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.