Page 64 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Right.’ Maisie turned to Maureen and Áine. ‘Can you go to the houses at the top of the road? We need more layers to keep her warm. Alex too.’ He might not have drowned, but he was at risk of hypothermia too. Lovely Alex. Brave Alex.

As the girls sped off, the nightwatchman informed them that there was a telephone in the mill – only to be used in emergencies, but this clearly met that threshold. ‘I’ll leave you the lamp,’ he said, ‘and I’ll call for an ambulance. Mebbe I shoulda done that first, but I knew if I didn’t get somebody to get her out quick there’d be no point. She’d have been a goner.’

‘You did the right thing,’ Alex said soberly. ‘She would.’

Off he went, leaving Maisie and Alex with their patient. She hugged him, uncaring of the cold, damp water now soaking her dress, then went to take the lamp closer to the woman. Bending, she shone it directly in the woman’s face, then gasped.

‘What? What is it?’ Alex bent beside her, his teeth chattering.

But Maisie couldn’t work out how to answer him. It was too painful even to explain, as her mind figured out what must have happened. That whatever had occurred tonight may not have been a mistake. Alex pulled himself forward, so he could also see the woman’s face, clearly realising he wouldn’t get a response from Maisie. Slowly, realisation dawned on his face.

‘It’s Mrs Lennon,’ he said sombrely.

They exchanged a look filled with dawning understanding. That bastard, Fenton! Maisie thought. This is all on him. ‘God help her!’ she managed, and blessed herself.

A few minutes later Mrs Lennon stirred, moaning softly, and Maisie knelt on the ground beside her. ‘Mrs Lennon, it’s Maisie the midwife. You were in the water, but we got you out.’ She wanted to add that Mrs Lennon would be fine, but she knew it wasn’t true. Unlike Alex, whose body was now racked with shivering, Mrs Lennon was dangerously still. Hypothermia. Her body was shutting down, and unless help arrived very, very soon, she wouldn’t make it.

‘Eeess!’ Mrs Lennon was trying to speak. ‘Eeeeessss!’ Her tone was urgent, but Maisie couldn’t understand her. ‘Not Waaalllsss!’ Not Wallis? Priest!

‘She wants a priest.’ But not Father Wallis. That, Maisie could understand. ‘I’ll go and get Father MacLaverty, Mrs Lennon,’ she said loudly. ‘All right?’

The woman grunted an assent, and Maisie rose. ‘I’m sorry, I have to leave you, Alex. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘Just go. I’ll be fine.’ He kissed her, his lips cold as the grave, and the sick feeling in her stomach intensified. Dear God, please keep him safe. Keep them both safe.

The nightwatchman was outside the mill, and called to her in the starlight. ‘Ambulance on its way.’

‘Thanks. I’m away to get the priest for her.’

‘Ah, no.’ He knew exactly what she was getting at. ‘I hoped we’d saved her.’

‘If the ambulance comes quick, it still might work out.’ Maisie heard the doubt in her own voice.

‘Aye, please God. I’m gonna have to stay here now – don’t want to get fired, like.’

‘No. Of course.’ Jobs were precious.

It took over ten minutes to get back to St John’s, and another five for Father MacLaverty to gather what he needed. He had a couple of bicycles, though, which meant they sped back to the reservoir together in only a few minutes. What a strange life priests have. After the céilí, poor Father Mac had probably been looking forward to a good night’s sleep, and now this.

By the time they arrived back, an ambulance was there, and the scene was lit with four hooded lamps – the angle of the lights turned down, yet still providing effective illumination. The driver and the stretcher man were currently lifting Mrs Lennon on to the stretcher. She was conscious, and was pulling at her clothes as if trying to take them off, Maisie saw – a sign of how far the hypothermia had progressed. Sadly, it was now highly unlikely she could be saved.

Father MacLaverty climbed into the ambulance, placing a green stole around his neck as he did so. While the other man secured the stretcher inside, the priest began the Last Rites, and the driver turned his attention to Alex, who was standing shivering by the doors.

Maureen and Áine were picking up blankets and shawls – all discarded in a pile.

‘Here’s your coat, Maisie. It’s damp, sorry.’

‘Thanks, love.’ Maisie shrugged it on, then gave both girls a quick hug. The effects of the low temperature were amplified by the damp coat. I’m cold. They all were. But none of them were dangerously cold. Not like Alex and Teresa Lennon.

‘Here, put them blankets on this fella!’ The driver was already placing a blanket round Alex’s shoulders. ‘Do you want to go to the Royal too – get checked out?’

Alex shook his head. ‘I’ll be grand once I get dry and warm.’

Maisie wasn’t so sure, but understood the focus had to be on Mrs Lennon for now. The priest was talking with her, murmuring prayers, anointing her with holy oils. Maisie moved closer, relieved to hear familiar Latin words. Te absolvo a peccatis tuis. I absolve you from your sins.

Emotion shuddered through her, and she absent-mindedly dashed tears away from her cheeks. Absolution. Forgiveness. That would mean everything to Teresa Lennon, Maisie knew. On the way down on the bikes, Father MacLaverty had quizzed her about how the lady had come to be in the water, and Maisie had answered honestly that she didn’t know, but that the nightwatchman had definitely heard her calling for help. That was important – a sign that, no matter what she was thinking when she went into the water, she had then wanted to live.

For Teresa to be forgiven of her sins, there needed to be enough doubt in the priest’s mind about the possibility that she had committed the sin of despair. And he had now done it – he had given her the Last Rites, including absolution.