LITMIR.BIZ

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to leave. ‘He needs to know, and families should be together at times like this.’

      Aunt Rosie was very upset as well, for she had loved Maeve. When the men had gone, she said to Meg: ‘Robert’s right and families should do that, but I don’t think there will be much support from Alec’s wife, your aunt Susan. Anyway,’ she added, ‘no one wants help to be given as grudgingly as it would be from her. Trouble is, there’s only one person she really cares about besides herself, and that’s Nicholas, her darling boy.’

      Meg nodded. Nicholas was her own age, and an only child, and her aunt had big ambitions for her clever son, who was now at King Edward’s, a posh grammar school on the other side of town.

      ‘May Sanders is a different person altogether, though,’ Meg said, ‘and she needs to know about Mom, too, for I’d hate her to hear from someone else.’

      ‘Yes, go straight on and tell her,’ Rosie advised. ‘And I must think about getting all the children fed.’

      ‘Food would choke me just now.’

      ‘Me too,’ Rosie said. ‘But growing children have to eat.’

      ‘Yes,’ Meg agreed, ‘and there could well be another mouth to feed before long.’

      ‘What d’you mean?’

      ‘The baby was alive when I left the hospital.’

      ‘Heavens,’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you tell the children?’

      ‘Because she may not live,’ Meg said. ‘She’s very small, they say, so the next twenty-four hours will be critical. What was the point of telling them all they have a new sister and then tomorrow telling them they have not? It would just be another loss to cope with.’

      ‘Oh, my dear girl,’ Rosie said sympathetically, ‘what a load you have taken on.’

      ‘Don’t,’ Meg warned. ‘If you are too nice to me, I will blub.’

      ‘Well, do,’ Rosie said firmly. ‘Tears will do you no harm. You have been too controlled by half.’

      ‘Oh, no, Aunt Rosie,’ Meg said. ‘I cried when I heard and I have the feeling that if I allow myself to cry again, I will never stop. Then Dad and the children might feel more adrift than ever.’

      Rosie nodded. Meg was the eldest, to whom the others all looked for direction, and would do so even more now their mother was gone.

      And then another thing occurred to her. ‘Meg, if the baby is very poorly then she has to be baptised right away.’

      ‘I don’t know what name was decided,’ Meg said. ‘Mom never would discuss it. Said it was bad luck.’

      ‘What about your father?’

      ‘Oh, he always left the decision about names up to Mom.’

      ‘And she really gave you no inkling?’

      Meg thought for a moment or two. ‘Well, there was just one thing. She hardly ever talked about Ireland, but she told me once, many years ago, that she’d had a little sister who died of TB when she was only two years old. Her name was Ruth – maybe she would like this little one named for her?’

      ‘Ruth Hallett.’ Rosie nodded and smiled. ‘Meg, that’s a fine name, and I’m sure if your dear mother is looking down on us this minute she will be as pleased as punch. When you’ve seen May, go down to the priest as soon as you can. If that wee mite is just hanging on to life it is better to have her baptised as soon as possible. I’ll send word to your dad.’

      ‘He won’t care,’ Meg said. ‘He doesn’t want the baby.’

      ‘No, I think you’ve got that wrong,’ Rosie frowned.

      ‘No I haven’t, Auntie,’ Meg insisted. ‘He even said that to the doctor.’

      ‘I’m sure that was just the effect of the shock he had,’ Rosie said. ‘Charlie is a good father. Why ever would he say a thing like that, unless he wasn’t in his right mind?’

      ‘He said he was thinking that I would have another child to bring up before I can have any sort of life.’

      ‘Well, there you are then,’ Rosie said, obviously relieved. ‘He was thinking of you and he phrased it badly, that was all. I’m sure he wants the child to live as much as anyone else does.’

      Meg wasn’t convinced, though, and she thought her new little sister had had a poor welcome into the world so far. She vowed that if she lived, she would never ever let her feel in any way responsible for her mother’s death.

      When she had sat with Maeve while Meg went for the doctor, May had been worried sick as she watched her good friend’s condition worsen. At eleven o’clock Mass she’d prayed earnestly for Maeve’s recovery.

      However, she had only to look at Meg’s face as she opened the door that afternoon to see that her prayers had not been answered. In fact, Meg didn’t speak at all at first. Overburdened with sadness, she went straight into May’s outstretched arms and cried her eyes out. It was some time before Meg was able to tell May what had happened.

      May agreed with Rosie that the baby had to be baptised immediately to ensure her immortal soul was safe.

      May went with Meg to see the priest, Father Hugh. When Meg explained how premature and small the baby was, he said that the hospital should be his immediate port of call, as the baby’s life hung in the balance.

      ‘Where’s your father, Margaret?’ he asked Meg. ‘Why isn’t he here?’

      Meg knew better than to say that her father was at the Swan, so she said instead, ‘He’s with my uncle Robert, Father. He is ever so upset.’

      ‘Doubtless he is,’ the priest said. ‘But it should be the child he is thinking about now. He must come to the hospital.’

      ‘I’ll fetch him, Father,’ May offered.

      ‘Good,’ Father Hugh said. ‘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.

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