Callum felt an intense need to spend time with Mercedes. He was filled with guilt over what had happened to her. If he hadn't left her in St. Jude, if he'd left someone else in charge, or if he had never left St. Jude in the first place, she would not have been in this position. His mother had died giving birth to his sister. From that moment on, she was his responsibility.
As for Mercedes, she seemed to accept her situation. “I'm fifteen, pregnant and not married,” she told him when he worried that she might be lonely. “That's my life. It doesn't matter how it happened. I just have to do my job and earn my keep.”
“But are you making any friends, Merce? Is there anyone you can talk to?”
“Everyone is fine, but they're not real friendly. It's like I'm contagious. But I read a lot and Mrs. Waterman is nice to me. She's teaching me how to hook a rug.”
Mrs. Waterman had worked at the hotel since it opened. She was kind towards Mercedes, asking after her health and taking meals with her. Mercedes was grateful to share grace and a table with another human being. Mrs. Waterman said little about herself, except that she'd had a daughter who died. She never mentioned a husband.
As time went on, Callum brought larger clothes and supplies as needed, along with regular updates on Joe and his family. Joe apologised for not visiting but Mercedes was actually relieved. “At least I don't have to lie to keep him from coming,” she told Callum. “I just wish there was something I could do.” But Joe's daughter was dying; there was nothing to be done.
Callum tried to convince Mercedes to spend Christmas with him and Judith. Mercedes claimed the hotel was fully booked and she wasn't allowed to leave, but he knew she couldn't bear the thought of eating in Judith's presence, taking in food to nourish a baby that no one wanted. Callum drove up to spend Christmas morning with her. It was one of the rare times that Judith bothered to object anymore.
January settled cold and dreary upon the nearly empty hotel. The trees were covered in snow and the roads laced with ice, yet Callum still made the trip as often as he could. Mercedes had become more emotional as her due date approached.
She spoke often of the past, of St. Jude and Joe, even of their mother whom she'd never known. She seemed to be searching for answers to some unknown question.
One day he found her in tears at her bedroom window.
“Mercie, what is it? What's wrong?”
“It's all going to be over soon.” She pressed her forehead against the cold glass.
Callum patted her back. “Yes, it will.”
“I sing her a lullaby every night. And I pray for her and dream of holding her.”
“Her?” Callum asked lightly. “When did you decide that?”
“Just one day, she wasn't a âhe' anymore. I can't remember when. I can't even remember not being pregnant.” Mercedes scraped some frost from the corner of the window. “When do I leave here?”
“You can go to St. Agatha's two weeks before you're due.
Won't be long now.”
She stared off into the hills. “No, not long at all.”
Ten days later he arrived at the hotel for the last time.
Mrs. Waterman saw Mercedes to the door and pressed a card into her hand. “This is a special novena,” she whispered. “Say this every day and don't despair. Nothing is hopeless when He is on your side, Mercedes.” In a whispered rush of words, she said to Callum, “They'll take good care of her at the convent.”
Fighting tears, Mercedes manoeuvred her oversized body into Callum's car, then shut her eyes tight as he drove away.
When he pulled up in front of St. Agatha's, he saw the relief on Mercedes' face. Some months earlier, Callum had offered to bring her for a visit but she'd declined, stating that as she had no other option, it was hardly necessary to arrange a preview.
“Sure it doesn't look that bad at all,” she said.
A young nun hurried out to open the passenger door. “Welcome to St. Agatha's. I'm Sister Mary Margaret.” She looked to be not much older than Mercedes, yet there was a sense of serenity about her. “Come in and we'll get you straightened away. Will you be staying for tea, Mr. Hann?” Her accent was vaguely familiar.
“Yes, if I could, Sister, just to get her settled.”
She led them up the front steps. “I'll go tell Mother Superior,” she said.
An oddly comforting aroma met them inside the door. Antiseptic cleanliness mingled with the tang of lemon, while at the same time, the bouquet of baking bread wafted through the entrance hall, good homemade sweetbread aromas that made Callum think of home. Not Farley Hann's home. No, certainly not that. It was more the idea of home, fathers fixing things, mothers baking, children playing, all living happily together.
He was surprised to see tears on his sister's face. “Merce, what is it?”
She sniffed the air. “This place. It reminds me of something. Something good.”
Callum passed her his handkerchief. “I know. Me too.”
Sister Mary Margaret came back just as Mercedes was wiping her eyes.
“Don't be sad, Mercedes. It will soon be over and everything will go back to normal. Let me show you your room,” she said, leading her away.
Callum was just finishing his tea with Sister Ignatius when Mercedes returned. As he watched her shuffle into the warm kitchen, her puffy face still so innocent, the unfairness of it all struck a fresh chord of anger in him.
“Is anything wrong, Callum?” Mercedes asked.
“No, no,” he answered quickly. “How are you feeling? Is everything okay?”
“I'm fine. I hope you don't get in trouble taking all this time to cart me around.”
“Don't worry about me. Come meet Sister Ignatius.”
The Mother Superior was a tall, large-boned woman, her intimidating presence further emphasized by the severe black and white of her uniform. After spending time with her, however, Callum had come to believe that she was the best person to see his sister through the days ahead.
“Welcome to St. Agatha's, Mercedes.” Sister Ignatius's voice was firm yet gentle. “What a fine name, full of our Lady's love and goodness.”
“Thank you, Sister.” Mercedes looked about to curtsey then seemed to stop herself. She turned to Callum instead. “Have you been here before?”
“They needed some family history, and I had to make sure this was a safe place for you - no offence, Sister. You're in good hands here, and there's a hospital close.” He glanced at his watch. “I got a crew to check on before the day is done.”
As they walked outside, he could feel Mercedes' fingers pressing into his arm.
“Something bothering you, Merce?” he asked once they were out of earshot.
“It's justâ¦well, you never said anything in ages, about maybe adopting?”
The last time they'd talked about it several months earlier, he'd told her that Judith was adamant, that there was no way he could talk her into it. Mercedes hadn't mentioned it since. “Ah Mercie, I'm sorry, but nothing's changed.”
Her palm circled her distended belly. “She's become my friend, you know? She's all I had to talk to. We kind of got to know each other.”
“Still think it's a she?”
“I know it's silly but I'm sure it's a girl. I think mothers know these things. Oh God,” she cried suddenly, her voice a tortured whisper. “I wish she'd never come out now, then I wouldn't have to give her away.” She pressed her face against his shoulder.
Callum hugged her gently. “Ah Mercie, don't cry.”
“I can't seem to stop anymore,” she sobbed. “I'm after crying more in the last nine months than my whole life before it.”
“I hate that you got to go through this. But things can't be any different, can they? You can't take care of her. And a baby needs two parents.”
She stepped back from him. “I just got no control anymore. My body grows and grows, my baby gets bigger and kicks and hiccups, you and the Sister talk about me like I don't have any say, and I guess I don't. It seems so long since I was me.”
“It's almost over. You can go home soon.”
“Home?” she cried out. “Where's home? Where will my baby go?”
“Sister says there's a wonderful family waiting to have a new little one.”
“Isn't there any hope at all that you can do it?”
“I'm afraid not, love. I didn't know you were still hoping.”
She lowered herself onto the convent steps. Her head was down and tucked into her chest, as if she was trying to stop or hide the tears.
He sat beside her and raised her chin. “I'm sorry,” he said, looking into the saddest eyes he had ever seen.
“Callum, please, will you just think about it? I can't stand the thought of never knowing what happened to her. She's all I have in the world to hold onto.”
“Judith and I are trying to make up to each other for all that meanness of before,” he continued in a shaky voice. “I can't ask her to be doing this, not now.”
“I'll do whatever you want, Callum. Anything. Just don't let them take her away. Oh God,” she pleaded, “help me.”
He put his arm around her. “I wish I could, but there's nothing I can do.” He heard the tremor in his voice and couldn't hide the tears.
She immediately tried to move away from him. “Callum, no. Please don't cry. You've done everything you can for me. I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry.”
He grabbed her hands. “Mercie, stop! Don't do that.” He was beyond trying to stop the tears from coming. “Whatever you do, you can't be feeling sorry for me.”
She pulled back and took a long breath. “It was too much to ask for. I'm sorry.”
“You'll see, it'll all work out for the best.” He wiped his eyes and looked up at the sky. The winter sun was fading fast. “Will you be all right?”
She pushed her hair away from her face. “I'll be fine. I will, I promise.”
“I'll be back tomorrow, but I told them to call me if anything happens.”
“It could be in the middle of the night. I can't ask you to come then.”
“You didn't ask, remember? For any of this. I have to be here with you, Merce.”
“Thanks, Callum. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
She squeezed his hand, then pushed him towards the car.
He started the engine but took a moment to catch his breath. In the rear-view mirror he saw her, eyes closed, hands around her belly, her swollen body rocking lightly back and forth. He wanted only to jump out of the car and hold her again, to stay with her until it was over, or to take her with him and never leave her alone again. But most of all he wanted to do as she asked and promise not to let them take her baby away.
She opened her eyes. He waved goodbye in the mirror.
He came back the next day, and again the day after that, which was her birthday. The Sisters had made a cake. They all sang happy birthday. Mercedes was sixteen.
Even though Callum knew his sister was safe at St. Agatha's, something drew him to her. Their time seemed finite, as if they only had these days, right now, to spend together. The thought, the feeling, the premonition, whatever it was, scared him to death. He tried to reason with himself. She was in good hands.
There was a hospital nearby. She'd had a normal pregnancy.
Yet he could not rid himself of the sense that they were losing control. He came every day and stayed as long as he could.
There were no other pregnant girls at St. Agatha's at the time. According to the Mother Superior, theirs wasn't a regular home for unwed mothers. They offered the service only for special families that needed help, like the Macleans. Despite that, Mercedes found a new friend in Sister Mary Margaret. Originally from Newfoundland, Margaret Mead had moved to New York with her father at the age of eight, the only child to survive a house fire that took the lives of her mother and six siblings. Though only five years older than Mercedes, she was infinitely familiar with death and sorrow, yet a determined survivor.
As caring as the Sisters were, they were also pointedly honest about Mercedes' situation. She was pregnant, without a husband or any prospects of one.
“They said I might not even get to see her,” she told Callum. “I always pictured myself holding her right after she was born. I tried not to think further than that.”
“I'm sure they know what's best for you, Merce.”
“Sister Justine said this would be the easiest way. She'd know, right?”
“Well, she was a nurse in the war. I think you can trust her.”
Sure in the belief that the Sisters would never willingly hurt her, and without a mother to advise her differently, Mercedes succumbed to the view that this was how things should be. Nevertheless, deep in the night, alone except for the child inside her, it was harder to accept. None of the Sisters had ever been pregnant; none had ever carried a baby for nine of the loneliest months on earth. None would ever know the feeling of a child growing ever so slowly within their own life's body.
On the Saturday morning of her first week at the convent, Callum arrived early, glad to have a whole day to spend with her. Mercedes was making bread, one of her favourite chores. She said it warmed her soul, kneading that great mound of dough, so full in her hands, its warm breath puffing out with each new fold.
Suddenly, she pressed her sticky, floury hands to her stomach. Callum could see the shock in her eyes.
For the rest of the day, he watched helplessly as Mercedes went from ripping pain to mind-numbing relief and back again, each respite increasingly short lived. His hands felt bruised from the pressure of her grasp, yet he was grateful for it.
Early in the evening, she started to vomit. Dry retches overpowered her, the lingering force of one seeming to prompt the next. Then she began to shake. To make matters worse, her stomach continued to heave as her body shook. She no longer had the strength to squeeze his hand. No one had prepared them for this.