Between Sin and Salvation

Chapter I

Louise Vergne shoved her trembling hands into the deep pockets of her white coat, determined to maintain the facade of an impregnable doctor in front of her newest patients. Her sharp features and cold demeanor, combined with her age, gender, and accent, set her apart from the traditional physician. The trousers she wore, unconventional for a woman of her time, and the jagged scar that slashed lazily across her left eyebrow only further unsettled those seeking her medical care.

In contrast, her nurse, Margaret Hawkens, was the perfect juxtaposition to Louise with her gentle disposition. Margaret's golden hair framed her face like a halo, and her wide oceanic blue eyes held a depth of kindness that indeed had to be heaven-sent. These features had dying soldiers swearing they'd seen an angel sent by God Himself.

Louise stood off to the side, passively listening to the trams outside ramble past. She observed the scene in front of her with a practiced detachment. Clad in her pristine white dress and cap, Margaret gently soothed the pregnant twelve-year-old lying on the threadbare cot. The red-haired girl's flushed face was twisted into a pained grimace; her tiny fists clenched tightly at her sides, knuckles white from the effort.

Louise furrowed her brows while her eyes traced the outline of the girl's frail frame. The girl's thin limbs and hollow cheeks accentuated the grotesque swell of her pregnant stomach. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, making the angry red flush on her cheeks stand out starkly.

She had seen many young girls stricken in this manner, their bodies ravaged by the demands of a pregnancy they could not yet bear. She knew countless more would follow, a reminder of the unforgiving realities of their world. But knowing this did nothing to dull the sharp edge of cruelty that twisted her gut. The unfairness of it all, these girls, robbed of their childhoods, their bodies broken, and their futures ruined, was a pill that never became easier to swallow.

"Mrs. Brooks, if you would be so kind as to follow me to my office, we can discuss the potential complications of your daughter's condition." Louise addressed the woman who was gently uncurling the fists of the ailing girl. Mrs. Brooks bore a striking resemblance to her daughter, prompting a silent prayer from Louise that the girl would survive to see her mother's age.

Wordlessly, Mrs. Brooks stood from the wooden chair beside her daughter's bedside. She followed Louise through the modest and open-roomed clinic lined with cots and accompanying chairs, their shoes clicking rhythmically on the worn wooden floor. The breeze drifting through the open windows provided a brief respite from the pervasive antiseptic smell. The setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the clinical harshness.

They entered the office nestled in the back of the clinic, a small, cluttered space. Louise gestured to a worn chair across from her paper-strewn desk, its surface a chaotic jumble of patient files, medical journals, and handwritten notes.

Mrs. Brooks' gaze wandered over the peeling paint on the walls, revealing layers of forgotten colors. Her eyes then fell on the cot pushed into the corner, a reminder of the office's dual purpose. The cot, draped with a thin, threadbare blanket, was reserved for the most critical patients, those who needed immediate and intensive care.

"Please, Dr. Vergne, be honest with me," Mrs. Brooks pleaded, her voice trembling. Her hands clutched a rosary so tightly that the beads indented her skin. Her eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and fear.

"Anna is all I have, and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to 'er." She continued, her voice breaking slightly. Each word seemed to weigh heavily in the air, laden with unspoken fear and helplessness.

Louise lacked the comforting words that Margaret wielded so effortlessly. All she had to offer were cold facts and honesty, neither of which provided solace in moments like these. She sank back in her leather chair, steeled her shoulders, and braced herself to explain their bleak predicament.