Sentence of Marriage (57 page)

Every hour or so a nurse would look in on her, either Sister Prescott or another, slightly younger, woman whom Sister Prescott called Nurse Julian. She was no gentler than the other nurse when she probed Amy to check the progress of her labour. Amy had no pride left to make her try and hide her tears, but weeping gave no relief.

She measured the passing of the hours by the changing faces around her. Nurse Julian took over in the afternoon, then disappeared to be replaced by Sister Prescott. When Amy opened her eyes from one particularly severe contraction she saw that the room was dimmer. The day was nearly over.

There seemed to be nothing left of her but the pain. The waves that squeezed her like a giant fist came every few minutes now, and left her whimpering and shaking.

When all the daylight had gone and the lamps had been lit for hours, Nurse Julian came back. The two women stood over Amy and discussed her.

‘Still not fully dilated,’ Sister Prescott said, after probing Amy once more. ‘She’s going to be a long while yet.’

‘She’s going to have a hard time of it,’ Nurse Julian said. ‘She doesn’t seem very strong.’

‘Too much sitting around, that’s her trouble. Her muscles have gone. There’s nothing to be done here for now, come and have a cup of tea.’ They left her alone again.

The lamps seemed unnaturally bright. Amy squeezed her eyes shut against them and saw red shapes as the light flickered. She wondered how long ‘a long while’ was, when she had been labouring since the early hours. The pain clutched at her again, even stronger now. She bit on her fist to stop herself from crying out.

Hours later she saw blood on her hand from the bites, but she had no attention to spare for that. The pains were too intense for her to keep silent any longer. She screamed, and found it gave a tiny scrap of relief. She half-expected the nurses to come running, but she was left alone to scream as pain gripped her. Amy felt a warm wetness flooding out from her; she wondered if it was blood.
Maybe I’m going to bleed to death
. The thought carried no fear. Death would bring relief from the pain.

When the women did come back, Amy did not even feel Sister Prescott’s rough handling, so tuned was her body to the greater pain. ‘Good, the waters have burst and she’s fully dilated at last,’ Sister Prescott said. ‘Nearly midnight, too. Now the real pain starts,’ she said, addressing Amy for the first time since that morning.

Amy felt an irresistible urge to push, although pushing seemed to make the pain even worse. She pushed and screamed, pushed and screamed. It went on and on, and nothing seemed to change except that the pain racked her with ever-increasing intensity. Her whole body was soon drenched with perspiration. Sweat ran off her forehead and into her eyes, making them sting.

‘She’s taking a long time.’ That was Nurse Julian’s voice. ‘How long are you going to let her try?’

‘Another couple of hours won’t matter,’ Sister Prescott said. ‘Leave her to yell her head off for a bit.’

The door closed, and Amy knew she was alone again. She screamed, but screaming no longer gave any relief. And she was so tired. Her head was trying to tell her to push, but her body rebelled.
Why do I have to push? Maybe if I lie very, very still it won’t hurt so much. I have to push. I can’t push any more
. She pushed and screamed, then she lay limp.
Yes, that doesn’t hurt as much
. Her body pushed feebly, but the urge was weaker. It grew weaker still, and Amy let exhaustion wash over her. The slight lessening of pain was like pleasure.
Oh, yes, that’s much better
. Her jaw unclenched and her eyes closed.

Amy did not know how much later it was when the nurses returned.

‘She’s going out of labour!’ she heard Nurse Julian say.

‘Come on, push again, you lazy girl,’ Sister Prescott said, shaking Amy’s shoulders roughly.

‘I can’t,’ Amy murmured. ‘I can’t push.’

‘Forceps?’ Nurse Julian asked.

‘That means getting a doctor, and it’s after three in the morning.’ Sister Prescott leaned close to Amy. ‘Listen, girl. Do you want me to get a doctor to you? He’ll stick his instruments up inside you to rip the baby out. Do you want that?’

‘Leave me alone,’ Amy mumbled.

‘I won’t leave you alone. Either I get the doctor in with his butcher’s tools—then you’ll think your insides are being ripped out—or you start pushing again. What’s it to be?’

Her words slowly penetrated, and Amy roused herself enough to give a feeble push. The pain brought her back to full consciousness, and for a moment she tried to resist the urge, but she knew that the terrible woman meant it. If Amy didn’t push, then a man would come and pull her apart with bits of metal. She pushed harder and screamed.

‘That’s better!’ Sister Prescott said with satisfaction.

There was no longer a rest between bursts of pain. Now it was all one long scream. The screams seemed to come when she breathed in as well as when she exhaled, so that there was no break in the wailing noise that echoed round and round the bare walls of the room.

She felt her body being ripped.
I’m going to die. There’s no room. The baby can’t get out because there’s no room
. Still she pushed, even though she knew it was tearing her apart.
How long before I die? I hope it’s not long
. There was a tearing pain, even worse than all that had gone before, and a scream that seemed to take the top of her head off, then she lay flat and unresponsive. It was over. She had no more to give. It didn’t matter if the butcher-man came to rip her apart; she had already been torn in half.

Through the silence that replaced her screams she heard a strange mewling sound. Sister Prescott took a step back from the bed, holding aloft a tiny, bloodied creature. ‘It’s a girl,’ she announced.

Amy slowly became aware that the horror was over and she was not dead. The searing agony was replaced by rhythmic throbbing that gradually subsided to a background discomfort. Every few moments her body was racked by a fresh wave of trembling. She felt bruised all over.

Sister Prescott disappeared from the room with the little creature, leaving Nurse Julian to deliver the afterbirth. The nurse massaged Amy’s abdomen firmly, making Amy cry out with the pain of it. ‘Be quiet,’ Nurse Julian ordered. ‘I’ve got to do this if you don’t want to bleed to death.’ She continued until she was satisfied with the results. ‘You’re not really made for childbearing,’ the nurse told Amy as she cleaned the blood and mucus from her loins. Amy’s flesh burned and stung at the nurse’s touch; she whimpered at it. ‘You’re too small. Especially if the father was a big man.’

The door opened again. ‘Prop her up a bit,’ Sister Prescott said, advancing on the bed. Nurse Julian slipped pillows behind Amy and helped her sit up. It hurt, but she was beyond complaining. If the pain would only weaken a little, she would fall asleep in spite of it. ‘We’ll get her to suckle it for a minute to help the milk come in.’

Nurse Julian undid the buttons of Amy’s bodice and peeled it open. She took a small, blanket-wrapped bundle from Sister Prescott and placed it on Amy’s chest.

Amy looked down to see a tiny creature lying in her arms. It had a little rosebud mouth and huge, blue-grey eyes. The eyes, though unfocussed, studied her with a strangely knowing expression. Its head was covered with a thick, black mop of hair. Nurse Julian nudged the baby on to one of Amy’s breasts and its mouth nuzzled at her, exploring the flesh before it began to suckle.

A rush of emotion flooded through Amy as the baby pulled at her breast. She looked at the child in wonder.
My baby. I made you. You’re perfect
. Her fingers brushed against the baby’s face, feeling the softness of her skin. ‘Little one,’ she murmured close to the tiny ear. ‘My little one.’

She looked up at the unmoved faces of the two women. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘All mothers think their babies are beautiful,’ Sister Prescott scoffed. ‘But I think that one is going to be pretty, once her head gets to its proper shape. She’ll look like you. I hope she turns out better.’

Nurse Julian fetched a cradle and placed it beside the bed, while Sister Prescott put the baby to Amy’s other breast. After what seemed only moments, Sister Prescott took her from Amy and placed her in the cradle, ignoring Amy’s feeble attempts to push the nurse’s hands away. She found that if she leaned over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain moving brought, she could just see the baby’s face.

‘She’ll sleep now,’ Sister Prescott said. ‘You will, too.’ Both women left the room.

Amy was sure she would not sleep. All she wanted to do was lie and watch her baby, fascinated by each tiny movement of the head, each little grimace on that beautiful little face. But it was not long before weariness overwhelmed her elation. She closed her eyes and dropped into an exhausted sleep.

*

All Amy’s waking moments now centred on her baby. As soon as she opened her eyes she would check the cradle. Sometimes it was empty, and she knew that one of the nurses had taken the baby away to wash her or change her. Sometimes the little girl was asleep, and Amy would watch her making tiny movements while her eyes stayed tight shut, listening to the strange little snuffling noises the baby’s breathing made. And sometimes she was awake, and those were the best times of all. Amy would lie and watch the baby turning her head from one side to the other as though she were trying to comprehend her surroundings, and wait until hunger led to the little mewling cries that would summon a nurse to lift her into Amy’s arms.

Amy’s milk came in on the second day. Feeding was the only time she was allowed to hold her baby, and the hours between each one dragged. When a nurse lifted the baby into her arms Amy kissed her and held her close, whispering her love into the little girl’s shell-like ears. She tried to prolong these precious moments as much as she could, but one of the nurses would always come back into the room and take the baby away much too soon.

In the afternoon of the day her baby turned one week old, Amy looked up from the child in her arms to see Sister Prescott standing close beside the bed.

‘Is that child still feeding?’ the nurse asked suspiciously.

‘Yes,’ Amy said, sneaking a nipple back into the slack mouth.
Suck, little one
, she begged. As if she understood, the baby began sucking vigorously. ‘You see?’ Amy said, smiling at her baby’s cleverness.

‘Hmm. She’s a slow feeder, then. She’s still feeding every two hours, too, she shouldn’t take that long over it.’ She looked at Amy through narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t you go getting too fond of that child. You know you have to give her away.’

‘I know,’ Amy said, holding her baby tighter.

When they were alone again, Amy whispered to her. ‘I have to give you away, little one. Your father doesn’t want us, and I can’t keep you on my own. I hope you’ll understand when you grow up. I love you, that’s why I have to give you away. It’s best for you. You’ll have people to look after you properly, and no one will call you horrible names.’ A tear dropped onto the baby’s face, and Amy kissed it away carefully. The baby stared up at her with bright eyes, as though she understood every word.

A week later Sister Prescott told Amy, ‘You’re having a visitor this afternoon.’

‘A visitor? Who? I don’t know anyone in Auckland.’

‘You’ll see.’

That afternoon Amy was feeding her baby when Sister Prescott came in with a short, plump woman who looked to be in her late forties. She wore a straw hat covered with some unlikely-looking fruit, jammed onto a thatch of brown hair streaked with grey. Her mouth and cheeks seemed unnaturally red, and Amy stared curiously at her until she realised that here, perhaps, was one of those women who
painted
. She noticed Sister Prescott giving the woman a disapproving glance as she left. Amy could not help but feel more positive towards the visitor.

The woman pulled the one chair that the room contained close to Amy’s bed and sat down, panting a little as though the effort had taken all her energy. ‘I’m Mrs Crossley. You’re Miss Leith, aren’t you?’ Amy nodded, wondering what this woman had to do with her. ‘Mrs Leith visited me a little while ago,’ Mrs Crossley said. ‘I only live a few streets away from here, so I thought I’d pop down to see you today.’

Amy gripped her baby more tightly; the little girl let out a small whimper of surprise. ‘You’ve come to take my baby away.’

‘Not just yet. But yes, your stepmother asked me to arrange an adoption for the child. You did know that, didn’t you?’ Mrs Crossley asked, a little uncertainly.

Amy looked down at the baby until she felt her face was under control. ‘Yes, I know. When are you going to take her away?’

‘The baby’s too young just yet, it won’t be for… oh, another week or two. It’s too hard to rear them without their mother’s milk if they’re too tiny.’ Mrs Crossley looked at the baby suckling, then looked away as if the sight bothered her.

‘Good,’ Amy whispered. ‘They will be good people, won’t they? The people you give my baby to?’

‘Oh, yes. I get a very nice class of people coming to me for babies. Always well-set up types, often businessmen and suchlike, people who can’t have children of their own.’

‘Will they be kind to her? Do you think they’ll love her?’ Without giving the woman time to answer, Amy rushed on. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she? That might help the people like her. And she’s going to be clever, I think. See the way she watches things? So knowing. And look at this.’ She held her finger a few inches from the baby’s face and moved it slowly; the little girl’s eyes followed the movement. ‘She’s been doing that since she was only two days old. My little brothers were nearly a week old before they did that. She’s always taking notice of noises and things, too.’