Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
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.
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. ”
“Where’d you come from?” Fran asked.
“Bathurst originally, but Newcastle today. How about you?”
“The Narrabeen Lagoon Camp.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “This is my fourth kid. Is it your first?”
Mima nodded, feeling shocked but trying not to show it. Fran was so young. She looked as though she couldn’t be more than twenty years old. “Have you been here long?”
Fran sat on the bed. “A couple of weeks.”
“Oh.”
Fran’s gaze finally rested on hers. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. It’s scary at first, but the girls are nice enough.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel a little better. Should I unpack?” Mima pointed to her suitcase.
“If you like. I was hiding out in my room to avoid the kitchen, but I guess she’s seen me now, so we’ll both have to go down and help. She’s a dragon when it comes to everyone working hard. I’m feeling sickly today.”
“Nausea?” Mima asked as she knelt to open her suitcase.
Fran nodded. “It’s been bad the last few days. I had to use both bedpans. It’s a long walk to the toilets. Don’t worry, I washed ‘em.”
“I hate the nausea. I wish the toilets were closer. It must be fun walking all that way in the middle of the night in this weather.”
Fran giggled. “Too true. It’s been cold enough for icicles to sprout on my rear end most nights this week.”
Mima giggled. “That sounds painful.”
There was a sudden thunder of footsteps on the staircase, and a girl with red ponytail stuck her head through the doorway.
“Time for Mass!” she said in a bright voice. “Oh, hi. I’m Dot.”
Mima held out a hand, and Dot shook it. “I’m Mima. Mass, did you say?”
“Yep. Get dressed and wash up fast or you’ll hear about it.” Dot grinned and then was gone.
Mima turned to face Fran with a quizzical look. “I’m not Catholic.”
“It’s not Mass, it’s church. She calls it that because she’s Catholic.
Come on—we’ve got to get dressed or Mrs Thompson will have our hides.
Then after church, we serve the soup. Oh, and by the way, stick with me because we have to sit up the back of the church.
The good ‘uns who have families don’t want us reprobates anywhere near ’em. ”
“Maybe they think our depravity is catching,” Mima replied with a sniff.
Fran opened the cupboard to pull out a simple frock. “Maybe they’re right,” she replied with a wink.