A Girl Can Dream. Anne Bennett

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘I think no time should be lost. Come along with me, Margaret.’

      Meg was glad to go with the priest; she’d rather not be the one to prise her father from the pub.

      Little Ruth was in a room of her own and swaddled so well that only her face was visible. Meg was immensely moved to see that tiny face. She wasn’t wrinkled as Meg had half expected her to be, just very beautiful and vulnerable-looking. Her eyes were closed so that her lashes lay like perfect crescents on her cheeks, which were slightly plump and even had colour in them, though the nurse tending her said that that was a sign of jaundice. Meg had no idea what her hair was like because it was covered, like her hands, to keep her warm. Her crib was lined with cotton wool and there was a light bulb shining above it.

      ‘How ill is she?’ Meg asked, looking down on the child she was told not to touch because of the risk of infection.

      ‘She is holding her own so far,’ the nurse answered. ‘And each hour that passes increases her chances. Jaundice is not a good sign, but many newborn babies have that, and if it gets no worse it won’t harm her.’

      That was good news, but she was not well enough to be taken from her cot and have cold water poured on her head, the doctor was adamant about that, despite the priest’s protestations. When Charlie turned up with Robert he fully supported the doctor.

      ‘Give over, Father,’ he said. ‘The doctor knows what he is doing.’

      ‘I am worried about her immortal soul,’ the priest maintained.

      ‘Well, I’m more worried about keeping her alive,’ the doctor countered. ‘Can’t you put water on her forehead with your thumb or something?’

      The priest shook his head. ‘The water should be flowing,’ he said.

      ‘Well,’ remarked the doctor drily, ‘I’m sure a loving God will understand, in the circumstances. And may I suggest that you scrub your hands first?’

      Father Hugh was annoyed but sensed that the doctor was inflexible. ‘Have you a name for her?’ he asked Charlie as he washed his hands thoroughly in the basin the nurse brought for him.

      Charlie was nonplussed. ‘No, we never talked about names.’

      ‘She discussed it with me once,’ Meg said, thinking the small lie justified. ‘She said she would like a girl to be called Ruth, after her sister who died of TB.’

      ‘Did she?’ Charlie asked. He gave a slight shrug. ‘I suppose Ruth is as good a name as any other.’

      And so with Robert as godfather and May as godmother, little Ruth Hallett was baptised. They each held one of her mittened hands, and the priest prayed for little Ruth’s recovery as they stood round the crib.

      Later, however, as they all walked back towards the Halletts’ house, Meg’s father turned sadly towards Father Hugh. ‘Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t recover, Father,’ he said.

      Meg saw the priest’s shocked expression as he said, ‘I can’t understand you talking that way, Charlie. All I can say is that grief for your wife has coloured your outlook.’

      ‘What chance has she, growing up without a mother’s love?’

      ‘The same chance as the rest of us,’ Meg burst out. ‘I can do nothing about the lack of a mother’s love, but I have sisterly love in abundance for little Ruth, as well as the others, and that’s better than nothing, surely?’

      ‘Come on, man,’ Robert said encouragingly. ‘Won’t we all be on hand to give the little one a good start in life?’

      ‘And count me in on that,’ May added. ‘As Meg said, she can do nothing to bring Maeve back, but I know that she will do her best to slip into her place.’

      Meg could have told her father that the two red spots in May’s cheeks were a bad sign; it showed she was in a temper and she proved this as she rounded on him. ‘Little Ruth, if she should survive, deserves the same care as your other children. She is not like a parcel left at the hospital because it is not convenient to have at home. She is a child, your child, and every child should ideally be with their family.’

      Charlie looked morose and sighed heavily while May leaned forward and squeezed Meg’s hand. ‘You are a grand girl, Meg, but only a girl yet. If you want anything, anything at all, you know where I am.’

      ‘I know,’ Meg said in a low voice. ‘And I am grateful. You were a good friend to my mother.’

      ‘I was very fond of her,’ May said with a slight catch in her voice. ‘It was no hardship.’

      ‘Even so,’ Meg said. ‘If only Dad …’

      ‘He’ll come round,’ May said in little more than a whisper. ‘You’ll see. Time is a great healer and meanwhile you have something to tell the others that might cheer them a little.’

      Meg nodded and they parted at the Halletts’ door. Once inside, Father Hugh said Maeve’s parents must be informed of their daughter’s death and the birth of Ruth, and advised Meg to send them a telegram the following morning.

      ‘But Mom didn’t really get on with her parents,’ Meg told him.

      ‘And how do you know that they are not sorry for that now?’ the priest asked. ‘Maybe they regret any harsh words spoken.’

      ‘Whether they are sorry or not,’ Charlie said, ‘her parents must be told about Maeve’s death. I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell them. Isn’t that right, Father?’

      ‘Yes, Charlie,’ the priest said. ‘And Maeve was once telling me that she had family in America.’

      ‘Yes, three brothers and a sister,’ Charlie said. ‘Better send telegrams to them too, Meg.’

      Meg nodded. She didn’t mind sending telegrams to those in the States, for her mother used to write to them regularly and the letters they sent back often made her smile. She would read snippets out to them all. Meg knew much more about them than she did about her maternal grandparents. Still, if they had to be told, then that was that.

      Now she put it out of her mind and concentrated instead on what she was to tell the children about their little sister. They were a sad little bunch, and Meg’s heart went out to them all. When she told them of their tiny wee sister fighting for her life in the hospital, they made no sign that they had even heard her. A small, frail baby was little consolation for their mother, who had been taken from them so suddenly. Meg, dealing with this loss herself, felt suddenly dispirited.

      When a knock came on the door a while later, she wondered who it could be; for few neighbours knocked in that area.

      ‘Miss Carmichael,’ she exclaimed with all the eagerness she could muster. Miss Carmichael had been Meg’s teacher at school; Meg had loved her with a passion and worked hard to please, so achieving higher marks than anyone in her leaving exams. Meg knew Miss Carmichael had visited her parents to ask them if she could stay on at school longer, but she knew her father, like many, regarded education for women as worthless, and that her parents would expect her to earn wages as soon as possible.

      Kate Carmichael noticed that the wan smile did not reach Meg’s large, dark eyes, which СКАЧАТЬ