Amy's Touch

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘And I’ll nominate Rena Fairbairn,’ said Meg Barnaby.

  ‘What about Margaret Walpole?’ Randall said from the back of the room. ‘She’s well known in the community for her charity work.’

  ‘Margaret isn’t here, Randall, and she’s not shown any interest in the league,’ Amy replied. She liked the fact that he came to all the meetings, even though she knew the reason: it gave him the opportunity to have a few words in private with her afterwards. He’d probably suggested Margaret thinking it might soften Bill’s ongoing meanness.

  ‘Viss respect,’ Erica Liszt said, ‘Margaret’s a nice person, but more often zan not she does vat her husband tells her to do. I sink ve need free-sinking vomen on the committee, not zose who simply do anozer’s bidding.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ came the general response.

  ‘If it’s acceptable, I’d like to offer myself as a nominee,’ said Beatrice, Reverend Whitton’s wife.

  ‘Of course it’s acceptable,’ Amy assured Beatrice. It would be good to have the minister’s wife on their committee, to give it more credibility.

  Amy quickly formalised the nominations into a committee and they settled on a future date to meet at Primrose Cottage. After that, Amy declared the meeting closed.

  ‘You must be mightily pleased with yourself,’ Randall said quietly from behind her as Amy helped Meg and Winnie stack the last of the chairs.

  For a moment or two Amy wasn’t sure whether he was genuinely pleased for her or if he was being a touch sarcastic. ‘It’s going well. The flu epidemic, sad as it was, brought the community together.’

  ‘Whether you admit it or not, you were the driving force for that, Amy,’ he voiced his opinion, while waving goodbye to Winnie and Meg as they left the hall.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  It was so good to see him. She hadn’t laid eyes on him for over a month, and seeing him now, dressed formally in a suit and starchedcollared shirt and tie, his hat in his hand, made something twist and tighten inside her chest till it became hard to breathe. For a while, when she’d been run off her feet at the hospital, she had sometimes been able to convince herself that perhaps what she’d felt for Randall was only a passing infatuation. But seeing him now made it impossible to deny the truth. She loved him, was in love with him, and…Oh, what was the point in trying to deny it? She could fill her waking hours with ‘distractions’ such as work and the country women’s league, but when she lay in her bed at night, staring at the darkened ceiling, he was the one who dominated her thoughts, fuelled her desires.

  For several seconds she allowed the ache for him to encompass her body, her spirit. The needy part of her wanted to give in to it, not to worry about what anyone thought, but common sense told her that would be foolish and would give Bill Walpole more ammunition to use against them. She still wasn’t sure they were destined to be together—as Danny had said—and she just knew instinctively that the time wasn’t right for it to happen.

  He was staring at her, waiting for her to look up at him, to capture her gaze. She obliged, and the look in his eyes revealed so much: need, wanting, love. It made her try to retreat. ‘I—I have to go,’ she murmured, breaking her gaze from his.

  His reply came as a whisper. ‘I don’t want you to.’

  Then, before she realised his intention, he drew her into his arms and tilted her chin up so he could kiss her. The warmth of his lips raced through her senses, igniting in an instant a near-unquenchable need. Her heart throbbed madly inside her chest, the breath caught in her throat, and, without conscious volition, one of her hands came up to caress his face and smooth a strand of black hair off his forehead.

  She was the one who finally pushed away. ‘This is madness. If anyone sees us…’

  Randall shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’ His voice deepened, becoming more husky. ‘It’s agony not seeing you, not being with you. Half the people around here already think the worst of us, so if someone actually catches us out what difference would it make?’

  ‘You know the answer to that.’ Her expression became serious. ‘It would make things more…awkward than they already are. There’s your reputation, and mine. I—we—can’t risk it being further sullied. Please, try to be patient.’

  Randall scowled at her because he knew she was right. ‘Amy, sometimes I wonder if you really do care.’

  Surely he couldn’t mean that? Hurt beyond words, her mouth fell open with shock. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She sucked in her bottom lip to stop its trembling, and tried to turn away from him so he wouldn’t see her pain.

  He realised he’d hurt her and grasped her hands. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t mean that. It’s just so hard. I want you in my life, by my side as…’

  The hall doors opened with a bang and Andy Cummings, the town’s barber, rushed into the hall towards them.

  ‘Amy, Amy,’ Andy was obviously agitated. ‘Where’s Dr Carmichael?’

  ‘He’s at Underwood’s. There’s been a serious accident to one of the stockmen there.’

  ‘You’ve got to get him to come back. Christine’s having the baby. Sh-she’s b-been in labour for almost twenty hours and nothing’s happening. Valda thinks there’s a problem with the baby. My wife needs Dr Carmichael.’

  Amy did a quick calculation as to how long it would take her father to get back into town, especially as the Underwoods didn’t have a telephone. She figured it would take at least three hours. ‘Calm down, Andy.’ She tried to settle him down. ‘I’ve delivered babies before. I’ll come and look at Christine.’

  Andy’s chin set stubbornly, the look on his face—because he was one of the people who’d helped spread gossip about her and Randall—was spiteful. ‘I want the doctor, not you.’

  Randall, who’d listened to the exchange, stepped close and poked his index finger into Andy’s bony chest. ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ his tone was stern. ‘Besides, you don’t have much choice. Currently, there’s no midwife in Gindaroo, so it’s either Amy or no one.’

  ‘We’re wasting time arguing,’ Amy said in her professional, nononsense voice. ‘Andy, take me to Christine so I can check her progress.’ For several seconds she thought he would refuse her request, but as Randall loomed over him a little more threateningly, he acquiesced.

  ‘All right.’ His tone was sullen. He turned on his heel and raced out of the hall, with Amy and Randall following close behind.

  At the Cummingses’ small one-bedroom cottage, Amy examined Christine. The young girl’s nightgown was soaked in perspiration, her breathing was light and fluttery—evidence of a drawn-out labour—and the birth canal hadn’t expanded sufficiently to allow the baby’s head to come through.

  ‘She should be at the hospital,’ Amy said, more to Valda than to Andy, who lurked at the doorway, seemingly afraid to get too close. Randall had tagged along with Amy and stood in the small parlour, ready to be of assistance if needed. ‘The staff and I can monitor her progress there. And there are…suitable instruments, should they be needed.’ What she didn’t say was that Christine’s colour wasn’t good, and after holding her wrist to take her pulse, which was somewhat thready, she knew that mother-to-be and the unborn child were under a good deal of stress.

  ‘She’s too weak to walk,’ Valda said, anxiety echoing clearly in her voice.

  Aware that Andy wasn’t strong enough, Randall offered from the doorway, ‘I’ll carry her.’

  Five minutes later Christine was in a hospital bed, the one closest to the operating room, and Amy was timing the contractions and their severity. She had an inkling of what was going wrong with the labour: Christine was young and slim-hipped and most likely the baby’s head was too big to get through the birth passage. Her father would know what to do, but he wasn’t here, couldn’t be contacted, and wasn’t likely to arrive in time.

  ‘Andy, go to Quinton’s store and telephone Gunther Liszt’s property. He is closest to Underwoods’. Ask Gunther to go and tell the doctor he’s needed at the hos
pital urgently, and why. Stay by the telephone till Gunther calls back to tell you the doctor’s on his way.’ It was a relief when Andy, nodding that he understood, walked quickly down the ward and out of the hospital.

  Leaving Valda to monitor her daughter, Amy gestured for Sister Osborne to join her in the operating room so they could discuss the situation.

  ‘There isn’t much more we can do, other than wait and hope she dilates sufficiently for us to get the baby out,’ Sarah said in her common-sense way. ‘And we can’t do an episiotomy unless the baby’s head has come into view.’

  ‘I know. Let’s get her in here, just in case,’ Amy agreed, but her instincts told her there was another, as yet unknown reason why Christine, a normal, healthy young woman, was having difficulty giving birth. ‘Sarah, would you prepare the operating room?’

  Sarah nodded affirmatively and asked, ‘What about Andy?’

  Amy sighed. ‘Tell him that bringing her in is just a precaution.’

  ‘You think that will satisfy Andy?’

  Amy shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ll worry about Andy later. Besides, with my father away, I’m in charge. Christine’s care is my responsibility.’

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it again. She began to get the instruments and the operating table ready while Amy went out to speak to her patient.

  Amy looked at Christine’s mother. Valda’s features were lined with worry as Amy said to her, ‘You’ll tell Andy why Christine’s in there, when he comes back?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Valda’s eyebrows lifted then slowly settled. ‘He’ll fuss and carry on, that’s what he usually does, but it’s all bluff and bluster, no substance.’ She summed up her son-in-law perfectly.

  ‘I’ll get a trolley to take you into the operating room,’ Amy told Christine. Out of the corner of her eye, as she helped shift Christine to the trolley, she saw Randall waiting by the hospital doors. She smiled at him and gave him a nod of thanks for his help, before she wheeled Christine into the operating room and helped her onto the table. Then, as always, she checked her patient’s vital signs. Christine’s heartbeat was labouring. Amy moved the stethoscope down and around the abdomen to check the baby’s heartbeat, frowning as she did so. ‘Oh, God…’

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked.

  Amy gave her the stethoscope. ‘Listen. There are two heartbeats, not one. Christine’s having twins. That’s the problem. Two babies are trying to come out and they could be tangled around the umbilical cord.’

  ‘Oh!’ Sarah’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘What would Dr Carmichael do?’

  Amy didn’t answer for a moment or two. She was thinking things through, weighing up the options, thinking about the alternatives. If neither of the babies could be delivered and Christine’s heart weakened further, she would eventually go into cardiac arrest. They’d lose the mother and the babies.

  ‘As you know, there is an operation…’ Amy began. ‘It’s not without its dangers, and it’s only done as a final resort—a Caesarean section. I’ve assisted Father four times when he’s had to do them.’ She made eye contact with Sarah. ‘If the birth passage doesn’t dilate sufficiently in the next half-hour, a Caesarean might well be Christine’s only chance for a successful delivery.’

  ‘B-but your father’s not here.’ Sarah stated the obvious. ‘And while Caesareans have been done for centuries, historically they’re performed mainly to save the child, not the mother.’

  ‘I know,’ Amy’s tone was grave. What was she thinking—that she could perform the Caesarean? No, no, no. It was too dangerous. More complicated than the episiotomy and several other procedures—setting broken bones, lancing boils, suturing and reading X-rays, tasks her father had taught her to master. What if she failed and Christine and the twins perished? The law would see it as murder or, at the very least, manslaughter. She couldn’t do it. But if Christine’s condition didn’t improve, and her father didn’t arrive in time to operate…what other choice was there?

  Could she watch this young woman die with the knowledge that she might have been able to save her and the babies? Had she the courage to perform the operation? If she didn’t, could her conscience live with that afterwards?

  The operating doors burst open and Andy stormed in and demanded to know, ‘What are you doing to my wife?’

  ‘Trying to make the birth happen more easily,’ Sarah said calmly. ‘You’re not supposed to come in here, Andy. Wait outside, please.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, Andy,’ Christine answered in a soft tone. ‘Just tired. Do as Sister suggests.’

  ‘Oh, and Andy,’ Sarah glanced meaningfully at Amy, who nodded her approval. ‘You might be interested to know that you and Christine are having twins. She’s carrying two babies.’

  ‘What!’ Andy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. ‘Twins!’ He straightened and puffed out his chest importantly. ‘Well, I’ll be…’

  Amy asked the question dominating her thoughts. ‘Did you find out how long it will take Dr Carmichael to get here?’

  ‘Gunther said about two hours.’

  As Andy went outside to tell the news about the twins to his mother-in-law, Amy and Sarah gave each other another meaningful look. The two women moved to a corner of the operating room and spoke too quietly for Christine to hear.

  ‘We’ll have to keep a close watch on her. Do observations and cardiac monitoring every ten minutes, and…’ Amy decided not to put into words what was festering in her mind. Was she insane? It was out of the question. She wasn’t sufficiently skilled, hadn’t the experience, and, most importantly, wasn’t licensed to operate on another human being.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Sarah murmured, having seen a gamut of emotions flit across Amy’s face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know you, Amy Carmichael. You’ll do everything you can to save Christine, which is admirable. But to operate on her, to try to perform a Caesarean section, would be madness.’

  Amy gave due consideration to Sarah’s opinion, after which she spoke in a clear, calm voice. ‘Only as a last resort. Three lives are at stake, and I’ll be damned,’ she rarely swore, but she did now, ‘if I’ll stand by and let them die when, if I have to, I could try to save them.’

  ‘What if you try and they die anyway? The consequences could be very serious.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that, and I’m prepared to take the risk.’ Amy ran her fingers across her forehead. She didn’t want to think about failure if she had to act. Wouldn’t think about it. ‘Anyway, for the moment it’s all supposition. Hopefully, Christine will give birth naturally. We’ll keep her in here and I want you to stay with her all the time.’

  ‘What about the other patients?’

  ‘I’ll attend to them, with the nurses’ aides’ help.’

  An hour after Sarah and Amy’s conversation in the operating room, Sarah emerged and walked up to Amy. ‘You’d better take a look at Christine. I don’t like her colour. I think she’s so worn out that she’s giving up,’ she whispered.

  On checking Christine, Amy concurred with Sarah’s opinion. ‘I’m going to speak to Andy and Valda.’

  ‘You’ll never get Andy’s permission.’

  Amy’s chin set stubbornly. She looked Sarah straight in the eyes and said, ‘Then I’ll do it without it.’ To which Sarah simply shook her head and said nothing. ‘Please get the necessary instruments ready.’

  The words Andy uttered when Amy told him what needed to be done to save Christine and the babies’ lives shuddered through Amy and lodged in her memory forever.

  Touch them, hurt any one of them, and I’ll see that you spend the rest of your life in prison. Valda, who knew from the experience of the flu epidemic how competent Amy was, tried to make him see that it was the only choice left. But her mean-spirited son-in-law, half crazy with worry and vindictiveness, refused to see that.

  ‘They’ll all perish if I don’t do something,’ Amy stated.
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br />   ‘Andy,’ Valda put her hand on his arm. ‘She’s my daughter. You’ve got to let Amy try to save them.’

  ‘She’s not a doctor. We should wait for the doctor to come,’ he retorted obstinately.

  Amy shook her head. ‘I wish we could but there isn’t time.’

  Andy turned away and walked halfway down the ward, then stopped. Squaring his shoulders, he turned around and came back to them. ‘All right, but I want to watch.’

  ‘You’ll sign a permission form?’ Amy insisted.

  His mouth tightened. ‘If you don’t let me watch, I won’t sign the damn form. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.’

  Amy, conscious that every passing minute was critical, gave in. ‘Very well, so long as you stay away from the operating table and let Sarah and the other nurses do what they have to do.’

  He nodded sullenly and, after a fleeting glance at Valda, followed Amy into the operating room.

  Sarah was to be scrub nurse and handle the instruments, while the three trainee nurses, Therese, Rosemary and Rebekkah, had been assigned various tasks: Rosemary, who had the most training, was to control the anaesthetic; Therese would be called on to take care of the babies as they were born; and Rebekkah was to act as an extra pair of hands, if and when she was needed, while keeping an occasional watch on the patients in the ward.

  Once Christine was anaesthetised and her abdomen swabbed with disinfectant, Amy stood at the operating table, the scalpel in her hand. She was well aware of the risk she was taking. A Caesarean section was seen as major surgery, and all she had was nursing qualifications plus a wealth of experience and knowledgeable talks with her father to guide her. She gripped the cutting instrument tightly to stop her hand from trembling as, with surprising expertise, she made the first incision.

  As Sarah swabbed a thin line of blood along the incision line they heard a thud behind them.

  Rosemary told the others, ‘Andy’s fainted.’

  Amy continued to cut until she heard a voice from the doorway of the operating room. ‘Amy. Stop. Immediately!’