A Girl Can Dream Read Free

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. 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