Page 40 of Return to the Waratah Inn

Simone looked at her. “I won’t need anything.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Duncan whispered goodnight then stood at the doorway, with his hand on the light switch. Reeda tiptoed out of the room and Duncan plunged the room into darkness. Back in the kitchen, Duncan poured her a large glass of red wine. They grabbed a bowl of popcorn Reeda had made earlier and carried it to the living room. Duncan found cricket match on the enormous widescreen television he’d installed above the fireplace.

“That went well,” he said.

She nodded. “They seemed to like the story and they were very ready to fall asleep.”

“You’re already a beaut mother,” he replied as he pulled her to his side, one arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him with an exhale, releasing the tension she’d been holding in her shoulders. “Thanks. It’s been an interesting day.”

“You’re happy?”

“Very happy. Although it’s strange, right?”

“So strange,” he replied. “But in a good way.”

“In a great way,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-One

June 1953

Marrickville

Mrs Mabel Thompson gave Mima a tour of the hospital’s living quarters for single mothers at a quick pace. She admonished Mima to keep up and shot her a narrowed-eyed look when she fell behind. She held her suitcase in one hand, her coat over the other arm, and her purse slung over her shoulder. The police officers had left as soon as they brought her things inside, without a backwards glance.

“Come on, Mima. We don’t slack around here. Hopeleigh was the original name for this facility, and it was expanded in 1927 to become Bethesda Maternity Hospital, a rescue home, babies’ home, and lying-in hospital. As I said, it’s funded by the Salvation Army. Our intention, of course, is to find some useful task for unmarried mothers to do while waiting for their little ones to arrive. Given the moral decline apparent in their lives, they’re unable, as you know, to find employment or a place to stay much of the time. Rejected by good society, they need assistance. And it’s our hope that during your stay here, we might reverse the degeneracy that led you to this place in your life. Perhaps you’ll be able to find a way to turn things around and become the type of person who contributes to society rather than dragging it down into the depths of moral depravity.” She sighed over the last of her words as though uttering them was a heavy burden on her delicate sensibilities.

They trotted down a set of deep stairs into a darkened basement. “Here is the laundry. We wash clothes and linens for various churches and businesses around the area. It helps us raise the money we need to feed you and keep the lights on while also doing a service for the community and keeping idle hands busy so you girls don’t get yourselves into further trouble.” She shook her head and tutted. “Keep moving, Jemima!”

Back upstairs, they walked through the kitchen, where several young women in various stages of pregnancy stirred soup and chopped vegetables. All had their hair covered by caps, and each one glanced up at Mima with hesitant looks and flashes of recognition at the reddened eyes and streaks of dirt that no doubt trailed her cheeks where tears had recently fallen.

“You’ll meet everyone later when they’re upstairs. But this is where you’ll cook dinner for the guests and staff. We often serve at the soup kitchen as well, which is what the ladies are working on today.”

As they climbed the stairs to the first floor, Mrs Thompson continued her diatribe. “You’ll be expected to scrub these floors, walls and skirting boards every week. We like to keep the house clean as a whistle. And that will be your responsibility, along with the five other women living here. There’s a kitchen garden out back to attend to. Chooks to feed, eggs to gather, a cow to milk, butter to churn, cheese to make, bread to bake… well, you’ll find out your entire routine first thing in the morning. I hope you don’t expect to slack, or that others will take care of you. You’ll find I run a tight ship, and everyone must contribute to it.”

“Yes, Mrs Thompson,” Mima replied in a humble tone. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. She’d been a midwife for years. And the softness of her youth, having grown up in a home where she was largely ignored but given anything and everything she could want, had long since given way to muscular arms, calloused hands, and a work ethic that had been praised by her supervisors.

“Your toilets are at the end of the hall. The near toilets and bathrooms are for married guests only. You will always go to the far bathroom for your ablutions. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mrs Thompson.”

“This is your room,” Mrs Thompson said, pushing open a door.

It creaked as it opened onto a small, austere room. There were two beds, each pushed against a wall on opposite sides, and each holding a pillow and a faded quilt tucked in neatly with hospital corners. There was a set of drawers and a cupboard. A small square window let in a little light that reflected on the hardwood floor as a misshapen rectangle.

Mima walked in and set down her suitcase by the rectangle of light. She turned back to say something to Mrs Thompson, but found herself alone. The woman was gone. It was then that she noticed someone standing by one of the beds. Another woman, young and thin with a small pregnancy bump, her skin as dark as the night’s sky, her hair short and brown. Her dark eyes were large and timid, but a smile lit up her face, showing big white teeth even as her gaze darted to the floor and back again.

“Hi. I’m Fran.”

Mima stepped closer and held out her hand. Fran took it and held it a moment before dropping it, her eyes still not finding Mima’s for more than a second or two. “I’m Mima. Pleasure to meet you.”

“I guess I’m your roommate.”

“I guess so. ”