‘Hmm. She’s a slow feeder, then. She’s still feeding every two hours, too, she shouldn’t take that long over it.’ She looked at Amy through narrowed eyes. ‘Don’t you go getting too fond of that child. You know you have to give her away.’
‘I know,’ Amy said, holding her baby tighter.
When they were alone again, Amy whispered to her. ‘I have to give you away, little one. Your father doesn’t want us, and I can’t keep you on my own. I hope you’ll understand when you grow up. I love you, that’s why I have to give you away. It’s best for you. You’ll have people to look after you properly, and no one will call you horrible names.’ A tear dropped onto the baby’s face, and Amy kissed it away carefully. The baby stared up at her with bright eyes, as though she understood every word.
A week later Sister Prescott told Amy, ‘You’re having a visitor this afternoon.’
‘A visitor? Who? I don’t know anyone in Auckland.’
‘You’ll see.’
That afternoon Amy was feeding her baby when Sister Prescott came in with a short, plump woman who looked to be in her late forties. She wore a straw hat covered with some unlikely-looking fruit, jammed onto a thatch of brown hair streaked with grey. Her mouth and cheeks seemed unnaturally red, and Amy stared curiously at her until she realised that here, perhaps, was one of those women who painted. She noticed Sister Prescott giving the woman a disapproving glance as she left. Amy could not help but feel more positive towards the visitor.
The woman pulled the one chair that the room contained close to Amy’s bed and sat down, panting a little as though the effort had taken all her energy. ‘I’m Mrs Crossley. You’re Miss Leith, aren’t you?’ Amy nodded, wondering what this woman had to do with her. ‘Mrs Leith visited me a little while ago,’ Mrs Crossley said. ‘I only live a few streets away from here, so I thought I’d pop down to see you today.’
Amy gripped her baby more tightly; the little girl let out a small whimper of surprise. ‘You’ve come to take my baby away.’
‘Not just yet. But yes, your stepmother asked me to arrange an adoption for the child. You did know that, didn’t you?’ Mrs Crossley asked, a little uncertainly.
Amy looked down at the baby until she felt her face was under control. ‘Yes, I know. When are you going to take her away?’
‘The baby’s too young just yet, it won’t be for… oh, another week or two. It’s too hard to rear them without their mother’s milk if they’re too tiny.’ Mrs Crossley looked at the baby suckling, then looked away as if the sight bothered her.
‘Good,’ Amy whispered. ‘They will be good people, won’t they? The people you give my baby to?’
‘Oh, yes. I get a very nice class of people coming to me for babies. Always well-set up types, often businessmen and suchlike, people who can’t have children of their own.’
‘Will they be kind to her? Do you think they’ll love her?’ Without giving the woman time to answer, Amy rushed on. ‘She’s pretty, isn’t she? That might help the people like her. And she’s going to be clever, I think. See the way she watches things? So knowing. And look at this.’ She held her finger a few inches from the baby’s face and moved it slowly; the little girl’s eyes followed the movement. ‘She’s been doing that since she was only two days old. My little brothers were nearly a week old before they did that. She’s always taking notice of noises and things, too.’
‘She’s a fine little girl,’ said Mrs Crossley.
‘Will they love her?’ Amy pleaded. ‘Will they be kind to her? I want them to be kind to her.’
‘I’m sure they will. Remember, these are people who may have longed for a little girl of their own for years. They’ll make a great fuss of this one.’
‘I hope so,’ Amy murmured.
She looked up from the baby and saw that Mrs Crossley was staring at her, her mouth twisted oddly. ‘You’re very young,’ the woman said quietly. Then her face took on a bland expression. ‘Now,’ she said briskly, ‘I want to register the little girl so she’ll have a birth certificate. I’ll have to ask you a few questions.’ She pulled a dog-eared notebook and a pencil from a large bag she carried.
‘She was born on the second of November, wasn’t she? That’s what the nurse told me.’
‘I think that’s right. Sister Prescott knows the date better than me. Yes, it was the second.’
‘All right. Now I need her name. What are you calling her?’
‘Oh. I haven’t given her a name yet. I just call her…’ Little one. That’s what I call you. That’s what your father used to call me. ‘I haven’t given her one yet.’
‘Well, what do you think you’d like to call her?’ Amy chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘Would you like to give her your mother’s name?’ Mrs Crossley prompted. ‘Lots of girls do that.’
‘Yes,’ Amy grasped at the suggestion. ‘Yes, I’ll call her Ann. My mother was called Ann.’
‘Ann.’ Mrs Crossley wrote in her book. ‘Just Ann? Or do you want to give her a second name? Perhaps your own name?’
‘No, she mustn’t have my name. People might think she’s like me.’ Amy struggled to think of a name good enough for her little girl. ‘I know. I want her to be Ann Elizabeth. Those are good names, aren’t they?’
‘Very good names. Ann Elizabeth Leith. Very nice. And your full name?’
‘Amy Louisa Leith. Why doesn’t she have her father’s surname?’
‘Because you’re not married to him. How old are you?’
‘Fifteen—no, I’m sixteen,’ she corrected herself.
‘And where were you born?’
‘Ruatane. It’s in the Bay of Plenty,’ she added, seeing the blank expression on Mrs Crossley’s face. ‘But I’m not exactly sure… her father’s probably twenty-one now, but he might still be twenty. And I don’t know for sure that he was born in Auckland. I think he was, though.’
Mrs Crossley held up a hand to interrupt the flow. ‘I don’t need to know those things.’
‘But don’t they have to go on her birth certificate? Why do you need to know things about me and not her father?’
‘There won’t be anything about her father on the certificate. It’ll just say “Illegitimate”, and the place where the father’s details should go will be left blank.’
‘No,’ Amy breathed. ‘You can’t do that! That would make it look as though I didn’t know who her father was. I do know who he is, I do! Why can’t it be on her birth certificate?’
‘It’s just the way these things are done when a child’s illegitimate. You see, otherwise you could say any name you wanted, and the man wouldn’t be able to defend himself.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’
Mrs Crossley studied her thoughtfully. ‘No, I don’t think you would. But I’m afraid some girls would, so that’s why it’s the rule.’
‘She’ll hate me,’ Amy whispered. ‘She’ll hate me when she sees a big blank space on her birth certificate. She’ll think I was a…’ whore.
‘Now come along, it’s nothing to get upset over,’ Mrs Crossley said. ‘There’s no need to go talking about anyone hating anyone else. The child won’t be told anything about you until she’s old enough to understand how things were, and by that time it’ll all be so long ago that she probably won’t even be very interested.’ She shut her notebook with a snap and put it back in her bag.
‘Won’t she?’ Amy said wistfully. ‘No, I suppose she won’t.’ She studied the baby in her arms and stroked her hair. An idea struck her. ‘Mrs Crossley, can I give her something?’
‘What do you mean, dear?’
‘Could I give you something to look after for her? Then you could give it to the people who take her.’
‘All right.’
Amy craned her neck to see her case, leaning against the wall under the window. ‘Please would you bring my case over here? I’m not allowed up yet.’
Mrs Crossley laid the case on the bed. Amy fumbled the catch open, then reached around inside. She had t
o dislodge Ann from her breast to free her hands, but the little girl lay contentedly nestled in one arm while Amy rummaged, only the working of her mouth showing that she was still hungry.
Amy pulled the small box and the tangle of ribbon that surrounded it from the case. She opened the box and took out the brooch. For a moment she studied it as it lay in her palm. She reached out and traced the outline of the ‘A’ with one finger. Then she held her hand out towards Mrs Crossley. ‘I want her to have this.’
Mrs Crossley reached for the brooch, then stopped and looked doubtfully at Amy. ‘This looks rather valuable. Are you sure it’s all right for you to give it away?’
‘Yes. It’s mine to give.’
‘You’re quite sure?’ Mrs Crossley pressed.
‘Yes. I don’t want it any more.’
‘Did your father give it to you?’
‘No.’ It was her father who did. ‘I want Ann to have it. Her name begins with A, the same as mine, so she’ll be able to wear it when she’s older.’ Amy closed her eyes and remembered the day Jimmy had given her the brooch. She felt again the touch of his mouth, soft against her lips. Her fingers started to close around the brooch. With an effort, she uncurled them and opened her eyes. ‘It’s right for her to have it. It belongs to her more than it does to me.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s all right.’ Mrs Crossley lifted the brooch carefully from Amy’s hand and put it back in the box.
‘Take the ribbon too, please. It sort of goes with the brooch.’
Mrs Crossley tucked ribbon and box into her bag before returning Amy’s case to its place by the wall. ‘Don’t you worry, I’ll keep it safe until she’s adopted, then I’ll give it to her new mother.’
Her new mother. The words were a knife thrust through Amy. She turned away, and did not look up again until the woman had gone.
‘You’ve got a name now, little one,’ she murmured when she was alone with her baby once more. ‘You’re called Ann. Ann Elizabeth.’ The little girl seemed much too small for such a grand name.
Amy nudged the baby on to her other breast. ‘Maybe you won’t want to know anything about me when you grow up. Maybe your new… the woman who takes you won’t even tell you about me. She might think it’s better if you don’t know. But if she does tell you… please don’t hate me, Ann,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t hate me.’ She looked down at the baby pulling at her breast. It was impossible to imagine that solemn little creature ever feeling so harsh an emotion as hate.
‘I hope she’ll let you wear the brooch. Your father gave it to me, you see. I thought it meant he loved me. But it’s not really mine any more, because he doesn’t want me now. But he’s still your father. Running away from me doesn’t change that. So it’s right that you have something that belonged to him and belonged to me, too.’ A tear fell on Ann’s blanket. ‘Anyway, I haven’t got anything else to give you.’
The baby let go of Amy’s nipple and lay very still, staring up alertly at her mother. Amy smiled down at her and brushed a finger over the softness of the baby’s cheek. ‘You’re going to fall asleep in a minute, aren’t you, Ann? Maybe those women will forget about us a bit longer and we can have a cuddle. They’ll growl at me for not calling out to tell them you’ve finished. I don’t care.’
*
A week or two, Mrs Crossley had said. Maybe seven days, maybe fourteen. That meant every hour was precious, and Amy determined to waste none of them. She grudged even sleeping, when it was time she could have spent watching her baby.
‘I wish I could explain things to you, Ann,’ Amy said to the little girl one day. ‘About why I did wrong with your father. If I tell you… maybe it’ll sort of go into your mind, and when you’re old enough you’ll remember it in a way. I suppose that’s silly. But you might.’ She tried to recall the way Jimmy had made her feel, the soft words of love he had used. It was becoming harder to dredge up the memories; harder to think about anything but her baby. ‘I will tell you, little one. I’ll tell you before I say goodbye.’
Three days after Mrs Crossley’s visit, Amy woke from a morning nap with a heavy feeling in her breasts. When she stirred, she found they were painfully swollen. Ann must be overdue for a feed. She leaned over to look in the cradle, but it was empty. Those nurses must have her. I hope they bring her back soon. She’ll be hungry. Her breasts leaked a little at the thought.
She lay back against the pillows and tried to wait patiently. But time dragged on and her breasts became more tender. She twisted around on the bed trying to get comfortable, then lay very still and listened for any sound of her baby. Amy was sure that by now Ann must have missed two feeds, and she began to be anxious. Is she ill? What are those women doing with her? She had a sudden picture of Sister Prescott touching Ann with the same rough handling she used on Amy.
Amy pushed back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, then stood up. She had to grasp the bed end to stay upright against the wave of weakness that assailed her. I’ve almost forgotten how to walk. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded out of the room and down the corridor.
The first door she tried opened onto an empty room. The next seemed to be a storeroom of some sort. The last door on the left stood open; when she peered into it she saw that it was the kitchen. Amy had just turned away to try the doors on the other side when an angry voice came down the corridor.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Who said you could get out of bed?’
Amy turned to see Sister Prescott bearing down on her. ‘Where’s my baby?’
‘You get right back in that room,’ Sister Prescott ordered. ‘Do you want to do yourself some injury and make more work for me?’ She took hold of Amy’s arm and propelled her along the corridor. Amy had to struggle to match the nurse’s stride; she stumbled as she walked.
‘But I was looking for my baby. She’s not in my room. Where is she?’
Sister Prescott pushed her onto the bed. ‘There. You just stay in here until I tell you you can get up. Do you understand me?’
‘She must be hungry. I don’t know how many feeds she’s missed now, but she must be really hungry. I can’t hear her crying anywhere. Where is she? What have you done with my baby?’
‘She’s gone,’ the nurse said flatly.
‘Wh-what? Where’s she gone?’
‘That Crossley woman collected her this morning. Now, don’t you go making a fuss, girl.’
‘But… but she said she wouldn’t take my baby away for a week at least. I thought I’d have her for a little bit longer.’
‘Well, you haven’t. Mrs Crossley thought you were going to be silly about giving the child up—she said you’d gone and got attached to it. I told you not to, you stupid girl.’
‘Ann’s gone?’ Amy whispered. ‘But I never said goodbye to her. I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her things.’ She felt tears sliding down her cheeks.
‘Stop it!’ Sister Prescott’s broad palm snaked out and slapped Amy. ‘Don’t you dare make a fuss. You knew you had to give that baby away, there’s no reason for you to carry on silly now.’
Amy’s shoulders heaved with suppressed sobs. She’s gone. My baby’s gone. Her breasts ached from their load of milk. ‘It hurts here,’ she said, pointing at them.
‘You’re full of milk, that’s why.’ The nurse fetched a broad band of cloth and wound it tightly around Amy’s breasts. ‘They’ll be sore for a few days, then the milk will go away.’
My milk will go away. Like my baby’s gone away. Amy laid her face against the pillow to let her tears soak into it. ‘When can I go home?’ she asked quietly.
‘You’ll be fit to travel in a few days. I’ll send Mrs Leith a cable to tell her to come and fetch you.’ The nurse glanced down at the floor beside the bed. ‘You don’t need this in here any more.’ She picked up the cradle and carried it out of the room, closing the door on Amy.
Amy lay with her breasts throbbing against their constricting band. My baby’s gone. She’s gone away, a
nd I never said goodbye to her. I’ll never see her again. She pressed her face into the pillow to try and muffle her sobs, but the noise of her weeping mounted until it filled the room. ‘My baby’s gone,’ she wailed aloud. She expected an angry nurse to burst in on her. But she was left alone to cry until her throat was too raw for any sound to escape.
*
The next few days ran meaninglessly into one another until one evening, when she brought in Amy’s dinner, Sister Prescott lingered for a moment. ‘You’re being collected tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Some time tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh. Good,’ Amy said, toying absently with her food.
Next morning she rose early and dressed herself. The green maternity frock was badly creased when she pulled it out of her case, but it didn’t seem important. Her cloak would cover it, anyway. She sat on the hard chair and stared at the spot where the cradle had been. She ignored her breakfast when Sister Prescott brought it in, and ignored the nurse’s scolding when she returned to find the food untouched and cold.
Her hand went absently to the place on her chest where the brooch had once hung. The worst of the pain had gone from her breasts, along with the milk, but they were still swollen and tender. She stared fixedly at the floor, thinking she could see a mark where the cradle had scratched a board. It’s all gone, Jimmy. All the things you gave me. The ribbon, the brooch, and now my baby. There’s nothing left. Nothing.
She closed her eyes to conjure Jimmy’s face. But all she could see was the face of a tiny baby, staring up at her. I can’t see you any more, Jimmy. Even the pictures of you have gone.
Amy kept her eyes closed to hold the picture of Ann before her. It was better than staring at the space a cradle had left. I’ve never seen you smile, Ann. You might start smiling about now, I think you’re just old enough. I hope you have lots of things to smile about.
She heard the door open. ‘Here she is,’ Sister Prescott said brightly. ‘Sitting up and all ready to go. What a good girl.’
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