Her twelfth?

The young woman’s tone was so appalled, I didn’t mention that only seven of the Noonan children were alive. I said instead, Do you know that saying, She doesn’t love him unless she gives him twelve?

She grimaced. I couldn’t stand that.

With a small shiver, I admitted, Me neither. Well, they’ll put up no statues to the pair of us.

That made Bridie Sweeney snort with laughter.

The day had darkened again, and rain was fretfully spattering against the slanted glass. Trickles ran down from the partly open window.

Delia Garrett asked, Can we have that shut so we don’t get drenched?

Sorry, I said, but air is vital, especially for respiratory complaints.

She buried her head under the pillow.

I set Bridie Sweeney to catching the drips with a cloth before they got near the beds. Then I sent her off to the supply room for ice from the electric refrigerator. It’s a big box of a machine, I explained, and the cubes should be behind a little door at the top. If there’s none left, go up one floor and ask.

I checked temperatures, pulses, respirations. I changed my patients’ handkerchiefs and adjusted their pillows; I propped up Ita Noonan so she was in the semi-upright position that seemed to ease her breathing a little.

By that time Bridie Sweeney was back with a basinful of ice, so I left her in charge while I brought each woman in turn to the lavatory.

She seemed gentle and trustworthy enough for a little patient care, so I got her to show me she remembered how to wash her hands—she didn’t forget a single step—and then I set her to sponging Ita Noonan’s face and neck with ice water. Let me know once she’s finished her whiskey, won’t you?

Delia Garrett coughed in a bored way. Can I have some of that instead of this awful tea?

Alcohol was a helpful relaxant in pregnancy, but…Sorry, I told her, only if the doctor says so.

(Not that my patients had a doctor supervising their treatment at the moment. When did this Lynn person mean to show her face?)

Would you like a hot lemonade instead, Mrs. Garrett, or some barley water?

Ugh!

On the other side of the room, Ita Noonan yanked Bridie Sweeney’s hands down onto her own belly.

Dread seized me. What is it, Mrs. Noonan?

My young helper was having to kneel on the cot so she wouldn’t fall. She stared down at the mound under her palms. Ita Noonan was clutching her wrists and humming, but as if she were excited rather than in pain.

Astonishment filled the redhead’s face. It’s moving. Banging away in her insides!

Delia Garrett said with mild scorn, What did you expect?

I told Bridie Sweeney, Every unborn baby swims and somersaults.

Get away! As if it’s alive?

I frowned. Could she be pulling my leg? Well, of course it’s alive, Miss Sweeney. I corrected myself: Alive inside its mother, part of her.

I thought it only came to life once it was out.

I stared, thinking what a conjuring trick that would be—God making Adam of mud and blowing his spirit into him all in a moment. But I knew I shouldn’t be surprised; some patients came in here ready to give birth with almost as little grasp of the state of things.

I took Jellett’s Midwifery down from the shelf and lifted the delicate onionskin to show Bridie Sweeney the frontispiece captioned The full-term uterus.

Her eyes widened. Janey mac!

It took me a second or two to deduce that she thought this was a drawing of a woman who’d been sliced in half. No, no, it’s a cutaway—sketched as if we can see right through her. You notice how the baby’s all curled up?

And upside down!

I smiled. Much happier that way too, I imagine. You’re learning a lot for one day, aren’t you, Miss Sweeney.

She murmured, It’s a little acrobat.

But fast asleep most of the time.

Delia Garrett broke in to say, My second one wasn’t. Clarissa kicked like a mule night, noon, and morning. But this one’s a good girl, aren’t you?

She rubbed her bump with a rueful fondness.

Bridie Sweeney suggested, Or a good boy, maybe?

Delia Garrett shook her head. I don’t care for boys, and besides, my mother-in-law can always tell by how I’m carrying. Show me that picture?

When I passed her Jellett’s Midwifery, Delia Garrett grimaced at the frontispiece but with a certain pride. Look how her innards are squeezed aside! No wonder my stomach’s been dicky.

I put the book back on the shelf. Almost eleven already; time to change the poultice Sister Luke had put on Ita Noonan. I heated the linseed over a spirit lamp. It had to be thick enough that a spoon would stand up in the mixture. I opened the tapes of her nightdress, unwound the bandage around her chest, and peeled back the old caked crust. Her face was looking drawn and yellowish. I wiped her reddened collarbones clean with flax-tow swabs and soapy water while Bridie Sweeney stood close, handing over supplies as I asked for them.

Ita Noonan wheezed, Come here till I tell you.

I leaned in towards the dark odour of her breath while I took her pulse. But the woman said nothing more. Her heart rate was rather faster than it was earlier, but the pulse force felt a little weaker.

I spread the cooked linseed onto lint, laid a gauze dressing over that, and placed a layer of sterilised linen over the gauze. I flipped the whole thing between her limp breasts and covered it with a flannelette bandage. The tails needed tying behind her back and around her slumped shoulders, but between us, Bridie Sweeney and I made short work of it. I wouldn’t have begrudged the time spent on all this fiddly faff if I’d believed that poulticing was any real use.

Ita Noonan’s breath heaved and creaked. I gave her a spoon of ipecac syrup as an expectorant to loosen her congestion, hoping it wouldn’t make her throw up. She screwed up her face at the taste but didn’t fight me.

A minute later she coughed up some seaweed-coloured sputum. I caught it in her handkerchief, which I gave to Bridie to throw down the incinerator.

Bridie took a while to come back, so when she did, I asked, Got lost? Fell down a chute?

Bridie Sweeney admitted, Sorry, I lingered in the water closet. The little bolt on the door so you can be private, and lashings of gorgeous hot water, and such nice squares of paper. I’m liking hospital.

That made me laugh.

Especially the smells.

I thought, Eucalyptus, linseed, carbolic? Whiskey, at the moment? For me they couldn’t cover up the faecal, bloody tang of birth and death.

I told her, It’s usually much more orderly here. You’ve caught us on the hop, rather. More than twice as many patients as usual and a quarter of the staff.

Her face lit up, I supposed because I was including her in the word staff, as a helper.

It struck me that she was a beauty in a white-faced, bony way; a precious bead winking in a dustbin. I wondered where Sister Luke had found her. Do you live near by, Miss Sweeney?

Only around the corner.

Tone a little evasive. Still with her parents, I assumed from how young she seemed. How old are you, do you mind my asking?

She shrugged. About twenty-two.

A coy way of putting it, about twenty-two. Well, I didn’t want to poke my nose in.

She surprised me by asking, Would you call me Bridie, maybe?

Certainly, if you prefer.

I didn’t quite know what to say after that, so I checked my watch. It’s getting on towards noon, so you should have your lunch now.