Comfort Me With Apples

by Comfort Me

  ‘I don’t want to talk about her or to see her ever again, Aunt,’ Anna said in a way that closed the subject.

  In London, Michael had a similar conversation with Dorrie as Christmas approached. ‘Don’t you think we should write to James and Anna?’ he said. ‘You know, dearest, the season of goodwill. It will be a sad Christmas for you and for Anna, both grieving for your mother. Surely that should draw you together?’

  Dorrie turned her head away without answering and Michael said more firmly, ‘I know you don’t like to talk about Liverpool but we’ll be sending presents to my aunt and uncle and to Aunt Clara. Surely it’s time to bury the hatchet and send something to your sister.’

  For answer Dorrie burst into loud sobs and Michael took her in his arms. ‘Dorrie, Dorrie, don’t cry. I’m only trying to help. I think this feud is bad for you and now with Anna expecting…’

  She sobbed even more, saying that Anna had everybody there in Liverpool, all fussing about her. ‘I only have you, Michael. If you turn against me and take her side I’ll have nobody. I’d rather be dead.’

  Michael, alarmed by the storm he had aroused, promised that he would never write without telling her and would never again ask her to write to Anna and James.

  He was on her side, although he didn’t really see any sides, and would always support her in whatever she wanted to do. When she had become calm and reasonable they talked of other things and Michael vowed to himself that that was his last attempt to reconcile the two sisters.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anna dreaded the remaining eight weeks or so of her pregnancy but it was only three weeks later when she was wakened by a severe pain, then another. She woke James as the pain came again and she felt as though she was being split in two.

  Within minutes, it seemed to her, the room was full of people. Dr O’Brien leaning over her and pricking her arm with a syringe, then Mrs O’Brien and the midwife on either side of her, moving and lifting her gently as they made up the bed.

  She heard Mrs O’Brien saying, ‘Yes, I delivered hundreds of babies in my nursing days in Dublin. Twins too,’ and she managed to gasp weakly, ‘James?’

  ‘Getting the cots ready for your babies. Him and Julia. You’ll be fine now, Anna,’ Mrs O’Brien said soothingly. The pain came again and now it was Dr O’Brien beside her.

  She lost all sense of time and place as she tossed about in anguish, drawn up to a peak of agony, when she could hear someone screaming, then the blessed relief as the pain receded and she slipped down again, only for the agony to return minutes later.

  She was briefly aware of the nurses speaking to her, urging her to do something, but she was too tired.

  Then Dr O’Brien spoke to her sometimes, and a tall Scotsman, bending over her saying, ‘Hang on now, lassie. Nearly there.’

  She was unaware of how much time passed before the fiercest pain of all attacked her and she realised that the screaming woman was herself.

  The pain receded and Dr O’Brien was bending over her, saying urgently, ‘Anna, Anna, open your eyes.’ With a great effort she lifted her eyelids and he held a baby up before her. ‘Your son,’ he said. ‘And you’ve a lovely daughter too.’ She tried to speak and he said, ‘Yes. Both perfect,’ and her eyes closed again. She drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of all the frantic activity around her.

  At one stage she realised that James and Dr O’Brien were lifting the foot of the bed and it remained tilted because bricks had been placed beneath it, but it was all like a dream to Anna. Free from pain now, she was living in a half-world, hovering on the edge of eternity, and nothing they could do could rouse her.

  James was constantly beside her, holding her hand, stroking her face and talking to her, but she was unable to respond. At one stage he said to her, ‘The babies’ names, darling. Margaret Frances and John Patrick. Is that right?’ and he was delighted when she lightly pressed his hand. She was unaware of the reason for the question, that her babies were also fighting for their lives in the next bedroom and were to be christened in case they lost the fight.

  The baby girl was the smaller and weaker of the two and the nurse estimated her weight at three pounds and the boy’s at four pounds. As soon as they were born their bodies had been rubbed with warm olive oil and they had been wrapped in flannel and cotton wool, then swathed in shawls before being put into cots warmed by hot water bottles, before a roaring fire.

  A nursing mother had been found who expressed breast milk as the babies were so weak and Mrs O’Brien soaked a boiled rag in it and tried to persuade the tiny boy and girl to suck milk from it.

  Dr O’Brien came in to see them. ‘How are they doing?’ he asked.

  ‘The girl’s making better shape than the boy but she needs it more. I’ll try him with a dropper,’ his wife said. ‘What about Anna?’

  He put his hands over his face and groaned. ‘I’m going to lose her, Maureen. She’s lost too much blood. Even Dr Fraser couldn’t help.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Paddy,’ she said firmly. ‘The bleeding’s stopped, hasn’t it? You’re just exhausted, that’s all.’ Julia came into the room with a bucket of coal and Mrs O’Brien said, ‘Would you bring the doctor a glass of brandy, Julia, please? He’s tired out.’ She brought it within minutes and he drank it as quickly.

  A few minutes later Fr Kavanagh arrived, summoned by Clara, and baptised the babies before going in to Anna to administer the last sacrament and recite the prayers for the dying.

  ‘These prayers are not just to help her on her journey to the next world,’ he said. ‘They are also prayers for her recovery if it is God’s will. We will all be praying for that.’

  Clara had also despatched a telegram to Dorrie and Michael. ‘Twins, boy and girl, arrived prematurely. Anna has been given Last Rites. Clara.’ They can’t say they weren’t warned, she thought grimly. I can do no more and if they come it may rouse Anna, if only to make her angry.

  The doctor’s brief moment of despair had vanished and he plunged with renewed vigour into trying different remedies. Anna was forced to drink beef tea from a feeding cup and fed with raw lamb’s liver, cut into tiny slivers and flavoured with herbs and disguised in cream by Julia. He also gave her so much iron that James was alarmed.

  ‘Doctor, what’s happening? Her teeth have turned black!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Only the ferrous sulphate,’ the doctor said. ‘She must have it. Her teeth will be all right.’ He talked to Julia, who sent Melda for fresh liver and beef and marrowbones, and with endless patience and care concocted food that would strengthen Anna and restore her blood.

  They knew that her slow climb back to health had begun when she asked James about the babies, although her voice was still only a thread.

  James carried each baby in turn to Anna and held them so that she could see them, although she was too weak to hold them. James lifted her hand so that she could touch the face first of Margaret Frances, then of John Patrick. ‘So small,’ she whispered, and he replied, ‘Yes, but tough,’ smiling at her.

  He took the babies back to the midwife, then went into another bedroom and collapsed in a storm of tears, overcome by the long days of pent-up emotion and worry and now the relief. He quickly recovered and went back to Anna.

  Dorrie and Michael were away from home when the telegram arrived, visiting a business acquaintance, but they returned home the next day. Meanwhile Clara had been waiting for a reply and was furious when none came but fortunately said nothing.

  Dorrie was feeling very cheerful and confident as they drove home. She knew she had sparkled and been a success at the house party and she felt that she was an asset to Michael’s career.

  They were both smiling when they walked into the house but Jessie met them with a long face.

  ‘A telegram came, sir, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know whether to open it,’ she said. She produced it and Michael and Dorrie read it together. Dorrie said nothing but without warning she slipped to the floor
in a faint.

  Michael carried her into the drawing room and held smelling salts to her nose and she sat up, then immediately sprang to her feet. ‘I must go to her, Michael. Anna. Dying!’ She began to weep and, still weeping, rushed to her bedroom and began to throw clothes into a suitcase.

  ‘Pack for me too,’ Michael said. ‘I can’t let you go alone. I’ll fix up about trains and see Eddy.’

  It was all quickly arranged and they set off for Liverpool, fearful of what they would find.

  Michael thought it wiser to book into the Adelphi before driving to the house but Dorrie was trembling so much that he had to support her as they approached Rosemount. ‘At least the blinds are not down,’ he encouraged her. ‘The worst hasn’t happened.’ But he was as nervous as she was.

  Clara opened the door. ‘At last,’ she said grimly.

  ‘How is she?’ Dorrie gasped.

  ‘Still very ill, but while there’s life there’s hope.’

  ‘And the babies?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Holding their own,’ Clara said, her grim face softening. ‘Nobody knows I sent for you, only Mrs O’Brien,’ she said. ‘Anna hasn’t been fit to be told. Follow me. I’ll go and warn James.’ She stalked upstairs and they followed, Michael helping Dorrie.

  At the door of Anna’s room Clara stopped and put a finger to her lips, then went in alone. When she beckoned them in a minute later James, who had been sitting beside Anna, had risen and moved aside. Dorrie and Michael stared in horror at Anna, at the purple smudges beneath her eyes and her almost bloodless lips, her face as white as the pillowcase.

  Dorrie ignored James and flung herself on her knees beside the bed and kissed Anna. ‘Annie, Annie,’ she wept, laying her face beside Anna’s on the pillow.

  Anna lifted her hand to Dorrie’s back. ‘Don’t cry, Dolsie,’ she said in a weak voice, using a long-forgotten pet name from their early childhood.

  Dorrie wept even more bitterly and Michael said gently, ‘You’ll upset Anna, love,’ so she lifted her head and dried her eyes.

  Michael and James had already shaken hands and James had said quietly that they were more hopeful now. They moved away from the bed, leaving Dorrie holding Anna’s hand, her eyes brimming with tears, and Anna smiling at her but too weak to talk.

  ‘But she looks so ill. I never saw anyone so white!’ Michael exclaimed.

  ‘I know, but there’s a definite change for the better,’ James said. ‘God knows I’ve been in despair many a time over the past few days but now I feel Anna has come back to us. She’s been unconscious most of the time, but yesterday, when she managed to ask about the babies for the first time, I felt sure the tide had turned. Dr O’Brien has been wonderful. Everybody has. I can never thank them enough.’

  Anna had drifted off to sleep and James took Michael and Dorrie to see the babies. Nothing could be seen of them but their tiny faces, cocooned as they were in shawls, with the shawls even drawn up over their bonnets.

  ‘John Patrick and Margaret Frances,’ James said proudly. ‘They’ve already been christened. Clara was godmother to Margaret and Mrs O’Brien godmother to John Patrick. The Patrick is after your uncle and Frances, of course, after our Frances but the first names are just because we like them.’

  He had greeted Dorrie stiffly, but avoided looking at her and addressed himself to Michael, but Dorrie, subdued and tearful, seemed scarcely to notice. She asked if she could sit with Anna again and James took Michael downstairs and introduced him to Julia.

  ‘Will I take up some tea and sandwiches for the lady, sir?’ Julia asked when she discovered that Dorrie was upstairs.

  ‘Good idea,’ James said. ‘You don’t mind if I go back myself, Michael? Clara and Julia will look after you.’ Julia was laying a spotless cloth over a bowl and he paused to ask, ‘Is that for my wife, Julia?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it’s herring with chopped watercress in cream. Herring is very nourishing and the doctor says there’s iron in watercress.’

  ‘Julia has done as much as anyone to help Anna,’ James said to Michael. ‘The food she’s prepared has made all the difference. Even made raw liver palatable.’ He smiled at Julia and went upstairs.

  ‘He’s uneasy if he’s away from her for five minutes,’ Clara said. ‘But you can’t blame him. The fright we’ve all had.’

  ‘I’m not over the fright I got myself when I saw her,’ Michael said. ‘Can she really recover?’

  ‘I think she will now. I think she’s turned the corner, although we’re not out of the woods yet,’ said Clara. ‘I’m relieved the way things have gone, Michael. I sent that wire without telling them and I expected Anna to refuse to see Dorrie but even if it just roused her in anger I thought it would be worth it. And James felt the same as her, I know.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t expect him to take it like this,’ Michael admitted.

  ‘Of course, I don’t know what happened,’ Aunt Clara said, looking at him hopefully, but he said nothing. ‘I tried to get Anna to make it up,’ she went on, ‘but she said she never wanted to see Dorrie or talk about her again, so I said no more.’

  ‘I didn’t have any better luck with Dorrie,’ was all Michael said on the matter but he added, ‘Thank God they both feel differently now.’

  Julia brought tea and sandwiches and James appeared a few minutes later. ‘Anna has taken some beef tea and some egg custard,’ he said. ‘I feel like a new man.’

  ‘Good. I’ve booked into the Adelphi, so we’ll leave soon to get a meal there,’ Michael said but Clara protested loudly and James said, ‘I can see it would be helpful if you slept there, the way things are, but you must have your meals here.’ He smiled. ‘Julia will already have planned them.’

  ‘I’ll go and see Anna and tell Julia,’ Clara said.

  When the two men were alone, Michael said awkwardly, ‘I don’t feel we should accept your hospitality, James. I think you’ve been magnificent. You’d have been justified in showing us the door, but instead!’ He shook his head.

  James said quietly, ‘After what’s happened here you get things in perspective, Michael. To see someone dear to you as close to death as Anna was, well, it brings you up short. I swore if only she lived I’d be a better man, never do any mean action or anything to hurt anyone. I won’t be able to keep to it, I suppose, but at least I’ve realised now what’s important and what isn’t. Life’s too short to quarrel.’

  ‘I wanted them to be friends again,’ Michael said, ‘and I tried to get Dorrie to write but I’ll admit it was chiefly because I knew it was secretly tearing Dorrie apart.’

  ‘She’s your wife. She must be your first concern,’ James said, and shrugged, but Michael replied, ‘Yes, but I know she was at fault and I was at fault for not seeing what was happening or taking proper care of her. You and Anna were the victims and nothing can alter that, I know. But I also know that, however much Dorrie tried to pretend, deep down she never stopped loving Anna.’

  ‘It’s all over now and Anna is willing to be friends again, so I think we can forget it and start afresh,’ said James. ‘Will you excuse me? I don’t like to leave her for long.’

  ‘Would you mind if I came with you?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Not at all. You can check on your wife too,’ James said with a grin. ‘And we can have another look at the babies.’

  Even in the short time since he had seen her Michael thought Anna looked a little better or perhaps he had recovered from the first shock of her appearance. He could certainly look more attentively at the babies. James braved the midwife’s glare to lift their bonnets a little to show that the girl had a fuzz of fair hair while the boy’s hair was dark.

  ‘They’re not identical then?’ Michael said.

  ‘No. What they call fraternal twins,’ James said, then in a burst of honesty added, ‘I must admit we expected two boys or two girls but we’re delighted with these two. They’ve turned the corner too, thank God.’

  ‘You’ve been through the mill, one way and another,
’ Michael said sympathetically but Dorrie only burst into tears.

  With a resigned look at James, Michael handed her his handkerchief and said firmly, ‘Come downstairs with me, Dorrie. James wants to be alone with Anna.’

  Dorrie and Michael were amazed to see the difference each day made in Anna’s health. She was now able to nurse her babies and they improved as quickly. Michael used the time to explore business possibilities in Liverpool, after sounding James out about how he would feel if he and Dorrie moved back to the city.

  ‘It’s your decision, Michael,’ James said. ‘But what about the London business? Aren’t you doing very well there?’

  ‘We are but the possibilities are good here. Liverpool is bursting at the seams. The city will take in all the little villages close to it, you’ll see, and that means houses.’

  ‘I agree, but what about London?’ James asked.

  ‘Eddy, my partner, is a grand man. His brother would like to come in with him but he hasn’t the money. I can afford to drop my price for my share and maybe arrange a payment over time. I owe Eddy for the friend he’s been to me in my troubles.’

  ‘Your wife would settle here?’ James said stiffly.

  ‘She’d be delighted but we wouldn’t be on your doorstep,’ Michael said. ‘Dorrie will be able to shut away the London years. She can divide her life into compartments. No looking back, except perhaps at the pleasant bits,’ he laughed.

  James had been afraid that when Anna returned to normal she might remember the episode with Dorrie and decide that she wanted nothing to do with her but, like James, Anna had been altered by her brush with death.

  She welcomed Dorrie eagerly and bore with her tears and excuses patiently and lovingly. ‘I just wasn’t myself, Anna,’ she sobbed. ‘That woman was like Svengali.’

  ‘She was an evil woman but she won’t do any more harm, will she?’ Anna said.

  ‘I can’t believe that I let myself be influenced by her so much,’ Dorrie sobbed. ‘I was only used to good people like you, Anna.’