The Ribbon Weaver Read Free Page B

he who had found the cottage she was living in now shortly after the birth of their third daughter, and they had moved here and lived happily ever since until his premature death.
    ‘Please, God, don’t let this little one go the same way as my babies,’ Molly prayed silently as she stared down at the tiny form, and she went on praying as Bessie began to rub and coax life into the tiny infant. Once the water was ready, Bessie washed the little body inch by inch, forever rubbing and moving the little limbs to bring her back to life. But her efforts appeared to be all in vain, for the child remained motionless.
    Molly’s heart ached as she looked on helplessly. ‘It’s no good, Bessie.’ Her voice was loaded with sadness as she reached out to still her neighbour’s arm. Slowly, Bessie sat back on her heels to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
    They gazed on the infant in silence for some moments, each lost in their own thoughts, until Bessie suddenly gasped and reached out to clutch Molly’s arm.
    ‘I’m sure I saw her fingers move just then … Yes, yes, I did. Look, she’s alive!’
    Without waiting for encouragement, Bessie immediately renewed her efforts, rubbing and moving the little limbs methodically. Suddenly the baby’s eyes flew open and a thin wail pierced the air. Both women whooped with delight and by the time Molly had bent to lift the child into her arms, her lusty cries were echoing from the rafters.
    ‘By God, Bessie, it’s a miracle. Nothin’ short of a miracle.’ Molly laughed through her tears as Bessie looked on, beaming in agreement.
    ‘Aye, it is that, but I reckon the next thing we need to do is feed the little mite. By, them cries are enough to waken the dead.’
    Hastily she stood and dropped into the comfortable old rocking chair that stood at the side of the fire. Then, after fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, she pushed aside her warm woollen undershirt and bared her swollen breast.
    ‘Here, give her to me,’ she ordered, and within seconds the baby’s cries stopped as if by magic as she fastened on to Bessie’s nipple. As she sucked greedily, Bessie and Molly grinned at each other.
    Bessie’s own two-month-old baby, Beatrice, was tucked up in her crib fast asleep in Bessie’s cottage, her little stomach full of her mother’s milk. But it was obvious from the hungry slurping of this child that there was more than enough in Bessie’s generous breasts to satisfy her too. After what seemed an age she gave a big hiccup of contentment and her lashes fluttered down on to her cheeks as she fell fast asleep in Bessie’s arms.
    ‘That’s done the trick,’ Bessie grinned. ‘Now I’d best get round home and sort out some of our Beatrice’s clothes fer her to use till yer decide what you’re going to do wi’ her.’ As she spoke, she laid the baby in the corner of the old settee against a cushion.
    ‘Right, Molly, now you sort out a nice deep drawer fer her to sleep in. Line it wi’ a shawl or sommat nice an’ soft, an’ I’ll be back in a minute.’ And then she was gone, leaving Molly to do as she was told. After that she planned to soak the baby’s wrappings in a bucket and then wash them through the next day, so they were as good as new. For they, too, belonged to the babe, since they had come from her mother.
    Almost an hour later the two women sat tired but contented, in front of the fire, each gazing down on the baby as she slept soundly in one of Molly’s deep dresser drawers.
    ‘She’s got the face of a little angel,’ Bessie commented.
    Molly nodded. ‘Just as her mother had.’
    They sat in companionable silence for some minutes until Bessie asked, ‘Is there anythin’ else in the bag, Molly?’
    Drawing it on to her lap, Molly delved into its depths.
    ‘I don’t think so,’ she mumbled, but then her fingers closed around something tucked deep in a corner. ‘Hold on, there is somethin’ in here.’
    As she withdrew a