‘Oh. Did I… did I say silly things before?’
‘No sillier than hundreds of women. Don’t worry, dear, I didn’t take any notice. Now, have a proper look at your baby.’
Amy tried to drag herself up into a sitting position, but as soon as she moved pain stabbed through her, making her cry out.
‘You’re a bit tender, aren’t you? Take it slowly. You just lie still and I’ll move the pillows.’ Mrs Coulson held the baby in one arm while she adjusted the pillows behind Amy’s back till she was half-upright. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be sore for a while. This great big boy of yours was in a hurry to get into the world, and he didn’t mind tearing you in the process. But I’ve stitched you up nice and neat, and you’ll heal up given time. There you are,’ she said, patting the pillows. ‘You want to have a little cuddle with your baby now, don’t you?’
Amy looked at the creature in Mrs Coulson’s arms. It had come from her body, and yet it seemed to have nothing to do with her. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Don’t be frightened, you won’t hurt him. Babies aren’t as delicate as they look. Come on,’ she encouraged. She laid the baby on Amy’s chest and curled Amy’s left arm behind his head. ‘That’s the way. Isn’t that nice?’
Amy said nothing. She lay quietly and looked at the baby, wondering how long Mrs Coulson would expect her to hold him. I don’t want you. She felt nothing but weariness and resignation.
After a minute or two Mrs Coulson lifted the baby and placed him in a cradle close to the bed. ‘He’ll go off to sleep in a minute. He’s a fine boy all right.’
‘Why is he so ugly?’
‘Well, most newborns aren’t very pretty, darling, except to their mothers. But it’s worse with such a big baby. His head’s been all pushed out of shape on his way out. Don’t worry, he’ll look nice soon.’
‘A boy. My husband will be pleased. He wanted a son.’
‘Most men do, especially the first time.’ Mrs Coulson sat on the bed and slipped an arm around Amy’s shoulders. ‘You wanted a girl, didn’t you, dear?’
‘No. I was scared I might have a girl—he would’ve been angry with me if I had.’
‘Of course he wouldn’t have been! Disappointed, maybe, but it’s nothing to be annoyed over.’
‘Yes, he would. He would’ve been really angry.’
‘Does he often get angry with you? Got a bit of a temper, has he?’ Mrs Coulson probed.
‘Only when I annoy him.’ Amy tried to smile. ‘The trouble is, I seem to do it such a lot.’ She wondered for a moment why she was talking so freely to a stranger; but Mrs Coulson did not seem like a stranger now, and she was so easy to talk to.
‘Well, I find that hard to believe—a sweet little thing like you. Goodness me, some men don’t know how fortunate they are.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s a boy, and Charlie’ll be pleased with me. That’s all that matters.’
‘You and the little fellow are both safe and well, and that’s all that matters,’ Mrs Coulson retorted. She gave Amy a gentle squeeze. ‘You know what, dear? With all those stitches—and you lost a fair amount of blood when the little fellow was coming, too—I think I should keep you here with me for three weeks instead of two. It’ll give you a bit more time to heal up and get stronger before you have to go home and manage by yourself. Would you like that?’
‘I’d like to stay—if I won’t be a nuisance?’
‘Of course you won’t! You’ll be good company for me. And I’ve got Nellie to help with the work—now, why’s that girl taking so long with the tea?’ She bustled off to hurry along the tardy Nellie.
*
Amy slept late the next morning. It was after nine o’clock before Mrs Coulson brought in her breakfast on a tray. When Amy had had a leisurely meal and dozed a little more, Mrs Coulson sat her up against the pillows and fussed over her. Amy closed her eyes and savoured the pleasure of being treated like a much-loved child as the nurse washed her face and hands.
‘I’ll give your hair a good brush, you’ll want to look nice when your husband comes. Such pretty hair,’ Mrs Coulson exclaimed. ‘So thick and wavy. I’m afraid your son won’t take after you in that.’
Amy looked down at the cradle, where the baby lay sleeping. ‘He looks much better today, like a real person. Do you think he looks like Charlie?’
‘Mmm? Yes, I suppose he does. Yes, he’ll look just like his Papa.’
‘I hope so. Charlie would like that.’
Charlie arrived earlier than Amy would have thought possible; she knew he must have rushed through his milking and factory visit. Mrs Coulson had barely finished putting her own pretty mauve bed jacket around Amy’s shoulders when there was a loud knocking at the front door and she hurried off to answer it.
‘Come in, Mr Stewart,’ Amy heard her say.
‘What’s happened? Is it all over? Is everything all right?’ That was Charlie’s voice.
‘They’re both doing very well. Come along, see for yourself.’
Charlie all but pushed his way past Mrs Coulson when they reached the bedroom door. Amy could see from his face that he must have hardly slept all night. He looked drawn and anxious, and she could not help but feel sorry for him.
‘Come and see, Charlie.’ She indicated the cradle, invisible from where Charlie stood just inside the doorway. ‘Come and see your son.’
Charlie strode past the bed and dropped to one knee beside the cradle. He stared intently at the sleeping child, reaching out a hand towards the baby’s cheek then letting it hover a few inches from the soft skin.
‘My son,’ he murmured wonderingly. ‘My son.’
Amy and Mrs Coulson watched in silence, unwilling to intrude. When Charlie once again became aware that there were others in the room, he stood up and cleared his throat noisily.
‘He’s healthy?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, a fine, strong boy,’ Mrs Coulson assured him.
Charlie glanced uncertainly down at the cradle. ‘He’s not very big.’
‘Not very big!’ Mrs Coulson exclaimed. ‘Don’t you go saying that in front of your wife too often or you’ll hear all about it! Goodness me, if he’d been much bigger I think you’d still be waiting for him to arrive. I’ll have you know that’s one of the biggest babies I’ve ever brought into the world.’
‘Is he?’ Charlie stared avidly at Mrs Coulson. ‘So he’s bigger than most bairns?’
‘I should say so. Well over nine pounds, he is, and out of a little scrap of a girl like your wife. You did very well, didn’t you, dear?’ She smiled at Amy.
‘Nine pounds.’ Charlie gazed at his son, glowing with pride.
‘Closer to nine and a half, I’d say.’
‘Nine and a half,’ Charlie repeated, as if memorising. ‘People will ask,’ he said with a touch of defensiveness.
‘Of course they will,’ Mrs Coulson agreed. ‘Everyone likes to hear about a new baby. Now I’ll leave you alone for a bit and get the kettle on.’
Charlie sat on a chair close to the bed, from where he could see his son clearly. He dragged his eyes away to take notice of Amy for the first time. ‘You’re all right?’
‘Yes, thank you. I’m tired, and it still…’ Amy shied away from telling him where it still hurt. ‘I’m tired,’ she repeated awkwardly. ‘But it wasn’t too bad. Not as bad as…’ last time. ‘Not as bad as I expected.’
‘That woman’s looking after you and the boy properly?’
‘Oh, yes, she’s being lovely.’
‘Good.’ He turned his attention back to his son, and no more was said between them until it was time for Charlie to make his reluctant departure.
Charlie was only the first of several visitors Amy had over the next few days. Lizzie arrived the following afternoon, bursting into the room clutching a bunch of roses from her mother’s garden. She flung her arms around Amy’s neck and kissed her, then inspected the baby.
‘He’s big, isn’t he? He’s not very pretty, though.’
‘Humph! I suppose he,’ a vague hand gesture indicated the absent Charlie, ‘wanted a boy.’ Without giving Amy time to comment, Lizzie plumped herself down on the bed and leaned close to her. ‘Guess what?’ she said, her eyes dancing with happiness. ‘I’m going to have a baby!’
To Amy it seemed the last thing in the world anyone should be delighted over. ‘That’s good, Lizzie. I’m pleased for you.’
‘I think I already was when I came to see you, you know, when I asked you about all that sort of thing. But I’m sure I am now. The end of June, Ma says it’ll be. I hope I have a girl—but I won’t really mind if it’s a boy.’
‘Frank must be pleased.’
‘Oh, he is! He’s really excited about it.’
‘Where is he, anyway?’
‘I left him outside. I thought you mightn’t want to see men while you’re in bed.’
‘I’d love to see Frank, Lizzie. I haven’t seen him for months and months—I’ve hardly seen anyone, really. And I’m decent enough like this.’
‘All right. What’s that girl called who opened the door for me?’
‘Nellie.’
Lizzie summoned Nellie, a bright-eyed girl of about twelve, and sent her outside to fetch Frank. He came in looking shy at entering a woman’s bedroom, but he smiled at Amy, asked after her health and dutifully admired her son. He and Lizzie exchanged what Amy could see were meant to be secret smiles, reminding one another of their own good news.
‘That’s enough visiting, Frank, you go and wait outside again,’ Lizzie said after a few minutes. ‘Amy’s looking tired.’ Frank gave her a startled look, and Lizzie’s demeanour changed at once. ‘You don’t want to be stuck in a room with two women chattering, do you, dear? Can I stay and talk to Amy for a bit longer? Just for a minute or two? Do you mind?’
‘No, that’ll be all right, Lizzie,’ Frank said, his composure regained. He left them alone again.
‘Frank doesn’t like me telling him what to do in front of other people,’ Lizzie explained in a low voice. ‘He’s never said—well, only the once—but I can tell. Of course I don’t really tell him what to do, just sort of encourage him, but he gets a bit funny about it. I’m careful now, especially in front of Pa, but I never thought about it with only you here—I didn’t think he’d worry about you. Never mind, I made it up all right.’
‘He looks really good, Lizzie. You must be looking after him well. Frank never used to look like that. He looks… well, sleek.’
‘Doesn’t he just?’ Lizzie agreed. ‘Well-fed, well-looked after and well pleased with himself.’
Jack and Susannah came next day with the two little boys. Jack looked proudly at the baby and squeezed Amy’s hand.
‘That’s a fine grandson you’ve given me, girl. It’s a great thing for a man to become a grandfather.’
You’ve been a grandfather for a year now, Pa. Amy managed an answering smile with difficulty.
‘The boys’ll be in to see you some time,’ said Jack.
‘I hope so,’ Amy said. ‘I’d like to see them.’
‘Harry and Jane were meant to come in with us, but they never turned up. There was a bit of a row coming from their place this morning. I think they… ahh… fell out.’
‘Poor Jane,’ Susannah said with a sigh. ‘She has a terrible time with him. Harry’s so bad-tempered, I’ve always said so, though no one ever takes any notice of me.’
‘Jane gives as good as she gets,’ said Jack. ‘Let them work it out for themselves.’
‘Of course,’ Susannah said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of interfering.’
Their visit was cut short when Thomas and George climbed on the bed and tried to clamber onto Amy’s lap, wrestling each other out of the way. Amy cried out in pain when Thomas’s foot slipped between her thighs. Mrs Coulson rushed into the room and swept both boys off the bed.
‘Keep those children away from her,’ she scolded Susannah. ‘You should know better, Mrs Leith, letting them climb all over the poor girl like that.’
‘They’re fond of Amy,’ Susannah said, gripping each of her sons firmly by one wrist.
Mrs Coulson stood close to her and hissed in a voice that Amy barely caught. ‘The poor little thing’s as full of stitches as a flour sack. She can do without great lumps of children tumbling about on her.’
‘Well, I’m sure it’s not my fault if she’s delicate,’ Susannah said haughtily. ‘We’d better go, Jack. I know when I’m not wanted.’ She swept out of the room. Amy knew it would be the last time Susannah came to see her.
Charlie came to visit every day, generally staying for an hour or two. He would sit beside Amy’s bed and stare at his son, asking Amy questions about the boy’s progress and health then lapsing into silence for minutes at a time. Sometimes he arrived while Amy had the baby at her breast, and watched fascinated as the child suckled. Amy knew it was foolish to feel shy at exposing her breasts to her husband, but she was always relieved when she could button up her nightdress again.
It was a new experience for them to be thrust into one another’s company with neither work, newspapers nor food to cover their lack of affinity. When the long silences became too awkward Amy filled them with comments about the child, which always aroused Charlie’s interest, even if she had made the same remarks the previous day.
Charlie arrived one day and informed Amy that he had registered their son’s birth at the courthouse, and had named him Malcolm Charles. The first two minutes of conversation thus taken care of, Amy asked him questions about the farm, and was told the cows were producing well, there were plenty of eggs, and the grass was growing. Silence reigned until Malcolm woke and demanded to be fed, and when Charlie had watched the process he asked Amy yet again if the baby was growing, and was assured that he was.
But if the daily hour or two with Charlie was awkward, that did not seem much to complain about. Charlie’s visits and feeding Malcolm were the parts of Amy’s day that she thought of as her duty; the rest was gentle pleasure. Mrs Coulson sat with her each afternoon after she had done her morning’s work, and Amy enjoyed talking with the older woman or sharing a companionable silence. Amy was not used to idleness, and begged Mrs Coulson to let her help with things, so the nurse gave her small tasks such as mending that she could do sitting down. Often one or both of them would doze for a time, making up for the broken nights Malcolm was giving them. Mrs Coulson told Amy of how she had come to the Bay of Plenty as a soldier’s wife during the wars of the 1860s, and had been left a widow with young children to support.
‘There was only one thing I knew how to do that could make me a bit of money, and that was birthing babies. So I started doing that when my youngest was seven years old. Many’s the time I’d have a frantic husband knocking on my door in the middle of the night, and I’d have to saddle up and ride out to some farm in the back of beyond, with my oldest girl looking after the other four, and her only fourteen. Well, my little ones are all grown and settled now, none of them in Ruatane, I’m sorry to say. But they visit me when they can, and I see plenty of little ones still.’
In return, Amy told her of her own childhood, the little she remembered of her mother, what her grandmother had been like, and how Amy had run the household after her grandmother died. She even mentioned her dream of being a teacher, though briefly and in an offhand way. After a small hesitation, she confessed that she had never got on very well with Susannah, and she could see from Mrs Coulson’s set expression that the nurse did not approve of her stepmother.
Safe though she felt with Mrs Coulson, Amy’s confidences did not extend past the birth of her little brothers. She did not trust herself to speak of Jimmy’s arrival with anything like nonchalance, and she would not risk being drawn on the reasons for her strange marriage. Not that Mrs Coulson showed any disposition to pry.
‘You remind me of my granny,’ Amy told Mrs Coulson one day, as the two
of them basked in the afternoon sunshine.
‘Goodness me, I know I’m ancient but I’m not old enough to be your grandmother, girl!’ Mrs Coulson said, with a mock-fierce expression that took Amy in for a moment.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘Now don’t look so crushed, darling! I was only having a little joke. Where’s your sense of humour?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amy said thoughtfully. ‘I used to have one. I think I lost it.’
‘Not much to laugh about these days?’ Mrs Coulson asked gently, with a kind smile that made Amy want to cry. ‘Never mind, dear, make the best of it. You’ve got your little boy to cheer you up now.’
Mention of Malcolm made Amy feel guilty again. I don’t love him. There must be something wrong with me when I don’t love my baby. She fed Malcolm when Mrs Coulson placed him in her arms, held him when the nurse told her to give him a cuddle, and handed him back as soon as she could. When the baby’s face was contorted with angry crying, making him look like his father in a rage, Amy sometimes had a twinge of fear she knew was foolish, but other than that she felt nothing for him at all. ‘Yes, I’ve got Malcolm.’
Her three weeks with Mrs Coulson drew to an end all too quickly. On the appointed day, Charlie pulled up in the gig to collect his wife and son.
Amy walked down the path with Malcolm in her arms, Mrs Coulson beside her carrying Amy’s bundle. At the gate, Amy impulsively flung one arm around the nurse’s neck and kissed her, careful not to crush the baby as she did so. She turned and saw Charlie standing by the gig watching.
‘She’s been very kind to me,’ Amy said, abashed at being caught in such an outburst of emotion.
Mrs Coulson smiled at her. ‘Now, who could help being kind to you?’ She turned to Charlie and fixed him with a serious look. ‘You’ve a sweet little wife, Mr Stewart. I hope you look after her properly.’
Charlie frowned, but made no reply. He took Amy’s bundle and loaded it into the gig, then helped her up to the seat. When Amy looked back at Mrs Coulson the nurse was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, but she put it away quickly and waved them off.
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