Free Sweet Rosie by Iris Gower Page B

Martin walked away, his shoulders were bent. He was a man still in his twenties but he seemed aged by the sickness that had rampaged its way through the town. Eynon stared around him at the grassy garden beyond the glass of the conservatory, at the trees in the garden and the clouds hanging low in the sky.
    ‘Dear God,’ he said, ‘if there is any justice you will bring Martin through this safe and well.’
    He sighed heavily. ‘I’m getting as daft as Martin, what God is going to listen to a sinner like me?’
    Maura’s eyes were bright with fever. She felt as though her head were filled with wool. She was aware that someone was bathing her face with tepid water, it felt good. She opened her eyes for a moment. Old Mother Peters was moving quietly about the room though it was clear that her limbs were gnarled with the bone ache. Her face was wizened but she was gentle, her ministrations welcome.
    Maura was too tired to keep awake; she was finding it difficult to breathe. Mother Peters placed a hot cloth with some sort of paste over her chest and back. It eased the congestion a little but then Maura began to cough. She was racked, her body ached, her head was bursting. Folk were doing their best for her but Maura knew that nothing would stop the pain.
    She heard the door open but she was too weary to look up. She felt a movement at the side of the bed and opened her eyes with an effort. Watt took her hand, looking down at her with such love that, if she had the energy, she would have cried.
    ‘Maura, you’re looking a little bit better today.’ He brushed his hand across her forehead. She tried to smile even though she knew he was fooling himself. Poor Watt, he had found love and now he was about to lose it again.
    He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. She wanted to tell him to go away, to keep himself safe but she could not find the energy to speak.
    ‘If only Joe was here,’ Watt was saying. ‘He is so wise, he would know how to cure this sickness.’
    Perhaps, Maura thought, but then Joe was well out of it, away across the sea in America. America, she tried to imagine it, the place of sunshine and riches, so she had heard, the place where her lawful husband now lived unlawfully with another woman, calling her wife. What would Binnie Dundee think of Maura’s death? He would be happy of course, released from the marriage vows he had held so lightly. Strange, she no longer felt bitterness towards him. She had lost her husband but she had found Watt. Together they had loved more in their short time together than most people love in a lifetime.
    She struggled to talk. ‘When I’m . . .’ She paused for breath. ‘Let Binnie know but don’t upset things for him.’ She began to cough. Watt held her upright as the coughing racked her. She felt as though her lungs were going to collapse but there were things she still needed to say.
    ‘Don’t talk,’ Watt said pitifully. ‘Please, Maura my love, save your strength.’
    ‘Just don’t spoil things for Binnie,’ she said. ‘You’ll know how to tell him.’ She sank back on the pillows; the room was growing dark. She reached for Watt’s hand.
    ‘Shall I fetch a priest, Maura?’ He was crying, and she wished she could comfort him but she had no strength. She nodded her head and Watt moved to the window.
    He called to the children in the street to fetch one of the fathers from St Joseph’s. ‘I’ll give a six-pence to the one who can run the fastest,’ he called.
    He returned to the bedside and touched her face with his fingertips. It was so gentle, like the touch of a butterfly’s wing.
    ‘I love you, Watt,’ she croaked. ‘I’ll love you always.’
    She lapsed into unconsciousness and was awakened by the sound of the priest intoning the last rites. Her soul would go to God now; she would not rot in purgatory. She felt rather than heard the sound of the priest’s voice recede. She was being drawn into the light where there was no