18
Floss
People tended to show their true colors in a crisis. Running for the hills with their heads covered or diving headlong into battle to save their peers. In my case, there hadn’t been a battle—except, perhaps, the one inside my chest. Nonetheless, Lil had shown her true colors. She was a hero. And I’m sure she felt like she’d been to war.
She’d spent the past week ferrying my things over to the hospital, talking to doctors, cleaning the house. She’d called Grace and Neva daily with updates. She’d made so much soup that she filled the icebox and most of the refrigerator. She couldn’t have got more than a few hours’ sleep each night. Now it was time for me to show her what I was made of.
She perched opposite me on the sofa. Like props, mugs of steaming tea sat in front of us but I knew we wouldn’t pick them up. After what I had to say, we’d probably need something stronger. At least, Lil would.
“So,” I said to her. “I suppose you want to know what has been bothering me.”
“I would.” Lil straightened up, her face a painful shade of earnest. “More than anything.”
I sucked in a breath. “Okay,” I said.”Here goes.”
Kings Langley, England, 1954
Elizabeth cradled her baby in the crook of her arm. The baby was small but healthy, with a tuft of copper hair and almost-white eyelashes. Like Evie said, the baby had obviously got what she needed from Elizabeth. And despite what Elizabeth had gone through, she managed to protect her daughter.
“What are you going to call her?” I asked.
“I … don’t know.”
I cast my gaze down at the baby—pinker and more perfect than I could ever have imagined. “Well.… she’s rosy-cheeked. How about Rosie?”
“No.” Elizabeth’s voice was tight. “Not Rosie. Rose is Bill’s mother’s name.”
I raised my eyebrows. Elizabeth never spoke badly of Bill or his family. But fatigue had a way of bringing out the truth.
“I’ll name her after my mother,” she said. “Can you take her?” She tried to hold out the baby, but didn’t have the strength to lift her. “I have to deliver the placenta.”
She was right, of course. Still, I was used to new mothers fighting to keep their newborns close, in some cases even when they needed to use the ladies’ room. I reached for the little bundle wrapped snugly in the towel and sat on the bed next to Elizabeth so they could still be close. I couldn’t resist peeling back the towel for a better look. Her arms and legs were long and lithe like Elizabeth’s, and her face was dainty. I couldn’t see any immediate resemblance to Bill, a fact that pleased me no end.
I wrapped her up again and watched as the placenta expelled itself. Then, while Evie tended to a minor tear, I held the baby out to Elizabeth again. “Would you like to try feeding?” Although she was likely to have a low milk supply due to her poor nutrition, the sucking would help the uterus contract and return to normal. Information Elizabeth, of course, knew. So I was surprised when she shook her head.
“You don’t want to feed?”
“No. I feel sick, Floss.”
“It’s probably adrenaline.” I placed the back of my hand against her forehead. “You look a little pale. Why don’t you let the baby snuggle against you, listen to your heartbeat—?”
“For heaven’s sake, Floss, I don’t want her!”
From the stool at the end of the bed, Evie raised her eyebrows, mirroring mine.
“All right, all right,” Evie said. She kept her voice light, but her expression was anything but. She gestured for me to feel Elizabeth’s abdomen as her own hands were covered in blood. I did.
“Feels a little boggy,” I said.
Evie peeled off her gloves and rinsed her hands in the bucket of warm water by her feet, then took a seat at Elizabeth’s side. I picked up the baby and moved out of the way.
“Can you look at me, love?” Evie said to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, can you look at me?” When Elizabeth still didn’t look, Evie grabbed her chin and turned it to face her. Her eyes were unfocused. “Floss, put the baby in the bassinet.”
Evie didn’t yell, but the urgency in her voice made the hairs at the base of my neck stand on end. She felt Elizabeth’s forehead with her palm, then reached for the thermometer on the bedside table. I raced to the bassinet and set the baby down.
“Go to my bag. There’s some sterile gloves in the top, put them on. I want you to very carefully check the opening to her cervix. Just do exactly as I say.”
Although I was only a junior midwife, I knew enough to know that I should be worried. I somehow got my shaking fingers into the gloves and lowered myself onto the stool at the end of the bed.
“Okay,” Evie said. “You’re feeling for a lump, a blockage, a clot. It might be small, it might not.”
Elizabeth’s knees had fallen apart and I started my examination. Any concerns I had that I wouldn’t know what a clot felt like were put to rest when I felt a soft mass at the entrance to the cervix. I circled the base of it. It was a clot; of that I was certain. A large one.
“Okay. I want you to pull it out.” Evie’s voice was calm but urgent.
“Evie—” I said, “—it’s big.”
“Just give it a gentle tug. If it’s a clot, it will come free.”
I nodded, gripping the mass between my knuckles. I winged a prayer, then tugged. There was a large spurt of bright red blood from Elizabeth’s vagina—enough to soak the towel beneath her bottom. It was followed immediately by a second spurt.
“Dear Lord,” I said. “She’s hemorrhaging!”
“Get hold of her cervix!” Evie yelled, kneading Elizabeth’s abdomen from the outside. “Hold it closed and massage. Massage, Floss! We need to get it contracting or she will bleed to death.”
I did as Evie asked, forcing my gaze from Elizabeth—lying peaceful-looking on the bed—to the rivers of blood that streamed from her. Come on! I kept massaging. Our Father, who art in heaven … Beside me, Evie also prayed. We needed prayers. The flow seemed to be slowing. Usually, I would locate the nearest phone to call the flying squad, but that wasn’t an option now. It was a two-mile bike ride to the nearest phone booth, and Elizabeth wouldn’t last that long.