‘I know—’
‘And my being pregnant sort of makes it worse.’
‘No … no,’ I say bravely, ‘it doesn’t. Det, you are my best friend.’
‘I know that.’
But she’s not dumb. There’s no point lying. It’s true that her being pregnant is somehow making all the stuff about my birth mother harder to deal with.
‘It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about her,’ I admit carefully. ‘It’s driving me nuts. All the time working at the convent I’m thinking about her. What will I say if I ever meet her?’
‘You could always try hello,’ Det says, and goes on buttoning up her shirt.
‘Hello,’ I repeat softly. ‘Hello.’
‘You could also try contacting her through the adoption agency. She’s probably nice enough, Peach.’
‘How could it be fucking nice to give your own kid away?’
Det stops what she is doing and looks straight at me. ‘Easy,’ she says.
‘How do you mean?’
‘It would be easy … not to want a baby.’
The words bounce against my skull like little stones. ‘But I thought …’ ‘Yeah, well … you thought wrong,’ she says.
‘So … what?’ I have no idea how to formulate the question I want to ask. Anyway, there is no point asking Det anything. If she’s got anything to say she’ll say it.
‘Even if you want it, it’s about whether you can do it or not.’
‘Do it?’
‘Yeah.’
I look at Det, but she is still staring out the window.
She must be thinking about giving her child away. The thought makes me go cold.
‘But you’ve got us,’ I whisper. ‘You can stay here. It’s all set up for you.’
‘I know that, but …’
‘But what?’
‘I reckon you’ve got to be cut out for it.’
I open my mouth to speak but close it again. I have this weird feeling that I’m not living in the present at all anymore. The past is rolling in like a tsunami, and pulling me along with it.
Ellen
Ellen woke to the sound of the magpies on her lawn and smiled to herself. The best sound! She’d always loved it. But why was Kev taking so long with the tea? They’d had a bit of rain overnight. Maybe the wood had got wet. Every morning after lighting the fire he brought her a cuppa on a saucer, just as she liked it, not weak but not too strong either, with a few grains of sugar and a half-piece of toast and vegemite on the side. The clock on her bedside table struck seven and she remembered with a start that Kev had been dead for more than a decade.
The girl had written again and asked a whole lot of new questions. Ellen felt tired even thinking about them. It was natural enough that she wanted to know about her mother as a little girl, but she didn’t seem to understand how mixed up things could get. Of course some events stood out very clearly, but others were so hazy as to be almost unreal. Whole years collapsed into thin streaks of time, like eels in a bucket, too slippery to catch. Still, she would try. She’d do her best. As soon as she was up and dressed she’d sit down to write. It was best not to plan these letters, best by far to let the pen fly along on its own.
Ellen pushed off the bedclothes and with both her feet down on the cold floor she reached for her dressing-gown and began the slow process of dressing. Out on the kitchen table the biro and writing pad waited.
1945
After two weeks of hospital rest she was brought into the four-bed labour ward at three a.m. She was relieved to see there was only one other bed occupied. She hoped to deliver quickly and be back in the ward before they brought anyone else in. Having a baby was hard enough without listening to another poor woman’s shrieks and groans. The only privacy was drawn curtains around the bed.
She put on the white robe and let the young nurse help her onto the bed, then lay there passively as the gloved hands began to wash her belly and private parts in preparation for shaving. She closed her eyes and began to pray the rosary under her breath. With Our Lady’s help it would be well and truly over before the morning and she’d be able to go back to the ward and sleep to regain her strength. She worried about leaving the boys alone for too long.
‘So what number is this?’ the nurse chirped as she swabbed her belly.
‘Seven,’ Ellen groaned through another contraction.
‘You’ll have a football team soon,’ the girl giggled. ‘So who is looking after the others?’
Ellen felt like slapping her. What business is it of yours? ‘The youngest two have gone to their grandmother.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. Your mum?’
‘No.’
‘She good with them?’
‘No.’
Ellen gasped as the contraction hit its peak, and tried not to think of poor little three-year-old Michael and baby Brendan with Kevin’s mother, Eileen. How was that hard-faced, nervy old bat going to cope with two babies? Even Kev hadn’t liked the idea but … there was no one else. It was a busy time of the year with everyone doing their shearing. The four older boys would be all right at home as long as they did their father’s bidding and kept out of his way.
‘So … your mum couldn’t do it?’
‘No.’
‘Pity.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re a friend of Sister Patrice,’ the chatty little nurse said, drying her hands on the towel.
‘Yes.’
‘She told me to tell you she’d be coming by soon.’
Ellen closed her eyes. Sister Patrice had been the nun in charge of the maternity section of the hospital since Ellen had come in to have her first child thirteen years before. Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy! Hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope!
The pains were coming fast now, but it was bearable. She’d managed the last three labours well enough. They’d all come in under three hours and with luck this one would be the same.
‘So where do you know Sister Patrice from?’
‘Her sister taught me at the Abbotsford Convent.’
‘A nun too?’
‘Yes.’
Ellen gasped and grabbed the edge of the steel bed to ride out the wave of pain as it came straight for her, wishing the nurse would finish her business and leave.
‘What did she teach?’
‘Music … piano.’
The grunts and groans from the young woman opposite suddenly changed to sharp yelps of terror and she began to cry out.
‘Do you play?’ the girl said, surprised.
‘I did. Yes.’
‘Oh, I need help, nurse. Sister! I need help,’ the young voice opposite screamed, ‘or I’ll die!’
‘You won’t die,’ the little nurse called back heartlessly, ‘you’re doing fine.’
‘But I’m not! I’m … this is … terrible … I can’t … bear this!’ The girl began to sob through her loud shrieks. ‘Please … oh please.’
‘First-timer,’ the young nurse explained to Ellen.
‘Give her something,’ Ellen snapped.
‘I’ll have to ask the Sister-in-charge.’
‘Then ask her!’
The girl sounded so young. Ellen was filled with pity. She sounded like a rabbit caught in one of those terrible steel traps that Jack laid all around the creek beds, except magnified a hundred times. Ellen could well remember her own first time. The total shock of it. Left in agony for hours on her own with no one to utter a comforting word and then, when the waters broke, they’d all descended like crows. It was horrible, lying there being poked and prodded as her body split apart. Even the second and third births were hell. But after that it had become much easier. It was as if her body had become accustomed to the whole business. She wished she could hold the poor girl’s hand and give her some comfort.
‘She’ll forget as soon as she’s got the baby,’ the young nurse said airily. ‘They all do.’
You wait, Ellen thought darkly. You just wait!
; ‘So how are we going here, Ellen?’ The curtains parted and Sister Patrice poked her head in and smiled.
The young nurse stood back as the senior woman stepped into the sheeted enclosure. Sister Patrice was as neat as a pin in her starched white wimple and robes, the big black rosary and crucifix stuck into the waist of her leather belt. ‘Thank you, nurse,’ she said curtly, waving her away, ‘I’ll see to Mrs Madden now.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ the girl said meekly and disappeared.
The nun lifted the sheet, put one cool hand on Ellen’s belly, then parted her knees and very matter-of-factly took a look.
‘Shouldn’t be too long now.’ She smiled, and Ellen was reminded of Sister Seraphina. Such sweet faces on both of them.
The woman opposite began to scream again.
‘Help me. Oh, please help me!’
‘Hush, dear!’ Sister Patrice called out in a firm voice. ‘Don’t upset yourself now.’
‘Can’t she have some help?’ Ellen asked.
‘I’ll go see to her in a minute.’ The nun frowned as she wrapped the pressure band around Ellen’s upper arm. ‘These girls get themselves into trouble and think it’s all going to be easy.’ She shook her head disapprovingly.
Ellen knew this was code for saying that the girl wasn’t married.
‘Will she give the baby away?’ she whispered.
The nun nodded, still frowning.
‘I suppose it’s for the best,’ Ellen sighed.
‘Of course.’ Sister Patrice took off the blood pressure band. ‘She’ll be right as rain. A few months and she’ll have forgotten all about it.’
The girl gave another long, terrified scream.
‘I’ll be right with you, dear,’ Sister Patrice called again, ‘just as soon as I’ve finished here.’
She put both her cool, capable hands on Ellen’s raging belly.
‘You’ve got another strong little fellow in here, Ellen,’ she smiled. ‘That’s my bet.’
Ellen nodded wearily.
‘It won’t be long now,’ Sister Patrice said kindly. ‘This will be over before you know it.’
Until next time! Ellen suddenly wanted to scream, not with pain but with … she didn’t know, sorrow maybe. She was thirty-six years old but already so old. There had been four miscarriages in the years she hadn’t produced a child. The change of life came around forty-five or fifty. That gave her time to have another six or seven children. A loud, bleak sob broke from her before she had a chance to pull it back.
‘What is it, Ellen?’ the nun said softly. ‘Is something worrying you?’
Ellen grimaced as a sudden tight spasm wrapped itself around her groin like a huge squeezing snake. Did this woman have any idea? Did any of them have any idea about … anything?
‘How will I cope?’ she muttered hoarsely.
‘You always cope,’ the nun said encouragingly. ‘You do a wonderful job.’
‘Seven children!’
‘Seven precious little souls and a good husband. You’ve said yourself that Kevin is a wonderful provider. He’s not a drinker or a gambler. There is plenty of food on the table for those boys … and he’s keen for them to do well in life.’
‘Have you any idea of how much work it is?’ Ellen shouted. ‘The washing alone is a full-time job! Then there is the feeding of them and the … house and …’
‘You wanted a family,’ the nun reminded her gently.
It was true. Ellen had wanted a family above all. At the convent as a little girl she’d sometimes take some stones from the garden and make herself a circle and sit inside and pretend it was her own house, the stones her children. She’d never known what other people meant when they said they went home to family and loved ones. The convent had been her only home and she’d left there with a deep longing to have her own home and family.
And until this last pregnancy, she’d had all the energy in the world for what she’d chosen. As hard and disappointing as it so often was, with God’s help, most days she could do it with a loving heart. The children were what mattered. She loved them unequivocally. Those six boys were her own flesh and blood. She knew that she would die without hesitation for each and every one of them if she had to, without a second thought.
For years she’d been able to steer Kev’s bad temper away from the two older boys and stop a lot of beatings, as well as give the kids a semblance of happiness with her storytelling and songs. Once the older ones were at school she’d get the littlies up on the horse in the afternoon and take them down to play in the creek.
But this time, as the pregnancy went on she had to close her ears to the sharpness of his tone when he ordered them around and nagged them ceaselessly. There was no knowing when it would happen or for what reason, only that when it burst into life it was important to get out of his way – and more importantly, get those kids out of his way too. She was the only thing between them and his foul temper and heavy hands and it grieved her terribly not to have the physical energy to defend them properly.
‘Marriage is hard, Sister,’ she whispered. It was as much as she could say, but oh she needed to say it and this nun was safe. It didn’t do to blather to anyone else about it.
‘It’s been ever thus,’ the nun smiled down at her, ‘but remember that God is with you always, Ellen. No burden is so great that God will not share it with you.’
Suddenly and without warning that didn’t seem enough any more. Ellen’s life rolled out in front of her like a dry, rutted track leading nowhere. Where was the lightness? Where was the joy? Desperation welled up in her like vomit. Oh dearest God! Oh Blessed Virgin Mary, help me! She reached for the nun’s hand.
‘Pray I’m not here again next year.’ She kept her voice as low as she could because she knew what she was asking was a terrible sin. ‘God will listen to you!’
‘Ellen!’ The nun was genuinely shocked. ‘I can’t pray for that! God has a plan for each and every one of us. We all must accept the burdens that we are given.’
‘But it is too hard,’ Ellen gasped. ‘It is just too … hard.’
‘It just seems that way sometimes, dear!’
‘No … it is … too hard.’
‘I will pray for you,’ the nun said gently, ‘and I’ll ask all the other sisters to keep you in their prayers too.’
‘No more children …’ Ellen groaned, closing her eyes. ‘Please pray I have no more children.’
‘Now, come on, Ellen,’ the nun said sternly, ‘you don’t know what you’re saying. Concentrate on what you’re doing here now. Remember Our Blessed Lord never sends us a burden that we can’t carry. And you know better than I do that a dear little child is not burden but a blessing. There is always a way.’
Ellen turned her face to the wall and began to sob quietly to herself. The labour pains were strong, but they weren’t registering. The core of her wasn’t even present. The pains simply went on without her.
‘Pray, Ellen,’ the nun whispered kindly.
‘For what?’ She grabbed hold of the cool, small, soft hand with her own rough one. ‘What do I pray for?’
‘For grace, dear,’ Sister Patrice said softly, ‘to accept the things we cannot change.’
Ellen let the tears run down her cheeks. She thought of Dominic, the eldest and her darling, and consequently the one Kev picked on most. His lively young face pulled so often into a frown now, his shoulders getting more hunched every day. He was becoming a little old man before he’d even begun to grow up. Oh … she knew she had to hang on for him!
Ellen gasped as a flood of water streamed out of her.
‘It’s coming! The waters have broken.’
‘Good,’ Sister Patrice said calmly, ‘I’ll call Doctor.’ She squeezed Ellen’s hand.‘And we’ll have a lovely new babe here before too long.’
Oh this was the worst part! The pain didn’t let up at all. And that poor girl still screaming and groaning opposite. Ellen could hear Patrice’s soothing voice over there helping her use the gas
. Breathe deeply now, dear. That’s right.
Think of something else! Something good and nice! Feast days in the big hall back at the convent. The special food; how they loved the lollies and cordial. She’d won the elocution prize three years in a row and still had two of the little gold medallions with her name inscribed on the back. How proud she’d felt heading up in front of all the girls and the nuns. There were so many feast days and concerts and special Masses and so much beautiful music to look back on.
She hardly ever even heard music anymore, much less played any, and the worst thing was that she was so busy that she barely missed it. But sometimes, after feeding a baby in the dead of night or in those precious few minutes with her morning cuppa, she’d become aware of the empty space inside herself, a space that used to be filled with notes, rhythm and songs.
By the time Sister Patrice was back with the doctor the second stage was over and Ellen had the familiar urge to push. Relief set in. It was downhill from here. The waves of pain and the need to push out the child became one and she felt well able to do it. She imagined herself in a ship on the ocean, roiling about in stormy seas. How frightening it would be and yet she wished she were there on that ship and not where she was, on her back with her legs up in stirrups.
‘Only a few more and we’ll be finished,’ the doctor murmured, one cool hand on her stomach.
We’ll be finished? An intense stab of hatred for him and for all men filled her. There she was naked from the waist down, grunting like a farm animal, her body bursting with all she had to expel, blood, muck, water and a child. There was no dignity in it. None whatsoever. Why hadn’t someone told her? If she’d known she would have become a nun herself. She longed suddenly to be the one standing coolly by watching someone else suffer!
‘I think we have another big one here, Mrs Madden!’
Ellen was suddenly too exhausted to care. The next urge came and she simply lay back and looked at the three of them, the doctor, the nun and the nurse, standing by waiting for her.
‘Ellen?’
‘I’m too tired,’ she whispered.
‘Come on now, Mrs Madden,’ the doctor said sternly. ‘This is the easy bit now.’
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