“Agatha.” She leans in closer so she blocks out whatever Agatha thinks she’s seeing behind Nancy. It works. The woman’s eyes focus back on Nancy’s face before flickering toward the open door.
She cries out, her lips pulling back against her teeth in fear. Nancy jumps and looks toward the door, but there’s no one there. A heartbeat later, the nurse who greeted Nancy in the hall comes running into the room.
“What’s happened?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy says, making room for the nurse. “She got really confused, she started talking about—she looked at the door and screamed. I don’t—”
“I still see them sometimes,” Agatha whimpers up at them both, her eyes swimming with tears now. “But I never know. I can never tell if it’s all just in my head. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The baby never died. I need you to tell her. Someone needs to tell her, but the others don’t listen.”
“Shh shh shh,” the nurse coos at Agatha. “Hush, now, Sister. It’s all right. No one’s going to harm you. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Agatha’s face crumples, giving way to tears. Nancy reaches out to take her hand once again. Agatha starts as though surprised to be touched, but grips Nancy’s fingers.
“Sister,” the nurse says softly, “I’m going to give you something to make you more comfortable, okay?”
Agatha nods her understanding, her eyes closed.
The nurse turns to Nancy, her voice low. “I’m going to go get her something that’ll put her to sleep. It’s all we can really do for the panic and confusion. I wish we could do more, but it’s in God’s hands now.” The nurse crosses herself.
“Of course,” Nancy says.
“I’ll be right back.”
Nancy settles back down on the guest chair beside the bed, careful not to lose her grip on Agatha’s cold fingers. Her body seems to soften, the tears subsiding. Sometimes we just need a hand to hold.
A moment later, Agatha opens her eyes again. They’re foggy and a bit out of focus. “Please tell her,” she whispers.
“I—I will,” Nancy says, perplexed. She pats the woman’s hand again.
To Nancy’s relief, the nurse returns shortly with a syringe. She injects it into the IV beside Agatha’s bed, frowning.
“She should be asleep in just a minute or two, Nancy,” she says quietly. “You may as well go once she’s asleep. We’ll keep her out for the evening, I think. The confusion’s just getting worse and worse by the hour, and we don’t want her to feel afraid.”
Nancy nods again. “Okay. That’s fine.”
Ten minutes later, once she’s confident that Sister Agatha has succumbed fully to the sleeping medication, Nancy checks that her book is still in her bag and fastens the catch on her tote. She looks back at Agatha and reaches out for the peak she knows to be the dying woman’s right foot. She holds it with a motherly tenderness—a soft touch that her hands shouldn’t have learned yet—before she heads for the door.
She lingers outside the room, waits until the night nurse passes by again a minute later.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, hailing her.
“What is it, Nancy?”
Nancy hesitates, unsure how to phrase what she wants to ask without it sounding like an accusation. “What Sister Agatha just said—” She hikes the strap of her bag up onto her shoulder. “It was a bit disturbing. Before you came in, she told me that they used to steal babies and sell them here, when it was a home for wayward girls. What’s she talking about?”
The nun’s lips purse, and she glances over her shoulder. “There was something of a… controversy, back when this building served as the maternity home for the parish. It would seem some of the babies were sold to adoptive families. I think that’s what she’s referring to. I suspect Agatha holds a lot of guilt about her role in all that.”
Nancy refrains from swearing with difficulty. “And she said something about a baby not dying?”
The nurse shakes her head. “I have no idea what that’s about. You must understand that she’s been very confused lately. Sometimes wires get crossed in the mind, you know, toward the end. Don’t take any of it to heart,” she adds. “That’s all well in the past anyhow.”
The nurse bustles off, leaving Nancy alone. She turns left down the hallway toward the staircase. A few steps down, she hears someone on the stairs behind her. When she reaches the front door, she instinctively holds it open.
“Thank you,” the woman says, hurrying past Nancy out onto the porch.
Nancy catches a glimpse of the woman’s profile and feels a twinge behind her navel. Dr. Taylor? At the end of the path, the woman turns left down the sidewalk into the evening sun.
“Dr. Taylor!” Nancy calls. “Dr. Taylor, wait!”
The woman hustles a few more feet before she slows, stops, turns. She’s backlit in the sun, but Nancy is positive it’s her.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Dr. Taylor asks.
Nancy falters. Dr. Taylor’s eyes are bright, and her nose is pink, as though she’s been crying. “You, um…” Nancy glances around, but they’re alone on the street, save for a man washing his car several doors down. She closes the space between them. “You helped me out. You know, with a problem I had. A couple of years ago.”
“Ahh, I see. Okay.” Dr. Taylor surveys her for a moment, then nods slowly. “I remember your face now. The raid, right? March of ’81?”
“That was me.”
Nancy never would have expected to run into her, and feels a surprising sense of urgency. She needs to thank the doctor before she loses her chance. “What you did. You might have saved my life, in more ways than one. I know it sounds dramatic, but that’s how it feels.”
“I understand. I truly do.” Dr. Taylor looks back at the nursing home, her face dark. “That’s why I do what I do. And I’m so sorry, I see a lot of patients, and for the life of me I just can’t recall your name.”
“Nancy. Nancy Mitchell.”
“Nancy. Hello again.”
“What were you doing at St. Sebastian’s?” Nancy asks, curious.
“I came to say goodbye to a patient of mine. My first patient, actually. And more of a friend than a patient, in the end.”
“Oh.” Nancy frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. And you?”
“I volunteer. I sit with the palliative patients. Or at least I used to. Today was my last day. I just got a job in my field.”
Dr. Taylor smiles. “That’s great news, congratulations. So, things have been good since I last saw you?”
“Yeah, pretty good. I just started dating a new guy. He’s a lot different than the guy that—He seems like an adult, and he’s sweet.” Nancy blushes and casts around for a change of subject. “Are you still with Jane?”
A breeze flutters her hair and she pushes it back out of her face, squinting into the sun.
“Yes, very much so,” Dr. Taylor says. “We’re busier than ever, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. It means word is getting around and women are more comfortable calling us, and trusting us, but it’s difficult to keep up with the demand. It’s only a small team of us, right? Just a dozen or so volunteers, and a few doctors.”