A Nurse's Duty

by Maggie Hope

  Oh, God, she thought, and her stomach lurched. The baby moved restlessly within her. She stood dumbly as they descended from the trap and walked towards her.

  ‘Good morning. We have come to see Patrick Murphy.’

  The older man spoke in the clipped, impersonal tones of a man used to exerting authority.

  ‘He’s not here.’

  Karen’s answer was just as brief as she stood blocking the doorway, arms folded over her bulging apron in instinctive protectiveness. Hearing voices, Gran came out to see who it was at the door and with only one glance at her granddaughter, Karen’s agitation was communicated to her and she came and stood foursquare beside her.

  ‘What do you want?’ She stared with uncompromising hostility at the two men. If this was trouble then Karen was not going to face it on her own, not in her condition.

  ‘We wish to see Patrick Murphy,’ the older priest repeated.

  ‘Well, tho’ cannit,’ Gran replied flatly. ‘Ee in’t ’ere.’ Her accent had broadened in her determination to send these men on their way.

  ‘Will he be long away?’ This was the younger man and he asked his question of Gran, studiously avoiding looking at Karen.

  ‘Aa wadn’t knaa.’ Gran felt very strange. This was all in sharp contrast to her usual warm welcome for strangers. But she stood her ground while she could feel her granddaughter trembling beside her.

  ‘Sean, why can’t you leave us alone?’ pleaded Karen.

  The older man’s face purpled. ‘Father Donelly is doing his duty,’ he snapped.

  ‘Away inside, Karen,’ Gran ordered her granddaughter. ‘Gan on, bide in the parlour a while.’ She gave Karen a little shove and blindly she fled indoors.

  ‘May we wait for him?’

  This was Sean, a man who had lived among women such as Jane and thought he knew how to deal with them. In this case he was wrong.

  ‘Nay, that wouldn’t be wise of me now, letting you wait here, would it?’

  Now that Gran had calmed down a little she was unconsciously returning to a more standard form of English. ‘I have my granddaughter to think of.’

  ‘If you could just tell me when he will be back …’

  But Gran had lost patience. ‘This is not a good time, I tellt ye, din’t I? If you had eyes in your head, man, you would see this is not a good time. Let the lad be. Let them both be.’

  The priests looked at each other, considering their next move.

  ‘Let it lie I tell you, let it lie!’ Gran’s voice rose and she started to close the door.

  Sean put out a hand and held the door open while he said: ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rain. Tell him we’ll be in Wolsingham though, will you? I am his friend, the priest over at Weston.’

  ‘Get your hand off my door,’ she said, her voice low but full of threat. Sean pulled away and stepped back from the door

  ‘Good morning to you, Mrs Rain,’ he said courteously, and the men retreated to the trap. Clucking to the horse, the older man turned it round and they made their way back along the track. Gran stared after them, dismay welling up in her. She’d be blowed if she told Patrick anything of the sort, she fumed silently. Not before the baby was born, anyroad. It would only upset things.

  ‘It’s all right, flower, never you mind,’ she comforted a woebegone Karen waiting in the parlour. ‘They’ve gone now and it doesn’t matter, it makes not a ha’porth of difference.’

  ‘But Patrick …’

  ‘He doesn’t know they were here and if you’ve any sense you’ll not tell him. It will only upset things.’

  Gradually she managed to calm Karen down and presently she began preparations for supper.

  ‘Here’s Patrick now.’

  Gran saw the tall figure coming into the yard and turned to Karen who was still slumped in the rocking chair by the fire. ‘Now, come on, pet, smile. Don’t let him see you’ve been upset. Go on, go and meet him.’

  Karen smiled dutifully and, straightening her apron, went to the back door. Crushing down her anxiety, and with her will bolstered by Gran’s, she hurried over to the barn where he was unloading the sled.

  ‘Oh, Patrick, I’m so glad to see you.’

  She went up to him and hugged him, her smile radiant. A flicker of surprise came into his eyes before he responded to her unspoken appeal and kissed her thoroughly.

  ‘I wasn’t so long as all that, was I?’ he said teasingly, his brogue endearing him further to her.

  She blushed slightly but said nothing, watching him for a while, happy again. No one was going to separate them. They were married, weren’t they? She twisted the gold ring round and round on her finger, self-confidence returning. The threat posed by the afternoon’s visitors faded and blended with that of the occasional nightmare which still plagued her, frightening at first but unreal in broad daylight.

  The evening shadows were lengthening and a cold wind stirred the leaves of the rowan tree as she waited. Patrick paused in his work and put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Go on in now, I won’t be long. You’ll catch a chill if you stay out here, the night’s turning cold.’

  Obediently Karen nodded and went into the house, happy to do his bidding.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘THE POSTMAN’S COMING along the lane, Gran,’ said Patrick as he came inside to wash his hands for breakfast some days later

  ‘He can have a cup of tea then, I’m just about to make it.’

  Gran filled the large, brown teapot and set it on the table, followed by three plates of bacon and eggs. Then she brought another pot for the postman, together with a plate of fresh made singing hinny scones.

  ‘A few letters today, missus,’ he said as he propped his bicycle against the wall, and, sure of his welcome, walked through. Gran pulled out a chair for him.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast? Or maybe a singing hinny?’

  ‘No thanks, not today. Just a cup of tea will be fine.’ He sat down at the table and put the bundle of letters before her.

  ‘It’s getting a bit nippy in the mornings now,’ he remarked, and rubbed his hands together before taking a long, appreciative swallow.

  ‘Young Joe Tyndale’s missing.’

  Jack looked sombre. A man in his fifties, he was often the bearer of bad news to the people of the dale and sometimes it bore him down.

  Gran clucked sorrowfully, but Karen didn’t hear. She was sitting oblivious to everything but the letter addressed to Patrick which lay on top of the pile. She continued eating mechanically, looking neither at Patrick nor Gran. It seemed to her to be an age before Jack got up from his chair, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, thanked them and left. The scrape of Patrick’s chair made Karen jump convulsively and she stared up at him. But without a word he rose to his feet, picked up the letter, and strode out of the door.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Gran had looked up in surprise.

  ‘Oh, nothing, Gran. He just wants to get on,’ Karen answered. She couldn’t trust herself to say anymore. Patrick never got letters, this was the first, she was thinking – and was filled with foreboding.

  ‘There’s a couple here for you.’ Gran was looking through the rest of the post. ‘And one for me.’ She held out two letters.

  ‘Karen?’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, Gran.’ Karen took the letters and stared at the envelopes.

  ‘Must be something up. One from your father and one from Kezia,’ Gran commented as Karen opened the letter from Kezia and read it aloud.

  Mam’s had a bad turn but seems to be pulling round again though she has lost some weight. The rest of us are fine. We had a letter from Joe too, he’s doing well.

  I forgot to tell you at the wedding but just after you left home a tramp came looking for you. I had my hands full at the time, what with Mam and all, and gave him short shrift, I’m ashamed to say. Anyway, he went off and it was only after he had gone that I realized he only had one arm. Or at least there was something wrong with one arm, he kept h
is right side away from me.

  I’ve felt guilty about it ever since as I think it might have been your disturbed soldier. I did tell him you were up the dales so he might show up one of these days. Well, that’s all, now I’ve told you about it. Let me know how you are, and about the baby and all.

  Karen pondered over the letter for a while. If it was Nick why was he not still under a doctor’s care? And surely he had a pension, there was no need for him to tramp? For a short while her attention was diverted from her own worries.

  ‘Your mother has been bad again, I see,’ said Gran, who was perusing her own letter short-sightedly. Karen nodded.

  ‘Kezia says she’s getting better though.’ She opened her letter from Da.

  He commented on Mam’s health in a similar vein to Kezia, praising God that she was now a little better. Then he came directly to the point.

  The Catholic Father from Weston came to see us. [That would cause a minor sensation in the row, thought Karen.] I wouldn’t lie. He asked me if I knew where Patrick Murphy was and I told him.

  Karen giggled hysterically, causing Gran to look up from her own letter in concern. The giggling turned to tears and Karen felt sick. Abruptly she rose, scraping her chair loudly on the flagstones as she rucked up the mat. Despite her bulk, she ran out of the house across the yard and on up to the rowan tree.

  Patrick was nowhere to be seen. He had harnessed Jess and gone on up the fell somewhere. Karen closed her eyes and leaned against the trunk of the tree, her breathing fast and shallow and it was not just from the exertion.

  Why can’t they leave us alone? she thought desperately. Now Patrick would know she had not told him about the visit from the priests. She should have told him … Karen leaned over and vomited on the grass.

  A sharp pain shot through her, taking her completely by surprise, making her double over. No! Not yet! The baby wasn’t due yet. She straightened up slowly, holding her breath. The pain receded, leaving a dull ache through to her back, but her pulse still raced. It was only a few days early, she reckoned swiftly, reassuring herself. Maybe this was a false alarm, but then maybe it was the real thing.

  Taking a deep breath, she set off to retrace her steps to the farmhouse. If she could only lie down for a while she would be fine. But she had only gone a little way when it hit her again, the ache intensifying until she doubled up once more. Panting heavily, she schooled herself not to cry out, hanging on so as not to alarm Gran until she was sure it was the baby coming. Until she was sure … Dear God, if this wasn’t the baby, what was it? Of course she was sure.

  At last the wave of pain receded and she realized from her training that she should have sufficient time to reach the kitchen, even her bedroom.

  A wry grin played around her lips as the thought crossed her mind that this wasn’t at all as she had thought when she had helped other women through it.

  ‘Now keep calm,’ she had said, ‘there’s nothing to worry about.’ She would just have to take her own advice. Karen resumed her careful progress to the back door, wary now of the return of the pain.

  And return it did, with such swiftness and intensity that it brought her to the ground, scattering loudly clucking hens. She cried aloud despite her resolve, her vision fading, her whole being flooded with pain, becoming the pain. She lay there, moaning, oblivious of anything else. A fog closed in on her, obscuring the sunlight.

  ‘Now then, come on, pet, it’s all right.’ Gran’s voice came through the mists to her, Gran’s arms were around her, helping her up, supporting her.

  ‘Not far to go. Howay now, be a good lass, lean on me.’

  Karen had little choice but to lean on Gran as she was dragged, half walking, half sliding, into the kitchen and on to the settee. Her vision cleared and the pain receded yet again.

  ‘Why is it coming so fast?’ she asked, panicking. How was she going to get into the front room? Patrick hadn’t even brought down the bed from upstairs yet. Karen gazed imploringly at Gran. She would know what to do.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you then.’

  Indeed Gran was calmly efficient. Deftly she manoeuvred Karen into position as the pain took its hold once more.

  ‘All right now, all right, there’s nothing to worry about, just do as I say.’ Gran was in command and Karen was at her mercy and that of the mysterious forces which had taken hold of her. The pains returned, closer together, almost blending into one long pain which threatened to tear her apart.

  ‘Hang on, lass. Don’t push. Breathe, Karen, pant,’ said Gran, snatching a clean towel from the brass rail over the fireplace and putting it under her legs. And Karen tried, but the force within her was too great. She half sat, leaning on her elbows, legs drawn up, and in a long, last surge of pain the baby was there. When at last she could think for herself again she was as much exhausted from the shock of the sudden delivery as from the labour. She lay passively as Gran did what had to be done, placing the child in Karen’s arms before attending to the afterbirth.

  She gazed at her son. His tiny face was puckered, a tuft of black hair stuck incongruously on the very top of his head. He was infinitely precious, a miracle, with a bubble forming at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘By, lass,’ said Gran laconically, ‘that’s only ten minutes from getting you on the settee to the end. A pity it’s not always like that.’

  ‘A bit of a shock to the system, though,’ Karen said shakily.

  ‘Aye. Well, you lie quiet there, you’ll be all right.’

  Karen was content to do just that. She lay with her baby in her arms, quietly adoring him.

  ‘There now, I think that’s that,’ said Gran. She had made Karen clean and comfortable and brought a blanket downstairs to cover her. Now she turned her attention to the baby who was wrapped solely in the clean towel.

  ‘We’ll wash His Nibs, I think. It’s a good job Patrick brought the water in for the day before he went.’ She held out her arms for the baby and Karen gave him up, somewhat reluctantly. Her joy in motherhood and love for the tiny scrap of humanity were the strongest emotions she had ever experienced, even eclipsing her love for Patrick. The worry of the letter he had received that morning seemed suddenly quite unimportant.

  She watched anxiously as her grandmother washed and dried the child before dressing him in one of the gowns Karen had ready and wrapping him in a soft shawl she herself had crocheted. Placing a pillow in a drawer from the kitchen press, she laid him on it. That would do for a bed for him until Patrick could bring down the heavy old cradle from the attic. The baby cried a little when he was being handled but settled down when laid in the drawer.

  ‘Eeh, that was a good morning’s work. A cup of tea for us both now, I think. You’ll have to stay there until Patrick comes in. I don’t think I could manage to get you in the front room. I’m not as young as I was, you know. I feel as tired as if I’d had the bairn myself.’ Karen managed a weak smile. Gran had shown herself to be as strong and dependable as a woman half her age.

  ‘You all right, pet?’ she asked, checking Karen over, straightening the cushion under her head, watching for tell-tale signs of anything wrong.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m fine, I feel great. Isn’t he lovely though, Gran?’ Karen was exhilarated.

  ‘Oh, aye, he’s lovely. Though why he was in such a hurry to get into the world has me beat. We’ll just see if he’s as lovely when he cries half the night.’

  ‘Gran!’ Karen was shocked at the idea that he would ever be anything but lovely and her grandmother laughed fondly and set about mashing tea. There was nothing else she could do until Patrick came home. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she was surprised to see it was only a quarter to twelve. All over and done with in under two hours. And thank God for it!

  Patrick didn’t turn up for his dinner and didn’t turn up for his tea. Karen slept for most of the afternoon, still on the settee. Gran worked about the yard, feeding the hens and geese, boiling swill for the pigs in the set pot and eventually milking the two c
ows. Every half hour or so she popped her head around the door to check on Karen and the baby. But a niggling doubt was worrying her. Where was Patrick?

  Stolidly she worked on, finishing the chores before going back to the house to start the evening meal. Karen was awake, fresh and rosy-cheeked, sitting up against the cushions nursing her baby. Her hair curled in profusion round her shoulders and the light in her eyes made her beautiful, the anxiety of the morning evidently completely forgotten.

  ‘Was I asleep when Patrick came in?’ She looked up happily. ‘He should have wakened me, Gran. I feel so fit, there’s nothing the matter with me. Working in the barn, is he?’

  The old lady looked at her, not quite knowing what to say. Surely Patrick hadn’t just up and gone? The thought had only just occurred to her.

  ‘He has been back, hasn’t he, Gran?’ Alarm was creeping into Karen’s voice.

  ‘Now, don’t go getting yourself in a state. You’ll only upset the little ’un. He’ll be back before long, just wait and see. He must have gone on up the fell, that’s all.’

  Gran took the baby and started to change his nappy, cooing to him as she did so. All Karen’s attention turned to the child as he was undressed, anxiously checking yet again that he was complete in every detail, no blemishes, no extra toes. She had already assured herself of his perfection but an extra look did no harm.

  It was into this scene of two women absorbed in a baby that Patrick walked a few minutes later. They had not even heard him unload the sled or turn Jess out into the field. As he walked in, the unhappiness which Karen thought she glimpsed in his face gave way to amazement and he halted in the doorway.

  ‘The supper’s not ready yet. Your son took up a bit of our time,’ Gran said prosaically. She carried on dressing the child and put him in Karen’s arms, instinctively leaving the room and the moment to the young couple.

  ‘But … how did you manage?’ Patrick found his tongue at last. ‘What about the midwife? Who went for her?’ He crossed swiftly over to the settee and took Karen’s hand. ‘Are you all right?’ His last question was a little belated, he realized, but she didn’t seem to notice. She looked rosily beautiful lying there, her velvety brown eyes tender and proud.