Shelter From the Storm

by Ellie Dean

  Cordelia gave a tremulous sigh. ‘Have you seen her, Fran?’

  ‘I popped into the neonatal unit after seeing April, which is why I’m a bit later than usual coming home. She’s very small, and terrifyingly fragile, but she’s clinging to life still. The sister in charge said that the next forty-eight hours were crucial, and if she passed that milestone her chances of survival should improve every day.’

  ‘Should?’ asked Peggy sharply.

  Fran placed her hand over Peggy’s. ‘There’s no guarantee with such premature babies, I’m afraid,’ she said softly. ‘Their lungs aren’t fully formed, there’s a risk of infection and myriad other things that can crop up unexpectedly. All any of us can do is hope.’

  ‘Poor wee mite,’ muttered Ron. ‘April should be with her. It’s not right she should be in the care of strangers, however kind, at such a time.’

  Fran smiled. ‘She’s not alone, Ron. Stan’s discharged himself and is sitting beside her incubator in his outdoor clothes and slippers, willing her to pull through.’ She blinked away her tears. ‘He hasn’t shaved or combed his hair, and is clearly not too well himself – but I’ve never seen such love in a man, Ron. It was emanating from him like a glowing aura.’

  Cordelia mopped her eyes. ‘He always was ruled by his heart and not his head,’ she said gruffly. ‘It’s all very well getting over-sentimental, but if that baby survives it will be adopted, and he’ll never see it again. How’s he going to feel then?’

  Peggy swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Surely it’s better that Stan and April should love her for the short while she’ll be with them? I can’t bear the thought she might die without hearing her mother’s voice or feeling the touch of her hand. It would be too cruel.’

  ‘If April comes to love the baby and it survives it would be far crueller,’ said Cordelia. ‘A mother’s love is the most powerful thing in the world, and she’ll find it impossible to give her away.’ She shook her head as fresh tears threatened. ‘Oh dear, poor little April. What a terrible, terrible dilemma.’

  ‘Whatever happens, April’s going to need our love and support more than ever now,’ said Peggy firmly. She looked across at Fran. ‘Will we be able to visit her later today?’

  ‘Only if the doctor agrees, but as she’s in the special ward, there’ll be a restriction on the number of visitors – probably one, maybe two at the most – and only for a matter of minutes. She’s still very weak, and the drugs they’re giving her to ease the pain and fight infection are making her sleepy.’

  ‘Then I’ll go this afternoon, and sit outside the ward if necessary until someone lets me see her,’ said Peggy. ‘Ron, you’ll have to take Daisy with you to the station – talking of which, shouldn’t you be on your way there now for the next train?’

  Ron glanced sharply at the clock, grabbed his coat and cap and whistled to Harvey. ‘To be sure, it’s not easy running that place single-handedly when I have so many other things to do,’ he grumbled. ‘But if you get to see April, tell her I wish her well.’

  April opened her eyes and blearily surveyed her surroundings. The blinds had been pulled down over the windows, the overhead lights were dim and the nurses moved from bed to bed with only the rustle of their starched aprons and the soft pad of their rubber-soled shoes marking their passage. Voices were murmurs against the steady rhythm of the machines that were keeping some of the patients alive, and although the atmosphere was sombre, there was a sense of quiet efficiency and optimism which in any other circumstance might have comforted her.

  The ready tears blinded her, and she didn’t have the strength to brush them away as they ran down her face and soaked the bandages. Every part of her yearned for her baby who was just down the corridor fighting for her life – and it was such a powerful need that it overrode the pain that was beginning to emerge from the haze of medication. She had to see her, to be with her – and perhaps even hold her – for surely the touch and sound and smell of her mother would imbue her with the strength she needed to survive.

  April shifted on the pillows and winced as that slight movement sent a stab of pain through her stomach. She lay still for a moment, her hand resting on the bandages that encased her from midriff to thigh beneath the hospital gown, waiting until she felt strong enough to defy that pain and get out of bed.

  When she felt ready, she concentrated on her breathing and kept an eye on the nurses in case one of them should spot what she was doing, and then surreptitiously drew back the sheet and thin blanket. The room spun as she lifted her head, and she gasped in agony as she tried to swing her legs to the side of the bed. Panting from the effort and desperately trying to stop the room from spinning, she inched her bottom towards the edge.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, Miss Wilton?’ Firm hands grasped her upper arms, stopping her from going any further.

  ‘Baby,’ she panted. ‘I have to see my baby.’ But even she could hear that her words were unintelligible through the wiring in her jaw. She lashed out with her hand, ignored the agony that tore through her and pushed forward. ‘Baby,’ she persisted. ‘See baby.’

  ‘I can guess what you’re trying to say,’ said the nurse, ‘but you simply aren’t well enough. You have to have complete bed rest for at least two weeks. The doctor said so.’

  April swiped at her again, and pressed against the restraining hands. She had to make the woman see that she would not be denied.

  ‘Please, Miss Wilton, don’t fight me,’ pleaded the nurse. ‘I will get into the most fearful trouble if Doctor or Matron comes in.’

  April was in agony, the sweat soaking her bandages as pain roared in her head and sent daggers of fire through her belly and into her ribs. ‘No,’ she keened. ‘No.’

  The nurse relaxed her grip on her arms and looked into her face, her expression concerned. ‘Miss Wilton, April,’ she said softly. ‘You simply aren’t well enough, and if you persist in doing this, you’ll undo all the good the doctor has done for you.’

  Tears mingled with the sweat as April looked back at her and realised just how weak and wracked with pain she was. ‘But I have to see her,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t want her to die alone.’

  The nurse guessed what April was trying to say. ‘She’s not alone, dear. Your uncle has been with her since first light and there’s a whole team of specially trained nurses and doctors looking after her.’

  April stared at her through the fog of distress, giddiness and pain, and tried to absorb what she was telling her. ‘I should be there too,’ she managed, gripping the older woman’s hand. ‘Please, please let me go to her.’

  The nurse regarded her solemnly for a long moment and then gave a deep sigh. ‘I suppose you’ll only try again when my back’s turned, won’t you?’

  April managed the slightest of nods.

  ‘In that case, will you let me get you back into bed properly, and promise me you’ll stay there while I go and have a word with Sister?’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed, the hope rising and making her pulse race.

  ‘I can’t promise anything,’ the woman warned, ‘but I’ll do my best.’ She eased April back into the centre of the bed, pulled up the sheet and blanket and bustled off with a crackling of starched apron.

  April was exhausted, but she watched the woman’s every move as she spoke to the sister in charge of the ward. Was this simply a ruse to keep her imprisoned in this bed? Her fingers sought the hem of the blanket, ready to try again should this prove to be the case.

  However, as she watched, the nurse nodded and turned towards her, striding down the hushed ward with what looked like a sense of purpose. April’s fingers tightened on the blanket.

  ‘Sister hasn’t dismissed the idea entirely,’ said the nurse, ‘but the decision isn’t really hers to make. That’s up to Matron and your doctor.’

  April’s spirits plummeted as she gripped the blanket. It was highly unlikely she’d get permission, so the only option open to her was to try again and just hope she’d find the
strength to make it out of here.

  ‘I can see what you’re plotting,’ said the nurse with a wry smile, ‘which is why I’m going to wait with you until Sister gets back.’ With that she folded her apron neatly over her lap and sat down on the nearby chair.

  April closed her eyes, the tears seeping from between her lashes. She had to see her baby, had to be with her for her final hours and get the hospital padre to christen her. If she didn’t get permission, then she’d find another way to be with her. And then she remembered that her Uncle Stan was already with her, just down the corridor.

  ‘Uncle Stan. I want to see him,’ she said determinedly.

  ‘What’s that, dear?’

  April tamped down on her impatience. ‘Uncle Stan. See him,’ she said as clearly as she could through her wired jaw.

  ‘I promise I’ll see if he’s still here once Matron arrives,’ the nurse said. ‘I’m not risking you trying to escape again.’

  That promise was enough to lift away some of her anxiety, and although she was exhausted and it was all too tempting to give in to the need to sleep, she concentrated hard on the doors to the ward, determined to have her say and get her own way.

  The doors finally swung open and Matron appeared. Her gimlet glare swept the ward, the nurse beside April hastily stood to attention and all the others found something important to do so they didn’t meet her gaze.

  April watched as she strode down the ward like a galleon, her starched cap billowing like a sail, her apron as rigid as her features. She was a formidable figure, and if April hadn’t been so determined to have her way, she might have been instantly cowed.

  ‘What’s all this nonsense about getting out of bed?’ the woman snapped.

  ‘Baby,’ April retorted. ‘I want to be with my baby.’

  ‘I hardly think that’s appropriate in the circumstances,’ Matron replied. ‘Your child might not live, but if it does, I understand it will be adopted. It would be very foolish to get involved with her, Miss Wilton, and remiss of me in my duty if I permitted it.’

  ‘She’s my baby and I want to see her. And if you don’t let me, I’ll do it anyway.’ The words might not have been intelligible, but the force of their meaning was perfectly clear.

  Matron glared at her, clearly not accustomed to patients answering back. ‘It seems wilfulness runs in your family, Miss Wilton. I have had similar dealings with your uncle only this morning.’

  ‘Are you taking my name in vain, Matron?’ boomed Stan as he loomed up behind her with a frantic little nurse in tow.

  ‘You are not allowed in here,’ she snapped. ‘Nurse, remove him immediately.’

  He easily warded off the little nurse’s attempts to shift him by standing as steady and immovable as a rock. ‘I heard April was awake and asking to see her little one, so I’ve come to collect her,’ he said, wrestling the wheelchair from the flustered little nurse and pushing it up to the bed. ‘Your carriage awaits,’ he said, winking at April. ‘I nicked it from down the hall.’

  ‘If you move her you could be responsible for setting her recovery back days if not weeks,’ said Matron. ‘I forbid you to go anywhere near her, and insist you return that chair to where you found it.’

  Stan looked down at her and his grim expression softened into a beaming smile as he continued to take charge of the wheelchair and ward off the nurse’s feeble attempts to shift him. ‘Matron, we’ve known each other for years through the Rose Growers’ Association, and I know that under all that starch beats a kind, caring heart.’

  He raised his hand to halt what she was about to say, and carried on. ‘April will not recover as long as she’s fretting over her baby – and her baby needs her to help her fight for life. By bringing them together, they will both be strengthened by the bond that binds mother and child.’

  ‘And if, as expected, the baby dies?’

  ‘Then at least April would have had a chance to be with her. And although her passing will break her heart, the pain will not be as great as it would if she’d been forced to abandon her.’

  April gazed at Stan with gratitude and love. She couldn’t have put it any better.

  Matron cleared her throat and folded her hands at her waist. ‘You put forward a strong argument, Stanley Dawkins,’ she said. ‘And although it is against my better judgement, you may take April to see her baby.’

  She held up her hand as Stan eagerly pushed the wheelchair forward. ‘But,’ she said forcefully. ‘You will stay for fifteen minutes only and then bring her back.’

  April could have kissed the old trout, but knew it wouldn’t be at all the thing to do, so she gingerly reached out her arms to Stan and hugged him as best she could.

  Matron turned to the little nurse who was all but hidden behind Stan’s bulk. ‘Nurse Logan, stop dithering there and help Sister Black and Nurse Dunn prepare Miss Wilton.’ She turned a beady eye on Stan. ‘You wait outside the ward until we’re ready.’

  Stan nodded and lumbered off in his carpet slippers.

  Afraid that Matron might change her mind, April didn’t dare make a sound or show any sign that she was in a great deal of pain as the nurses helped her into a hospital dressing gown, and then eased her towards the side of the bed. With Matron orchestrating their every move, the two nurses lifted her between them and carefully lowered her into the chair, before Sister tucked a blanket over her knees, slid her feet into slippers, and checked that the drip needle hadn’t come loose from the back of her hand.

  Her heart was thudding; thunder seemed to fill her head and lightning strikes shot through her torso, but she managed to stifle her cries through sheer determination and the knowledge that she would soon see her baby.

  Matron handed her a glass of water and two pills. ‘Take these,’ she ordered. ‘I know you’re in pain.’

  April hesitated, not wanting to take anything that would knock her out.

  ‘They’re only aspirin,’ said Matron. ‘You can have the rest of your medication when you return to the ward.’

  Once April had meekly taken the pills, Matron swept back the curtain, grasped the wheelchair’s handles and pushed it down the length of the ward and through the swing doors to where Stan was anxiously waiting. ‘You have precisely fifteen minutes,’ she reminded him. ‘I shall be timing you.’

  Stan pushed the chair down the long corridor. ‘It’s no wonder Ron did a runner,’ he said. ‘That woman’s a menace. But at least we got our way in the end.’

  They came to the special baby ward and he drew to a halt and leaned over April. ‘Your baby’s beautiful, April. I’m so glad you’re getting a chance to see her.’

  April took his hand. ‘Thank you, Uncle Stan. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘Don’t try and talk, my dear, I can see how painful it is.’ He quickly cleared his throat and carefully pushed the wheelchair through the swing doors into another hushed room where the light was diffused by thick shades to protect the babies’ eyes.

  April saw the surprise on the nurses’ faces, but her whole being was centred on the small mound beneath the pink blanket in the incubator. As Stan pushed the chair close to it, she leaned forward and touched the glass in wonder.

  Her baby was beautiful, with tiny fingers and toes, a button nose, rosebud mouth and surprisingly thick dark hair. Her skin was wrinkled as if she’d been in a bath for too long, and it hung loosely from her delicate bones – but it was the colour of golden honey, as if she’d been out in the sunshine.

  A flood of love swept through her, so powerful she wondered that her baby couldn’t feel it through the glass. Gazing in awe, she smiled as that darling little face screwed up and she squirmed and waved her tiny arms and legs about. She was so fragile, so small she would have almost fitted in the palm of her hand, and April felt a fierce and overwhelming desire to gather her to her heart and protect her for ever.

  ‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’ murmured Stan. ‘Quite stolen my heart, she has.’

  April couldn’t
tear her gaze from her baby, but she reached out and caught hold of his hand. ‘And mine,’ she managed. ‘She has to live,’ she breathed, ‘just has to.’

  ‘Your love will help her grow strong, April,’ he said gruffly. ‘Talk to her if you can, and let her know you’re here.’

  ‘Hello, precious little girl,’ she murmured, as clearly as she could through the wiring in her jaw. ‘Mummy’s here now, and she loves you very much.’

  A nurse approached the incubator and took note of the temperature and level of oxygen before she opened the glass panel on the side and measured the baby’s pulse.

  ‘Can I touch her?’ asked April.

  The nurse nodded and Stan pushed the chair to the other side of the bed so April could reach into the incubator.

  April’s hand almost dwarfed the baby, but as she softly stroked the little fist it opened and the tiny hand curled around April’s finger as if to let her know she was aware of her and put her trust in her.

  Tears rolled down April’s face and as she sat there joined once again to her daughter, the agonising flare of pain through her body was lost in the tumult of a much stronger sensation – the indestructible force that is a mother’s love.

  32

  ‘I don’t know what you was thinkin’ of, Stanley Dawkins,’ stormed Ethel as she plonked herself down beside his bed that afternoon. ‘Discharging yerself and causing trouble with Matron – and then making things worse by traipsing all over this place with April.’

  Stan had already explained why he’d done it, but it seemed Ethel was in such umbrage she wasn’t actually listening to him. He realised it was only because she cared, but he was too tired to talk any more, so he just let her rabbit on while he dozed against the pillows.

  He’d been rather fortunate that Matron had taken one look at him when he’d returned April to her ward, and ordered him to get into the wheelchair. He hadn’t argued then either, for he was an emotional and physical wreck, and wouldn’t have managed to get any further than the corridor on his own. He’d been whisked back to his old ward, swiftly undressed and tucked into bed, where he’d fallen into a deep sleep for almost four hours. It had only been the sound of the visiting bell that had stirred him, and Ethel’s furious voice that had fully wakened him.