Rosewater and Soda Bread by Marsha Mehran

shook his head. “There is a considerable infection that needs immediate care, that is certain. It is lucky her aim was not so precise.”
    As both her personal physician and chief internist at Mayo General Hospital, Dr. Hewey Parshaw was the only professional Estelle could trust for medical advice. He had arrived minutes after Estelle showed Marjan into the bedroom, where the girl lay sleeping under the down duvet.
    “So you think she is with a baby?”
    “Your instincts were right, Mrs. Delmonico. She is in her second trimester nearly. My estimate is eleven weeks. However,” he said, turning his serious eyes on them, “the inner lacerations do indicate an attempt at termination.”
    All three fell silent, taking in the gravity of the situation. Beads of sweat rose on the young woman's face. Estelle reached over and wiped them gently with a cold cloth.
    The young woman's eyes twitched under her closed lids, her ragged breathing breaking the silence.
    “What is the longest you have been able to keep her awake?”
    Estelle shook her head. “Not much. Her eyes open three, four times, but closed again. And painful noises, nothing else. Notalking at all.” Her face crumpled up. “Oh, I hope I did not do the wrong thing by not calling you yesterday.”
    From across the room, Marjan could see tears springing up in the kind widow's eyes.
    “You have done the honorable thing by bringing her to your home,” Dr. Parshaw assured her in a voice of smooth velveteen. “If you hadn't found her, the worst imaginable circumstance could have been a reality today.”
    “That's right,” Marjan said, giving the doctor a grateful smile. “And the guards would not have been any help either. By the time you got home yesterday, they had already closed up for the Bonfire.”
    “What we need to concentrate on now is the future,” said Dr. Parshaw. “We must get an ambulance up here as soon as possible. The chance of this becoming septic is there, I'm afraid.”
    Estelle blew her nose on the silk handkerchief she always kept tucked in the sleeve of her blouse. “I will go make the call.”
    “I've got the van,” suggested Marjan. “It'll be quicker that way.”
    As Estelle packed a few essentials in a small overnight bag, Marjan and Dr. Parshaw set about creating a makeshift gurney They spread the duvet on the floor next to the bed, doubling it up to make for an easier carry. Dr. Parshaw then knelt to gently scoop the girl from under her shoulders and legs.
    Her reddish brown hair hung limply as the doctor lowered her onto the duvet, her thin, angular face a frightening shade of green. Like an opal stone, thought Marjan, without the benefit of its rosy veins.
    “To the right, please,” Dr. Parshaw directed Marjan as she backed out of the cottage door.
    They took their time descending the gravelly path, the corners of the duvet clenched in their hands. The girl made no indicationthat she knew she was being moved and remained deep in fevered sleep. Although not nearly as heavy as her long and lanky frame would suggest, she would surely have been a weight for one short old woman. Marjan simply couldn't imagine how Estelle had ever managed to climb this drive with the girl hanging off her shoulders. Where had she gotten the strength?
    “I know a shortcut to the hospital,” Marjan said after the girl was safely laid on the van's carpeted floor. “We'll have to go through Ballinacroagh.” Dr. Parshaw slid into the back with his new patient, and she closed the double doors.
    “Okay. We go.” Estelle locked her front door and began to slide down the gravel walkway. Marjan rushed up and took the basket of chickpea cookies and
gormeh sabzi
, as well as the overnight bag packed with a spare toothbrush and Luigi's pajama tops.
    “I don't know where you find your strength,” Marjan said in awe.
    “Pfft! This is nothing!” Estelle exclaimed. “You should have seen me when I was young. Who do you think carry that kitchen island into