wasn’t going to risk annoying them as she had about the color of the paint.
The baby moved his head, and she winced slightly as she looked at him. Those things strapped to his poor little scalp—they must hurt him, no matter what they said. But he didn’t wake, even though he was lying right on two of them, so maybe they were right. Electrodes, that’s what they were; she had seen them used on the baby in the next cot to Jenny in the hospital, just a few days before she had died.
Strange how she could think about Jenny now without feeling so sick. For a long time after she had died, she hadn’t been able to think about her at all, it had been so awful, but now she could. And in this last week, ever since she had started the job properly, it had got even easier. The baby had helped a lot.
She sat down in the chair at the head of the cot and very carefully slid her forefinger into the baby’s hand. His grasp tightened around it automatically, and she found herself smiling. Dear little thing he was, just like Jenny had been at his age.
She felt a sudden stab of guilt, comparing him with Jenny. No matter what they had said to her at the hospital, it had been her fault she had died. She should have known she was ill, got a doctor to see her earlier, not waited until the bronchitis had turned to pneumonia, so that none of their injections and treatment had been any good. But she had been so ashamed. They had advised her to have the baby adopted, told her she’d not be able to earn a living for them both, but she’d been willful and gone her own way.
And when Jenny had got ill, she had been willful again, told herself she could manage to get her better without having the doctor to see her. And she knew now the reason she hadn’t wanted the doctor, knew it was because she was afraid they’d take Jenny away from her because she wasn’t fit to look after her. So it was her fault Jenny had died. She would carry the knowledge of that all her life.
Yet who’d have thought I’d be given another chance like this?she thought. When she had decided to go after a job with children, the best she had hoped for was a mother’s-help place; she wasn’t trained as a nanny or anything like that. Yet she’d walked right into this marvelous chance, with no mother who would get jealous of her with the baby, only this bunch of doctors to deal with. It was like having a baby of her own again. It really went to show that God was good; when you’d paid for the things you did and you were really sorry, He gave you something good to make it up to you. And He knew she’d paid sorely for having Jenny, paid in her own shame at being caught by a married man at her age, paid in being the cause of her death.
The baby moved again, opened his eyes, and puckered his face as he pulled his hands up toward his mouth; and Isobel smiled again as he mouthed at his fingers. He really was a baby and a half, this one! He’d taken a full seven ounces at ten, and in just ten minutes on each breast too. Even Miss Hervey had remarked on it when she did the test weigh; seven days old, and taking so much already. And now he was curling his mouth and going for his fingers as though he could start all over again, not two hours later! Really, a baby and a half.
Her nipples tingled a little as she looked at him. She oughtn’t to want him to wake properly, but she did. And she couldn’t ring for them unless he was really awake. They’d told her, on no account was he to be allowed to cry for a feed, but that at the same time he wasn’t to be put to the breast unless he really wanted to. She’d soon develop a judgment about it, they’d said, and she was beginning to.
He moved again, and gladly she leaned over and pressed the bell on the wall beside the cot and got up to get the breast tray. By the time Dr. Briant and Miss Hervey came in she was ready.
“He’s hungry, sir, I think,” she said as Dr. Briant walked over to the crib. “Though he took a lot
The baby moved his head, and she winced slightly as she looked at him. Those things strapped to his poor little scalp—they must hurt him, no matter what they said. But he didn’t wake, even though he was lying right on two of them, so maybe they were right. Electrodes, that’s what they were; she had seen them used on the baby in the next cot to Jenny in the hospital, just a few days before she had died.
Strange how she could think about Jenny now without feeling so sick. For a long time after she had died, she hadn’t been able to think about her at all, it had been so awful, but now she could. And in this last week, ever since she had started the job properly, it had got even easier. The baby had helped a lot.
She sat down in the chair at the head of the cot and very carefully slid her forefinger into the baby’s hand. His grasp tightened around it automatically, and she found herself smiling. Dear little thing he was, just like Jenny had been at his age.
She felt a sudden stab of guilt, comparing him with Jenny. No matter what they had said to her at the hospital, it had been her fault she had died. She should have known she was ill, got a doctor to see her earlier, not waited until the bronchitis had turned to pneumonia, so that none of their injections and treatment had been any good. But she had been so ashamed. They had advised her to have the baby adopted, told her she’d not be able to earn a living for them both, but she’d been willful and gone her own way.
And when Jenny had got ill, she had been willful again, told herself she could manage to get her better without having the doctor to see her. And she knew now the reason she hadn’t wanted the doctor, knew it was because she was afraid they’d take Jenny away from her because she wasn’t fit to look after her. So it was her fault Jenny had died. She would carry the knowledge of that all her life.
Yet who’d have thought I’d be given another chance like this?she thought. When she had decided to go after a job with children, the best she had hoped for was a mother’s-help place; she wasn’t trained as a nanny or anything like that. Yet she’d walked right into this marvelous chance, with no mother who would get jealous of her with the baby, only this bunch of doctors to deal with. It was like having a baby of her own again. It really went to show that God was good; when you’d paid for the things you did and you were really sorry, He gave you something good to make it up to you. And He knew she’d paid sorely for having Jenny, paid in her own shame at being caught by a married man at her age, paid in being the cause of her death.
The baby moved again, opened his eyes, and puckered his face as he pulled his hands up toward his mouth; and Isobel smiled again as he mouthed at his fingers. He really was a baby and a half, this one! He’d taken a full seven ounces at ten, and in just ten minutes on each breast too. Even Miss Hervey had remarked on it when she did the test weigh; seven days old, and taking so much already. And now he was curling his mouth and going for his fingers as though he could start all over again, not two hours later! Really, a baby and a half.
Her nipples tingled a little as she looked at him. She oughtn’t to want him to wake properly, but she did. And she couldn’t ring for them unless he was really awake. They’d told her, on no account was he to be allowed to cry for a feed, but that at the same time he wasn’t to be put to the breast unless he really wanted to. She’d soon develop a judgment about it, they’d said, and she was beginning to.
He moved again, and gladly she leaned over and pressed the bell on the wall beside the cot and got up to get the breast tray. By the time Dr. Briant and Miss Hervey came in she was ready.
“He’s hungry, sir, I think,” she said as Dr. Briant walked over to the crib. “Though he took a lot
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