Northfield Chapter 4
The sad case of the Kelly baby
There is nothing sadder in the world than a baby dying. Sister Mary Cynthia had been forced to go through hell with the death of the Kelly baby, and the Nonnatus House community had lived it with her.
There was a sense of relief, in the middle of sadness, when she had been declared innocent of any malpractice.
Doctor Turner was sitting at the large desk in the Clinic Room, finishing the final report to the medical officials, when Shelagh brought him a tea tray.
"Is there anything else I can get you, Doctor?"
He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her.
"Some of your faith, perhaps. With cases like this, I wish I had one."
"With cases like this, I wish faith would matter."
Doctor Turner's face bore a mixture of alarm and an odd kind of relief.
Then he drew up a chair. "Please be seated. Have tea with me." He poured a cup of tea for her, without asking if she wanted it or not, and fetched a mug for himself from the cupboard.
He was clearly having one of his impish moods. Shelagh had a contrary streak in her character that whispered she should decline and leave the field victorious. But something in his similarly antagonistic nature forced her from her shell. It was as if he was a messenger sent to reveal the unseen corners of her soul, whether she wished it or not. His sarcasm, wit and humour made her drop her guard. She felt called to be courageous. She slipped into the chair.
"So, what do you think will cure the Kelly family?" he asked.
"A second baby. But that does not mean they will forget Thomas."
"You are so good with names. An excellent skill in district nursing. But what about Sister Mary Cynthia?"
"She has God to comfort and restore her, and she has her Sisters. And the joy of birth. There will be many other chances to prove her skills for her. She has been at difficult births before and has successfully saved the lives of both babies and mothers. It will happen again."
"Hmpphh. Your trust in your God is good for you and for Sister Mary Cynthia. But what of us infidels? Our second chances do not rely on the idea of Providence. Is there a redemption in repetition?"
His face turned incredulous. "This conversation is odd. I am asking you, a mere girl, the eternal questions. "
"That is all right, Doctor."
He took a cigarette from his case and lit it.
"I should perhaps apologize for always being so brusque. Now I am at least trying to break that habit. But in general, will you allow me to speak to you as someone more experienced than you? Being twelve years older, will you allow me to patronize you a little?
She chuckled.
"Are you laughing at me?"
He offered her a cigarette. She shook her head. "I don't smoke." After a pause, she continued: "But I could take a puff. "
"Of this?" Doctor Turner said, astonished.
"Yes." He gave her the cigarette. He looked slightly alarmed at her easy familiarity in taking a puff.
He took the cigarette back, inhaled sharply and asked squinting his eyes: "So, why the mirth, Mannion?"
She smiled internally. She loved the way he used her surname like an endearment.
"I'm laughing because I am a paid underling of yours here at Nonnatus House. I am not used to doctors asking for permission to be patronizing. You get used to that as a matter of course in nurse training."
He grinned. "I'm sure you do. I had forgotten that you are my subordinate here. So, will you sometimes let me talk to you informally without mistaking that for insolence because you work here?"
"No, not on that basis. I think I can tell the difference between informality and insolence. One I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for a salary. But I will let you talk however you like because you forgot that I was just a nurse."
Doctor Turner's countenance melted into gentleness. Shelagh thought he looked rather sweet that way. Then he let out a contemptuous harrumph and the cynical expression returned. "I think you underestimate the human ability to accept humiliating treatment if the price is right. So, back to the topic, do you think I could get a second chance? For happiness? For redemption? What does your God say or those wise psychoanalysts you have been living with? You are familiar with the concept of a corrective experience?"
"I believe in corrective experiences. I also believe that you have to let your conscience guide your choices."
"The conscience. Does that voice speak always the truth?"
"That is my experience."
"Hmm… Not mine." There was again that shade of sullenness.
He rose.
"Well, Mannion, no clear answers for today, but it has been an education, as always. You should be paid extra for acting as my personal Sibylla."
He pressed both his palms on the desk and bent down to Shelagh.
"Do you mind me calling you Mannion?" His tone was serious.
"No, not at all."
"Thank you, Mannion. Keep up the spirit. Sorry, I have to go. My son and other duties call. Goodbye." He left.
As ever, he had created more enigmas than revealed. Who is really the Sibylla here? Why the talk of second chances?
Shelagh felt her face glow. She should not, ought not, wonder. And yet she did.