Connie’s Courage

by Groves, Annie

  I want to get up. I should be in the shop.’

  He made the same fretful protest every day, and, just as she had done every day, Connie soothed him calmly, telling him, ‘In a little while, Father, only wait until Ellie has been to visit you.

  ‘Ellie is coming?’ He said it as eagerly as a child anticipating a long-awaited treat, and yet Ellie had visited him every single day.

  There was a nagging ache low down in Connie’s back and she massaged her flesh tiredly, determined to ignore it. From the window she could see her sister hurrying toward the house. The moment she was close enough, Ellie looked up at the window, her expression reflecting her anxiety.

  Ten minutes later Ellie came into the room.

  ‘I brought some more chicken soup with me, and some food for the children. They look so much better now that you have given them both a bath, Connie, and supplied them with handkerchiefs. You have a real way with them!’

  ‘I didn’t want them spreading any germs around Father, Connie answered her briskly, as though excusing her own behaviour.

  Ellie shook her head tenderly. ‘You are already behaving like a mother, Connie.

  ‘No!’ Her denial was sharp and immediate, causing Ellie to frown, and Connie herself to stiffen. There was no point in trying to explain her feelings to Ellie. She would never understand. ‘I … I cannot think of such things whilst there is Father to care for, she excused her reaction lamely.

  ‘How is he?’ Ellie whispered, looking toward the bed.

  ‘Much the same,’ Connie fibbed.

  Connie, I want you to promise me that … I want to be here,’ Ellie told her steadily.

  One cannot always know these things,’ Connie hedged.

  Promise me,’ Ellie insisted.

  I shall do my best.’

  Sighing slightly, Ellie sat down at the small table by the window. I have brought sewing with me.’

  ‘More clothing for the men at the Front?’ Connie asked ruefully, knowing that her sister, like so many other women of her class, was part of a group of women who met every week to sew for charity.

  See for yourself,’ Ellie smiled serenely, holding up a small bed gown. I have been making clothes for your baby, Connie.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have bothered!’

  ‘It was no bother, I have enjoyed it. Do you have any names chosen for the babe? His father’s, I imagine, if you have a boy,’ Ellie answered her own question, before giving a small sigh. ‘I had always intended that if I had a daughter I would give her our mother’s name.’

  Connie closed her eyes against the pain that felt like a knife twisting inside her heart. On the bed, their father cried out sharply and she turned to him, glad of the distraction.

  Can you not give him something to ease his pain? Ellie asked in distress, as his moans grew louder and his movements more frantic. Unable to speak, Connie shook her head.

  The sun’s dying rays bathed the letter in gold light as it lay on the stone seat beside him. Harry reached out toward it and then stopped. He didn’t need to read it again. He had read it and re-read it so many times he knew every word by heart.

  His mother’s outpouring of joy that he was alive when they had all feared him dead, the passing away of his great-aunt, and the unexpected discovery that she had not, as she had always threatened, left everything to charity but had instead willed both the house and her capital to his mother. Harry thanked God for that, for his mother more than deserved it.

  The letter also told of Frank’s safe return from the War and the injury he had suffered, as well as his mother’s delight that he and Mavis had made their home with her; Sophie’s continued determination to follow in Mavis’s footsteps and train as a nurse; and the fact that Rosa had given birth to a son, and he was now a father. He had a child. A son, and yet all he could feel was … nothing. No joy, no pride, no gratitude at such a gift of promise for the future. Nothing …

  She had hoped to return home in time for the birth, but the little one came early whilst she was staying with her mother’s family in Ireland, and they are still there. She has named him Christopher, which she writes is a family name on her mother’s side, and which she said would be less painful for her than naming him for you. We have despatched both a telegram to give her the happy news that you are safe, and written her a letter – although, my dearest Harry, I do grieve for the poor mother who must learn now that her son is gone from her.

  A child. He and Rosa had a child. A deep shudder ran through him and he hated himself for the bitterness of his own inner denial.

  Rosa was his wife, this child his own flesh and blood. He could not deny either of them their place in his life, and if he was to think himself an honourable man, he could not deny them a place in his heart either.

  Unable to stop himself Harry reached for the letter, searching as hungrily as he had already done a dozen and more times for some mention of Connie, and knowing that he would find none. So went the lover’s heart, hoping when there was no hope. Longing when there could be no surcease. Loving when there could be no return of that love.

  Connie gritted her teeth as she tried not to listen to the agonised sound of her father’s breathing.

  She had heard of – and seen – patients’ deaths dragged out over many weary days by this dread disease, but she had still hoped that fate might be kind to her father.

  Now as she witnessed his distress, she knew her hope was not going to be answered. Deliberately she tried not to look to where she had placed the morphine. There was enough and to spare if she could but bring herself to administer it. But to do so would be to murder her father!

  Murder? An already dying man? And when she knew it would spare him further pain? Helplessly Connie paced the floor, torn between different duties, and oblivious to the commotion of an arrival downstairs, until the bedroom door opened.

  ‘Iris!

  Relief shadowed surprise in her eyes, followed by her tensing at the unexpectedness of the arrival. But before she could say anything, Ellie edged round the door behind Iris causing Connie’s eyes to widen even further.

  ‘Doctors have instincts, too, you know, Iris told Connie gently, as she removed her coat.

  Tears welled in Connie’s eyes. ‘I’m glad you came, was all she could manage to say. ‘Both of you.

  ‘Oh, Connie. As Ellie hugged her and they clung together, Iris asked matter-of-factly, ‘I take it you haven’t given him any morphine this evening?

  Numbly Connie shook her head, prising herself out of Ellie’s arms as Iris pulled on a clean white gown, to demand agitatedly, ‘Iris, you won’t give him too much, will you? He’s so weak now and …

  Connie, I’m the doctor here,’ Iris reminded her gently. ‘But, no, I won’t.’

  Connie held her breath though as she watched Iris prepare the drug.

  Ellie, I think you had better go downstairs and ask your stepmother if she wants to be here,’ Iris announced calmly.

  Automatically Connie turned her head to watch Ellie leave. When she turned it back again Iris was saying calmly, I have mixed a full dose.’

  That will be too strong,’ Connie protested.

  I only intend to use as much as we need, Connie. We can use the rest later …’

  Reassured, Connie helped her to administer the drug, her eyes blistering with hot tears, as she did so.

  From downstairs the noisy sound of Maggie’s grief fractured the quiet calm of the bedroom, making Connie flinch. Her father took a deep gulping breath of air and trembled violently, before trying to throw off the bedcovers.

  Connie had seen the signs of addiction many times before, but she still winced, and well understood the shocked look on Ellie’s face as she came back into the room – without Maggie who had chosen to stay away, for now – and stood by the bed.

  If one didn’t know the true nature of that addiction, to watch the relief and release from pain soothe their father, could almost have been to witness a form of benevolent magic, Connie admitted.


  His eyes were still open, and she could see recognition in them as he looked from her to Ellie and back again. ‘My daughters. My lovely girls.

  Ellie was reaching for her hand and Connie held it tightly whilst they each, without needing to say anything, took hold of one of their father s.

  His flesh felt cold, and his eyes were starting to close. Ellie bent her head to brush her lips against his forehead. When she raised it again, one of her tears lay against his skin.

  His breathing had slowed.

  ‘He looks so peaceful, Ellie whispered shakily.

  Connie felt for his pulse, her fingers tightening anxiously on his frail wrist. It had slowed, and was slowing still further. She looked toward Iris who, unlike her, seemed oblivious to the signs of death taking him from them.

  ‘I shall put the rest of the dose over here, Connie,’ she announced. ‘How is he doing?

  ‘He is sleeping, Ellie told her.

  No, he is dying, Connie wanted to say, but the words refused to be said.

  An hour passed, dragging second by leaden second, and yet at the same time flying by on the fleetest of wings.

  Some urge that had to be obeyed, sent Connie toward the window to tug it open, and as she did so Iris gave her a long, wise look. And then said gently, ‘Perhaps your stepmother should be here, now?’ and then went to the door to summon her.

  Connie had seen death many times and in many forms, but this was different, this was her father, the father who had given her life; the mortal flesh that had created her and Ellie as sisters.

  At the bedside Maggie was sobbing noisily and uncontrollably. The frail chest lifted and stilled and then slowly fell. Maggie screamed and would have flung herself across the bed, if Iris had not had the presence of mind to take hold of her and say firmly, ‘Let him breathe, Maggie.’

  Breathe! He is dead. Anyone can see that!’ Maggie screamed back at her, but she still allowed Iris to hold her back.

  Ellie had caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and Connie went to her and took hold of her hand in her own.

  Goodbye, Father.’

  Connie heard herself saying the words, saw the familiar, last gasping breath being taken; heard the unmistakeable death rattle; felt the long, agonising, impossible wait before it was exhaled, as though somehow she was not a part of it, nor a part of her own pain.

  Iris had gone, taking Maggie with her, and it was left to Connie and Ellie together to do those final things for him: washing and then laying out his body. It was a shared task, but with their roles reversed, so that it was Connie who was the more senior, and not her older sister.

  When all was finally done, Connie started to tidy up, tensing as she picked up the remainder of his drug dose. The fluid stood still and clear – no powder in it; no crystals; no morphine? Her heart started to thump heavily.

  Ellie had gone downstairs and Iris had come back into the room. Connie looked toward her. ‘You gave him the full dose!

  ‘I gave him the medication I deemed necessary as a doctor,’ Iris corrected her firmly, and then added softly, ‘I did what I would want someone to have done for me, Connie. I did what I could do as a doctor, and you could not as a loving daughter.

  Connie’s tears came then, spilling down her cheeks. Tears of relief and release – and acceptance.

  There was one thing for sure, Connie decided emotionally, she would never cease to be grateful to Gideon for his insistence, against their Aunt Gibson’s ice cold wishes and Maggie’s noisily wept protests, that their father was buried with their mother.

  Connie looked out of the window of the Winckley Square house to where the funeral cortege had stood only a fortnight earlier. She had a nagging stitch in her side which had been there all morning and Ellie, coming into the room and seeing her rubbing it, hurried over to her immediately. ‘It cannot be much longer now, Connie. You must tell me the minute you feel anything.

  ‘I am a nurse, she had reminded her sister drily.

  The minute she felt anything? A bitter bubble of pain rose up inside her. She felt everything: anger, loathing, hatred, resentment …

  Oh, I can’t wait to have another baby in the house. I am so excited, Connie. A wonderful new life … and you know that Gideon and I want you to consider this house to be your home from now on. After all, where else should you go? You are my sister, and this baby will be as close to me as any of my own children.’

  Restlessly Connie pulled away from her. Iris promised me that she would take me and show me round the hospital.’

  Ellie frowned. Why on earth would you want to do a thing like that, and in your condition?’

  Ellie, I am a nurse,’ she repeated, although in a different tone. Of course, I want to!’

  You were a nurse, Connie, now you are to be a mother!’ Ellie reminded her.

  Connie closed her eyes, in frustration and bitterness. Ellie didn’t understand. How could she? Why should she?

  But it was more than her wards that she missed, Connie admitted miserably. What she missed was her independence; her pride in managing for herself. When he had taken her body, the Captain had taken those from her as well, and in their place he had left her this … this burden in her from which she felt she could never be free.

  ‘I do not want to be a mother,’ she told her sister emphatically. I do not want this child … I hate this child!’

  Ellie stared at her. Connie, you don’t know what you are saying.’

  Yes I do,’ Connie assured her bleakly.

  ‘But the baby’s father. The man you loved …’

  Connie started to laugh savagely. ‘Love him? No, I loathe and hate the very thought of him; and I loathe and hate even more the seed he forced into my body.’

  ‘Forced?’

  Connie looked at her sister.

  I wanted to tell you when, when you had told me about Mr Parkes, but John arrived with the news of our father. Oh, Ellie, why are there such men? Wicked, wicked men. I knew that I had angered him by interfering in his seduction of one of the junior nurses, but I never imagined that he would take such revenge. If I had -’

  Forced, Connie?’ Ellie stopped her. You mean you were raped, that this child you are carrying is the result of that attack? Oh, Connie, why have you not said? Why?’

  I did not think you would believe me.’

  They looked at one another in mutual pain.

  And the accident, when Iris’s car …’ Ellie began hollowly, Connie, you were not trying … You did not deliberately?’

  No!’ Connie stopped her. Although I did wish many times that I might be brave enough to take my own life. No, I was so filled with despair and misery that I simply did not see the car until it was almost upon me!’

  It was almost a miracle,’ Ellie whispered. God recognised your need and your innocence, Connie, and gave you back to us!’

  A solitary tear rolled down Connie’s pale face followed by another.

  ‘You believe me then, Ellie? she asked painfully.

  ‘Of course I do! How could you doubt it! I know you, Connie. I know that were this a child of love, you would be proud to acknowledge that love, with or without any marriage ties!

  Connie gave a small gasp.

  ‘What is it? Connie what’s wrong? Ellie asked anxiously.

  ‘My waters have broken,’ Connie told her calmly.

  Now she knew why they called it labour. It went on and on relentlessly, this hard physical business of giving birth, pain upon pain engulfing her, possessing her, and refusing to let her go.

  The sky darkened whilst she toiled.

  Ellie dampened her forehead and smiled, her hair as wet with sweat as Connie’s own, as though she had laboured with her. ‘Not much longer now, Connie.

  It was Iris who was attending her and not some mere midwife, her hands were bloody and slick with mucus as she urged Connie to push.

  Did Iris think she wasn’t already doing so? There was nothing Connie wanted more than to rid her body of its loathed burden, to be
free of its possession of her! Gritting her teeth she tried to push harder, whilst the night drew on.

  ‘And again, Connie.

  ‘I can t, she sobbed. ‘I can’t bloody push any more.

  ‘Yes you can, Connie. That was Ellie, her voice firm and big sisterish, and automatically Connie responded to it.

  ‘That’s it, Connie. Push. Nearly there …

  The warmth of the early August night filled the room, and all of them were sticky with it and with the travail of the birth, but no one more so than Connie as she yelled her resentment and loathing into the thick, stifling air, her body surging into a savage desire to be rid of its burden.

  ‘Connie, yes! Oh, good girl … Good girl.’

  She could hear Iris sobbing and laughing, in a totally un-Iris-like explosion of emotion, whilst she lay panting for breath, exhausted. And then she heard it, a thin, sharp sound that pierced her insides.

  Ellie was beaming down at her, tears running down her face, as she told her, ‘Connie, you have a little girl, a beautiful, beautiful daughter. Oh, Connie, look!

  Deliberately Connie turned her face away, refusing to look at the swaddled bundle Ellie was holding out to her. She looked instead to where dawn was paling the sky beyond the bedroom window.

  She had given the wretched thing life, hadn’t she? It had no right to expect anything more of her.

  ‘Connie, Ellie was protesting.

  ‘Take it away!’ she told her fiercely. ‘I don’t want it.’

  It was lunchtime and the sun was well up, and the thing Ellie had insisted on placing in a crib beside her bed – after they had made her comfortable after its birth in the early hours of the morning – was making a high-pitched wailing sound that was piercing her whole body.

  Angrily Connie got out of the bed, ignoring the ache of pain seizing her. Without looking into the crib she gathered up its tightly-wrapped contents, stiffening when immediately she felt its unwanted warmth. With surprising strength it tried to squirm closer to her body seeking nourishment, but Connie held it at arm’s length as she walked across the bedroom and opened the door.

  Connie!’

  Grimly she looked at Ellie who had suddenly appeared from her own bedroom. ‘What are you doing?’