A Nurse's Duty (35 page)

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 cows. 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.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here, I am so.’

‘It was all right. Gran was the midwife and she managed splendidly. And, yes, I’m fine. What do you think of your son?’ For so far Patrick had not looked at the baby. Now he did, holding down the shawl which overshadowed the baby’s face with the tip of a finger.

‘He’s very red, isn’t he?’ he asked, looking anxiously at the tiny bundle. ‘Do you think I should be going for the doctor? Just to be making sure?’

‘No, no, there’s no need to fetch the doctor out all this way tonight,’ Gran said before Karen could answer, as she came back into the room with fresh water for the kettle. She stirred the fire and settled the kettle on it before continuing, ‘He can check tomorrow if you like, but they are both well, I promise you. There’s nothing a doctor can do, he’s an unnecessary expense. But please yourself. Now, what you have to do is bring the bed down
into
the front room and help Karen into it so she can be quiet for a while. Oh, and the cradle from the attic. By the time you’ve done that, supper will be ready.’

Gran was beaming. She tried hard to be matter-of-fact in issuing her instructions to hide the delight and relief which had washed over her when Patrick walked in. As he rushed out of the room to do her bidding, her eyes met her granddaughter’s in mutual understanding. He was back. Gran had not been slow in picking up Karen’s feelings of vulnerability, her insecurity.

Soon Karen was ensconced in the front room with the cradle beside the bed, deliriously happy. Patrick hovered around, unwilling to let them out of his sight even for supper, which he ate in the kitchen in record time so that he could go back to them.

‘I think it’s time you settled down, Karen, you’ve had enough for today,’ Gran said at last, beginning to feel concerned at the excitement on her granddaughter’s face. She looked meaningfully at Patrick who jumped up from his seat on the end of the bed.

‘Oh, yes, to be sure now, you must get some sleep, my love. We may be disturbed by the baby during the night. You must get some rest.’ He bent to kiss her and she settled down obediently. The letter was forgotten, she thought drowsily, Patrick was so delighted with his son all other thoughts were pushed out of his mind.

‘Well, there’s nothing surer than that you’re in for disturbed nights now for a while,’ said Gran. She smiled as Patrick went into the kitchen. Then she picked up the lamp, leaving only the soft light of a candle for illumination, and followed him.

Karen snuggled down under the enormous patchwork quilt, the events of the day going round and round in her head. She had been so miserable at the breakfast table yet here she was at the end of the day feeling so happy and elated she thought she would burst. Then she fell asleep suddenly, as suddenly as the baby in the cradle beside her.

*

Patrick went outside, finishing up a few evening chores in the yard, bringing in extra water, checking on the hen house – he had seen signs of foxes about that morning. The night was turning frosty, a hazy ring surrounding the moon. It would be colder before morning.

He walked over to the gate by the rowan tree and looked out over the fell. Nearby he could hear the sheep baa-ing softly as they settled down. He thought about the letter he had received in the morning post.

It was from his father in Ireland. As he saw the handwriting on the envelope, he had been filled with a sense of guilt – not so much for leaving the Church, but for the way he had let down his mother and father. But there was a feeling of resentment too. They had brought up a large family, all married now with families of their own, but it was only Patrick who had been expected to enter the seminary. From childhood it had been taken for granted that he would work to become a priest.

Patrick thought about the letter he had written to his parents, only to tear up. His reasons for leaving the priesthood were so confused in his own mind that the task of explaining them was impossible. He pondered on them now with a sad melancholy. The rage he had felt at the suffering he saw among the wounded, the suicide of the young, blind soldier at Greenfields. He thought about what it must have been like to realize you had to live in a sightless world, how the boy must have felt as he found his way down to the river, what his thoughts must have been. Sighing, Patrick closed the hen house door and secured it against foxes. If there was a God, why would he allow such things? And why would he allow such a thing as the powerful attraction Patrick had felt for Karen, his love for her growing stronger every day when he was forbidden such a feeling? That crisis in his faith his parents would never understand.

He finished his work and walked to the gate. Leaning on the rowan tree, he looked out over the dark dale and listened to the silence broken only by the rustling of night creatures and the chirping of grasshoppers.

The letter from Ireland had been bitter to say the least.

Your mother will never be able to hold her head up in Killinaboy or Corofin again. And you didn’t even tell us yourself, you dirty rotten coward. To run off after an English hussy, a Protestant …

Patrick could hear his mother speaking through his father’s words. She was the strong one of the two, the more forceful. But he suspected that the last line came from his father alone: ‘Let us know how you are, son. Don’t just disappear.’

Patrick sighed and turned back to the house. He had spent the day on the fell going over everything in his mind. He was committed to Karen and the boy, his life was here now, on the Durham moors.

But he had to face up to the grief he had brought to his family back home in Ireland, had to write to his father and mother.

When he came into the front room, tip-toeing in case he woke his wife and child, and lay down beside Karen, she turned to him and snuggled up to him but did not waken until the first cry of the child in the early hours brought both of them instantly awake and reaching for him. And Patrick, who had lain awake until then, fell asleep along with his family when the child had been attended to and placed back in his cradle.

They decided to name the boy Brian Patrick. Karen herself went to register the birth when the baby was three weeks old for the travelling registrar was visiting Stanhope.

There was a chill in the air as she halted the trap in the
marketplace
in Stanhope and already she could see that leaves were turning colour and falling from the beech trees. Summer was almost over, she mused, winter lay ahead. But it would be a cosy winter for them at Low Rigg Farm, for Patrick had brought coal from the station at Stanhope and cut peat on the moor and brought it in, under the guidance of Fred Bainbridge. They would be happy and safe away from the world in their house on the fell. Soon they would be snowed in, perhaps.

‘The name of the baby?’

Karen hesitated as the registrar asked the question. She would have liked to call him Patrick Joseph in honour of her brother, but she had gone along with Patrick’s wishes in the end, though Brian sounded strange to her at first. In the warmth of her happiness and in the reassurance of Patrick’s love for both her and Brian, which she saw in his every action now, she had quickly recovered her strength.