Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  ‘No more I do, girl,’ he grinned, patting his stomach. ‘Though I’ve a long way to go yet to catch up with the ale drinkers at the waterfront taverns.’

  ‘I hope you never do catch up with ’em, Pa! Their bellies must go in their front doors five minutes before the rest of ’em!’

  He chuckled at her cheek, but she wasn’t altogether bothered that he seemed to be putting on a bit of weight. It suited him. And the leanest months, after the work on the Great Britain finished for the Stuckey men, had passed.

  They weren’t flush with riches, and probably never would be, but Wilf would be bringing in money now, and it seemed as if the bounty from the Barclay kitchens hadn’t run out yet. Carrie was no longer the washer-girl of old, at everybody’s beck and call, and nor did Ma take in quantities of washing for the rich Clifton folk, but they still did a few bits, and were asked for especially by those who respected their diligence.

  And spring wasn’t that far away. Everything looked better and brighter in the spring. Father and daughter had similar thoughts at that moment, and Carrie seemed to hear the echo of John’s voice in her head as she thought it. And after the spring would come thoughts of a summer wedding. She felt her heart skip a beat, not quite able to think that far ahead, or to believe that it would really happen.

  ‘You’d best go in now, girl,’ Sam said, seeing her faraway look. ‘You don’t want to take cold, and I aim to get this job finished and delivered today. They’re wanting it early tomorrow morning.’

  It was still a job to him, no matter how distasteful, but Carrie knew he was making the box with skill and love. As far as she was concerned, she wanted it away from the house before Ma’s pains began. It was surely bad luck to be making a coffin for one child to leave this world, when another was pushing its way into it.

  ‘I’ll go and give Ma her hot drink,’ she said, turning quickly, before Pa could guess at her fearful thoughts.

  If only the babby had come on time, it would all be over now, but there was no sign of it yet, and Ma insisted that the midwife didn’t need calling until well after the waters broke or the pains began.

  Carrie was apprehensive about her own role in the birthing. Ma had said calmly that now she was a woman, there was no reason why she shouldn’t assist in any way she could. The menfolk would be banished from the house, taking Billy with them, no matter what time of day or night. Birthing was women’s work, and at such a time only another woman could understand it.

  Mrs Green, the midwife, was an efficient woman whom Ma had helped out on many other occasions, and she would instruct Carrie on anything she had to do. The words were so vague that they only made her more nervous, but Ma never volunteered more. And still there was the dire presentiment in Carrie’s head that they would never hear this baby cry …

  She had no rational reason for her fears, and had never voiced them to anyone. Ma was strong and healthy, despite the awkwardness of the baby’s lying, and always dismissed any notion that carrying a baby was an illness.

  Several times recently, Carrie had dreamed that the birth was all over, and the midwife held the baby aloft in her arms, but when they looked into its face, it was still and dead and grey. The dreams had become nightmares, and she had woken up, cold and sweating with fear, whimpering into the night, and longing for the dawn.

  ‘Are you all right, Ma?’ she said now, going back to the parlour, and seeing her mother grimace.

  ‘I’ll be a sight better when you stop your fretting. Are you going to bring me some of that hot chocolate or shall I get it myself?’

  ‘I’ll do it. Pa wants a currant cake too,’ she said, smothering the fear. If she went on like this much longer, she was going to be a nervous baggage by the time the baby arrived, and she’d be no use for anything.

  ‘Your Pa’s getting fat,’ Ma said complacently, though it was hardly the truth. ‘He’ll never have the belly that I’ve got, though, praise God!’

  ‘But you’ll be rid of yours soon, Ma.’

  ‘The sooner the better.’ She put her hand against the hard mound of the baby, and spoke softly as if it could hear her. ‘You just hurry up and get born, my lamb, and let’s all have a look at you.’

  Carrie’s eyes prickled as she took the cake out to the yard, before bringing her mother the hot drink. This baby had been a mistake, but now that it was nearly here, she knew how fiercely her parents would welcome it and love it. It was a part of them all, and she too wished it would come soon. She’d heard Ma say that it didn’t do for a child to be too long overdue, as it made the delivery that much harder.

  A week was long enough. Two weeks was the limit, and longer than that could be a sign of trouble — or else a mix-up in the timing in the first place.

  * * *

  It was the middle of January when Carrie was awoken in the early hours of the morning by the sounds of activity in the house. She was awake at once, pulling a shawl around her nightgown and opening her bedroom door to see Pa, still in his nightshirt and struggling to tuck it into his trousers.

  ‘Her time’s come at last,’ he said briefly. ‘I’m off to fetch the midwife. Our Billy’s still sound asleep, so I ain’t going to waken him for a while yet. Wilf’s stoking up the fire and putting kettles and saucepans on to boil. You’d best go and sit with her while I’m gone, Carrie.’

  For a few seconds, her feet wouldn’t move at all. She seemed to be transfixed as Pa went clattering down the stairs and out of the house. She wanted to scream that she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t bear to witness her mother’s agony, especially if it all came to nothing … she cursed the lurid accounts Ma had told her of other women’s labours, and the nightmarish dreams that had this tiny babe dead and gone before he had even been given life.

  She heard a soft moan coming from her mother’s bedroom, followed by the sound of her name, and she swallowed hard. Ma needed her, and that was the only thought that she must keep in mind. Ma needed her.

  She pushed open the door and went inside. The oil lamps threw a soft warm glow around the room, and onto the face of the woman sitting on the bed. She was half bent over, her hair loose about her shoulders, in a way the family rarely saw. She looked younger and more vulnerable despite the fact that pain was creasing her face.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be lying down, Ma?’ Carrie said, her voice a dry husk.

  ‘Not yet. This gives me some relief,’ she said. ‘There’s time enough for lying flat when I have to. I don’t need the midwife yet, neither, but Pa thought it best.’

  She gave a twisted smile, catching her breath between her teeth, and making a grab for the bedpost. Carrie felt her hands go clammy.

  ‘What should I do?’ she asked in panic. She was already helpless and afraid. Ma was going into a place she didn’t know. Childbirth was a time when a woman hovered between life and death. She’d heard Ma say that often enough when she’d been attending some other poor woman. The preacher too, had intoned to them all in one of his lengthy sermons that childbirth was a time of mingled reverence and savagery, and the wrenching of a child from a woman’s body was the most mystical happening God had given the world. But He hadn’t given it lightly, nor without the need to suffer for such a miracle.

  Dear God, but she wished these remembered sayings didn’t come back to haunt her now! She ran towards the bed.

  ‘Ma, what should I do?’ she said again, as her mother breathed shallowly and fast.

  ‘Go downstairs and fetch me a pitcher of water, for my mouth’s dust-dry,’ Ma said shortly. ‘And I don’t need your wailing, Carrie. There’s a long way to go yet, and ’twill ease in a minute or two. You’ll be no help to me if you’re bleating all day.’

  Carrie turned on her heel, her eyes smarting. This was going to go on all day? But she knew very well that it might. Ma had often been away more than twenty-four hours helping Mrs Green, and had come home totally exhausted. She ran down the stairs, bumping into Wilf at the bottom.

  ‘Ma wants a pitcher of water,’ she said t
hrough chattering teeth.

  ‘I’ll fetch it,’ he said. ‘It’s cold outside and there’s ice on the top of the well. You go and get dressed, and by the time you’re downstairs again, I’ll be back.’

  ‘Thank you, Wilf.’

  She turned again. She was like a leaf in the wind, needing to be directed to her tasks. She couldn’t seem to think for herself at all. Then she heard Billy’s scared little voice as he came clattering downstairs, finally waking up and wondering what all the noise was about. She steeled herself. A fat lot of use she was going to be to Ma if she turned into a shivering jelly.

  She hugged Billy to her, feeling him squirm as usual, but not quite as much. She didn’t know what to do with him. It was barely light outside, so the men wouldn’t be going off somewhere just yet to be well away from the child-bearing process.

  ‘Is summat up with Ma? Is the babby hurting her?’ he asked fearfully. ‘She ain’t going to die, is she?’

  ‘Of course she’s not going to die,’ Carrie said. ‘It just takes a lot of effort for a baby to be born, that’s all. That’s why they call it labour.’

  He wasn’t convinced, and stood with his arms folded tightly around himself, glaring at her. Billy always took refuge in anger when he was troubled.

  ‘Well, I ain’t never going to have a babby if it hurts so much,’ he said defiantly. Carrie grinned.

  ‘You’re never likely to, you goose. It’s only mothers who have babies.’

  ‘Why do they? And how it did it get into Ma’s belly?’ he said. ‘When I asked Pa how to make babbies, he bawled my head off, and said it weren’t my business, only his and Ma’s. Ain’t it going to be my babby as well, Carrie?’

  The laughter died on Carrie’s lips at the plaintive little question. It had never occurred to her before that a child in the family could feel totally left out, just because nobody spoke about such intimate and personal details.

  ‘It’ll belong to all of us,’ she assured him. ‘And you’ll be told all about how it got there when you’re a bit older. I expect Pa thought it was a bit difficult for you to understand it just yet. But the important thing is that we’re all here to welcome our baby when it arrives.’

  Billy didn’t look at all satisfied, and Carrie prayed that she wouldn’t be pushed into giving more detailed explanations. Especially when her own knowledge of making babies was so scanty. What did she know, after all? She was aware of occasional bumps in the night from Ma and Pa’s room, though not lately, of course … and she had heard Elsie Miller’s garbled reports, which weren’t always to be trusted … and that was all. She chose not to think about herself and John Travis right now. It didn’t seem right, when Ma was struggling upstairs with the pain.

  She was as innocent as Billy in knowing all the facts. But she knew her own body, and it was only common sense to suppose that every other woman’s body must be fashioned the same as her own. So just how a living breathing baby could emerge from the place it had to, was beyond her comprehension and filled her with terror.

  ‘Here’s the water for Ma,’ Wilf said, coming in from the yard, and bringing a gust of cold air in with him. ‘Now then, sprog, what are you doing awake?’ he said, seeing Billy curled up on the settle.

  ‘The babby’s hurting our Ma,’ he said. ‘Our Carrie won’t tell me nothing, but you’ll tell me, won’t you, Wilf?’

  Above her small brother’s head, Carrie caught her brother’s glance. What would Wilf know about birthing and making babies! And how would he ever find the words to explain it, even if he did …? She started to take the water upstairs and was surprised by the gentleness in Wilf’s voice as he answered.

  ‘Maybe it’s time you knew a few things, young Billy, and since we’ve nothing else to do until Pa gets back, I’ll try and tell ’em to you.’

  Carrie would never have believed Wilf could be so forthcoming, though he’d undoubtedly tell things in the simplest terms for Billy to understand. Presumably Nora Woolley had done this for Wilf, she thought with sudden comprehension. Bringing him out of his silent shell, and making him a sight more human than of old. Well, well.

  But she soon forgot all about Wilf and Nora when she saw Ma’s face. Although it was quickly composed, there was no missing the discomfort written all over it. Deeper lines than usual were etched in her skin, and Carrie quickly poured out the water, slopping it awkwardly and handing her the glass.

  ‘Is it bad, Ma?’ she said huskily.

  ‘It’s the usual,’ she answered. ‘No child ever came into this world without making his presence felt, and this one seems certain to be a large and lusty one.’

  She caught her breath again and this time she bit hard on a folded towel. Carrie had heard tell about contractions and the time between them, but these pains were giving Ma no time at all to recover. They seemed almost constant. She felt a burst of alarm. Dear God, supposing the baby decided to make a rush into the world, and the midwife hadn’t arrived? As if she could read her daughter’s mind, and sensed her instinctive backing away, Ma removed the towel from her lips and gave a ragged smile.

  ‘Don’t you worry none, my duck. It won’t happen for hours yet. I’ve been this way before, remember.’

  But she was younger then, and more supple, and Billy’s birth was eight years ago. It must surely be like the first time all over again … Carrie didn’t need to be versed in medicine and midwifery to know that much.

  ‘Was that Billy I heard?’ Ma said now, and Carrie nodded, hardly able to speak.

  ‘See that he’s dressed warmly for the day. Pa will take him off with him this morning, and then take him to his lessons this afternoon. If this is still going on by nightfall, then we’ll think of summat else.’

  ‘John’s Aunt Vi said he could sleep at their house if need be,’ Carrie reminded her. ‘She’s a kindly person, and I did tell you how she said she wouldn’t mind having him there when your time came, and Billy’s always keen to hear Uncle Oswald’s stories about the river.’

  ‘We’ll see what’s happening by late afternoon, then,’ Ma said. ‘But you’d best ask our Billy what he thinks first. I don’t want him thinking he’s being pushed out.’

  She stopped talking then, as another pain assaulted her. Carrie saw how she arched and braced herself, and how the great mountain of the baby seemed to harden beneath the thin nightgown with each new contraction.

  To her wild relief, she heard the midwife’s voice, and when Mrs Green bustled into the room, Carrie almost fled down the stairs, mumbling that she had to see that Billy got himself dressed properly.

  She was all fingers and thumbs as she helped to button him into his trousers and lace his boots, ignoring his protestations that he could manage by himself. She mentioned John’s aunt and uncle casually to him, preparing the way, and heard his screech of delight.

  ‘Can I go there after my lessons, Pa? When our Carrie took me there before, Aunt Vi said I could go again any time I wanted.’

  ‘I said I’d do it,’ Carrie began quickly.

  ‘It’s best that you stay here, girl,’ Pa said. ‘I’ll tell you what, Billy. We’ll go up Bedminster Hill this morning and see if it’s all right, then if ’tis, when I collect you from your lessons I’ll take you back there. Unless things have moved on apace here, o’ course.’

  He avoided Carrie’s eyes. A man didn’t speak about such things as confinements and labour pains. His job was done in the thrashings of the bedroom, and it was the woman who had the ordeal of producing the babies. Carrie had never thought about it so acutely before, and wondered how she would react when her own time came. As it surely would, when she and John were married, and the babies came along.

  A thin trickle of sweat ran down her back as she heard the muted moans from upstairs. Ma was the strongest of women, but there was a limit to how much pain anyone could stand. And seeing her like that … suppressing her agony like that … Carrie couldn’t help wondering about her own ability to bear such torment.

  ‘Come on, young felle
r,’ Pa was saying stoutly. ‘Into the scullery with you for a wash while Carrie gets us some breakfast, then we’ll be out of the women’s way.’

  But she didn’t miss the worry in Pa’s eyes, and guessed he was as anxious as she was. She pressed her hand on his arm.

  ‘Everything will be all right, Pa,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ll do all that’s asked of me.’

  He nodded. ‘I never expected anything less, girl.’

  It was as far as he could go towards sentimentality, and Carrie understood that. Mrs Green would be brisk and businesslike, and it would do Ma no good to have Carrie frightened and wailing all around her. She had to be strong for Ma’s sake, and so she would.

  * * *

  Twelve hours later, it was clear that something was wrong. The pains continued, but they were less intense, as if the baby itself was weary of the push to be born. The midwife was clearly alarmed, and Ma looked exhausted, and so old.

  ‘I fear it may be a breech,’ Mrs Green said briefly. ‘If so, ’twill need turning, and the sooner the better. Run and fetch Doctor Flowers, Carrie, and tell him exactly what I’ve said.’

  ‘Is Ma going to be all right?’ she said in a cracked voice. Dear God, were her worst fears about to come true? Was this agony her mother had suffered all day long to come to naught …?

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Carrie. Just do as Mrs Green says,’ came Ma’s thin voice.

  But what about the baby? In her nightmares it had always been the baby that was lying still and cold in one of Pa’s tiny coffins … terror sent Carrie flying up the hill without bothering to put on a coat or even to pull a shawl around her shoulders. Slipping and sliding on the frosty ground, she hammered at the doctor’s door, praying that he wouldn’t be out on one of his calls. To her relief, he answered at once, and she clutched at his arms.

  ‘Oh, Doctor Flowers, please come quick. Ma’s been labouring all day, and Mrs Green says the baby might be breeched and will need turning. She says to hurry.’

  ‘All right, don’t fret. I’ll just get my bag.’