Unwed 💍

Chapter Seven: Drown In My Own Tears

Izzy's heart was pounding in her ears as she made it back to the room and flung open the door.

"Someone was screaming for help downstairs!" she blurted, barely able to catch her breath.

Gloria and Rita exchanged glances. Dottie gave her a solemn look, and pulled her knees up tighter to her chest.

"It's alright—one of the girls is having a baby," Rita explained softly, setting her book down on the bed. "The laboring room is downstairs."

"Everything echos horribly in this place," Gloria chimed in. " Seems like there's one screaming every night."

Rita shot her a dark look and Gloria shrugged her shoulders. Izzy vaguely remembered her mother talking about labor with Sam to her women's group. She'd been given so many painkillers, she didn't even remember her labor at all. She only knew what the sex of the baby was by a pink or blue bracelet on her wrist afterwards.

"Why are they screaming like that?" she asked, her mouth dry.

Gloria and Rita looked at her like she was crazy. "You really are daft, aren't you?" Gloria half giggled. " Because it hurts, that's why!"

"Isn't there anything they can give, to ease the pain?" A whole new wave of fear crept over Izzy as the girl's desperate screams rang in her head. She hadn't thought about how painful labor might be. The thought turned her stomach, and a hot wave of nausea swept over her. "It doesn't have to be that way, does it?"

"They want us to suffer—to feel all of the pain," Rita said quietly. Her long fingers smoothed over the wrinkles on her bedspread. Her petite jaw set solemnly. "It's our penance."

A heavy silence filled the room. Izzy guessed that the impeding day of birth was looming in every girl's mind—like being on the top of a hill in a roller coaster, there was no getting out, no turning back.

Gloria finally bounced off of the bed, breaking the silence. "Well." She pointed to the old iron clock on the wall. "Looks like it's time for dinner."

Rita clasped her hands together, happy to change the subject. "It's the best part of the day here," she exclaimed, beaming. " Today we're assigned to clean up duty—which isn't half bad—I think cooking is worse."

"With Sister Mary Thomas in the kitchen, it's far worse." Gloria feigned a look of horror. " You think Sister Mary Helen is a bear, just wait until you meet Sister Mary Thomas. She's the worst of them all!"

Rita laid a hand on Izzy's arm. "Just stay away from her, if you can. Agree with whatever she says, no matter how hurtful it may seem, and don't look her in the eyes."

Somewhere in the old stone building, a bell resonated. As if on cue, Dottie slowly rose to her feet. Seeing her full length, Izzy was shocked at how young she was. She was so frail, the gray dress hung around her like a gunny sack. Her sea blue eyes seemed to be set in a constant state of pleading. Her face was pale, but still held the roundness of a child. Izzy thought of Marie as she stared at her. Surely this girl was older than Marie?

"Come, Dottie." Rita placed her hand around the little girl's. "And do try to eat something this time. The doctor says the baby needs it to be healthy."

"I'll try," Dottie mumbled, her head down, staring at her feet.

They joined a line of girls in plain grey dresses and stepped slowly down the wide stairway, careful not to land on each other's feet. The echos of their footsteps fell eerily on the stone walls. No one so much as uttered a word, as they made their way to the landing. Then, down a dark passage to an massive dining hall.