“Go home, Rory,” she pleaded. “Please go home.”
“I can’t.”
“Beth needs you.”
“I can’t, Tess. I can’t leave you like this.”
“She’ll sleep, Mr McClure. Let her. You need your rest too.” The nurse crept from the room.
“She’s right, Rory.”
Not arguing, he placed the cross on the locker, kissed her and left.
Before first light she was wide awake, listening. The sounds of passing traffic, the wireless in a room down the hallway, kitchen preparations and the smell of frying bacon, metal bedpans jangling, bustling nurses and the distant sound of babies crying in the nursery.
No one came to her. She held the silver crucifix and recited childhood-ingrained formulas. ‘Hail Mary full of Grace…’ She dared not search for words of her own. ‘Hail Holy Queen…’ Mother Mary…Mother…She took her rosary from the drawer and prayed again.
She fought sleep but the remnants of last night’s medication were too strong. She slept until the cheerful maid set the breakfast tray across the bed, propped the pillows and threw up the blind. “An egg for you this morning, Mrs McClure and a wee sliver of bacon. That’ll be a nice change. You have to be starving.”
“Is matron here?”
“Not yet in, dear.”
“Doctor…?”
“I wouldn’t know.” The maid removed the food cover. “Eat your breakfast, love. You’ll need your strength.”
The food remained untouched. The maid, not commenting, returned to remove it. The nurses, gossiping above her head and rolling her through fresh sheets, made the bed. She asked to see the sister in charge. They promised to pass on the message and left.
She found her own words. ‘Let him live, God, I’ll be good. Let him live, I’ll obey. I’ll be good, pray for us…I’ll obey, pray for us…”
She slept, woke, slept. The light grew brighter and the midday sun warmed the window. Food arrived and disappeared. Nurses came, straightened pillows and sheets, administered medication, talked in whispers and left. Katherine came at midday, kissed her, held her hand and tolled the beads of her rosary. She did not talk.
Outside the room people were laughing, trays were clattering and babies were crying. In the room Katherine held her hand and tolled the beads of her rosary.
The setting sun, heralding the coming night, bloodied the stark white walls.
“I’ll have to go, Tess.” Her mother kissed her. “It’s tea time. Rory will be in later.”
She did not answer.
“Tess.” Dr Chapman was in the doorway. His crumpled theatre gown was unlaced, his face haggard. “Tess – I am so very sorry.”
Had he always looked so old?
“Your son – Rory’s. I’m so sorry.”
What was he saying?
“The baby died. I’m so sorry.”
She turned into the pillow.
“Rory’s on his way.” The door closed.
She couldn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
In his surgery two weeks later, Dr Chapman solemnly reported, “The infant was premature. He would have had serious problems. You do understand?”
“I’m here for Beth.” She sat Beth on her lap.
“Do you understand, Tess?”
“She’s got a sore throat. It’s her tonsils again. She’s getting it a lot.”
“Tonsillitis? It happens. But first…”
“Mum says she’ll grow into them. Can that happen?”
“We’ll check. But first…”
“Mum says I grew into them. I’ve still got mine.”
“I see.” Dr Chapman reluctantly reached for the spatula. “Let’s have a look at her.”
She removed Beth’s bonnet.
“Open your mouth, Beth.” Dr Chapman gently probed. “That’s a good girl. Say ‘aah’ for me.”
Beth obeyed; examinations were customary.
“Good girl.” The doctor straightened. “You’re right. They’re a little enlarged but there’s no infection. I’ll write a script to soothe the discomfort. There’s no cause for concern. Absolutely none. As your mother says, she’ll probably grow into them. Tess – I need to…”
“I’ll tell Rory. He worries.” She replaced Beth’s bonnet, strapped her into the pusher and started for the door.
“Tess!”
She opened the door.
“Ice cream, Mummy.”
“I need to talk to you, Tess.”
“I understand, Doctor.” She turned from the open doorway. “I do understand. I should have rested more.”
“Ice cream!”
“In a minute.” She eased the pusher through the doorway.
“Mrs Taylor.” Dr Chapman rang for the nurse. “Take the child a moment.”
“Ice cream!”
“I promised her an ice cream if she was good.”
“Mrs Taylor has it in hand, Tess. You really need to spend another moment with me.”
Mrs Taylor wheeled Beth away.
“Close the door, Tess.”
He gestured to the empty patient’s chair.
She perched on its edge.
“I’m guessing Rory didn’t talk to you.”
What was there to talk about?
“Of course,” he sighed. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
The curtains were open. The sky was overcast, the winter trees grey. No green, no autumn leaves. Would there be snow soon? Beth should be home, in the warm house. Katherine was right. She should have asked Rory to take time off work. Beth should have been brought here in the car, the chill air would penetrate the pusher’s storm cover. She’d needed to be out of the house. Anywhere but the house.
“Tess!”
She turned from the window.
“Think about Rory, Tess. He’s having a difficult time too.”
Beth should be home. “What was Rory supposed to talk to me about?”
“Your condition,” he gravely responded. “You need to understand. There’s a high probability it will occur again.”
“He never said.”
“It’s not an easy time for either of you, Tess.”
“He’ll feel better once the next one arrives.”
“Tess!” Doctor Chapman lost patience. “You’re not listening!”
She didn’t want to listen.
“There must be no more children, Tess.”
Beth should be home.
“You need to listen, Tess. You and Rory need to talk. Another pregnancy may well kill you. There must be no next time.”
She straightened her warm beret, adjusted the scarf more tightly around her neck and pulled on her gloves. The walk would be freezing.
“There must be no next time, Tess. You must not risk another pregnancy. You must not.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” She exited the doctor’s office.
Released from the restraints of the pusher, Beth was happily playing in the waiting room.
Chapter Five
Spring 1957
There would be no more children. Beth would not have brothers and sisters. Rory would not have sons. She would not have the son her father had wanted her to have, her mother wanted. Unthinkable. Incomprehensible. Her entire life, school, church, friends, boyfriends, celebrations, funerals, loyalties, beliefs, losses, gains, experience, every second, had been spent training for a predestined role – marriage and motherhood, children and family.
The condition she’d not been warned of was eclampsia, treatment unknown. Symptoms, if untreated, led to fits and death. Though Dr Chapman had not warned her, his reasons arguably justified, he’d saved her life. Thanks be to God. Rory spoke of it once only, because she insisted. Yes, Rory agreed, he should have accompanied her to the latest doctor’s appointment. Yes, he knew there were to be no more children. Yes, he should have talked to her. Yes, he would make time for a longer discussion. No, he hadn’t talked to Father Doherty or Katherine or his brothers and didn’t intend to.
Did he
still cry? Did he pray? She didn’t ask. He didn’t say.
Rory’s weekday working hours at the store and his after-work hours at distant meetings or with his mates grew longer and more frequent.
She’d been home from the hospital for six weeks, resting, sleeping, walking the pusher when the sun shone. Too long. Inevitably, Katherine was taking over her family. Recovered from the sore throat, Beth needed her mother full time. Rory needed his wife. Katherine should leave. She should send her mother away. She should try to manage without support. Why?
Seven weeks. Mountains stirring, melting rivulets racing along glistening creeks, winter trees sprouting, sunbeams mottling ferny pathways, Beth cuddling her grandmother, Rory driving off early, coming home late – later. On Sunday she dressed for the walk to ten a.m. Mass.
Home from eight a.m. Mass, her mother objected. “It’s freezing outside, Tess. You don’t have to go. You’re still recuperating. Do have some sense.”
“I need to go, Mum.”
“Then don’t walk. Rory – take the car.”
“It’s okay, Katherine. She wants to walk.”
“At least think about Beth. It’s far too cold. Leave her with me. It’s warm in here.”
“We should do as we always do, Mum.” Family went to Mass together, except for illness. She was not ill. Beth was not ill.
As they’d always done, unless constrained by illness, they walked the half mile to Sunday Mass. As they’d always done, even as babies, they participated in the rituals of their church. This spring morning, as always, they adhered to the ritual and dutifully attended to the homily.
As Father Doherty proclaimed, nothing had changed. Communism was creeping closer. Beware the yellow hordes. Beware the Reds. War was in the air, another war. Would Rory be spared? ‘Thank you, Sweet Mother – Beth is not a son.’
The congregation filed to the communion rails. Already familiar with the routine and conditioned to waiting alone, Beth tucked her feet under the seat to allow her mother to join the communion queue. As always since their marriage Rory stood, prepared for his wife to precede him. However, as on the morning after the traumatic honeymoon night, this morning proved not to be as other mornings. This morning, too, she could not move. This morning their only child, the only child they would ever have, was sitting between them. Rory waited a breath only, then joined the queue filing to the altar, accepted the bread and the wine and returned to his place.
Communion ended, Father Doherty sat for his habitual silent minute of post-communion prayer. The congregation bent their heads. Rory bent his head. Beth bent her head.
Over a hundred people and no sound. Even the babies were mute.
Trembling, she struggled to her feet.
“What’s wrong!” Rory was alarmed.
“I have to leave.”
“In a few minutes.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Another minute, Tess.”
“Let me go!”
Beth whimpered. Hushed whispers protested. Father Doherty’s head remained bowed.
“I have to go!”
He held her fast. “Another minute, Tess.”
“Let me go!” She wrenched free, but resumed her seat.
Her mother had prepared lunch. Exhausted, she ate little. Rory disappeared to the store, Beth was sent for her afternoon nap. Her grandmother tucked her in.
“You look tired, Tess.” Katherine was concerned. “I’ve got everything under control. Why don’t you take a nap too.”
“I’m all right.”
“I told you not to go this morning,” Katherine worried. “It’s too much too soon.”
“I had to try.”
“It’s going to take a long time, dear. Take it a day at a time. Give yourself a chance. Rory tells me you were strange in church. Take a rest. It’s what you need.”
Compulsive knitting needles clicked.
“You know you’ll have to talk about it, Tess. It’s not good, bottling everything up. Do you and Rory talk any more? I never hear you talk. He’s off with his friends and you sit around moping. It’s not good for you, Tess.”
The wool was soft in her hands.
“You’ll have to talk! This isn’t healthy. You’ll have to talk, Tess.”
Why?
“Tess – I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ve been here too long. I should go home. You need to be alone with your family. You need to stop depending on me being here round the clock. I’ll come in to clean and prepare the meals. Then I’ll leave you together. What do you think?”
The clicking needles flew.
“I really think I should go home. You and Rory need time alone.”
“We won’t be alone.”
“I mean…”
“I know what you mean, Mum.”
“You haven’t even been to see the grave.”
She turned another leaf of the pattern book.
Katherine pressed. “This is no good, love. Bottling it up won’t help.”
She folded the small incomplete jacket that would never be worn and closed the pointless book. She placed needles, jacket and book in the knitting bag, zipped it and set it on the floor at her side. “I’ll help you pack, Mum.”
“Oh!” Katherine was startled. “I didn’t mean right this minute!”
“You are right, Mum. We need to be alone.”
“He won’t leave you alone in the house, dear. He’ll stay in at night. I’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll talk to him. You should be gone when he gets back.”
“Honestly, Tess. You’re not making sense. I can’t just disappear. I have to…what about Beth? I have to…”
“I’ll talk to her too, Mum.”
“Are you telling me I’m not wanted?”
Her mother knew better.
“I’m sorry, Tess. I know it’s hard.”
“You can’t be here when he gets home, Mum. He’ll convince you to stay longer.”
“If that’s what you want.” Katherine was terse.
“We’re grateful, Mum.” Formal apology was imperative. “We’re grateful.”
“I know that, dear. I don’t mean to interfere. I want to help. You ask for my help when you’re in trouble, you give me the right to speak up. You should talk to someone.”
“I hear you!”
“You weren’t reared a good Catholic for nothing, Tess. God has His ways.”
“Don’t make me argue.” She turned away.
“An argument is the last thing I want,” Katherine rejoined. “I’ll leave before Rory gets home.”
“Thank you.” She prepared to leave.
“One last thing, Tess…”
No more. Please, no more.
“Why don’t you talk to Father Doherty? He’ll help. He’ll pray with you. God has his ways, Tess.”
“I’ll help you pack.”
“Think about it,” Katherine begged. “The church has been a great comfort to me. I know loss too, dear. I do know your pain.”
“You had a family!”
She climbed down from the examination table, dressed, returned to the chair and folded her hands on her lap.
Dr Chapman re-entered. “You’re right.”
Good news.
“We’ll do our best.” A wisp of disinfectant wafted across the writing pad on the formidable desk. “Come in every two weeks.”
“I’ll rest this time,” she promised.
“You will.” He was very angry. “You can expect to give birth in mid May.”
She reached for her handbag.
“Tell Rory to call me.”
Why would he want to talk to Rory?
“The lass – Beth. Is she doing well?”
“She’s at kindergarten. I do worry, though. She’s getting too many colds. I’m worried about her tonsils.”
“Make an appointment for her. We’ll take a look.” His fleshless fingers stroked the pad.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Tell Rory to call,” he rep
eated.
“Because you want to talk about me?” she challenged. “I’m here, Doctor. Talk to me.”
“That’s correct, Tess.” He was curtly direct. “You’re here. You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be. There are alternatives. In your case, because your life is unquestionably in jeopardy, there are alternatives.”
What was he talking about?
“Ordinarily, I’m against it.”
Against what?
“It’s your life, Tess! You’re risking your life. You do understand that? Does Rory understand that?”
The question, finally comprehended, hung between them.
She confronted it. “Rory will say the same as me. We’re Catholic, Doctor. No abortion.”
“Nevertheless, tell him to call.”
She didn’t answer.
“I have a duty of care to all of you. To Rory – Beth – you. It’s not too late. The foetus…”
She stopped listening, exited the surgery and stepped out into the sun. So long ago, so different. Today there was no slippery path of dead autumn leaves and no innocence. She hadn’t known enough to be frightened. She’d felt bewildered and confused and vaguely uneasy without having even a faint notion of why she should.
Since then she’d learned and read. High blood pressure. Eclampsia. She was a walking medical dictionary. There had to be very little Dr Chapman could tell her that she hadn’t already read. She’d read the arid medical jargon and the lurid magazines, the tomes from the library and the tracts from the chemist. She’d learned about hazards and preventions and research and incurables and consequences.
Summed up, they were meaningless. She wanted babies. Beth needed brothers and sisters. Rory needed sex. He loved her. He loved Beth. He loved children and family. Family. Marriage was love and sex and children and friendship and growing old together. Marriage was risks and unhappiness and happiness. She’d lied to Dr Chapman. Continuing this pregnancy had not a thing to do with the church. It had everything to do with building a family, a family where there was love and warmth and where everyone shared the bad things as they shared the good things, where no one was alone.
This morning, steadily walking the same path, fully aware of the possible consequences of the pregnancy and warmed by the clear blue sky, she was at peace with the news she’d just received. This morning there were no scudding autumn leaves, only summer blossoms and scented gardens. This morning, when common sense warned she should feel fear, she felt only serenity. God was smiling again.
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