From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Would you like to hold him?’ Matron asked.

  Pauline opened her mouth to say no, but what came out was, ‘Yes.’

  Matron placed the small bundle in her arms.

  He was a bit purple, but he wasn’t all wrinkled and squashed-looking like a little monkey, like some new babies Pauline had seen. He had lots of black hair and huge dark eyes and a lovely nose and the sweetest lips.

  And he looked just like Johnny.

  *

  Pauline said, ‘Well, you’ll just have to tell them I’ve changed my mind.’

  Something very unexpected had happened to her the moment she’d seen her baby. In an instant he’d gone from being something she’d thought she just couldn’t tolerate in her life, to the very essence of what she wanted most. He was a tiny Johnny, a little living, breathing reminder of everything she’d loved in her man, and although this baby would grow up to be someone else, Johnny would be in him. She wasn’t giving that away. She loved him already. She was going to be one of those selfish, irresponsible unwed mothers and bloody well keep him.

  ‘I don’t think you quite understand, Pauline,’ Mrs Nash said. ‘It’s too late. You’ve signed the adoption papers, and so have Mr and Mrs Webb. It’s all been arranged.’

  ‘Then I’ll unsign them. I’ve changed my mind. I’m keeping him.’ Pauline looked at Matron McCormack. ‘I can do that, can’t I?’

  Matron opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Nash butted in. ‘Pauline. Dear. The Webbs have gone to considerable expense preparing for the arrival of their new baby. In fact they’ve furnished an entire nursery, and it’s delightful too. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They’ve bought a bassinet, a cot — I know, already! — a lovely suite of white bedroom furniture, a pram, a highchair, and so many clothes and toys! Now, what do you have for the child?’

  ‘Nothing, but—’

  ‘That’s right. Also, Mrs Webb has recently resigned from her job specifically to raise their new baby, so that’s also a consideration, although Mr Webb, of course, is perfectly able to support the family on his income alone. How will you support yourself and the baby, Pauline?’

  Matron had another go. ‘Mrs Nash—’

  The social worker cut her off again. ‘Not to mention the terrible disappointment the Webbs will feel if they are to be deprived of this child. As I think you’ll recall being told, Pauline, if you withhold your baby, this will be the third time they miss out on an adoption.’

  Yackety yack yack, Pauline thought.

  ‘Mrs Nash!’ Matron nearly shouted. ‘If you will please allow me to speak.’

  Her mouth clamped shut, Mrs Nash finally looked at her.

  ‘Good. Thank you,’ Matron said. ‘Now, I know that Pauline has entered into a written agreement with the Webbs, but you and I both understand that those agreements are not legal documents. We also know it is recommended that girls who are considering giving up their babies be given at least some time after the birth to reflect on that option. Don’t we, Mrs Nash?’

  ‘Well, yes, we do know that. However, and forgive me for stating the obvious, Matron, isn’t it your organisation’s mission to help find homes for babies born to unwed mothers? Why are you apparently trying to prevent this adoption?’

  Eyeing her, Pauline didn’t think Mrs Nash gave a shit whether Matron forgave her or not.

  ‘I am not trying to prevent it,’ Matron said. ‘I am simply requesting that we follow the recommended procedure. If I allowed every baby born in this home to be rushed out to new parents within twelve hours of its birth, I would have to consider myself to be colluding in a practice no better than . . . than baby farming.’

  Mrs Nash looked aghast. ‘Baby farming! Are you accusing me of being a baby farmer?’

  ‘Of course not. And I agree that a child is much better off with two parents, even if those parents are adoptive, and that the unwed mother who gives up her baby is to be admired for her sense of responsibility. But, really, the baby in question was only born last night, and I really would prefer that we abide by the guidelines.’

  ‘When would you release the baby?’ Mrs Nash asked.

  ‘Perhaps you could come back at the end of the week?’ Matron suggested. ‘Baby would have had the benefit of the breast by then too.’

  Mrs Nash stood. ‘All right, then, Friday. I’ll be back then. Good day.’

  *

  ‘I heard breastfeeding was supposed to feel nice,’ Pauline said, making a pained face. ‘It doesn’t. It bloody well hurts.’

  ‘Are you doing it right?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘How should I know? How can it hurt? He hasn’t even got any teeth. Ow!’

  Sister Gordon appeared. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘It hurts when he tries to feed,’ Pauline said.

  ‘Try him on a bottle. He doesn’t need the breast. He’s going on Friday, isn’t he?’

  ‘Ah, fuck off, you old bat,’ Pauline muttered. She was getting sick and tired of people saying that.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘She said take off his hat,’ Bev said quickly, whipping off the baby’s little knitted cap, making him blink in surprise. ‘It is quite warm in here.’

  ‘Where’s Sister Atwood?’ Pauline asked. ‘She’s on today, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s busy,’ Sister Gordon said. ‘I’ll make up a bottle. We’ll try him on that.’

  When she’d gone, Pauline put the baby on her shoulder. ‘Nance, can you go and find Sister Atwood for me, please? She’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Have you thought of a name yet?’ Bev asked.

  ‘Daniel John.’

  ‘I like that. John after his dad?’

  Pauline nodded; of course John after his dad.

  Nancy returned with Sister Atwood in tow. ‘Is he not latching on properly?’ she asked. ‘That’s usually what causes painful feeding.’

  ‘Dunno, but my nips are killing me.’

  Sister Atwood took the baby. ‘Here, let me show you how to put him on. Oh, isn’t he sweet?’

  ‘His name’s Daniel John.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely. Two saints.’ Frances Atwood frowned. ‘Not that we worship saints in the Salvation Army. We admire them, though.’

  She settled Daniel in the crook of Pauline’s arm, then showed her how to place her breast against his chin so the nipple went fully into his mouth at the proper angle to allow him to suck efficiently.

  ‘God, that’s better!’ Pauline exclaimed. After a minute she blurted, ‘Daniel and I are leaving tomorrow, at lunchtime. We’re going home.’

  Bev and Nancy exchanged a nervous glance.

  Her gaze still on the baby, Frances said, ‘Are you?’

  ‘He’s mine and I’m keeping him,’ Pauline said. ‘I’m not waiting round till Friday for that Mrs Nash to come back.’

  Frances asked, ‘Will you be up to it? It’s only been twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I’ll be on the train most of the way. Not much effort involved in that. I just wanted to get the feeding sorted out before we go.’

  ‘It’ll take a bit of practice,’ Frances warned. ‘Especially when your milk comes in properly. How’s your bleeding?’

  ‘No worse than my monthlies. How long will that last?’

  ‘A week or so, then you’ll get dribs and drabs. How are the cramps?’

  ‘Fine,’ Pauline said. ‘It’s a secret, us leaving.’

  ‘I gathered that.’

  ‘Will you tell Matron?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you? You’re a Salvation Army nurse. Don’t you think I should give him up?’

  ‘I think you should do what you think is right, and I really don’t think someone else should be making that decision for you. It’s not right, putting pressure on girls to give up their babies if they don’t want to. That’s not doing God’s work, that’s—’ Frances stopped abruptly. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure how you’re going to sneak out of here with a suitcase and a baby.�
��

  ‘I won’t have to sneak. I’m not in prison. I can just walk out.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you,’ Frances said. ‘It’s my day off. Also, I don’t think Matron would be very happy with me.’

  ‘That’s OK, I didn’t expect you to help,’ Pauline said, and she didn’t.

  ‘How will you get to the train station?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’ll be a bus or something.’

  ‘Try him on the other breast now,’ Frances suggested. ‘Have you told your family you’re bringing a baby home?’

  ‘No,’ Pauline said. ‘Not yet.’

  *

  It was raining the following day. Pauline had an umbrella, but not a raincoat, and she could see out the window how the wind was whipping the trees and bushes in all directions. Her umbrella would be inside out in five minutes.

  She took her time with her morning chores, then chose a warm outfit for Daniel, and packed her suitcase before sliding it back under her bed.

  Just before lunch she went across to the nursery. Daniel was sleeping but woke when she picked him up out of his plain little crib, and cried until she got him settled again.

  ‘Where are you going with that child? It’s not feeding time.’

  It was Sister Walsh, who supervised the babies before they left the home.

  ‘I’ve just come for a cuddle. I’m allowed,’ Pauline said. ‘He’s going on Friday. Matron said I’m allowed to have time with him.’

  Sister Walsh said, ‘I’m not aware of that arrangement.’

  ‘Well, ask her.’ Pauline knew she probably wouldn’t — she’d be too busy.

  ‘Fifteen minutes, then. I don’t want his routine disrupted.’

  ‘I’ll just take him for a little walk in case he cries again.’

  Pauline took Daniel back to her room, dressed him quickly in several layers, wrapped him, then put on her outdoor shoes and shoved the last of her things in her suitcase while Bev and Nancy had final cuddles with Daniel.

  And then it was goodbye. They’d already swapped addresses so there wasn’t much left to say. They hugged, Pauline settled Daniel in her right arm and grabbed her suitcase with her left hand.

  ‘Thanks, girls. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Take care, keep in touch,’ Bev said.

  Nancy said, ‘We’ll miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, too. Good luck with your babies.’

  And then she was walking away, down the stairs, and out the front door, where the wind snatched at her hair and whipped rain into her face and stray leaves around her legs. She thought about her umbrella, but to open it she’d have to put everything, including Daniel, down, so she didn’t bother. Instead she held him against her front to protect him and headed down the driveway. By the time she reached the street her hair was stuck to her head and water was running down her face, but she kept going, peering up and down the road in the hope of seeing a bus or tram stop.

  A car horn tooted but she ignored it. Daniel was crying now, and her left arm felt as though it was made of lead from the weight of the suitcase and she’d only gone about a hundred yards.

  The car tooted again, then a little Morris Minor drove up beside her. The driver’s door opened and Frances Atwood jumped out. She ran round and took Pauline’s suitcase off her.

  ‘Honestly, you’re soaked!’ Frances scolded, opening the passenger door. ‘Hop in.’

  Pauline got in while Frances put the suitcase on the back seat, then started the car and drove off.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a car,’ Pauline said.

  ‘I don’t, it’s my boyfriend’s.’

  ‘Fancy you driving past just when I came out.’

  Frances rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for you since eleven o’clock. I’m taking you to the train station.’

  Pauline stared at her, then burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, look, I’m sorry, Pauline, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Frances said.

  Waving the apology away, Pauline checked her pockets for a handkerchief, but gave up and wiped her nose on the edge of Daniel’s blanket. ‘I’m not upset. It’s just . . . that’s really nice of you. Why is he crying?’

  ‘He probably didn’t like getting rained on. Put him on the breast. A fed baby is a happy baby.’

  Pauline did just that. David latched on straight away, which was a relief. By the time they pulled up outside the train station he’d fallen asleep. Frances held him while Pauline went to the booking counter and bought a ticket with the last of her money for the mainline express to Auckland, which was leaving shortly. A ticket on a ‘mixed’ train — that is, one that hauled freight as well as passengers — was cheaper, but the trip took longer because there were more stops, but Pauline thought bugger it. She’d just have to starve.

  She almost missed the train, though, because she was in the toilets changing her sanitary pad. She rushed out when she heard the boarding announcement over the tannoy, to find Frances standing by the train holding Daniel and looking like she was about to have a fit.

  ‘Hurry up!’ she called. ‘The doors are closing in a minute!’

  Pauline hurried over, feeling her post-baby belly wobble annoyingly, grabbed her suitcase and hurled it onto the train.

  A guardsman came trotting up. ‘Hang on, that can’t go on there. It has to go in the baggage van.’

  ‘Stiff cheese,’ Pauline said. She took Daniel from Frances, kissed her cheek and stepped onto the train. ‘Thanks for everything. You’ve been fantastic.’

  ‘I’m glad to have helped. You look after yourself and Daniel,’ Frances said. ‘Oh, and I’ve popped a few things in your case, for the trip home.’

  A whistle blew, flags waved and the train doors closed. Pauline watched through the window as the platform receded and then Frances was gone, and then it was just her and her baby, on their way home to Auckland.

  *

  Pauline realised she was probably going to arrive back in Auckland at roughly the same time of day she’d got to Wellington, which had been very early morning. What time did the buses start running, she wondered, because she definitely didn’t have enough money for a taxi from the train station to Orakei. She could scratch together enough to ring her mother from a call box, now that she’d joined the twentieth century and had the phone put on, but what would be the point? Her parents didn’t own a car. And to ask Sonny and Allie to pick her up would be thoughtless, when they were so desperate for their own baby. She’d rather break the news to them more gently than that. Oh well, she’d worry about getting home when the time came.

  And then it occurred to her: She couldn’t be so casual about her arrangements any more — she had Daniel to think about now. It wouldn’t do to sit around in a bus shelter for two hours until the buses started running, and neither could she wander the streets before dawn waiting for the trams. Daniel needed to be indoors, safe and warm. The responsibility of him made her mouth go dry and her heart thump, but that didn’t help with the problem of getting home. It just made it worse.

  Once again she’d managed to get a seat by herself, possibly, she thought, because no one wanted to sit next to someone with a baby. A week ago she wouldn’t have, either. But he wasn’t crying; he was still fast asleep. She loosened his wrap and felt his nappy beneath his knitted pants. Still dry. Good, though she didn’t know how long that would last, or where she’d change him when the time came. She didn’t fancy doing it in the train toilet. Yuck. And where was she going to put his dirty things? She hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps she’d empty her duffle bag and shove everything in there.

  Actually, looking at it, there were quite a few things she hadn’t thought about. For example, she’d only brought three sanitary pads with her, and she’d already used one. It would be incredibly embarrassing, but at this rate she might arrive in Auckland smelling like a fishmonger’s at the end of a long, hot day. Also, she’d have to take Daniel with her when she went to the loo, and she really didn’t want him som
ewhere so germy, not to mention leaving her suitcase unattended. What if someone pinched it? Mind you they couldn’t go far, could they? And there was also the matter of having run out money. She knew she’d be dying for at least a cup of tea at some stage. Frances said she needed to drink lots to help her milk come in, and she couldn’t if she was skint. But then she couldn’t get off the train at the refreshment stops with Daniel anyway, could she? They’d be killed in the crush. God.

  By the time the train had passed through Paraparaumu she was bored, so she opened her suitcase to see what Frances had put in there for her, and what she found nearly made her cry again.

  There were some home-made corned-beef sandwiches, a packet of barley sugars, a slightly squashed bunch of grapes, a packet of sanitary pads, four new nappies, a small box of tissues, four empty folded paper bags, several New Zealand Woman’s Weeklys, and an envelope containing a five-pound note.

  Saint Frances, Pauline thought, smiling to herself. Saint Frances of Bethany.

  When the train stopped at Waikanae, a girl got on and asked if she could take the seat next to Pauline. She was Chinese, and slender with very long, straight hair.

  Pauline could see there were no other seats, so she moved her suitcase to the floor and put her feet up on it.

  ‘That’s a very sweet baby,’ the girl said. ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’

  ‘A boy.’

  ‘He looks brand new.’

  ‘He is. He’s just over two days old.’

  ‘That is new. I’m Lee Bao. Bao’s my first name.’

  ‘I’m Pauline Roberts. This is Daniel.’

  ‘Hello, Pauline.

  ‘Hi, Bao. Is that spelt B-o-w?’

  ‘No, B-a-o. It’s my great-great-grandmother’s name. She was a pirate.’

  ‘True?’ Pauline was impressed. ‘I don’t know what my great-great-grandmother was. Hungry, probably, from the potato famine. Are you from China?

  ‘No, I’m a New Zealander. I was born here. My people came here to Lawrence in the gold rush. Some stayed and some moved on. I was living in Wellington but I’ve been visiting family in Waikanae, and now I’m off to live with family in Auckland. Where are you from?’