little red froth leaked out the side of her mouth.
I wiped it away.
In my mind’s eye, the track through the woods was getting dimmer as the branches closed overhead. More of a tunnel now.
I thought of running in search of another doctor to inject Bridie with something, anything. But all stimulants would do was buy her a few more minutes of pain—wasn’t that what Dr. Lynn had told me?
The tunnel straightened. The two of us knew right well where it was going.
Bridie whooped and coughed up dark blood all down her neck.
I held her in my arms as crimson bubbled from her nose. I couldn’t find a pulse in her skinny wrist. Her skin was clammy now, losing all the heat it had hoarded.
I did nothing, only crouched there counting her fluttering sips of air—fifty-three in a minute. How fast could a person breathe? As light as the wings of a moth; as loud as a tree being sawn down. I kept count, totting up Bridie’s breaths until the small, noiseless one that I realised, a few seconds later, must have been her last.
My eyes were dry, burning. I turned them towards the floor. It was Bridie who’d mopped it earlier; I tried to find her silvery track.
Nurse Power, please. Get hold of yourself.
Groyne; when had the orderly come in?
His tone was oddly kind. Stand up now, would you?
I dragged myself to my feet; I was daubed with blood from bib to hem. I let go of Bridie’s hand and set it down on her ribs.
Groyne’s face caved in. Ah, not the Sweeney girl.
Mary O’Rahilly was sobbing behind me.
The orderly was gone without another word.
I began with Bridie’s fingers. I wiped them clean, then lavished balm on the irritated red skin on the backs. Traced the raised circle left by ringworm—the faint marking of an ancient fort on a hill. I moved the cloth down her arms, the smooth one and the rippling, burnt one.
A pot of soup, she’d told me on the first day.
How naïve of me to have assumed that it was an accident. Much more likely that at some point in Bridie’s penitential upbringing, an adult had thrown scalding soup at her.
In came Dr. MacAuliffe.
I barely said a word.
He listened for a nonexistent pulse. He lifted Bridie’s right eyelid and shone his torch in to confirm that the pupil didn’t contract.
It was the faulty paperwork that threw him. You’re telling me she was never actually admitted to this hospital?
I said, She worked here for three days. Tirelessly. For nothing.
It must have been my tone that shut MacAuliffe up. Under Cause of death, he scribbled, Influenza.
Then he was gone and I carried on.
There were few stretches of Bridie’s body left unmarked; preparing it for burial was like finding chapter after chapter of a horrifying book. When I peeled off her second stocking, I noticed a toe at an odd angle—an old break left unset. On her ribs, snaking around from her back, an ugly red line; it had healed in the end, as most things did. I bent down and kissed the scar.
From her cot, Mary O’Rahilly spoke up shakily. Nurse Power, can I please go home? This place—
It was a healthy instinct, the desire to grab her baby and escape. I said, without turning my head, Just a few more days, Mrs. O’Rahilly.
I found a starched nightdress to put on Bridie. Laid her limbs straight, put her hands together, interlocked her fingers.
Groyne and O’Shea came in with the stretcher and set it along the empty middle bed.
I couldn’t look as they lifted Bridie onto it. I couldn’t not look.
I got a clean sheet and covered her up.
Groyne put his hand on my shoulder, making me twitch. We’ll take care of her now, Nurse Power.
Silence filled up the ward again once they were gone.
At some point Barnabas started crying. The noise abated. I looked and saw that Mary O’Rahilly was rocking him in her arms, shushing him.
When Sister Luke came in, I stared, because I didn’t know what she was doing here so early. But the square of window was quite dark, and my watch, inexplicably, said nine o’clock.
Mary O’Rahilly was still holding Barnabas against her chest.
The nun sighed. Well, I heard about poor Sweeney. Such a shock! Truly, we know not the day nor the hour.
My rage was stuck in my throat.
The night nurse hung up her cloak; adjusted her veil and mask; bound on an apron. I see the little botch is hanging on?
She took Barnabas