Connie’s Courage Page 14

  Calmly, she approached the bed, and said gently, ‘Sophie, it’s me, Connie, and I am here to help nurse you.’

  Sophie’s tongue was pink and swollen, the infection giving off a noxious smell, the membranes of her throat swollen.

  She was showing all the worst symptoms of the dreaded disease, Connie recognised. Her face was flushed, but she had the telltale pale area around her mouth that was one of the hallmarks of Scarlet Fever, along with a rash of spots. She looked, and was, very poorly, Connie acknowledged grimly. She could not, though, allow her personal anxiety for Sophie to affect her duties as a nurse!

  At first Sophie refused to gargle, spitting the liquid out and shaking her head from side to side, but Connie persisted, and, in the end, her patience was rewarded. It would be hard for any mother, but especially one as loving and tender as Elsie Lawson, to have to perform such a task, Connie acknowledged, as she held Sophie whilst she vomited up the liquid she had swallowed.

  ‘Oh, is it really you, Connie?’, she demanded. ‘Yes, it’s me,’ Connie assured her.

  Later in the day, when the doctor called, he was openly relieved to find Connie in attendance on his patient.

  ‘She should really have been admitted to an isolation ward, but the outbreak has been so severe that there are no spare beds. She hasn’t reached the crisis point, as yet. You know what to look for, and what to do? he demanded wearily.

  Connie nodded her head.

  ‘Perhaps she is better off being here than at the hospital. I have lost three young patients already this week, he told Connie bleakly, as she followed him out of the room and they both removed their disinfected protective clothing. ‘I shall leave you some peroxide of hydrogen which you can dilute to make a throat spray, if she gets worse.

  Connie said nothing. She knew that what he meant was ‘when she gets worse. She had seen in his eyes what he feared for Sophie, and with three children already dead, who could blame him.

  ‘Connie, you need to rest as well. I can sit with Sophie during the day, surely?

  Connie put down the cup of tea she was drinking. It was three days since she had arrived, and she had been up each and every night, as well as most of the days caring for Sophie. But she knew that the crisis was approaching; and she knew she had to be there when it happened.

  But rather than add to Elsie Lawson’s anxiety, she simply said, ‘I probably will have a nap later.

  ‘Mavis telephoned, and she said she had called Harry to tell him what has happened. I wish, really, she had not, because he will worry so – and there is nothing he can do.

  The Lawsons were fortunate in having a telephone, a luxury insisted upon by Great Aunt Martha who liked to be able to summon her own doctor whenever she chose.

  ‘He would want to know, and feel hurt if you withheld the truth from him, Connie told her gently.

  ‘Can I go up and see Sophie? Elsie asked her.

  Connie hesitated. Perhaps it was better that Sophie’s mother saw her now, rather than later, when the crisis would be at its peak.

  ‘Dear ma’am, of course you may! You make me sound like a veritable dragon, she teased her gently.

  Sophie’s glands were badly swollen and the thick, yellow membrane which had formed on her tonsils remained impervious to the spray Connie was using.

  As the crisis approached, Sophie was growing weaker.

  At least though, no one else in the household had succumbed to the illness, and Connie was tireless in her insistence on everyone maintaining the rigorous disinfecting procedures she had taught them.

  ‘Connie, she looks so very much worse,’ Elsie Lawson told her in an anguished whisper as she came out of the bedroom.

  ‘Anyone would look unwell with this strong spring sunshine,’ Connie answered her calmly.

  Once inside the bedroom though, her own face registered her fear as she studied the sleeping girl.

  The rash had gone now, but the danger was far from over. If the poison could not be cleared from her throat, Sophie would die. And, even if she survived, after having such a severe infection, there would be a risk of damage to her kidneys, and she could well be left with a weakness to her heart.

  But although she was well aware of these risks, Connie refused to dwell on them, as she set about going through the same routine she had gone through since her arrival: bathing her patient, spraying her infected throat, sponging her down again, making sure she had something to drink.

  The crisis came that night, with a sudden convulsion of the narrow, exhausted body, and a fit of vomiting followed by such a harsh rasping for breath that even Connie could barely endure to hear it.

  ‘Mama,’ Sophie croaked, and Connie immediately took her hand whilst ringing the small bell –

  a signal agreed between Connie and Mrs Lawson should either one of them need to summon the other.

  Connie felt the fine draught of air as Elsie Lawson rushed into the room, but she did not relax her concentration on her patient.

  ‘Oh no! My baby! Mrs Lawson moaned, as she saw and heard what she had been dreading.

  ‘Mama, I can see father, Sophie whispered in a dry crackle of sound between laboured breaths.

  ‘Oh, the poor child is delirious, Elsie sobbed to Connie, but Connie didn’t answer.

  She couldn’t because she was praying so hard that Sophie’s words were not an indication that she was already slipping away from them. She had heard it from other nurses, and seen it for herself, that a patient in their last minutes would call out to a loved one gone before them.

  ‘Your mama is here, Sophie,’ Connie said firmly, stroking the thin hand, and all the time desperately aware of how shallow and frail the fluttering pulse was.

  It would be so easy for it to stop altogether. Connie had seen it happen very many times. The one thing she must not do was to let Sophie slip into a deep sleep that could so easily become death.

  ‘And so am I, she told Sophie, determined to keep her awake. She tried frantically to think of some subject to talk about that would hold her interest. ‘Do you remember how you said you wanted to go to the music hall? Well, when you are better, we shall take you.

  Sophie closed her eyes. ‘I am so tired, Connie. I want to go to sleep.’

  Connie could feel her hope draining away. Desperately, she refused to give in. There must be something she could say, some incentive she could offer, that would keep Sophie awake. And then she remembered. Sophie had begged and begged to have pierced ears, but, like Connie’s own mother, Elsie Lawson had refused to give her permission until Sophie was older. For some reason which Connie did not pretend to understand, it was not done for a young girl to have pierced ears unless she was from a Catholic family.

  ‘Sophie,’ she began urgently, ‘do you remember how much you wanted to have your ears pierced? If you are very good and talk to me, then I promise you that you shall have them done just as soon as you are well enough!’

  Anxiously Connie held her breath, but she might just as well not have spoken for all the response Sophie gave. She must stop Sophie from drifting into a coma. She must! Trying not to panic she began to talk again, ‘Do you remember, too, last summer how we strolled down the pier and the wind buffeted our skirts and nearly stole my new hat? Soon it will be warm enough for us to do that again.’

  The pulse was fading, and Connie felt despair fill her. She could not, she would not, give in and let her die.

  She reached for the spray and opened Sophie’s mouth, ignoring the moaned protest. In her attempt to stop her, Sophie’s hand caught Connie’s mask and it slipped from her face. But Connie refused to give in; her own nose and mouth exposed, she sprayed Sophie’s throat thoroughly, not once, but twice.

  Putting her lips to Sophie’s ear, she whispered determinedly, ‘Listen to me, Sophie. You will get better. You must get better. Your mama needs you. Your father wants you here with your mother, and Mavis will never be able to marry her Frank if you die, and Harry will …

  The thin pulse fluttered a
nd died; the only sound in the room, the rattling of one long indrawn breath, and then silence.

  From behind her, Connie heard Elsie Lawson cry out in anguished denial.

  ‘No, Sophie! You are not to do this. You are not to die!’ Connie insisted fiercely, ‘You will not die, Sophie! Do you hear me?

  The seconds ticked by in the thick, smothering silence of the room, as death stole from the shadows.

  ‘Sophie! Connie leaned over her and gave the thin body a gentle shake. ‘Sophie, listen to me. Connie could taste her own defeat in the tears that ran down her face. ‘Sophie, talk to me … please …

  The sound of Elsie Lawson’s grief filled the heavy silence.

  Connie gripped the cold hand, and then froze in relieved disbelief as the still chest rose and fell, and a pulse jumped erratically beneath her thumb.

  Two hours later, when Sophie was still breathing, and better than she had done in days, Elsie Lawson turned a pale, thin face toward Connie and announced emotionally, ‘Connie, you are our saviour. But for you she would have died. You have saved her life, and with it mine …’

  All I’ve done is nurse her,’ Connie protested, as they hugged one another and burst into relieved tears.

  Although it was obvious that the crisis was over, Connie insisted on remaining at her patient’s bedside. It was there that Harry found her, grey-faced with exhaustion and looking far worse than Sophie, as he burst into his sister’s bedroom, having feared the worst from the speechless tears with which his mother had greeted him.

  ‘Harry.’ Sophie’s voice might be more of a croak than the sweet note of a songbird, but to Harry the sound of it was the best thing he had ever heard.

  ‘Connie has saved my life,’ Sophie whispered emotionally. ‘I wanted to die but she wouldn’t let me.’

  Two pairs of brown eyes turned in Connie’s direction: one brimming with tears, and warm with emotion; the other moist, but questioning.

  ‘Sophie, you are exaggerating,’ Connie responded briskly. ‘All I have done is help to nurse you. And since you are now much better, I am going to leave you with your brother.

  But as Connie stood up, and moved away from the bed into the shadows of the hallway beyond, so too did Harry. He reached out to steady her as she swayed a little with her own exhaustion.

  ‘I can never thank you enough for what you have done, Connie,’ he told her emotionally. And then suddenly his own feelings overwhelmed him and he took hold of her.

  Initially, all he had intended to do was just to hug her in fraternal gratitude, but he had misjudged both his self-control and the intensity of his longing for her.

  She tilted her face up toward his in enquiry, lips half-parted, and he was drawn helplessly toward her mouth. He was unable to stop himself from tasting its sweet softness, as he kissed her with a mixture of tender adoration, fierce longing, and gratitude.

  The unexpectedness of his kiss caught Connie off guard, and to her own shock she could feel her mouth softening, clinging almost to Harry s, as though she were sweet on him and wanted him to know it!

  Angry with both herself and with him, she pulled back from him hissing, ‘Let go of me.

  ‘Connie, I’m sorry, Harry apologised immediately, red-faced. ‘I don’t know what came over me.

  He was lying though, Harry acknowledged inwardly. He knew exactly what had come over him. And it was the same thing that came over him every damned time he saw her! But that was no excuse for him to have done what he had done.

  ‘Well, you can’t be as sorry as I am,’ Connie retorted angrily. She could guess why he had done it and what he was thinking. After all, he knew the truth about her and her shameful secret past! And if he thought because of that, that he could treat her cheaply, and … and force his attentions on her, then he was going to learn how wrong he was!

  ‘And, if you think that because you saw … that just because of what you know … that, that gives you the right to …’

  ‘Connie! No!’ Harry stopped her in dismay. ‘No. You don’t understand … I didn’t mean. Connie, I know this isn’t the time … but … I have to tell you that I hold you in the very highest regard, and that … and that I have the tenderest of feelings for you, Connie. You are the sweetest and kindest of girls, and the prettiest. Every time I see you, I realise that the memories I have treasured of you do not do you justice.’

  It was a relief to say what was in his heart, Harry acknowledged, and, for once, to ignore the stern voice in his head that told him that he must not think of Connie as anything other than his sister’s friend. That voice told him, too, that he was simply not in a financial position to court a girl and marry her. Especially not a girl like Connie, when the nature of his chosen profession meant that he could not afford to have any kind of scandal attached to himself or his wife.

  The emotions that had been building up inside him could not be repressed any longer. Secretly, he had been yearning for the longest time to tell Connie how he felt about her, and about the love he had kept in the most secret recesses of his heart.

  A feeling that was both a pain, and a soaring wheeling arc of excited hope, was tightening Connie’s chest and making it hard for her to breathe properly. Tears were stinging her eyes and she realised that she wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything, to allow herself to believe the sweetness of Harry’s hesitant declaration. But how could she? She must not! She dare not! No man was ever going to take her in again with kisses and false words of love!

  She must not listen to any more! Frantically she covered her ears with her hands and told him sharply, ‘Stop, at once. You must not speak to me so! Do you think that I am really such a fool that I would believe such lies! Men are all the same! They think only of themselves and their … their base needs and nothing of … of the … the hurt and … shame they inflict on others through them!’

  ‘Connie, I am not lying to you! Harry protested. ‘My feelings for you … He hesitated, and then told her fiercely, ‘My love for you is true and not false!

  ‘I do not believe you!

  Connie held her breath. Would he insist on repeating what he had said? Would he try to persuade her; convince her, that his declaration was serious? And if he did that, would she be able to find the strength to reject him a second time, or would those secret hidden feelings of her own – feelings she had not even allowed herself to acknowledge properly until now – have their way?

  She was, Connie recognised, trembling on the brink of something so wonderful and precious, but at the same time so frightening that she hardly dared to breathe.

  Harry went white. His words had been wrenched from his heart, and against the warnings of his head. They were the truth and not lies! It hurt his heart and his pride that Connie should refuse to believe him.

  It was obvious that she did not feel the same way about him as he did her, he decided miserably.

  ‘I apologise. I spoke out of turn. I had no right … I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  The wooden voice; the way Harry was turning away from her without making any attempt to break down the barriers she had put up against him; without even trying to change her mind or convince her that he had truly meant what he had said, told their own story – at least so far as Connie was concerned. He did not love her at all, despite what he had claimed.

  Bitterness and pain filled her, destroying the fragile bubble of joy that had shimmered inside her. If Harry had really loved her, he would have fought harder to convince her. The truth was that he had probably regretted his words as soon as he had uttered them, she told herself fiercely, and had been only too relieved to have her reject them.

  Too upset to remain, she turned and hurried down the stairs.

  Of course, word had got round the hospital about what Connie had done and she was summoned before Matron to explain herself.

  ‘I understand that you wanted to help your friend, but did it occur to you to consider the risk you might be putting your colleagues and our patients under? And if you
did not, why did you not? You realise that I shall have to insist on you being quarantined?

  Connie bit her lip. ‘I observed all the safe practices, just as if I had been nursing a patient here in isolation, she protested doggedly.

  ‘I understand what you are saying, Pride, but you will present yourself in the isolation ward upon leaving here, and you will remain there until our Chief Medical Officer permits you to leave. You will, of course, not receive any pay during the time you are not working.

  Blindly Connie turned and walked through the door to where another nurse, heavily protected from any chance encounter with germs Connie might be carrying, was waiting to escort her to the isolation ward.

  If she had been privy to Matron’s thoughts though, she would not have been quite so downhearted. Although Matron naturally had to think of the Infirmary first, inwardly she was aware that Connie had shown not just first-class nursing techniques, but also selfless dedication. She was, Matron decided, her bosom heaving with approval, an excellent example of the high standards and effectiveness of the Infirmary’s teaching practices!

  ELEVEN

  ‘Harry, you aren’t listening to me.’

  Woodenly Harry tried to force himself to smile politely, as Rosa chided him and gave him a reproachful look.

  The warm summer sunshine shone in through the windows of the stuffy parlour, and Harry suddenly longed sharply for the fresh salty air of New Brighton, and to be walking along the pier with his mother and his sisters. And Connie! Connie! Just thinking about her brought a sharp ache of longing to his heart.

  Her rejection of his foolish declaration of love still hurt him, but he acknowledged that he had, in part, only himself to blame. He should have courted her more gently, more slowly. Shown her that he respected as well as loved her.

  Were the world privy to what he knew about her, it may well make a different judgement, and one that would reflect badly on him, as well as Connie herself. But he no longer cared. There were other schools where he could teach – not as highly acclaimed perhaps, but they would have one another and somehow they would manage.