A Nurse's Duty (24 page)

‘Come away in to the fire, you must be starved,’ Mam cried from her position in the open door of the house next to the Chapel. She must have been on the lookout for them, thought Karen, and loving tears threatened to overwhelm her. Mam led the way in from the door which opened directly into the front room. Her still young-looking face was wreathed in smiles, animation and excitement overcoming her fatigue. But reaching down to kiss her, Karen was struck by the frailty of the slight form, even smaller than her own. A pang of guilt shot through her. She saw that Mam
was
worse than she had been when Karen went away, her breathing shallower, her skin almost translucent. And here was she, Karen Knight, preparing to bring disgrace on the family. Oh, God help me, she thought. Deliberately, she pushed the agony to the back of her mind and spoke warmly.

‘Oh, Mam, it’s so good to see you. It seems like ages. And you look so well,’ she fibbed as she walked with her arm around the frail shoulders. They went into the kitchen and Karen looked around, puzzled for a minute.

This main room of the house seemed strangely different, smaller than she remembered. The walls were papered but the pattern had faded over the years to an even light brown, almost coffee-coloured. There was a scrubbed wooden table in the centre of the room covered in a cotton cloth already laid out with bowls to take the barley broth which was bubbling on the fire in a large iron pan.

A new – made of red rags – clippie mat covered the flagged floor in front of the fire with a rocking chair on one side and a hard-bottomed chair on the other, Da’s chair. A mahogany press and a few varnished kitchen chairs completed the furnishings.

Yet the room was warm and welcoming. Brass rails twinkled from the tidy-betty which screened the ash box under the fire, as did the one suspended from the mantel shelf. A pendulum clock ticked calmly on the wall.

‘I’ll do that.’ Karen brought her attention back from her contemplation of the black-leaded range and hurried to take the pan from Mam who had begun stirring the broth. Placing it on the steel fender she brought the bowls and ladled out the broth, which was giving off a delicious smell.

Her parents sat back and watched her with love and pride shining in their eyes. She knew what they were thinking: this was the daughter who had made good, succeeded in her ambition to become a nurse and was now a nursing sister. Even though they
had
not agreed with her telling a lie about her married state to the hospital authorities, they were well pleased with the result. For the moment they were content to have her home again. What would they say when they knew about Patrick and the child? It was the first time Karen had actually thought of her pregnancy as being real, that there would be a child, and she was shaken by the realization.

‘Come on, Da,’ she said abruptly, ‘eat up, you have a long night ahead of you.’ She sat down at the table and picked up her spoon.

‘We thank you, Father, for all your blessings …’ Da’s voice intoning the Grace made her put it quickly down again. How could she have forgotten? But they hadn’t noticed. Now they were tucking in to supper. Da had only a few moments before he had to go.

‘You can tell us all about what you’ve been doing in the morning, Karen.’ He smiled as he kissed her on the cheek and then went round the table to do the same to Mam. ‘We want to know all about how things are in London and what it’s been like in that place in Essex.’

He picked up his bait tin of sandwiches and a bottle of water, and went into the tiny back kitchen to change into his pit clothes. Letting himself out of the back door, he went whistling up the yard.

‘Maybe we should just go to bed now, Karen,’ suggested Mam. ‘There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow. The oven shelf is in your bed so you’ll be nice and warm. By, but you look peaky. Why, you’ve great shadows under your eyes. Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’ Karen looked up and caught her concerned expression.

‘Oh, Mam, I’m all right, it’s just that I’ve had no sleep. You’re right though, I think we both need a good night’s rest.’

Mam pursed her lips but said no more.

Karen collected the soup bowls and took them into the scullery to rinse. Her mother was busy lighting a candle which she took
from
the mantel. Karen banked up the fire with fresh coal, turned back the clippie mat in case of a spark, then put out the paraffin lamp.

‘Goodnight, God bless.’ The familiar words came naturally to her lips as they parted at the head of the stairs.

‘You take the candle, pet, I can see all I need to.’ Mam left her, for the big brass and iron bedstead in the back room.

Karen slept so soundly in her own little black iron bed with its patchwork quilt and feather pillow that she did not wake up until the sound of Da’s voice penetrated her consciousness.

Goodness! It must be late if he was back from the pit already. She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, shivering in the icy air. Pulling on her grey shawl, the Christmas present from Kezia, she tied it across her breast and behind at her back. Her teeth were chattering and she could hardly tie the knot, her fingers were so numb. She had forgotten how cold this room could be. It was over the front room which did not often have a fire lit except on high days and holidays. Her parents’ bedroom was over the kitchen and some warmth seeped up from there.

‘Morning, Karen.’ Da looked up from his breakfast egg as she came into the kitchen. The heat from the fire came in welcoming waves and she went over to it, standing with her back to it and letting it seep into her chilled body.

‘Morning, Da. By, it is cold.’ She laughed ruefully. T’d forgotten how cold it can be.’

‘Healthy weather.’ Father sat back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in his braces, grinning. Mam came in from the back kitchen, a tiny room, little more than a store room and pantry. Dishcloth in hand, she stood smiling fondly at her younger daughter. ‘I thought I’d let you have a lie in, pet,’ she said. ‘You looked so tired last night.’

‘Thanks, Mam, I’m fine now.’ Karen smiled at the worn face. ‘You sit down now. I’m here and you can take it easy for a while.
It’ll
be a nice change for me to look after the place and see to the meals.’

She led her mother to the rocking chair by the fire and, pouring her a cup of tea, set about making toast for her own breakfast.

The door opening made her look up from the toasting fork held against the bars of the grate to see her sister Kezia coming in.

‘Kezia! How lovely to see you. And you look so well.’

‘I thought I’d pop in to see you on my way to the shop. I usually do to see Mam, anyroad.’

Kezia was strangely shy as she crossed over to Karen and gave her a peck on the cheek. She was awkward in her embrace and turned quickly away to ask her mother how she was. Kezia had put on weight since Karen had last seen her. Somehow Karen hadn’t thought she would turn into a buxom, almost middle-aged housewife quite so soon. Karen noted the red cheeks and the faded fair hair drawn back in a bun at the nape of her neck. Kezia was dressed drably too, a large enveloping apron covering a plain brown dress which reached to her ankles.

‘Why have you come back then, Karen?’

Her shyness made her abruptly direct but three pairs of eyes turned to Karen and she realized all the family must have been wondering.

‘I don’t know.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s ages since I was here and I thought I’d get some fresh northern air and stay home for a while. I needed a holiday and I’ll be able to get work here eventually. If not in Auckland, then Durham or Hartlepool.’

‘I thought something must be wrong for you to come home before the end of the war. I mean, I thought you were so busy, nursing the wounded,’ said Kezia.

‘What matters is that you’re home now, lass, and we’re glad to have you,’ said Da, jumping in to relieve the momentary silence.

‘Cup of tea, Kezia?’ Karen paused, pot poised.

‘Well, I think I will have a cup before I get on.’ Kezia sat at the
table
, folding her arms comfortably across her chest, and proceeded to bring her sister up to date on the latest happenings in the rows.

‘A fair number of people went away at the beginning of the war,’ commented Da. ‘A lot of pitmen joined up. In the end, the government had to stop them, there weren’t enough to man the pits.

‘Aye. But then, there were those called up last year. They went off happily enough. Well, it was an escape from the mine, wasn’t it? But they found themselves still tunnelling underground in an attempt to reach German lines. Some grand plan of the generals, likely.’

Karen listened to the tragedy of the young girl whose sweet-heart was killed in one of the tunnels, and the scandal when she found herself in the family way. She felt a lurch in her stomach at this and hurriedly launched into the story of Nick and his disturbed mind, and how so many boys were returning from France in a similar state. The family clucked sadly, shaking their heads.

Grandparents and aunt laughed indulgently as Kezia recounted the latest mischief of her younger boy and showed suitable pride that young Luke had been top of the class at arithmetic.

Then Karen told of her meeting with Joe.

‘What a good time we had on that night out in London,’ she said, smiling as she thought of it. ‘Oh, Mam, he looks so fit and well and brown and handsome in his Australian uniform. All the girls were looking at him. You would have been proud.’

‘I am proud of him,’ Mam interposed quietly. Karen laughed. Of course they all were. But then she had to tell them about Dave.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d heard but Dave’s dead. He was killed at Gallipoli.’ The plain statement was delivered unembellished. They gazed at her in silence, trying to gauge her feelings on this. But Karen showed no distress and after a short pause the chat went on in a more cheerful vein.

At last Da stood up. ‘This won’t buy the bairn a new bonnet. If I don’t get to bed, I won’t get to work tonight.’ And away he went up the stairs, leaving the women to get on with the day’s work.

‘I’ll pop in and see you when you come back, eh?’ Karen called after Kezia.

‘Make it teatime, then you can have tea with the bairns.’

Karen began clearing the breakfast dishes then emptied the tin bath, left by the side of the fire after Da’s bath. She dashed the pit clothes against the yard wall to rid them of coal dust. For the moment she could lose herself in hard physical labour and forget the nagging doubt in her mind. But she knew the respite was only temporary.

Next day, Karen was in the Co-op store getting in the groceries for her mother.

‘Well now, will you look who has deigned to come home?’

Heads turned as the thin but penetrating voice rang out and Karen shrank inside. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with her mother-in-law. But there was nothing else for it.

‘Hello, Mrs Mitchell,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘How are you?’

‘Will you listen to her. The proper madam she is, isn’t she?’ Mrs Mitchell demanded of the surrounding shoppers, most of whom had perked up with curiosity. There was nothing like a good row to liven up a slow-moving queue.

‘Please, Mrs Mitchell, I have done nothing wrong,’ said Karen wearily.

‘Nothing wrong? Nothing bloody wrong? You call making my lad go to the other side of the world and leave his own mother to fend for herself “nothing wrong”? And you gallivant off to London to enjoy yourself! You care nothing about your own family, let alone me!’

Mrs Mitchell folded her arms and sniffed tearfully. ‘My bonny lad, my poor Dave,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry he was killed, Mrs Mitchell, really sorry,’ said Karen. With a suddenness which made her step back involuntarily, Mrs Mitchell burst out in fury.

‘He’s not dead! He’s not! If he was dead they would have sent me an official letter, a telegram or something. I don’t believe that lying brother of yours, he always was a sly sod. He never liked my Dave.’

‘Mrs Mitchell, come on now, don’t upset yourself,’ one of the women said. ‘You’re not doing yourself any good at all.’

‘Nay, I know I’m not,’ Mrs Mitchell answered, her face crumbling in self-pity. ‘But, you know, it’s more than a body can stand to have to come face to face with the hussy what ruined my lad.’

Karen turned her back. It was her turn to be served in any case. She bought her groceries and walked out of the shop, looking straight ahead, ignoring both Mrs Mitchell and the other women.

‘See that?’ she heard her mother-in-law say as she opened the door. ‘Cannot even give me the time of day, can she?’

The door closed after Karen. She walked down the street and turned the corner to the pit rows. She held her head high, her face blank though two flags of bright colour lit her cheeks. It was natural, she supposed. The woman was Dave’s mother after all. She had to blame someone for the loss of her son.

It wasn’t until she was almost to the door in Chapel Row that she thought about what Mrs Mitchell had said about not receiving official notification. Surely, next-of-kin would have received a letter or something? But then, Dave may not have told them about his wife and mother in England. The tiny doubt dissolved. Of course he was dead, hadn’t Joe said he was killed at Gallipoli?

A couple of weeks later, on a balmy spring day, Karen was scouring the front step with sandstone to obtain the pristine cleanliness demanded by her mother. Scrubbing away until her back ached, she was overtaken by a bout of vertigo. Black patches
appeared
before her eyes. She would have fallen had she not grabbed the door post and hung on. Closing her eyes, she kept still for a second or two until the pounding of her pulse steadied.

She was fairly sure now, all the signs indicated a baby was on the way. Once more Patrick came unbidden to her mind. His face was visible before her closed eyes. She could almost feel his strong body with his arms around her. Her sense of loss became unbearable then. She was desolate. Tears oozed from under her closed eyelids and ran down her cheeks unheeded.

‘Karen!’

Kezia’s shocked voice brought her back to reality. Hurriedly she wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron, sniffing rapidly and fighting to regain her composure, muttering something about a cold.