Текст книги "The Secrets of Midwives"

Автор книги: Sally Hepworth

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

27

Neva

The first thing I recognized when I opened my eyes was the nursing chair in the corner. I was in a maternity suite at St. Mary’s Hospital. The second thing I recognized was the person sleeping in the nursing chair. Patrick.

“Hey.”

My greeting came out as a hoarse whisper, but he sprang to life immediately. He came to my side and pressed the buzzer by my bed. “Hey.” He cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

I looked past him and scanned the room for a bassinet. “Where’s my baby?”

“She’s in the nursery with your mom and Gran. She’s fine. Your mom hasn’t put her down since she was born. We were much more worried about you. You had a third-degree tear and lost a lot of blood. You were pretty out of it when they brought you in.”

My eyes found Patrick’s. “She’s fine? You’re sure?”

“I examined her myself. She’s six pounds two ounces. Completely healthy.”

Patrick was doing his confident pediatrician thing. I’d seen him do it with hundreds of parents over the years, and it never failed to put them at ease. It was even working on me. A little.

Two nurses I didn’t recognize appeared in my room. “We’ve paged Dr. Hargreaves. How do you feel, Neva?”

“Fine. I want to see my baby.”

“Leila is getting her,” said the nurse, slipping a blood pressure cuff over my hand and dragging it up my arm. “In the meantime, let’s have a look at you.”

The mention of Leila’s name made me look at Patrick. It might have been my imagination, but he looked like he wanted to smile. He took a seat on the side of my bed while the nurse took my temperature and read my blood pressure. When it was time to check my bleeding, the nurse glanced at Patrick, clearly expecting him to excuse himself. He didn’t. I tried not to read too much into it, but my heart sang.

“Six pounds two ounces?” I asked as the nurses did their thing under the sheet.

“Yep,” he said. “She’s a good size.”

I paused. “Full term?”

He nodded slowly and I could see he had already done the math. “Possibly even overdue.” He remained silent while I took that in. “She’s beautiful,” he continued. “Looks like you, except her hair is black and her skin is olive. She looks sort of … Spanish or Greek or something.”

“Italian,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

I stared at the sheet in front of me, so plain and blank, yet suddenly swirling.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay,” he continued. “I was worried there for a minute. Your mother is a hero, doing a vaginal footing delivery at home. Someone suggested she should be nominated for an award.”

This snapped me out of it. “They did?”

“Mmm hmm. Look, I’m sorry about—”

“Here she is!” In the doorway, Leila stood behind a bassinet. Through the clear plastic I could see a mess of black hair and a pile of pink and white striped blankets.

“Someone has been eager to see her mommy,” she said. She reached into the bassinet and cradled the tiny bundle under her bottom and head. She came around the bed. “Congratulations. She’s a beauty.”

Leila’s voice was like elevator music—I could hear it, but it was irrelevant, barely noticeable. All my attention was concentrated on the person in her arms. My daughter. She was more perfect than I could have imagined. I reached for her. In my arms, she weighed almost nothing, like a cloud of cotton candy or a bunch of daisies. I opened my mouth to tell her something, anything. But there were no words.

I was right, I realized. When I reassured mothers that it didn’t matter how the baby came out, I was right. Right now, I didn’t care if this baby had been beamed down to me from outer space. The special moment had happened. She was mine. And I was hers.

“She’s got your chin,” Patrick said.

“You think?” I puckered my chin. “I’ve never paid much attention to my chin. Is it a good chin?”

He smiled with something resembling fondness. “It’s a very good chin.”

“It’s a perfect chin.”

Grace stood in the doorway, an award-winning grin on her face. She was still dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing last night—the paisley skirt now had a sizable bloodstain on the left side. A fluorescent pink elastic dangled from a few strands of hair. She’d been through hell. Without warning, fat tears began to slide down my cheeks.

Grace crossed the room in three large steps. “Don’t you cry or you’ll make me cry,” she said. In fact, a few tears had already escaped. “It’s a happy day. I’m a nana.”

We beamed at each other through tears, then dropped our eyes to the baby.

“Does she have a name?” Grace asked.

“Not yet. I only had a boy’s name picked out.”

“What was the boy’s name?”

“Robert. Robbie.”

“Your father would have loved that. But ladies are his lot in life, it seems. So no girls’ names, then?”

“Nope.”

In truth, I’d pretty much decided on Florence a few months back. It had occurred to me that Mom might have been offended being overlooked, but at the time I hadn’t cared. Now I did.

“We’ll think of something,” I said, and then I noticed that Patrick had slipped out of the room. “I mean … I’ll think of something.”

“He’s probably just gone to the bathroom, darling.”

I looked back at Grace and saw understanding in her eyes. She nodded encouragingly. But I didn’t share her optimism.

“Neva,” Grace asked. “I want to ask you something. Why didn’t you tell me? About the pregnancy and the father? I understand why you wouldn’t tell Patrick, or people at the hospital. But why not me? You know I wouldn’t have judged you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do know that.”

“Then … why? You don’t have to answer—”

“No. It’s okay.” I closed my eyes and exhaled. “It might sound strange, but … I felt like if I talked about it, it wouldn’t be mine anymore. I’d barely got my head around it myself, and I knew if I shared it, you’d want to be involved. But this wasn’t something I wanted to share. I thought that if I didn’t keep it close, I’d lose it. Not the baby but … my way. And I wasn’t willing to do that. Not with my baby.”

I opened my eyes, steeling myself for the look of hurt on Grace’s face. But it wasn’t hurt I found. It was something resembling … pride.

“Does that make sense?” I asked.

She cupped her hand over mine. “Nothing has ever made more sense. Protecting your baby, listening to your instincts—that’s what being a mother is all about. Sounds to me like you’re going to be a good one.”

“Mom, don’t make me cry again.”

It was the first time in years that I had called her Mom. It felt surprisingly right.

Suddenly I remembered that I hadn’t told her the full story. “But, Mom, the baby was full term. Which means Sean isn’t the father. The father is a guy I went on one date with, a month before anything happened with Sean. Not married. An accountant. An Italian guy who wears sensible shoes. A guy who now has a serious girlfriend.”

I waited for Mom to scream, pursue me for more information, or do something outrageous. But she didn’t. She just waited.

“So I need to tell him about her,” I said.

“You mean now?”

I nodded. “It’s already far too late.”

“Okay.” Grace stood. I couldn’t believe this restrained, accepting woman was my mother. “Do you have his number?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get your phone.” She crossed the room to retrieve my phone from my purse, then brought it back to me. She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “You know … children are accepting little people. Much more than adults. Some have two mommies or two daddies. They have step and half and adopted siblings. They don’t question it. The biological parents are important, of course. But the more people to love a child, the better, I say.” She held my gaze. “He hasn’t left your side, you know. Patrick, I mean. He wanted to be here when you woke up.”

It took me a moment to process what she was saying. By the time I did, she had already left the room.

28

Grace

After leaving Neva’s room, I roamed the hallways in search of a coffee machine. As I passed the nursery, I couldn’t resist having a peek. Fathers and grandparents lined the halls, pointing at their babies from behind glass. I felt a stab of sadness. The father of my granddaughter wasn’t doing that. He probably didn’t even know about her yet.

I was about to turn into the waiting room opposite the nursery when I noticed Patrick among those peering at the babies. I sidled up behind him and touched his shoulder.

“Grace,” he said. “Hello again.”

“Are you going in?” I asked.

“No. Just doing the rounds. I’d better get back.” He lifted his bag over his head so it hung across his torso. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “Congratulations. You have a beautiful daughter.”

At first, I assumed he’d meant to say “granddaughter.” But after I thought about it a little, I wasn’t so sure. He was clearly in love with my daughter. And though Neva was much harder to read than Patrick, she obviously loved him too. I felt an overwhelming urge to grab Patrick and frog-march him into her room. I’d force them to admit how they felt about each other, and they’d all live happily ever after. But I resisted. It was their lives. They’d have to figure it out for themselves.

I watched until Patrick disappeared from sight. Then, while I waited for the coffees, I texted Robert.

Mommy and baby reunited. All is well. G x

After we’d gotten the all clear that Neva and the baby were okay, I’d sent him to Neva’s apartment to get her some things and then to Walmart to get Onesies and sleep suits for the baby. Those little instructions were the most communication we’d had in days. Weeks. It made me sad. We had just become grandparents. More than anything, I wanted to share it with him. I stared at my phone, debating whether to call him, but ultimately, I decided not to. I dropped my phone back in my purse and grabbed the coffees.

Mom was in the family lounge, which was empty apart from a young woman who was reading a tatty picture book to a toddler. Mom turned the pages of the magazine in her lap while staring out the window. She rose to her feet when I entered. “How is she?”

“Still resting,” I said, handing her the coffee.

She sat again. “And the baby?”

“Precious.” I sat beside her and we both sipped our coffees. “More precious than you can possibly imagine. Neva’s calling the baby’s father now, to tell him about her.”

Mom raised her eyebrows, but I just shrugged. I didn’t have the strength to go into it now. But when her eyes lingered on my face, I saw that she wasn’t asking for information. She was contemplating speaking herself.

“What is it, Mom?”

“I’m just thinking … perhaps I should follow the bravery of my granddaughter and admit some truths myself.”

“Truths?” I laughed. “When have you not told the truth?”

I expected her to smile, but her face remained straight.

“Mom?”

“Grace,” she said. “This is going to be a lot to take in. But there are some things you need to know about your father.” She took a deep, raspy breath. “And about your mother.”

29

Floss

Kings Langley, England, 1954

The fire had burned to embers and the room was almost as dark as the fields outside. Elizabeth lay still, her cool face cupped in my hands. It was like a horrible dream that wouldn’t end. Evie held Elizabeth’s wrist loosely, but I knew it had been a while since she’d felt a pulse. Still I couldn’t help but feel that any second now Elizabeth’s hand would move, or her eyes would jolt open. She’d been alive a few minutes ago. She’d created a life a few minutes ago. It couldn’t end like this.

“She can’t be gone.” I looked desperately at Evie. “She can’t.”

Evie let go of Elizabeth’s wrist. “It’s been six minutes, Floss. Six minutes with no heartbeat.”

She stood and walked to the window. Outside, there was not a light to be seen. There wasn’t a sound in miles, apart from the crackle of the fire.

“One of us will have to ride to the phone box,” she said.

Her words, flat and final, pushed me over the edge.

“No. No! It’s not over.”

“It is,” Evie said simply, and I knew it was. No matter how I wanted to deny it, it was over.

“Who do we call?” I asked, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Sister Eileen? The police?”

“Both. And Bill.”

Just the sound of his name caused a physical reaction in me. My heart felt like it was being flung against my rib cage. My chest strained like an overfilled balloon.

“Damn that man. Damn him to hell!”

In the bassinet, the baby began to fuss and without a thought, I snatched her up and held her to my chest. Elizabeth lay lifeless on the bed. My friend—the striking, flame-haired beauty—was gone. So skinny and pale, with a huge boggy mound on her stomach. I wanted to bathe her, comb her hair, wrap her in a warm blanket. But this wasn’t what Elizabeth needed from me. She needed something much more important.

“What about Grace?” I asked.

Evie continued to stare out the window. “Grace?”

I looked down at the bundle in my arms. “The baby. Elizabeth said she wanted to name her after her mother.”

Evie nodded. “Well, what happens to her is for Bill to decide.”

“Like hell it is.”

Now Evie did look at me.

“I’m not handing this child over to that man, Evie. Not over my dead body.”

“What choice do we have?” When I didn’t respond, a slight crease came to Evie’s brow. “What are you suggesting, Floss?”

I wasn’t sure what I was suggesting. But a second later, I was saying, “We’ll tell him that the baby died as well.”

Evie looked me straight in the eye. “You’re talking madness. Pure madness.” But her slow, careful tone gave away her true feelings. She wasn’t so sure it was madness.

“I’ll take her, right now, on the bike.” I was talking so fast, I tripped over the words. “You’ve got the birth documents there—write my name down as the mother. I’ll leave town tonight, go to a new village, a new country if I have to. I’ll say I had her out of wedlock, or that I’m a widow. I’ll raise her as my own.”

“Floss—”

“I’ve decided. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Evie went quiet. I returned the baby to the bassinet and with shaking arms, gathered up my things. The evaporated milk, the syringe, one diaper. I felt Evie’s eyes, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t do anything except what I needed to do. With my hands on the wool blanket that Elizabeth had knitted, I paused.

“Take it.”

The voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard it. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to Evie’s.

“Take it,” she repeated. “By the time he gets home, hopefully Bill will be far too drunk to notice it’s missing. You’ve got a long ride ahead. You’ll want to make sure she’s warm.”

Evie and I locked eyes.

“You’re right,” I said, taking the blanket. “Elizabeth told me once that he often remembers nothing from when he drinks. He probably won’t even remember that it existed.” I finished piling everything into my bag. When I looked up, Evie was staring at me. “What is it?”

“Elizabeth said that? That Bill blacks out?”

I nodded.

Evie seemed strangely contemplative. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She wandered over to her bag and pulled out some paperwork, then moved to the kitchen table. I picked Grace up out of her bassinet and went to stand beside her.

“Birth certificate,” she said, scribbling on the page. “It’s dated two weeks ago, so people don’t question why you’re out and about with a newborn.”

She seemed calm, in control. Much more than I was. She held out the page.

“What are you going to do, Evie?” I asked.

Evie’s eyes drifted over to Elizabeth, then down to the baby that was snuggled peacefully against me. “Same as you. I’m going to make sure Bill never gets his hands on that baby.”

*   *   *

It took over an hour to tell Grace everything, and while I did, she just listened, never once interrupting, flying off the handle, or dissolving into dramatic, disillusioned tears. I wished she would do that, or at least do something familiar to reassure me that she was actually still my daughter. Even though she wasn’t.

“So what did you do?” she asked. “Once you left the house?” Her words felt distant, as though they didn’t belong to her.

“I wrapped you up, wedged you in the basket of my bike and cycled faster than I ever had in my life. I reached the boardinghouse before sunrise, packed my things in the dark, and took the first train to London.”

“And then?”

“I went to my parents’ house. I told them you were born out of wedlock. They were Irish Catholic, and I knew it was about the only thing I could’ve said to get my father to cough up the money for the passage to America. An unwed daughter with a baby would’ve been a disaster. I stayed with them for two weeks, long enough to get a passport for you and me, and then they deposited me on the ship. And that was that.”

Grace was silent for a long time, perhaps longer than she’d ever been in my company. As she sat, her fingers trailed up and down her legs, dragging the fabric of her long skirt with them.

“Why didn’t Evie take the baby? Take … me.”

The question baffled me. In all these years, the idea had never occurred to me.

“I’m not sure. Evie was engaged, I suppose. She couldn’t just turn up overnight with a baby. But I was single. I was able to move far away. No one knew I’d even been at Elizabeth’s house that night. Evie was her midwife, I’d just gone as a favor to Elizabeth. I suppose it made sense.” I frowned, trying to think about it more. “It sounds strange, I suppose, but I think … in both of our minds … the second Elizabeth died, you became mine.”

There was a tiny lift in Grace. So tiny, most wouldn’t even have noticed. I liked to think it was something that only a mother would notice.

“What happened when my father got home and found his wife dead and his baby missing?”

“For a long time, I didn’t know,” I admitted. “It took me two years before I dared to write to Evie. Six weeks later, she wrote back.”

“And?”

The letter was still in the front pocket of my purse and I plucked it out. “I think this contains the answers you’re looking for, dear.”

Over the years, I’d become pretty good at knowing what my daughter was thinking. But as Grace looked from the letter to me, then back again, the skill deserted me. I watched as she opened it. Though I knew its contents by heart, I read along over her shoulder.

Dearest Floss,

After two years I had all but given up hope of hearing from you again. I was overjoyed to receive your letter, and to hear that you and Grace are healthy and well. I was also glad to hear that you’re still practicing midwifery. I wasn’t sure I’d continue myself after that night. I thought that with each new mother I’d see Elizabeth, and with each new baby, Grace. I blamed myself for Elizabeth’s death for a long time. But there’s something about what we do, isn’t there? Something about new life that helps to heal old wounds. I hope you’ve found it to be the comfort that I have these past years.

I hounded your poor mother for months after you left. The hardest part of not knowing was not being able to picture you and Grace. Were you walking along a beach somewhere? Rocking on a porch swing? Trudging through the snow? I realize, of course, that I’m not the only one with gaps in my knowledge. I’m sure you’ve wondered many times what happened after you pedaled away into the night with Grace. And as much as I am loath to revisit it, even in my memory, I believe it is necessary so all of us can finally close this chapter.

After you left, I bathed Elizabeth. I combed her hair and changed her linen. Perhaps it was silly, but after what Bill had put her through in life, I wanted her to have some dignity in death. A car pulled up just after sunup. The publican was driving Bill, and I could hear the singing from inside. I made sure my bicycle was out front, where it could be seen, then I slipped out the back door. Once Bill was inside and the car had disappeared over the hill, I cycled the two miles to the pay phone.

I told Sister Eileen that Elizabeth delivered a healthy baby girl before she died, and that I’d left her in the arms of her father. I also told her Bill was drunk and upset, and I was concerned for her welfare. Sister Eileen, Dr. Gregory, and Sergeant Lynch picked me up at that phone box fifteen minutes later. When we arrived at the house, Bill was nowhere to be seen. A search went out immediately, and he was found before breakfast, passed out, on the side of the road near Wharton’s Creek. Everyone assumed that he’d drowned the baby in his grief. I think Bill himself assumed that, as he didn’t dispute my version of events. For once, those blackouts that terrified Elizabeth served some good.

Bill was charged, but not convicted. Without a body or a witness, there wasn’t enough evidence. But everyone thought he’d done it. He had to leave town. Beating up on your wife was one thing, but drowning a baby daughter was more than a little place like Kings Langley could handle. I like to think that Bill got his dues, but who knows? The most important thing was that he didn’t get Grace.

It’s funny, I’ve probably watched over a hundred women become mothers over the years. But you should know that none stand out as much as the moment I watched you become one. The way you stared at her? The way you instinctively held her to your heart? Perhaps it’s an odd thing to say, but … it almost feels like she was yours all along.

Thinking of you both always,

Your friend,

Evie

“Is he—” Grace’s voice caught, but she cleared her throat and tried again. “—is Bill still alive?”

“No, dear. Evie wrote a few years ago to tell me he’d passed away.”

Grace nodded. Her face was dry. Blank. I could just about handle any emotion from her—and I’d seen many over the years—but no emotion was another story.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

There were several answers. I worried for her safety. I didn’t want her near him. I feared the legal consequences of what I’d done. But none of them were the truth. “I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t think of me as your mother anymore.”

I felt foolish enough just saying it, but waiting for her to reassure me felt more foolish. You’re my mother, I wanted her to say. You’ll always be my mother. But she didn’t reassure me. She didn’t say anything. I wanted to hang my head, to cover my face with my hands. But I forced myself to hold her gaze. This wasn’t about my need to be validated as a mother. It was about Grace.

“Am I … like him?” she asked. “Bill?”

“No. You’re like Elizabeth.” I forced myself to say the words. “You’re very much like your mother.”

“I am?”

I nodded. “In looks and in personality. Elizabeth was great fun. Loving. Adventurous. A midwife too. She was the one who gave you and Neva your beautiful hair color.”

Grace glanced up abruptly, catching her reflection in the window. She turned her head from side to side. It was almost as if she was seeing herself for the first time.

Her lips upturned slightly. Not a smile exactly. But not that lost, empty look I’d seen on her face a moment earlier. It made me wonder if Lil was right. Perhaps it wasn’t the lack of a father that had damaged Grace. Perhaps it had been the secret all along.