“But Bill saw her leave with the baby?” George considered this. “Did you question him carefully? Was he certain that it was Sunday?”
“He showed me his book.”
“And he saw the baby with her? On Sunday?”
“That’s right.”
George suddenly stood. “But what if the baby wasn’t a baby?”
“What are you talking about?”
“There was a doll in the manger—and the doll went missing!”
Detective Albert stood up quickly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking we need to talk to Bill.”
Before long they were quizzing Bill about the baby that Amelia Richards had departed with the day before.
“Now that I think of it, I suppose it could’ve been a doll. She had it bundled up . . . so I couldn’t see its face. And, come to think of it, I didn’t get any complaints about noise from the baby during the weekend. I had to move a guest to a different room on Thanksgiving because the baby’s cries had disturbed them the night before. And my daughter Dorothy had been doing some babysitting for Mrs. Richards, but she never got another call after Friday.”
“Do you know where Mrs. Richards went after she left here yesterday?” George pressed.
Bill shook his head no. “I assumed it was to the train station.”
“But you told me she wanted to get a job,” Detective Albert pressed. “Any idea where she planned to work?”
He shook his head again.
“Do you think your daughter might know?” George asked. “Since she worked for Mrs. Richards?”
“She might. But she’s in school until three.”
“And you say Mrs. Richards came out from California?” George asked him.
“Yep. Her and the baby came here on the train. I remember she mentioned it. That’s why I figured she probably left on the train too.”
Detective Albert made some notes. “I’ll check with the train station. And then I’ll question Dorothy later this afternoon.” He looked hopefully at George. “We’ll find her.”
“I sure hope so.”
As George walked back to the clinic, he prayed a silent prayer for Amelia Richards. He felt truly sorry for the young woman. Like Helene had pointed out more than once, little Jimmy appeared well cared for. Other than being so ill, the child had been properly fed and clothed. Whoever this Amelia Richards was, she was not a negligent mother. Well, aside from the abandonment issue. But if she was unable to afford more nights at the Wallace Hotel, which wasn’t too expensive, she had to be down on her luck. So he prayed for her welfare and he prayed that God would help them to find her.
“There you are,” Cora said eagerly as George came into the clinic. “Sally Peterson just called. She works at Beulah’s Beauty Shop. She took in a new roommate, but the woman has become quite ill. She wondered if you could make a house call.”
George pointed up at the clock. “My first appointment should be here soon and Betty told me I would be busy all afternoon. I probably can’t get away until after—”
“Sally said this woman is desperately ill. She thinks it might be pneumonia.”
George frowned . . . wondering if it could possibly be. “Did you get the name of the woman—I mean, the one who is sick?”
Cora looked down at her notepad. “Amelia something. I didn’t catch the last name. But she’s at Sally Peterson’s and Sally lives in the apartment above Beulah’s—”
“Call Sally back and tell her I’m on my way.” He hurried to his office, nearly running over Betty in the hallway. “You take care of the eleven o’clock appointment until I get back,” he ordered.
“Back from where?” She followed him into his office, waiting as he checked his doctor bag, making sure he had what he would need.
“I think we found her, Betty. The mother of the baby!”
11
“You were right to call me,” George told Sally after he finished a preliminary exam of the frail blonde woman on the sleeper sofa. “May I use your phone?”
“Yes, of course.” Sally pointed to the little telephone table by the door. “It’s a party line to the beauty shop downstairs. Hopefully no one’s on the other end.” She glanced at her watch. “In fact, if you don’t need me, I should go down there. I have a lady scheduled for a permanent wave waiting for me.”
“Go ahead,” he said as he dialed the hospital’s phone number. “I’m going to arrange for a transport to Saint Joseph’s.”
Sally’s brows arched. “But Amelia doesn’t have a cent, Dr. Bradley. She can’t afford to—”
“It’ll be covered,” he assured her.
Sally left, and George quickly explained the situation to the hospital nurse, requesting both an ambulance and a private room. “Make sure the ambulance is carrying oxygen. We’ll need an oxygen tent set up and ready at the hospital. And an IV,” he told her. “I’ll be arriving and attending the patient and her condition is critical.”
As he waited for the ambulance to get there, he called his office, explaining to Cora that this was an emergency and to reschedule his appointments for the next two hours. Finally, he sat down on the chair by the sofa, gazing down at the young woman. Despite the effects of her illness, he could see she was very attractive. But he could also see she was hanging onto her life by a fragile thread.
“Can you hear me, Mrs. Richards?” He spoke loudly because so far she’d been incoherent. Even when he’d administered a shot of penicillin she had barely flinched. But now she nodded slightly. “Don’t try to speak,” he said gently. “We’re going to transport you to Saint Joseph Hospital. I’ve made all the arrangements. I’ll be taking care of you. My name is Dr. Bradley.”
As soon as he said his name, her blue eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment they met his, and then with a raspy sigh she closed them again, lying so deathly still that he checked her pulse to be sure she was still alive. For the second time today, George said a prayer for this woman. Then, hearing the whine of the ambulance siren, he went outside to wave at the medical staff, guiding them up to the apartment.
George held her hand as they traveled in the back of the ambulance. Before long, she was being settled into a private room where, according to his instructions, an oxygen tent and IV were prepared and ready.
George did everything he could for the young woman and then, knowing she was in good hands with the medical staff, he returned to his clinic. But his steps were heavy as he went inside. The young woman’s life was hanging in the balance, and despite the good medical attention she would be receiving, it would be touch and go for the next few days. To his relief, no patients were in his waiting room.
“I cleared your schedule until two o’clock,” Cora informed him.
“Thank you.” He removed his hat.
“How is she?” Betty asked with concern.
“Not good,” he confessed, starting to unbutton his overcoat.
“Betty told me about the baby in your manger,” Cora declared. “Is that woman really the mother?”
“I believe so.”
“Did she tell you why she abandoned her baby?” Cora asked eagerly.
“No . . . She’s in bad shape. Pneumonia. She can barely speak.”
“The poor thing.”
He just nodded.
“You don’t need to be here until two,” Cora reminded him. “Maybe you should go home and have your lunch.”
“Yes,” Betty agreed. “Go put your feet up awhile. You’ve already had a busy morning.”
George didn’t argue with them. As he walked the few blocks toward home, he couldn’t remember when he’d felt this tired. His feet felt like lead. Maybe the years were catching up with him faster than he realized. His own father had been only sixty-two when he’d passed away. What if George was to follow in his footsteps? And, really, how could a man of his age possibly consider becoming a father to an infant son. It just wasn’t fair. Not to any of them. For the third time today he prayed for the
young woman. This time he pleaded with God to help Amelia Richards to get well—well enough to care for her own child.
“You’re home,” Helene happily announced as George came into the front room. “I didn’t expect you for lunch.” She paused from draping a strand of gold Christmas tinsel across the fireplace mantel.
“That looks pretty,” George said.
“Well, having a baby around has put me in a Christmassy mood.” She smiled as she came over to greet and kiss him. “Let me take your coat and hat, and then I’ll go tell Lydia to get some lunch started.”
“Thanks, dear.” He considered telling her about his morning as she helped him out of his coat, but she was in such good spirits, he hated to spoil it. And he knew that this news would. He went over to peer into the bassinet by Helene’s favorite armchair. The baby was sleeping peacefully. “How’s our little houseguest doing?”
“Just fine. He’s so much better, George. You made the right decision in giving him those antibiotics. They’ve really done the trick.”
“Well, his case was probably not as advanced as . . . as I thought.” He refrained from saying “as advanced as his mother’s.” While Helene went to find Lydia, George studied the sleeping infant. It was strange to think that the young woman lying in the oxygen tent was this child’s mother. Strange and sad.
“Lydia said it’ll take her about fifteen minutes to whip up something good. Do you have that long?”
“That’s fine.” He nodded to Helene’s chair. “Why don’t you sit down, dear.”
She gave him an uncertain look.
“Please,” he insisted. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh?” She eased herself into her chair, watching him cautiously. “Why don’t you sit down too?”
He sat across from her, nervously folding his hands in his lap. “I’ve had an interesting morning, Helene.” Now he explained about meeting with Detective Albert and going to the hotel and finally about tending to the sick young woman. “We don’t know this for certain, but Detective Albert thinks that Amelia Richards is the baby’s mother.”
“Jimmy’s mother?” she said weakly.
He simply nodded.
“What does this mean?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “The young woman is in a very bad way, Helene.”
“Really?” Her expression was hard to read.
“She’s getting the best care possible, but her condition is critical.”
“Oh . . . Do you think she’ll pull through?”
“To be honest, I’d give her about fifty-fifty odds right now. And that’s probably optimistic.”
Helene frowned. “Well, of course, I’m terribly sad for this poor woman, George. But does this mean we may get to keep Jimmy?”
He wrung his hands and stared down at the carpet. “I don’t know.”
“Because if she’s in such a bad way, she would probably be relieved to know that we want to keep her baby . . . that we love him . . . and that we would bring him up in the best way possible. Wouldn’t that be a comfort to her?”
“I suppose.”
Her eyes brightened. “Could I go and speak with her, George?”
“Not today. And not likely tomorrow. She’s not well enough to have visitors or to speak to anyone yet. Not until she’s out of the woods.”
“But as soon as she can have visitors, I’d like to go, George. I know how a mother thinks. I know she must be so worried about her child. I want to reassure her that he’s really in good hands—and that his health is greatly improved.”
“Yes, that is a good idea,” he conceded. “Perhaps I can convey that information to her.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Promise me that you’ll do that, George.”
“I promise. And I already planned to go check in on her after my last appointment today.”
“Oh, good.” She nodded. “That makes me feel better.”
“So plan on a late dinner. Maybe around eight.”
“That’s fine.” And now the baby began to wake up and Helene, distracted with caring for the infant, appeared to forget all about the child’s mother.
It was close to six by the time George made it back to the hospital and, bracing himself for bad news, stopped by the nurses’ station to inquire about his patient. “Her condition hasn’t changed much,” the head nurse informed him. “But at least she’s not worsened.”
“Yes, that’s something. Thank you, Nurse Crawford. And I didn’t mention it earlier, but I want to be notified if there is any change in her condition—for better or worse. Since the young woman appears to have no family in town, we will act as her next of kin.”
Nurse Crawford nodded solemnly. “I see.”
He thanked her again and went to check on Amelia. As he examined her vitals, he had to concur with Nurse Crawford. Mrs. Richards’s condition was much the same, although she did appear to be resting a bit better. That was something. He was about to take his leave when he remembered what Helene had asked him to do. In fact, hadn’t he promised her that he would say something?
He put his stethoscope away, then took the chair by her bedside, trying to think of the best words to say—and wondering if she was even conscious and able to hear him. “Mrs. Richards,” he spoke clearly as he took her hand. “Are you awake? If you can hear me, just give my fingers a little squeeze.” Feeling a slight squeeze, he continued. “You left your child at my home last week. And I promised my wife that I would tell you that little Jimmy is doing just fine. He is much better. On the road to recovery. Do you understand what I’m saying? Just squeeze my fingers if you do.” She made another weak squeeze.
“Oh, good.” He sighed. “My wife will be relieved to hear this. She is quite smitten by your little lad,” he continued, rambling. “Such a fine-looking baby. My wife feels that he’s had very good care. And she is giving him very good care herself.” He went on to tell her about how they’d hired a baby nurse named Doris and how she was quite fond of Jimmy too. “So, all in all, your child is in very good hands. The only thing you need to think about is getting well. Just rest and get better, Mrs. Richards. Don’t worry about a single thing. You and your little boy are both in good hands.”
Now, for the fourth time today, George prayed for Amelia Richards. Only this time, he prayed the words aloud. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he began slowly, “please, take care of your child Amelia Richards. Help her to get healthy and well so that she can, once again, be a fine mother for her little boy. Amen.” He felt a light squeeze on his fingers, almost as if she was agreeing with his prayer.
“Now do as your doctor has ordered,” he gently said as he stood. “Just rest and get stronger and do not worry about your child. Little Jimmy is perfectly fine. And I will be back here to see you in the morning.”
Hopefully Amelia Richards would still be in the land of the living by morning. At the moment, he couldn’t be certain. If she didn’t make it, at least he had kept his promise to Helene—and he thought the young mother had understood his words. Still, everything inside of him desperately hoped that she would make it.
12
A full week had passed before Amelia was strong enough to have the oxygen tent removed from her room. Even then, George was uncertain. On one hand, he didn’t like to leave a patient on oxygen any longer than necessary. On the other hand, he didn’t want to see her slightly improved condition deteriorate for lack of oxygen. It was not an easy call. But after a couple of days, seeing the young mother sitting up in her bed, sipping clear chicken broth for her lunch, he knew he’d made the right decision.
“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked that same evening. He was performing his usual exam, checking her lungs and heart and blood pressure—which had all improved remarkably.
“Much better,” she said quietly. “I’m so grateful . . . for everything, Dr. Bradley. How can I ever thank—”
“Never mind that.” He waved his hand. “You’ve thanked me over and over, Mrs. Richards.�
�
“Amelia,” she gently corrected him. She’d already asked him to call her by her first name—more than once.
“Yes . . . Amelia. And a fine name too.” As he closed his doctor’s bag, he decided that she was probably strong enough for a short conversation. “Do you mind if I sit for a spell?”
“Not at all.” She nodded to the nearby chair.
“Jimmy is doing just fine,” he told her, knowing that would’ve been the first question from her lips. “Helene said he’s even gained some weight.” He wouldn’t tell her what else Helene had been saying of late. The poor woman. As relieved as Helene was that Amelia was recovering, she was frantically worried that meant that Amelia would take her son back. George was caught in the middle.
Amelia smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I miss Jimmy so much.”
“That is exactly why you’re working so hard at getting well, Amelia.”
She nodded somberly.
George let out a long sigh. “I don’t want to wear you out, but I do have some questions. Do you feel strong enough?”
Again, she nodded, but her brow was creased and he knew she was uneasy.
“I know you’re from California, right?”
“Right. San Diego.”
“Do you have family there?”
“Not really . . .” She frowned. “I have a mother and stepfather, but we are not on good terms.”
“I see.” He pursed his lips. “And, uh, does Jimmy have a father in San Diego?”
“Jimmy’s father was killed in the war.”
George felt a small wave of relief. He wasn’t even sure why exactly. Perhaps it was simply easier to think of Amelia as a war widow. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he told her. “It must be difficult bringing up a child on your own. Particularly without family to help.” He rubbed his chin. “But I am curious, Amelia, what made you leave San Diego to come here? I assume you have no family here. And Rockford is . . . well, it must be quite a change from San Diego.” He studied her closely now, watching as her clear blue eyes grew moist with tears.
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