4. A Wish

Once Peter turned off Commercial Road and into Poplar, it was as if life crowded in on their car. Peter slowed to a crawl while Chummy switched off the radio. There were lines of washing strung low overhead. Women pushed prams down the pavement on their way to the shops. Men played checkers on street corners, enjoying a mild and dry summer Saturday. Children played tag and football and skipped rope in the streets. Peter and Chummy both rolled down their windows, letting in the breeze off the Thames and the strident Cockney greetings.

"Mornin' officer Noakes! And Missus Noakes!"

"We 'eard your good news, we did, luv!"

"Look! Look! Akela's back!"

"'Ello luvvy, 'ow's yerself?"

"Positively splendid! And you?" Chummy called back. She smiled and waved, then giggled at her own grandeur. She felt like the Queen in a motorcade. Or Jackie Kennedy, even! One could hardly avoid getting swept away in it all.

Yesterday, Peter and Chummy had taken Freddie to stay with Peter's parents. Now, on her final weekend of freedom before checking into the maternity ward, Chummy was coming back to Nonnatus House. Apart from Trixie, most of the Nonnatans hadn't seen Chummy since the winter weekend when she'd spread Mater's ashes. She was terribly excited for this visit; she had a case of the butterflies to compete with Baby's kicks.

But amongst all the smiling faces- the former patients and their families, the boys from Scouts, the old friends and neighbors- Chummy spotted a few children jeering.

"What-ho! What-ho!" they mocked her accent. "Jolly good, old bean! Haw-haw!"

They were some of the poorest children of Poplar. The ones whose parents' worries were worlds away from Scouts or church socials, or even making sure the kids got to school. They were the ones whom postwar progress was still leaving behind- the ones who had little choice but to grow up mean.

Even once the rest of Poplar accepted Chummy for her kindness and skill, these children never did. They used to wait until Jack Smith, and all her other chivalrous young defenders from the Scouts, were out of earshot. Then they'd chase after her on her rounds, bellowing: Look out! It's the Hippo!

"Oy!" Peter punched the horn. "Out of the way! And show some respect!"

The children scattered. Peter squeezed Chummy's hand. She squeezed back, took a deep breath, and thought to herself, boku uman. She was grateful that she'd be among friends once she got out of the car.

They arrived at the new Nonnatus House. Chummy still thought of it as 'new.' The Nonnatus where she had lived was an old gothic abbey, with stone floors and crumbling brick walls. It was condemned shortly after Freddie was born. The new residence was a stately sort of place, with a sandstone façade, bay windows, and a raised vegetable garden currently bursting with color.

But the change that Chummy most appreciated right now was the entrance. At the old Nonnatus, one had to scale a flight and a half of uneven stone stairs merely to reach the front door. The new Nonnatus had a smooth, low stoop with only four wide steps. It was much easier to navigate, especially when one could no longer see one's own feet.

Sister Julienne answered the door. Though she looked tired, she beamed at the sight of Chummy. The old friends clasped hands.

"Nurse Noakes! How wonderful to see you again. Are you well?"

"Baby and I are both absolutely tip-top, I'm pleased to report. Truly, my cup runneth over," Chummy only half-joked.

"The Lord has blessed you and your family, dear one," the Sister proclaimed in her warm, husky voice.

There were shadows beneath Sister Julienne's eyes, and her smile didn't reach to her crow's feet. But before Chummy could ask after the nun's well-being, there came a giddy, shrieking stampede down the main staircase.

First there was Trixie, looking like a model with her flawless coiffure, bright summer blouse, capris and ballet slippers. Then came Patsy, in a style more suitable for early on a Saturday morning: barefoot, in a plaid dressing gown, with her long Titian locks still bed-rumpled. Then the young nuns- Sister Mary Cynthia and Sister Winifred. At last, Delia and Barbara brought up the rear, both looking a bit shy.

"Chummy! You're here!"

"Goodness, I hadn't realized you were so close to the big day!"

"Oh, you look wonderful, sweetie!"

"Do come in, we'll get you settled and off your feet…"

There were hands everywhere- helpful ones taking her suitcase, doting ones at her elbows, curious ones on her middle. "I say," Chummy grinned. "It's as if none of you girls have ever seen an expectant mother before."

"I bet Sister Evangelina would say that if she were here. Right before yelling, Now back to your studying, the lot of you!"

"Which is why we'd like to check Baby's heartbeat, position, and your fundal height: for our continuing education," said Patsy. "If it's alright with you."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to be responsible for you girls neglecting your on-the-job training," Chummy joked.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not in the slightest, old thing."

And she meant it. Coming back to Nonnatus House felt freeing, empowering. Chummy was oddly reminded of the Sierra Leonean women's society, the Sande. She and her missionary colleagues had seen the repercussions of the Sande's brutal initiation rites every day. Yet caring, intelligent local mothers continued to give their daughters over for initiation. Surely they were lured by the knowledge and power the Sande wielded, and the purpose and affirmation they offered their members. Where else could the particular needs of women- things that were whispered about, euphemized, feared by the broader society- be openly discussed? Celebrated, even?

She turned back and saw Peter lingering on the stoop. "I'm off to my shift!" he called down the corridor. The poor man looked terribly awkward all of a sudden. (Perhaps it was the words fundal height that did it.) Sister Julienne said her goodbyes as well. Something about a hospital secondment, and leaving Chummy in good hands. Chummy couldn't quite catch the nun's low voice over all the fussing and giggling.

The girls helped her onto the settee, lengthwise with her feet up. Barbara disappeared into the kitchen to fix them all brunch. Patsy held her stethoscope between her hands to warm it, while Trixie unrolled a tape measure. The young nuns stood by the settee, holding up a blanket- a 'privacy screen', in case Fred the handyman or any other male should happen to enter the convent.

Chummy was wearing her favorite maternity dress, which she had made herself from seersucker printed with pink camellias. It was a simple, scoop-neck sundress that buttoned in the front. She was just starting to unfasten the buttons over her tum when Nurse Crane appeared. The tough old bean was carrying a clipboard; she came from the direction of the phone station and on-call board. When she spotted Chummy, her stride slowed and her expression warmed.

"Are they paying you enough attention, Nurse Noakes?" she asked dryly.

"Quite."

"Well it is good to have you back with us, dear. You're looking very well." And then, to the whole group: "Right. I'm on first call. And where is Nurse Gilbert?"

"In the kitchen, fixing us all brunch," Sister Winifred reported. "I'm sure she'd be happy to bring you some fruit and scones."

"No need," Nurse Crane said crisply. "I'll fix my own while I inform her she's on second call. I don't believe Sister Monica Joan is up and about, but do keep an ear out for the telephone while I'm away."

"We will," Patsy promised. As Nurse Crane set off, Chummy and Patsy shared a knowing look. "She's in charge while Sister Julienne's working at St. Cuthbert's."

"So I deduced."

"Now, let's check on Baby, shall we?"

As Chummy finished unbuttoning, she saw Patsy pause ever so briefly, staring in surprise. Though Chummy could no longer see it herself without a mirror, she knew Patsy was looking at the long scar that descended from just below her belly button.

"I hadn't realized you had a cesarean."

"I'm afraid that Freddie and I got ourselves into quite a pickle at the end." Chummy smiled, as Trixie squeezed her hand. "But as they say, 'all's well that ends well.'"

"That's the spirit," Patsy said gently.

"It is a portent! A sign that one is destined for great purposes!"

The proclamation had come from beyond the privacy blanket. The younger women suppressed giggles as Sister Monica Joan, the eccentric elder nun of Nonnatus, tiptoed into the sitting room. Her bright blue eyes were fixed on Chummy in a kind of reverence.

"Remember that our patron, Saint Raymond Nonnatus, was plucked unborn from his mother's womb! And thank the cosmos, my dear, that we live on the cusp of the Age of Aquarius. Scientific progress has spared you the grim fate of Saint Raymond's poor mother, for which we are all most grateful."

"Lovely to see you again, Sister Monica Joan," Chummy smiled.

In her knobby, long-fingered hands, Sister Monica Joan carried a little rag doll. She had black felt for skin, black yarn for hair, and simple embroidered features. Chummy was reminded of the day she first met Sister Monica Joan. The nun had been working on a similar doll then; only it was a little boy, in a blue jacket and pinstripe trousers. This one was a girl, in a dress made of African indigo cloth. It well could have been a piece of the cloth that Chummy herself had brought back from Sierra Leone, as a gift to the Nonnatans.

"Love and gratitude spring exceptionally deep in your heart," Sister Monica Joan told Chummy, as the others watched in respectful silence. "I am certain that, should you have another boy, you will be most content. And yet I sense that, like many mothers, you wish to balance the masculine and feminine energies of your home."

She held forth the doll.

"Consider this, my child, not only a gift: but a wish, given material form. A wish for a girl this time."

"Oh thank you, Sister. She's absolutely precious."

As Chummy gently took the doll, she found herself blinking through tears of joy.