Another Man's Child

by Another Man's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘Nothing for it, lass. Got no choice but to put her on your bed,’ said Em cheerfully. ‘Now shift your carcase. Oops! Didn’t mean to joke.’

  Molly moved out of the way, considering Em far too cheerful in the circumstances. No doubt she would sing as Molly screamed in childbirth, too, considering her pain nothing to get upset about. She went into the front bedroom and gazed down at the spot where Nanna had rested. Mrs Smith entered the room, looking hot and flustered. ‘I’ve got to walk thee, lass. Em’s gone to get her bag of tricks.’

  ‘I can walk on my own,’ said Molly, shivering slightly. She didn’t like the sound of that bag of tricks. ‘I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, though.’

  ‘I’ll see to it. You just think about this baby.’

  ‘I can hardly think of anything else,’ she said crossly. A groan escaped her then, and she wished she could go to sleep and that when she woke the baby would be there. Still she walked up and down, up and down, knowing now why Nanna had never told her having a baby would be like this. Fairies and gooseberry bushes were all that had figured when Molly asked about such things. She paused as a pain gripped her again.

  A smiling Em reappeared, wearing a spotless white pinny. ‘Bad are they, dear?’

  ‘That’s a bloody daft question,’ muttered Molly through gritted teeth, shocking herself by her own turn of phrase.

  Em tutted. ‘Wash thy mouth out with soap! Things always get worse before they get better.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Molly meekly.

  ‘It’s OK, dear.’ She rubbed her hands. ‘Get on the bed and let’s be seeing how far on you are.’

  Reluctantly Molly climbed on to the double bed. ‘You’d better have washed your hands,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard about women like you going from the dead to the living and mothers dying. It happened to my mam. Septicaemia.’

  ‘Little knowall, aren’t you?’ said Em, rolling up her sleeves.

  ‘Let me see your hands close up? Let me smell the soap,’ said Molly bravely, still suspicious despite the spotless apron.

  ‘You’re a right doubting little madam,’ said Em sniffily, holding out her hands.

  Molly inspected them, her small nose almost resting on the woman’s fingers. ‘OK,’ she said, submitting herself to her inspection.

  Em surfaced with a pleased expression on her gaunt face ‘Won’t be long now, dear.’

  Molly smiled with relief but the next contraction soon wiped the smile from her face. There was something different about this one and she told Em so.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ said the midwife briskly. ‘Now pushhh! Pushhh! Stop – take a breath. Pant!’

  Molly did as she was told, pushing, panting, gasping, resting, and pushing again until with a supreme effort her baby was finally delivered.

  ‘She’s perfect,’ said Em, face flushed and eyes shining.

  ‘She?’ asked Molly doubtfully, lifting her head. ‘Frank wanted a boy.’

  ‘Well, she’s a beautifully formed girl. Straight limbs. Lovely head. Here, have a hold of her. Then cups of tea all round, I think, don’t you, Ada?’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said Molly’s neighbour happily.

  Molly felt really proud of herself. She had achieved something that nobody else could have done for her. She began to weep from joy, sadness and relief all mixed up, not minding at all that she had a daughter. They had both survived, thank the Lord! But how she was going to keep them both was a different matter altogether.

  Chapter Two

  Molly rested against the pillow, nursing her baby and sipping tea. A frown furrowed her brow as she nervously listened to the noises and murmuring voices below. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do? It was two days since the birth and today was Nanna’s funeral. Yesterday the undertaker had arrived with a coffin and until this morning the old woman had lain in state in the front parlour. Jack Fletcher had popped in to pay his respects but Em had not allowed him to visit Molly, saying she needed to rest. The girl would have liked to have seen him,certain he would have found some way to help her in the difficult position she was now in. She had also wanted to get up for the funeral but Em said certainly not. The weather had turned bitterly cold and what if she caught pneumonia? What would happen to her baby then? She mustn’t be thinking of herself all the time, there was the little one to consider now. Then Em went off to attend another confinement.

  Was she selfish? thought Molly, gazing at her suckling daughter, feeling sympathy for the woman whoever she was, having to go through what Molly had just suffered. Her heart swelled with love and a smile softened her face. Her milk had come in with a rush yesterday and very uncomfortable it was, too. Her breasts felt like water-filled balloons. But at least she possessed the means to prevent her child from going hungry so she was doing something right. That was as long as she could keep it up. Em had said she must eat properly to keep good milk coming but where Molly was to find the money to buy food she had not said. Perhaps she and Mrs Smith thought there would be a nice lump sum left over after paying out for the funeral but there would be barely enough to cover the costs and Nanna’s savings had dwindled to virtually nothing in the last year. She had managed before, only with help from Molly’s mother.

  Molly eased her daughter from her left breast and placed her over her shoulder, patting the tiny back to bring up any wind as Em had shown her. She gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if she could eke out a living by taking in washing and ironing, not that she was very skilled at those things. Perhaps she could grow her own vegetables, as well as helping in the fields at harvest?

  Her mother had told her of women who did such things when they’d lived here. They’d all feared the workhouse just as Mabel May had done. Where were they now? thought Molly. Where were their daughters and sons whom she had passed on her way to school with Nanna? She had never played out much with them. Nanna had always been nervous of her catching some infectious disease. Molly had made few friends so there was no one from her schooldays to whom she could turn. Reluctantly she accepted that Ma Payne had spoken the truth when she’d said Molly had not given enough thought to how she would manage. Without husband, family or friends her situation was desperate.

  She set her baby to the other breast, resting her pointed chin on its downy head and wishing her mother was still alive, knowing she would have thought of some way out of this predicament.

  Ten minutes had passed when Molly’s thoughts were disturbed by footsteps and voices below. Surely the funeral was not over already? She recognised Em’s surprisingly high-pitched tones but the other voice was deep. A man’s? Uncle Jack?

  There were footsteps on the stairs and, despite her daughter’s mew of protest, Molly hastily made herself decent, buttoning up the flannelette nightgown and placing the baby in the top drawer of the chest which had been moved next to the bed. She reached for her shawl and pulled it about her shoulders.

  It was not Jack Fletcher. The man who entered the room with the midwife looked to be in his early-twenties, of medium height, his face pale and drawn with high cheekbones that seemed to be threatening to break through the skin. He wore a green jumper and creased dark brown corduroy trousers. A dusting of what looked like sawdust clung to his hair and the wool of his jumper.

  ‘Molly, this is Mr Nathan Collins,’ said Em, coming to, stand next to her.

  The name seemed vaguely familiar but she could not place it. ‘Hello.’ A hesitant smile hovered on her lips as she held out her hand.

  His eyes were bleak but he gazed at her intently as he clasped her hand firmly. ‘Mrs Payne.’

  ‘How do you do?’

  His grey eyes shifted to the drawer which contained her baby and he took a deep breath which shuddered through his wiry frame. ‘I can pay you five shillings a week. Is that acceptable to you?’

  ‘What?’ Molly’s tone was incredulous. She darted a look at Em but found no help there.

  ‘Midwife seems to think you’ll do it. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to agree.’<
br />
  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘She was right when she said you’re small. The strong part I’m not so sure about… but I’ll see you get plenty of milk and good food down you. It’s up to you then. Don’t let me down.’ His eyes met hers briefly and she felt as if he’d looked at her in such a way once before but could not think where. Then he turned and walked out of the room, clogs noisy on the wooden floor.

  ‘What was all that about?’ whispered Molly, looking at Em, scarcely able to believe her fortunes had changed so swiftly.

  She smoothed the coverlet. ‘A job only you can do but he insisted on having a look at you first. His wife died in the night after giving birth. Their first child, a girl, and she’s struggling to live.’ There was sadness in her eyes. ‘I told him the little I know about your situation and suggested you might be willing to act as wet nurse to his child. You will, won’t you? You’d be a fool not to.’

  Help a tiny baby to live and do herself some good at the same time! Molly could not believe it. She had pints of milk. It oozed from her nipples even when she wasn’t feeding, seeping through her camisole and the bodice of her nightgown. She could have fed half a dozen babies with it. The mouth that was a little too wide for her narrow face broke into a delighted grin. ‘Of course I will. Praise the Lord! Tell him: Hurry, hurry!’ She waved her hand frantically towards the door.

  ‘Wise lass.’ Em hurried out of the room.

  Molly hunched her legs and wrapped her arms round them. ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ she hummed to herself, thinking five shillings wouldn’t pay the rent but it would certainly help. And food! He was going to provide her with nourishing grub. She felt like getting up out of bed and dancing round the room but Em would have her life. Who was he? She wished she could put a name to his face. A couple of years older than her at St John’s? The name Nathan was from the Old Testament. Hadn’t he been some kind of prophet to King David? The King who’d sent Bathsheba’s husband to the front line after seeing her bathing on the roof of her house one evening.

  The baby wailed and Molly reached for her. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Suddenly Frank was in her thoughts and tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘What would he have made of it? Me feeding another man’s child,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t think he’d have liked it. But what else can I do? We’ve got to live, haven’t we, baby sweetheart? And I have to help Mr Collins. Me and him, like, we’re almost in the same boat.’

  She fell silent, feeling rather foolish. It was the first sign of madness, talking to oneself. She opened her eyes and looked out of the window. The sky was a uniform grey but even so she wanted to be out there in the fresh air. She was fed up of being bedridden, using the po, feeling strangely haunted sometimes by Nanna for sleeping in her bed.

  Don’t think of her being buried in the churchyard! Don’t even think of death! Frank filled her thoughts again but she shut him out quickly. Think of that other baby. What would she be like? Fair? Dark? Nathan Collins’s hair was that pale brown shade that might turn golden in the sun. She looked down at her daughter, noticing she had no eyelashes worth speaking of. After a few minutes Molly removed her from the breast and put her back in the drawer, then she slid out of bed.

  Her gait was unsteady as she made her way over to the window. She unlocked it and pushed up the lower sash so she could lean out and take deep breaths of air tinged with smoke from the chimneys. As she rested her elbows on the windowsill, her eyes searched the street. She spotted a dog snuffling in the gutter on the other side of the lane where the houses backed on to another street beyond which was the canal. She thought of Ma Payne and would dearly have loved to see her mother-in-law’s face when she found Molly missing. What tale had Cath made up to explain her absence? Molly put her tongue in her cheek and her eyes gleamed. How she wished she could have been an invisible spectator at that scene. Was it possible she and Cath could have become friends in time? It would be lovely to have a real friend.

  ‘Molly, what are you doing at that window?’ It was Em, standing in the street below bearing a muffled shape in her arms, rawboned face upturned to hers.

  ‘I was getting some fresh air. Is that the baby?’

  ‘Aye, poor mite. Now, shoo! I’ll expect you in bed by the time I get up there.’

  Molly did as she was instructed because if the truth be told she was feeling a little shaky on her pins.

  Em entered the room. ‘Here she is. Do your best. She’s already been christened just in case. Jessica Esther.’The baby was placed in Molly’s outstretched arms. ‘Her paternal grandmother’ll be coming to see her. She keeps house for her half-brother, Mr Barnes. You probably don’t remember him but he helped set up that candlemaking factory the other side of town. Apparently he wanted Mr Collins working for him but the lad wasn’t having any, so Mr Barnes went back to Liverpool where he has his main candlemaking business and put someone else in charge. Last I heard he was trying to persuade the lad to move to Liverpool.’

  ‘So Mr Collins isn’t poor?’ said Molly, easing back a fold of shawl and gazing on the shuttered, crumpled face of the baby.

  ‘She’s worn out. Put her to the breast right away. I’ll look in on you both later. I’m fair whacked.’ Em squeezed her shoulder gently and was about to leave when Molly repeated her question concerning Nathan Collins.

  Em rubbed her nose absently. ‘He’s got a trade. Joiner or cabinetmaker, one or t’other. He married a lass from Newburgh way. Now she’s dead, perhaps he’ll go to Liverpool.’

  ‘He told you all this?’

  ‘Eee, lass, not all.’ Em smiled. ‘Next-door neighbour who’s known the family for years told me. I’ll leave you in peace now.’

  For a few moments after she went Molly sat staring into space, trying to remember what she knew about Nathan Collins, but the memory proved elusive. Shaking back her hair, which was in two plaits for convenience’s sake, she began to undo her buttons. She rolled the baby’s name round her tongue. ‘Jessica Esther. Posh name for a little scrap like you,’ she said, stroking the corner of the tiny rosebud mouth. She had been taught by Em how to encourage a baby to root for the breast. Her daughter had caught on right away but this one was not overly interested. Molly persisted, squeezing droplets of milk from her nipple so they fell on the baby’s lips. The tip of her tongue caught a drop. Immediately Molly eased a nipple into the tiny mouth. Feebly the baby suckled, stopping after a few moments as if it was all too much effort. ‘Come on, Jessica! I’m not having this,’ Molly chided. ‘You’re going to keep us out the workhouse, my girl.’ She stroked the smooth cheek again and the tiny mouth worked.

  The next two hours were frustrating and tiring for Molly. Her mind wandered, pondering what Em told her about Nathan Collins and his uncle. What were the odds he would leave Burscough now his wife was dead and take his child with him? Would he take her as well? Molly’s heart sank and she felt scared all over again. Dear Lord, she hoped so much he would want her and her baby! She gazed down at Jessica, no longer suckling, and lightly pinched her in an effort to get her to fight and feed. It was only her daughter’s crying that caused her to give up.

  She placed Jessica at the other end of the large drawer, hoping Mr Collins would bring spare clothing and nappies next time he called. She was going to be stuck if he didn’t. She lifted her daughter, yawned and stretched out on the bed to start the feeding process all over again.

  Nathan Collins turned up early the following morning. Fortunately Molly was awake, dressed and having a cup of tea. If anything he looked worse than he had the day before. The rings beneath his eyes were so deep they looked like bruises. He was carrying a wooden cradle and without speaking placed it just inside the lobby. She noted that it contained blankets and clothing for the baby.

  ‘Ta. I was wondering about those,’ said Molly, making an effort to sound cheerful and friendly.

  His only response was to take hold of her right hand and press two half crowns into it. ‘There’s your money. I’ll see you
again next week. And I’ve told the grocer up the road to deliver some provisions to you. Good morning.’

  ‘Hang on!’ called Molly as he turned away, taking her courage in both hands. ‘Don’t you want to see your daughter?’

  ‘What?’ He stumbled on the step and appeared to lose his balance.

  ‘Steady. You don’t want to break a leg,’ she said, taking his arm. His head turned and there was an expression in his eyes that sent a quiver right through her. If looks could kill, she thought. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought it would help you to see her,’ she stammered.

  ‘I’m not paying you to think!’ He sounded quite savage and suddenly Molly remembered who he was and was half scared, half annoyed. Fancy it being him! Did he remember her? Oh, Lord! She couldn’t resist opening her mouth and repeating just what she had said then. ‘Yes, Nathan Collins. Three bags full, Nathan Collins!’ She tugged an imaginary forelock.

  ‘Don’t you be giving me any cheek,’ he said wrathfully, his face colouring. ‘I’m paying your wages and don’t you forget it! My mother’ll be round some time today to see the baby. Now I’ve things to do. A funeral to arrange.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Collins. I’m sorry, sir,’ she said meekly, lifting the cradle with both hands. She turned her back on him and kicked the door with her heel. It was not her intention it should close with a slam but it did and she wondered what he’d made of that.

  Grimacing, she walked through into the kitchen. It was not until she’d placed the cradle on the stone floor that she felt ashamed for reacting to his rudeness in the way she had, but it was odd he had not asked to see his child. Speaking of whom… Molly hurried upstairs to feed the babies, wondering when Mrs Collins would arrive. Not that her vague memories of the woman made her keen to see her.