Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [14]
On the fourth day she was much the same until the evening, when she suddenly said she was very hot. By the following morning Beth had to run round and get Dr Gillespie because she was feverish.
The doctor said women often became that way on the fourth or fifth day after confinement, and recommended Beth make her drink lots of fluids and keep her warm. But Alice grew worse and worse, so feverish she hardly knew who she was. A nasty smell was coming from her, and she was racked by terrible pain in her stomach that even the medicine the doctor had given her didn’t stop.
Mrs Craven called it childbed fever, but Dr Gillespie had a much more fancy name for it. He came in twice a day, irrigating Mama’s womb with some kind of antiseptic solution and then packing it with gauze.
They carried on putting Molly to her breasts, even though Alice couldn’t hold her, but this morning Mrs Craven had brought in a glass bottle with a rubber teat. She didn’t have to explain why; it was evident that Alice’s health was so poor that she couldn’t produce enough milk.
Molly took to the bottle with gusto and Beth got a great deal of comfort too from sitting in the comfortable chair by the stove nursing her. She loved the way Molly’s eyes opened very wide as she began to feed; they looked like two dark blue marbles, and she waved her tiny hands as if that helped her to get the milk down faster. But as she reached the end of the bottle, her eyes would droop and her hands would sink to her sides.
Often Beth would sit for an hour or more holding Molly up by her shoulder, rubbing her back the way Mrs Craven had advised to get her wind up. She loved the smell and the feel of her, the little sighs of contentment and everything about her. Even when she’d finally changed her napkin, swaddled her in a blanket so just her little head was visible and tucked her back into the cradle, she would stand and watch her sleeping, marvelling at the miracle of new life.
Yet the joy was marred by her mother’s poor health. Neither Dr Gillespie nor Mrs Craven had even hinted that Alice wasn’t going to recover, but however hard Beth tried to be optimistic, she could sense death approaching in the next room.
Their goodhearted, competent neighbour was popping in every two or three hours now, and Beth knew by the increase in bloodstained sheets, the foul smell, the way Mrs Craven kept piling more coal on the bedroom fire and the tightness of her expression that it was only a matter of time.
Beth didn’t tell Sam of her fears, for she knew he was worried about money. Mr Hooley at the hosiery shop had taken a dim view of Beth wanting time off at his busiest period, and there was no question of him holding her job open until she could return. On top of that Sam was freezing in the shipping office and he said that it was hard to write neatly when his fingers were numb with cold. The thought of another two or three months of winter in such an icy workplace filled him with dread. Beth reasoned that if she told him that their mother was likely to die and he’d single-handedly have to support Beth and Molly, he might just be tempted to take to his heels and run off.
However, on Sunday evening, when Sam had been home all day observing the frantic activity, Beth could see by his anxious expression that he had finally realized how serious things were.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked Beth reproachfully as she sat cuddling Molly.
‘You had enough to worry about,’ she said truthfully. ‘Besides, I hoped she might improve.’
The little bell Beth had put by their mother’s bedside so she could call if she needed anything, tinkled. Beth got up and went into the bedroom with Molly still in her arms.
It was very hot and stuffy, and the unpleasant smell had become even stronger.
‘A drink, Mama?’ Beth asked