An Irish Heart

by C M Blackwood

  Meniah says that he wishes to be the uncle; and I believe that he can love it for me.

  ***

  June arrived more quickly than I wished it to. I was eager to be free of my burden, true enough – but I was not looking forward to the act of freeing it. It seemed, though, that no one was taking my fear seriously. Myrne told me that it could not possibly be so very difficult; “for after all, all women do it.” Every time I invoked the subject, with any of the other men, they simply waved a hand and said they would have no part of it – though they would be happy to hold the baby when all was said and done.

  Abbaline dealt not with my whining at all. The first time I tried to do as such, I was quieted so effectively that I never complained to her again. Though I suppose that was for the best – for Myrne was much more sympathetic, even with all his talk. I was even able to convince him, in those last few weeks, to wait on me nearly hand and foot.

  So I skip ahead to that memorable day, when I was standing in the kitchen fixing a sandwich; and discovered all of a sudden that I was standing in a pool of water.

  I suspected that it had not come from the sandwich.

  Not knowing what else to do, I began to scream. But only Myrne was at home.

  “Meniah!” I hollered. “Get in here!”

  Sure enough, he was there, just as quick as a flash.

  “Goodness gracious,” he said, looking down at the water round my feet. “What a mess!”

  “Would you stop worrying about that, and help me figure out what I’m supposed to do now?”

  He looked around, as if hoping that the answer would somehow present itself to him from somewhere in the kitchen. When it became clear that it would not, he just looked back at me, and shrugged.

  “Don’t you shrug your shoulders at me!” I shrieked. “Do something!”

  He ran around in a circle, truly seeming for a moment like he had a goal in mind. But he didn’t; and he finally looked back to me and asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

  I sank down to the floor, feeling every part the miserable wretch.

  “This is a very bad time for Abbaline to be away,” said Myrne.

  “Tell me something that I don’t already know!”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “Not really. Not yet.”

  “Well, good. Then we still have time.”

  “To do what? We don’t even know what we’re supposed to be doing.”

  “True.” He looked down at the puddle of water. “True.”

  I put a hand to my head, trying to think. The horses were gone for the day; there was no way to get to anywhere but here.

  The answer had been in my mind from the start; but I did not want to admit to myself that it was the only option.

  “Go down the street,” I said to Myrne. “Go to Niamh Carlin’s house. You know which one it is.”

  He looked at me uneasily. “Are you sure about that?”

  “What else can I do?” I asked, shouting but not meaning to. “Just go, will you?”

  He started from the kitchen, but looked back at me before he went. “Will she even be home?”

  “Why don’t you go and find out?”

  He nodded, turned on his heel, and dashed out of the house.

  By the time I looked up, I saw that Dolly was sitting next to me, still as a sentry on guard. I held out my hand for a lick.

  ***

  As it turned out, Niamh Carlin was home – and, apparently, otherwise unengaged. I tried not to look at her too much, as she followed Myrne into the kitchen. I was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the cupboards. My distended stomach would not allow even an ascension to my knees.

  “Help me up, damn it,” I said to Myrne.

  Soon I was on my feet, holding my stomach and doubling over from the pains that had started up while Myrne was gone. Niamh was keeping her distance for the moment, surveying the situation from the doorway. I was sure that, were I anyone else, she would have sprung immediately into action; her reservation in what I naturally deemed a medical emergency was entirely unlike her.

  Yet it was also, as I naturally thought, entirely called for.

  “What do we do?” Myrne asked her, holding my arm and looking frantic.

  “Get off of me,” I said, shaking out of his grip.

  “What did I do?”

  “What did you do? What did you do? I – you – just be quiet!”

  “You know, you don’t have to be so mean.”

  “Why, I ought to –”

  Niamh stepped forward, then. “Try to calm down,” she said. “The more worked up you get, the harder this is going to be.”

  I glared at her for a moment, wanting to slap her. But there was something about her voice that almost comforted me. She was Niamh no longer. She had become, in that moment, the woman whom I had met in the infirmary; who spoke so kindly and was so gentle. Looking at her, then, I saw her as I had seen her in that bright and shining room, standing amidst the flock of war-wounded – dressed all in white, clear eyes telling me that I could trust her with my life.

  Now, of course, I knew that that last bit wasn’t true. But it helped me to remember, how it felt to believe it.

  “When did your water break?” she asked.

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  “We’ve still got quite a-ways to go, then.”

  “Then why does it hurt already?”

  “Trust me, it will get worse.”

  “Of course it will,” I mumbled.

  “You have to get off your feet, now,” she said. “The sofa’s not going to work; it’s too narrow. It’s either the table or a bed – take your pick.”

  “Wouldn’t that be rather disgusting, to do it on a bed?” asked Myrne with a grimace. “It’s going to make a terrible mess. But then – oh, the table! Couldn’t you do it on the floor?”

  A look from Niamh silenced him.

  “All the beds are upstairs,” I said. “I’ll stay down here.”

  “The table it is.” She looked to Myrne. “Go and get some pillows and a sheet. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  Myrne went quickly from the room, looking rather put out.

  Niamh pulled out a chair for me. “Sit down here for now,” she said.

  I lowered myself into the chair, breathing heavily. “My God,” I said. “It might end up a close call – but I think this is going to be the worst day of my life.”

  “It won’t be so bad.”

  “Says you. You’ve never done this before.”

  She looked away. “I have, actually. It was almost five years ago now.”

  “What?”

  “It was a girl,” she said. “She only lived for two weeks. But I named her Emily.”

  “Oh,” was all I said. Don’t think me a monster, I felt sympathy – but it was nothing compared to my indifference. My shock at her betrayal had passed away long ago, and my boiling rage was nowhere to be found. When she told me that her child had died, it was like someone telling me that they had just found their pet goldfish, belly-up in the bowl. Something of a misfortune, but certainly nothing for me to cry over.

  I knew that I was going to hell. No one had to tell me.

  I saw a tear fall from Niamh’s eye, but she wiped it away quickly and asked, “How are you feeling now?”

  “About the same as before.”

  “Well, that’s good. The same is better than worse.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’m going to go and see what’s keeping your friend,” she said.

  I was glad to have a small respite from her presence. It was almost like work, having her in the same room with me.

  Perhaps I was not so indifferent as I had thought.

  ***

  “What in the hell is she doing here?” hollered Abbaline.

  “She was the only person I could think of,” said I, from my place on the table. I glanced over at Niamh, to see if I had offended her – really hoping that I had.

 
; “I thought you said that you would rather have your head stamped by an elephant, than ever see her again?”

  “Well, I’d rather take my chances with the elephant than have this stupid baby, so I guess we’re all even!”

  “Stop shouting at me. It’s not my fault.”

  Myrne shook his head. “You know, that’s what I’ve been telling her for hours. But she just won’t listen to reason.”

  “I swear to you, if you don’t shut your damned mouth, I will stab you in both of your eyes!”

  “You see what I mean?” Myrne said to Abbaline.

  “All I see,” said Abbaline, “is a damned dog, running all about a woman who is about to give birth! Get it out of here!”

  As it turned out, Myrne did not need to do anything; for Abbaline’s shouts were quite enough to frighten Dolly from the room.

  I was lying on the kitchen table, propped up by almost every pillow in the house. I was soaked with sweat, and experiencing horrific pain that came much more frequently, and lasted much longer, than it had before.

  “Mr Myrne,” said Niamh, “if you’re only going to antagonise Kate, would you mind leaving the room?”

  “Why is everyone angry with me?” he asked.

  But he left, anyway.

  “You know,” said Abbaline, “I think that my being here will just be more of a bother than anything else. I’ll be in the parlour with Myrne, if you need anything.”

  Then everyone was gone.

  Everyone but Niamh.

  “I need water,” I said, wiping my forehead with my sleeve. I was sweating like a pig, and panting like a dog.

  I drank a whole glass of water in two gulps.

  “It won’t be long now,” said Niamh. “Just another few minutes, and we can start.”

  “We?”

  “Fine. You.”

  I laid my head back against the pillows. “That’s what I thought.”

  Niamh sat down in the chair beside me, looking at the wall. She seemed to be thinking of nothing at all – save for this whole mess to be done with, so that she could leave.

  “You’re not even sorry anymore, are you?”

  She looked at me in surprise. Clearly, she had not thought that that particular subject would arise today.

  “It’s not that I care,” I said lightly. “I just don’t think that you are.”

  “Of course I am,” she said. “Sorrier than I’ve ever been.”

  “That’s an easy thing to say.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She looked down at her hands, picking distractedly at her nails. “I used to have pride, you know. I used to be able to look at myself in the mirror. Now I don’t. Now I can’t.”

  “Well, that’s your own fault. No one made you do it.”

  “No, they didn’t. I was just weaker than I thought.”

  I looked her straight in the eye. “Weaker than I thought, too.”

  “I know. I don’t expect you to forgive me – I never expected that. You were wrong about that much.”

  “It’s been known to happen once or twice.”

  She seemed taken aback by my smile, utterly bewildered as to why I would bestow such a thing upon her. But I did, and I wasn’t sorry for it.

  I realised, only in that very moment, that I did not want to talk about it anymore. I did not want to blame her, because that only made it harder. I understood not the dynamics of it, either the why or the how; but I figured that those things mattered very little at that point.

  The kitchen was quiet for a few moments, and I could hear voices from the parlour: Abbaline talking to Myrne in that familiar, condescending tone she used consistently with him. She had not talked to me that way in a long time. It was almost nostalgic; almost like listening to her having a conversation with me, over a year ago.

  It made me smile.

  “You know what I just realised?”

  Niamh shook her head.

  “You never even asked me whose baby this is.”

  “I didn’t think it was any of my business.”

  “Well, it’s not, but it’s still strange that you didn’t ask.”

  She shrugged. “I figured it to be that man’s. Mr Myrne.”

  I sighed exasperatedly. “Why does everyone say that?”

  “I don’t know. The way you are together, I suppose. You seem very close.”

  “Well, we are. But not that way.”

  “I understand.”

  I got not the chance to say any more about it, for I was struck suddenly by the worst pain I had had so far. I cried out, my voice very loud betwixt the kitchen walls.

  “It’s time,” said Niamh. “Are you ready to be done with all this?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  ***

  It was not a pleasant day, I’ll say that much, but I had overestimated it in saying that it would be the worst of my life. It was not – not by a long shot. I could think of several others that were far more dismal.

  A baby boy, it was. Twelve hours it took him to show himself, but when he did, he was sort of cute. He had a few tufts of light hair, and eyes which I could not see because he refused to open them. His face was a bit squishy-looking, but he had nowhere near three chins. (Maybe a little more than one, but I assigned that to the squishiness.)

  When it was all over, everyone gathered into the kitchen to have a look. I never would have thought I’d see old Tom so sentimental. He talked to the baby as though it could actually understand him.

  “Well, little fella, ye finally made it. Just wait and see all the things Uncle Tom’s gonna teach ye. Ye’ll be a right soldier, by the time I’m through with ye.”

  “Hey,” said Myrne. “I’m the uncle.”

  “He can have more than one, you nit-wit,” said Blackie. “Not that I want to be one, mind. I don’t really like the kiddies.”

  “Neither do I,” I said honestly.

  “Well, I imagine that that’s going to have to change,” said Sam, taking the baby from Tom.

  “I imagine so,” I replied. There was only one child whom I had ever been fond of – only one whom I had not only tolerated, but loved. And he was dead; dead before he even got the chance to live.

  “I suppose he’ll get better-looking,” said Abbaline, scrutinising his face.

  “He’s a beautiful baby,” said Niamh, wrapping him in another blanket. “Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes. He’s perfect.”

  “What are you going to name him?” Myrne asked me.

  I had already decided that.

  “Joseph,” I said. “His name is Joseph O’Brien.”

  “Yes,” said Myrne, “that’s very nice. And it’s all well and good that no one’s any the worse for today – Kate and Joseph having made it through safe and sound, and

  all – but I think that I speak for everyone, when I say that I will never eat off of that table again.”

  ***

  In time, Abbaline’s supposition proved correct. The baby’s hair filled in, and his face developed a bit more structure. His eyes were brilliantly green, just like mine.

  “Well,” said Myrne, “so much for first impressions. It looks like he’s going to be a handsome little fellow.”

  “He already is.”

  Myrne nodded. “You’re right. Which is surprising, since he popped out of you.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “I mean, really – who would have thought something that came out of you could be so cute?”

  I shoved him in the shoulder, and he tripped over a chair.

  ***

  Though Niamh and I mended our relations considerably on the day Joseph was born, we did not see much of each other afterwards. I went to her once, when the baby developed an incessant cough. He hacked so hard that his little face turned purple.

  That was something of an endpoint for the two of us. I harboured no more ill will towards her (something I thought that I would never be able to say), but there seemed no reason for a continued association.

  Forgiveness do
es not require forgetfulness, and it does not rebuild trust.

  ***

  The baby slept in my bed every night, boxed in by pillows. It was nice, having him there. Myrne asked, more than once, if the baby could sleep with him, but each time I refused. I would not trust Joseph alone that long with anyone but me.

  I had been sure, I had been positive, that I would not be able to look into his face. I had been certain that he would disgust me, that I would despise him, but none of it held true. I could not look at him enough – for he was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

  “I’ll always be here, you know,” I said to him, smoothing his soft hair over his round little head. “I wasn’t sure I would want to be, but I do. You don’t have to worry.”

  He just gurgled at me, kicking the pillow with his chubby legs.

  Chapter 40

  Come mid-November, I had been living in the once-abandoned house on Shealittle Road for a full year. Joseph was five months old, and no doubt the most wonderful baby any of us had ever known. (And I am not just saying that, because he was mine.) He was always happy, always smiling. He loved to be held – which was a good thing, since everyone loved to hold him. He was passed around the house like an Indian peace pipe.

  Of course, that was when anyone was in the house to begin with. Abbaline was hardly ever there anymore; she was far too busy with her politics. Tom, Blackie and Sam were always off on some kind of an errand; which left Myrne and I mostly to our own devices.

  Myrne had earned the place of a clerk, at some place in town I can’t recall. I spent my days with Joseph.

  There was one night, though, when the house was more crowded than it had been in months. Abbaline was holding some sort of meeting there, which I of course had no desire to partake in. When I tried to go upstairs, though, Joseph put up a fuss; he wanted to sit with everyone in the parlour, and was not to be dissuaded. I saw it as a nuisance at the time; but saw it much differently, only a little while later.

  I was not really even listening, when yet another knock came at the door, for I was watching Myrne play peek-a-boo with Joseph. I could only have figured, that it was just another of Abbaline’s associates – but I was only partly right.