Mercy

Faith is the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen.  Hebrews 11:1

Hannah wiped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her apron, her red curls sticking to her scalp. Her face was pale and had a fevered glow. It had been a long day. The faint smell of roses made her look up across the darkened ward as she straightened her uniform. Gaslights spread their dim light from the ward's high vaulted ceiling. They provided just enough light to show the figure of a man bending over one of the patients. There he was again. she looked on entranced as the bright man kissed the patient's forehead gently and the woman's labored breaths stilled.

She froze for a moment, then clenched her fists and thought of moving towards him, when down the hall the doors slammed open. She looked towards the entrance. Midnight and they were still bringing in more of the poor sufferers. Four women this time, carried in on stained blankets. Cholera….The doctor said it might be in the water, when others blamed the miasma. If he could prove it, if he was right, it might save so many.  She turned to look back at the bright man, but he was gone. She cursed under her breath. He always disappeared before she could work up the courage to confront him. Hannah was sure without moving to check, that the woman whose bed he’d stood by, was gone from this world.

She looked down at the wretched fellow in front of her and tucked in his bedsheets. He too was losing his fluids faster than they could replenish it, and if the water was to blame, were they really helping him? Blessedly exhaustion had set in and with the help of some opium, sleep had finally taken the poor soul. His sunken eyes now closed and his wrinkled hands twitching as if their owner thought he must still be at work. The familiar feeling of her chest contracting made her turn away. She turned and pulled out her kerchief to dampen the noise of her coughing. 

Catching her breath she picked up the basket of dirty linens. Already inured to the smells, she hoisted it to her hip and made her way between the beds, and down the hallway and the stairs to the laundry room. Set the linen to soak, washed her hands, up to the elbow, like she’d been taught, the soap stinging, and then hurriedly made her way to the small office on the first floor. 

Seeing light come from underneath the door despite the late hour Hannah gave it a quiet knock. “Enter”  She opened the door and saw the familiar shape of the doctor bent over his desk. The man was working meticulously on, of all things, a map. In the outline of the houses she recognized the streets familiar to her.

“Doctor, we've just lost another one, and the ambulance carried in four more, all of them women. The man in my care made it clear he used the selfsame pump for water.”  She hears the doctor mumble “That makes 61” and he adds another dot to the map. “Do we have enough beds Nurse Clare?”   “We do, for now sir”  At the doctor's nod Hannah retreated towards the door. 

Once there she paused. Noting her hesitation the doctor looks up from his sketch. “Yes nurse Clare?” “It’s nothing sir, it’s just, well, an odd man who has been visiting the dying… At first I thought nothing of it, because I thought he was one of the clergy, a man of the Lord. But now I’m not so sure. You see sir, it seems he only visits the women." 

“The solution seems simple, nurse. The next time you see him, ask him what his business here is.”  She nods. “I’ll do that sir.” Her resolve stiffening she pulled her shoulders back. “If you have any trouble, have the orderlies remove him from the grounds.” It was obvious the doctor's attention had already shifted back to his work. So she closed the door behind her quietly. She stands a moment leaning her back to the door, sighing wearily.

What she hadn’t told the doctor, is that none of the other nurses had seen the man, or made any mention of him. And had they seen him, they would have surely mentioned him. He was prettier than a man had any right to be. At times it was almost like some strange light emanated from him. His visits always coincided with a patient passing. She’d seen it too often now for it to be a coincidence. She shook her head. No time now for flights of fancy, there was far too much to do before the next shift. She headed down the stairs to see to beds for the four poor women that had just been brought in.

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In the full light of morning Hannah stretched her back, feeling the ache in every fiber. With the new light her fears and the strangeness of the twilight hours were all but chased away and she felt the full weight of the night's work seep into her bones. The noise of a multitude of voices overhead told her the day shift had just come in. She let out a sigh of relief. With the last of her flagging energy she hung the final bit of washing on the line and made her way upstairs. Flexing her hands and feeling the cracks in her skin. She stopped a moment at the top of the stairs. As much to catch her breath and forestall another fit of coughing, as for the dreadful sense of foreboding that caught her squarely.  What if he was there as she entered? What if they lost another, because she hesitated”.

Her mind made up, she marched in, and gave a swift and final glance over the ward. It told her there was nothing unusual there.  Relief washed over her. Some part of her had dreaded coming back upstairs. With a nod and a tired smile for her fellow nurses she left the hospital. Stepping outside it’s gates, her gaze drifted up to the words engraved in the stone atop it “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.“  She smiled and wondered again if the quote from Matthew was placed there with the intent of being ironic.

She glanced further up the brick face of  the large building and saw the light still burning behind the window in the doctor's office, paled by the early morning light. The poor man would work himself to death if he went on so. Perhaps he was asleep over his desk again. She shook her head and set off down the street.