s hand. Her fingers were frozen, despite the warmth in the room. ‘We doctors are human, Jessie,’ she said. ‘We can’t always save everyone, no matter how much we want to.’
‘She could have saved Seamus, but she panicked. Not like you. You didn’t panic when Agnes was bleeding. Dr Harcourt would have.’
/> ‘We can’t know what she would have done,’ Isabel said, rising to put her cup next to the sink.
‘What kind of doctor are you?’ Jessie changed the subject. What had happened had happened. It was no use harking after what couldn’t be changed.
‘I’m a resident at Leith at the moment. I finish there in December.’
‘Will you stay on at the hospital?’
Isabel shook her head. ‘It’s difficult for a woman to get a permanent position in a hospital, unless it’s children and mothers or one of the asylums. Besides, I’ve always wanted to be a surgeon. If there’s one good thing about this war, it’s that women can get experience they can’t get anywhere else. There’s a female unit going out to the front line and I’ve asked to go with them. That way I’m bound to get some practice as a surgeon.’
‘Won’t you be scared out there with all the fighting, Dr MacKenzie? Don’t you have someone here who cares about you?’
‘Oh, do call me Isabel, Jessie. We’ve known each other long enough. And, no,’ a shadow crossed her face, ‘there is no one, except my mother, whom I’ll be leaving behind.’
A piece of wood in the fire hissed, and a laugh echoed in the street below.
‘My Tommy’s volunteered – the fool. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. He said it was his duty.’ Jessie clicked her tongue. ‘His duty? What has the government ever done for us?’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Jessie. We all have to do our duty, especially now.’
Jessie had had enough. Who was Isabel to preach to her? The strain and grief of the last years and months gathered inside her like a storm. ‘Duty? Please don’t tell me about duty. I did my duty to my mam. I was the one who stayed behind when Archie went away. I was the one who put away my hopes and dreams to do my duty. You sit there, qualified, rich and happy, but you don’t know the first thing about people like me or our lives. You were happy enough to look down on us when you were in Skye, going about with your dad as if you were Lady Muck. Did it make you feel good, knowing you could go home to your comforts any time you wished? You were happy enough to have Archie for your friend when it suited you. You didn’t care that he loved you. Did you even notice?’