Die großen Western Classic 32 – Western. H. C. Hollister
cries cut through the dimness. “Can ’e come, ma’am? Can ’e come—now? Oh, God help, me baby’s coming.”
Ethel took long strides across the softly lit room while the shadow of her hourglass figure played along the wall. She looked down at the watch glistening against her bib, and then gently lifted it to see the time to chart later. Even in this moment of concern, she remembered her graduation day and the thrill of her father pinning on the watch.
She pulled the curtain back, adjusted the light and picked up a crumpled pillow lying on the floor. The cotton cover lay strewn to one side as Rosie’s body writhed in pain, her arms and legs thin as the wooden stick-dolls Pa carved.
“Miss Rosie,” Ethel said softly, standing beside her bed. “How are you, now?”
“The pains keep coming, but nothing happens.”
Rosie’s fine features, pale from stress and pain, reminded Ethel of a weathered porcelain doll.
“Just a little while yet,” Ethel said, as she put a cold cloth on Rosie’s forehead. “Don’t be afraid of your pains. You’re getting closer. Every pain helps your little one further along. Breathe deeply and try to relax.”
Ethel wondered about Rosie’s family. That poor girl had been working away since yesterday morning without help, alone with her fears and pain. Pity, it is—these young ones having to go through this alone. Everybody should have a friend or family waiting.
“Do you have the name of a family member if we should need to call anyone?”
“No, I don’t, ma’am. My ma don’t want to know, and if my pa know’d, he’d kill me. And, well, I can’t tell the one who ought’a know.”
“I’m sorry,” Ethel said, remembering her own loneliness in Tom’s absence when their daughter Elsie was born. “It’s a lonely time, isn’t it? Just hold on. In a few hours, this’ll be all over. Try to think on that.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I like the sound of your voice. I think if God had a voice, it might sound something like yours.”
“I’m sure God has a voice, and maybe you’re hearing it in your heart. And it’s telling you that you’re out of harm’s way.” Ethel straightened the pillow under Rosie’s head and thought of the grief that must fill her heart at this time when she should be able to look forward to happiness with her child.
Ethel never took labour pains and deliveries for granted; nor did she ever make light of them. They amazed her as she waited for a new life to slide into the world and announce its arrival with loud wailing.
Rosie’s baby girl had done just that, an hour after Ethel had taken that few minutes to encourage her.
As the night turned to morning, quietness lingered like a comfortable blanket. Ethel enjoyed the silence and the sense that her mums and babes had settled. Charts completed and filed, waiting for the next shift, gave Ethel satisfaction. It would be difficult to say goodbye to all of this, but she must do it.
At the end of her shift, Ethel left the ward and stood at the back hall window. Foggy morning light that framed the smoke-stained buildings across the alley limited her view. She looked down at the soot and dust on the exterior windowsill and shook her head as if to clear her mind to think pleasant thoughts. Tom!
More than four years since she had said goodbye to her beloved, and she remembered his promises with clarity. “We’ll get us married and go to Canada, luv, you ’n me, and we’ll make a new beginning.” But it hadn’t happened. Between health issues and family upheavals, they’d never managed their dream. The doctor had told him repeatedly, “Your breathing’s getting worse, Tom. If you don’t soon go, you might have difficulty getting through immigration.”
Twice they’d made their plans and postponed their trip, but in 1906, due to his poor health, Tom had finally left for Alberta, Canada without her. Ethel had cried for weeks. It wasn’t long before she began to think she might never see him again—and that he might never see their unborn child.
“Tired, Nurse?” Nurse Rankin asked, coming up behind her.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ethel answered. “I’m always tired after working nights. I’ll sleep like a baby when I go home.” Ethel paused, and then put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the envelope. “Nurse Rankin, I was going to come to your office, but since you’re here, I’ll speak to you now if that’s permissible.”
Nodding, she said, “Yes, of course. What is it?”
“There’s something I have to do that gives me great distress.” Ethel slowly handed the sealed paper to her.
Nurse Rankin opened it, read the words and then looked at Ethel. “Moving to Canada, are you?” She looked back at the letter. “It’s a big step. Are you ready for such a change?”
“I wonder if I’ll ever be ready.” Ethel frowned. “There’s times when I think it’d be easier to just stay put.” She looked out the window again. “When I gave up my flat, I think it made everything real. It was the beginning of leaving so much behind.” She dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “It’s been hard coming to this decision for many reasons. My father is not at all well, and—”
“Is it something you have to do?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been thinking about it for a long while. My Tom’s breathing got so bad, he had to go on without me. In his last letter, he said that he’d takin’ to fits of coughing, again. There’s been so many things that’s kept Elsie and me from joining him, the last one being her bout of scarlet fever. For a while, I thought we’d never be able to make the trip. However, I decided if I don’t go soon, it might be too late. I’ve been saving, so I purchased tickets for Elsie and me. And, well, we think the time is right.”
“I’m sorry it’s been so difficult for you, Miss Kemp,” Nurse Rankin said. “I had no idea.” She folded the letter. “I cannot imagine your pain. I know how you love working here and how important your family is to you.”
“Yes, ma’am. There are times when I don’t think I can leave all of this.” Ethel grimaced, looking past Nurse Rankin. She stepped closer and began again. “But now it’s all decided, and yesterday, the post brought confirmation that we leave Liverpool on July 7th, aboard the SS Lake Manitoba, an immigrant ship.” A sob of joy caught in her throat at the thought of her and Elsie spending Christmas with Tom.
Ethel and Nurse Rankin both stood silent, as if waiting for the other one to speak.
“I’m really sorry to lose you, lass. Write to me when you need a reference.”
“Thank you.” Ethel pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You’ve been very good to me. I’ll miss you.”
“And that feeling is mutual. You bring a love to this floor as I’ve never experienced in forty years of nursing.” Nurse Rankin chuckled. “I have to admit, though, I’ve feared at times that you’d end up taking all the hurting ones home with you.”
“I know,” Ethel said as she slowly opened her hands and laced her fingers together. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. And thank you, ma’am, for your kind words. I’ve enjoyed working here, and I’ll miss all of you.”
“You know, lass, I think you’ll do fine.” Nurse Rankin touched Ethel’s shoulder and lingered for a moment. “Remember those labour pains. Happens in more of life than we give credit—usually a sign of good things to come. God bless you in your new life.”
Ethel thought her superior was going to hug her, but she spun around and walked away. Turning, Ethel squinted through the grime-coated window at the dull morning light. She wanted to be excited about this decision and the journey ahead, but she couldn’t shake the foreboding of grief surrounding her.
2. Doctor’s Orders
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