The Pull of the Stars(56)

The cord delivered its last blood and was still now. I laid the tiny girl facedown on her mother’s softened belly so I’d have my hands free. Mary O’Rahilly’s fingers crept down to touch the sticky skin.

I tied ligatures around the cord in two places, then scissored through it. I wrapped the baby in a clean cloth and gave her to Bridie to hold.

The redhead was flushed, exuberant. Oh, but that was something, Julia.

Mary O’Rahilly begged: Show me?

Bridie held the girl low enough for Mary O’Rahilly to get a good look.

Before the mother could ask, I said, They come out with slightly pointy skulls if they’ve had a long journey, but it rounds out in a few days.

Mary O’Rahilly nodded blissfully. She had a splash of red in her left eye where she’d burst a blood vessel by pushing, I saw now.

Honor White spoke up in an asthmatic voice from the bed on the left: The one that gives most trouble, the mother loves double.

I stared.

She added, ’Tis a saying.

Maybe from her part of the country; I’d never heard it. I thought of the trouble, in several senses, that Honor White’s first baby must have brought her, and all the further trouble ahead of her.

Mary O’Rahilly stroked the top of her newborn’s rounded-cone head. The delicately coiled ear. So small!

Oh, she’s just brand-new, I told her.

I had no scales down here, but the infant looked a good size to me.

Five minutes later the placenta slid out of Mary O’Rahilly on its own, whole and healthy-looking. No bleeding, even. And after all this first-timer had been through, she was barely torn; I disinfected the short rip, but it was nothing that couldn’t heal itself. Her pulse was safely down in the low eighties now.

I put the baby in the crib and sent Bridie for another of those chilled moss packets. Oh, and have them tell Dr. MacAuliffe that Mrs. O’Rahilly’s delivered on her own, I said with satisfaction.

I got her sitting propped up in Fowler’s position to let all her fluids trickle out and fastened her into an abdominal binder as well a nursing one for the breasts, with flaps of gauze over her great brown nipples. I put her in a fresh nightdress and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

Honor White was coughing hard, the sound of a hammer on sheet metal. I dosed her with ipecac and more hot lemonade.

Mrs. Garrett? Anything you need?

But Delia Garrett had turned her face to the wall. A living baby, that was what she needed.

I went back to the O’Rahilly child and cleaned her face and the inside of her mouth with a sterile cloth. I put two drops of silver nitrate into each eye. No sign of fever, runny nose, congestion, or lethargy; it seemed she’d slipped free of her mother without picking up her flu. With Bridie’s help I gave the infant her first bath in the sink—I took off that cheesy coating with olive oil and a flannel, lathered on soap with a soft sponge, dipped her in warm water, then dried her with dabs from a soft towel.

Bridie gestured at the tied stump. Aren’t you going to take this thingy off?

No, in a few days it’ll dry up and drop off by itself.

I powdered and bandaged it before drawing on the minute binder that would support the baby from hips to ribs. I pinned on a nappy, then added an adjustable shirt, petticoat, and warm dress as well as knitted socks.

I went back to the mother. Now, Mrs. O’Rahilly, you deserve a nice long sleep.

The young mother struggled higher in the bed. Can I see her again first?

I held the baby close enough for her to examine every feature.

Mary O’Rahilly reached out to seize the bundle from my hands.

In ordinary times, we might isolate a newborn from a sick mother and send it straight up to the nursery, but I had to assume they were short-staffed up there, and bottle-fed babies generally didn’t thrive as well as those nursed by their mothers. All in all, I thought this one would do best if she roomed in, even in a chockablock fever ward. All right, I said, but be careful not to cough or sneeze on her.

I won’t, I swear.

I waited to be sure the young mother had a safe hold on the girl. She did seem to know what she was doing by instinct.

I asked, Mr. O’Rahilly will be delighted, won’t he?

A tear sparkled down and hung on the young woman’s jaw, and I wished I hadn’t mentioned the husband. Had he wanted a boy, was that it?

The baby let out a faint plaint.

Would you like to try putting her to the didi right away?

Mary O’Rahilly plucked at her laces.

I helped her undo her nightdress. I lifted the gauze lid over one huge nipple. Tickle her upper lip with it.

The young woman was abashed. Really?

Delia Garrett said, That’s what makes them open their mouths.

She was up on one elbow, watching with an indecipherable expression.

Like this? Mary O’Rahilly looked past me at her neighbour.

Delia Garrett nodded. And the second she opens wide, mash her on.

When the moment came, Mary O’Rahilly pressed the small face to her breast, and I added more force with my cupped hand, saying, That’s it, good and firm.

The young mother gasped.

Delia Garrett asked, Does it hurt? It can, the first weeks.

No, it’s just…

Mary O’Rahilly was at a loss for words.

I’d never felt a baby latch on, myself, could only guess what that lock of gums felt like. A tired but urgent working, the rooting of a worm in the dark ground?