the nuns; these institutions dotted the country, but nobody ever said much about what they were like inside. What had happened to that first child of Honor White’s, I wondered—had it lived?
Over at the sink, where Bridie was washing up, I said in her ear: I know you have a way of chatting to the patients—
Sorry, I’m an awful blabbermouth.
No, no, it sets them at ease. But Mrs. White…please don’t ask anything about her circumstances.
Bridie’s eyebrows contracted.
She, ah, went to school before the bell rang.
The young woman showed no sign of knowing that phrase.
Unwed. (I barely whispered the word.) From one of those mother-and-baby homes.
Oh.
I wonder what’ll happen after the birth, I murmured. It’ll be adopted, I suppose.
Bridie’s face closed up. Go into the pipe, more likely.
I stared; what could she mean?
Nurse Julia, I need the lavatory.
I lifted down a bedpan and brought it over to Delia Garrett.
Not that. Let me go—
Sorry, you’re still on bed rest for at least a few days.
(It was actually supposed to be the full week after a birth, but I couldn’t spare the cot for that long.)
I tell you, I can walk!
I was glad to hear Delia Garrett sounding more like her snappish self. Come on, let me slip this pan under you and you’ll be all set.
With a huff of breath, she heaved up one hip to make room for the cold steel.
I took her pulse. No fever, I could tell from her skin, but I leaned in to take a covert inhalation. I prided myself on having a nose for the first hint of childbed fever, and all I was getting was sweat, blood, and whiskey—but I’d stay vigilant.
I heard the urine let down at last, and Delia Garrett gasped.
Two beds over, the new patient let out a ravaging cough as if her lungs were being torn to pieces. I went around Mary O’Rahilly’s cot and got Honor White propped up against a wedge-shaped bedrest.
Her pulse and respirations were still scudding along. She crossed herself and murmured, It’s just deserts.
Your flu? Don’t be thinking that way, I said soothingly. There’s no rhyme or reason to who’s getting struck down.
Honor White shook her head. I don’t mean just me.
I felt foolish for having jumped to conclusions.
All of us. (She heaved a crackling breath.) Serves us right.
All of us sinners? I wondered. This might be religious mania.
She gasped: For the war.
Ah, now I caught her drift. Human beings had killed so many at this point, some said nature was rebelling against us.
Honor White breathed, God save us.
It was a prayer of hope, but I all I could hear in this woman’s husky voice was mortification and loneliness.
Delia Garrett demanded, Do you mean to leave me on this thing all evening?
I lifted the bedpan out from under her, wiped her clean, then fetched antiseptic gauze and dabbed her stitches ever so gently.
Bridie, could you empty and rinse this in the lavatory? And get me another chilled pad for Mrs. Garrett.
Good evening, Nurse Power.
I turned to see Sister Luke addressing me through her mask, looking as starched as ever.
Where had the hours gone? I glanced at the clock and saw it was nine o’clock on the dot. I supposed I’d feel bone-weary if I let myself think about it. But I didn’t want to leave.
I noticed that both Mary O’Rahilly and Honor White were rigid, laying eyes on the night nurse for the first time—she was an Egyptian mummy come to life.
Sister Luke snapped the string of her eye patch as she tightened it. How did you get on today?
I couldn’t think how to sum up all that had been packed into these fourteen hours. I pictured their faces: Ita Noonan taken off in convulsions, despite all I did; the unnamed Garrett girl born dead before I could do anything for her at all. Her mother might have bled out, though, but hadn’t. Such an arbitrariness to all their fates.
In a low voice, I brought Sister Luke up to date. Mrs. White’s pneumonia needs watching, I told her, and so does Mrs. Garrett’s wound. The only one in labour is Mrs. O’Rahilly, who hasn’t been making much headway, so Dr. Lynn’s just broken her waters.
Sister Luke nodded as she hung up her apron. Having a long old time of it, are you, Mrs. O’Rahilly?
The girl managed a nod and a wet cough.
The nun quoted philosophically, Well, Woe unto them that are with child.
Irritation stiffened my spine. Some older nurses seemed to think every woman who’d had