Chapter 14
WORD was sent to me on the following morning and I went out as soon as I could. An air of desolation hung over the place because the death of the child affected them more than the many other deaths they had witnessed. The patients who could get up were busy picking flowers and making wreaths to place on her coffin.
All alone in one ward was a girl aged 22. Her eyes were red from crying and I went to her. When I sat with her she hid her face against me. "I let her down,” she cried, "she wanted me to stay with her last night. I didn't know she was dying.”
Having consoled Rita as well as I could, I went into the next ward and there in the same corner was the bed, but the clothes were thrown back, as Kathleen had been removed to the mortuary shed. Her blue bedroom slippers were peeping out from under the bed, her little green fountain pen lay on the table, but you would miss the smiling face no longer in the bed.
The Matron entered and asked if I would like to see the body, and I nodded that I would. I followed her through the wards past the nurses’ position and down the farmyard to a building which had a massive door. The rusty key grated in the lock, the door opened and there was a strong smell of Dettol. The place felt cold and desolate.
A switch clicked and under the glare of the electric light I could see a long white marble slab on the opposite side of the shed, and on it lay a white form. The sheet was still round it and as the Matron unwrapped the sheet it was like taking the wrapping off a doll. Then we saw the body.
On one occasion Kathleen had said, “When I am dead, I will be dressed all in white, with white stockings and white shoes and I will have a wreath on my head. I know, because my Gwanny sent them.” This was exactly how she was dressed, and her frail hands were crossed on her breast, with her blue beads entwined through her fingers.
She looked a good deal younger in death and looked more like a child than a girl of thirteen. I could see some of the brown hair but I could not see the gap left by the lock which we had cut off, because the wreath covered it.
She must have seen some pleasant vision at the moment of death because she was caught in a smile, and that smile remained on her face after death, so that some of her white pearly teeth could be seen. She gave one the impression that she was about to speak.
Hearing that the door was open a large number of the patients came from the wards and after saying a short prayer, kneeling on the concrete floor, they rose and touched her hands or her forehead with their beads or prayer books or holy pictures, which they treasured afterwards as relics.
The Matron noticed that her prayer book had been forgotten and she decided to go back to the ward to get it. "She was very fond of that prayer book,” she added, and it would not do to bury her without it. You don't mind staying here alone?"
I didn't mind in the least. In fact, I wanted to stay alone with her. And while the matron was away for a long time I talked with Kathleen as she asked me to do, and I knew that from her place in Heaven she was listening.
The night before, just as I was leaving, she said, "Be sure to be with me tomorrow. Looking down at her it was strange to realise that the child with whom you played and held on your knees so often had already seen God, his Mother, the saints, and that the child at whose bedside you were the evening before knew now what Heaven was like.
Other dead children would be laid out in a comfortable room with lighted candles around them and neighbours in and out to say a silent prayer, and offer words of consolation to sorrowful parents. But Kathleen was all alone in a cold desolate shed. She was a lonely little child in her lifetime and she was a lonely little child after death.
When the Matron returned she placed the prayer book with all the kisses on it on the child's breast. We wrapped the sheet around Kathleen for the last time, as we thought. But we were mistaken. It wasn't for the last time because we saw her again before she was taken on her last journey.
On our return from the mortuary shed, the matron stopped suddenly near a large rose bush growing against the wall. There was one large solitary white rose growing on the bush. "That's strange,” remarked the Matron. "As far as I can remember I never saw a rose growing on that bush before. And besides, it's an unusually large rose for this time of year, the first week in October."
The rest of the hospital staff acknowledged that no rose had ever been seen growing there before. We decided that there was something special about that rose and that it was especially meant for Kathleen, otherwise both of us would not have noticed it so prominently. We plucked it and retraced our steps to the mortuary to give our last present to Kathleen, and one could not describe the feeling of happiness experienced this time.
The first time one did not know what to expect, but this time we knew it would be Kathleen with the smile still on her face, and we wondered if the smile would be happier when we gave her what she wanted, the last present we were to give her - a white rose of purity.
It was through her entwined fingers that we fixed the rose so that no matter what shaking she would get in the coffin, it would not fall off her breast. It was a picture one could never forget. The white silken dress, the veil, the beads, the prayer book, a white rose and two lovely dimples.
