The six-foot-tall, dark-headed young man had shed his suit coat more than two hours before. Now his blue-and-red-striped tie loosened around his thin neck, and the sleeves of his wrinkled white shirt pushed up almost to the elbows of his long, athletic arms, George Hall was wearing out his brown wing-tip shoes as he paced from one end of the eighteen-foot-long waiting room to the other. Another, much more seasoned, veteran of the childbirth experience sat in a far corner chair, his feet casually propped up on a table, a smirk on his face, and an eyebrow raised at Hall’s nervous energy.
“You’re going to wear out the floor if you keep that up.” The stranger laughed. “And your shoes aren’t going to last long either.”
“Yeah, I know,” the expectant father admitted while continuing his trek toward the far wall. “But this waiting is just too much. I’ve never been through anything like the last five hours. I wish she’d hurry up.”
“I’m sure your wife is doing all she can to accomplish your objectives. So why don’t you just sit down and read the paper or something? Of if you need to walk, take it outside. The sidewalks are probably lonely this time of the night, and they might enjoy your long steps a bit more than the nurses and I do.”
George stopped momentarily and glanced up to the wall clock. Three thirty! Why did the baby have to pick the middle of the night to be born? Surely midmorning or even late afternoon would have been much better for everyone. Then a cold chill ran down his spine. If this long, unpredictable night was any indication, raising this child was not going to be easy! What had he gotten himself into? Suddenly thoughts of dealing with a troubled teen restarted his involuntary exercise program. His walk across the room was stopped in midstride when a middle-aged nurse sauntered down the hall and into the room. George quickly looked her way, his nerves taut with anxious hope, but her eyes didn’t catch his nor were her words the ones he wanted to hear.
“Mr. Sims,” she announced with a smile as she looked at the other man, “congratulations. You have another daughter. I think that makes five if I remember correctly.”
The small man with the thinning blond hair grinned, uncrossed his legs, stood up, and stretched. “Just can’t seem to get this right. Keep trying for a son and always end up with another girl. Guess I’ll have to take that Babe Ruth baseball glove back to the store for a doll. Again!”
“That’s the way things often turn out,” the woman teased. “And there’s nothing wrong with girls. I used to be one.”
Ignoring the woman’s joke, George quickly moved toward her and chimed in, “Excuse me. Is there any word for me?”
She nodded and grinned. “Yes, the word is patience!” The nurse shook her finger at Hall before smiling and turning toward the other man. “Now, Mr. Sims, why don’t we walk down the hall so you can meet your latest. Do you have a name picked out?”
“What’s your name?” he inquired.
“Elizabeth.”
“That sounds all right to me.”
A deeply disappointed George didn’t hear the woman’s response. Exhausted and alone, and now overcome with fear that he might not be up to being a parent, he gave up his pacing and collapsed into a wooden chair. He needed sleep, but he knew his nerves wouldn’t let him nod off, so he picked up the newspaper. It was opened to an advertisement for an estate sale and auction in the same town where he and Carole lived—Oakwood. Though he had no interest in the event, he scanned the long list of furniture, jewelry, kitchen items, and books. Nothing captured his attention until his deep-set, hazel eyes neared the bottom.
1936 PACKARD FOUR-DOOR SEDAN, 6,200 MILES, EXCELLENT SHAPE, YELLOW EXTERIOR AND GRAY INTERIOR.
He reread the listing three more times, the last time out loud. Tossing the paper into the chair beside him, he grinned and stretched his arms above his broad shoulders. Wouldn’t it be something to take his baby home from the hospital in a grand, eight-cylinder car like that Packard! What a way for his little man or little gal to start life! Style, that’s what it would be. He could see himself behind the wheel, sporting to work or taking his family to church. They could even go to Kickapoo Park in the summer and picnic on the wide running boards. Carole and the baby deserved a car like that. So much better than his third-hand, beaten-up Chevy coupe with brakes that worked sometimes and with an old Indian blanket covering tears in the front seat’s upholstery.
Twenty minutes later George was still in that same chair, lost in visions that mixed fatherhood and automotive grandeur, when the plump nurse returned to the room and announced, “Mr. Hall, your wife is fine and you have a little girl!”
All thoughts of the car suddenly evaporated. In fact everything evaporated from his head.
“Oh, thank God!” he shouted. “This is all the answer to prayer I needed. She’s healthy…. They are healthy. Amen!”
Leaping from the chair, a rejuvenated George raced up to the nurse, threw his arms around her, lifted the woman up into the air, and spun her around like a rag doll. If she was surprised or put off by his actions, she didn’t show it. Without complaint, she took the unscheduled ride, circling the room four times and then, without as much as a thank-you, was plopped down on the wooden floor. Once back on the ground, she straightened her uniform and hair before asking the obvious, “Would you like to see your daughter?”
“Would I?”
“I take it that is a yes.” She laughed. “You just follow me. Do you have a name picked out?”
“Rose, you know, like the flower.”
“Yes, Mr. Hall, I’ve heard of the name. This may come as a shock to you, but I know it’s a flower.” She added, “It seems I recall they come in a variety colors.”
“By the way,” he asked, “do you want a cigar? I’ve got some in my coat pocket. I can go back and get one. My jacket’s in the waiting room.”
“Ah, no,” she replied. “And don’t you dare light one of those nasty things up in my hospital. You hear me?”
“Yes,” he almost sang out. “I don’t smoke anyway!”
“Yeah,” she groaned, “that’s what they all say before they see their new kid. Then they all light up like a five-alarm fire. But not in my hospital! If you do I’ll ring your scrawny neck.”
“Sure,” he laughed, “not inside the building. I’ve got it.”
“You’d better!”
The pair rounded a corner in the wide hall and quickly made their way to a large plate-glass window. On the other side was a nursery containing ten tiny cribs. Seven of them were serving as the resting place for newborns. A white-clad, older nurse sat to one side of the room keeping watch on each of these welcomed additions to the world. For a few minutes George’s eyes roamed from one infant to the next wondering which one of the little ones was his Rose. He was about to pick one on the far right when the nurse elbowed him in the ribs.
“She’s not one of those. Look toward that door in the back.”
George lifted his gaze to the oak entry. Just as he did it swung opened and another nurse, this one thin, redheaded, and not more than thirty, carried a tiny bundle into the room. Looking their way, she smiled. Several quick but gentle steps later she was on the other side of the glass from the new father and the veteran nurse.
“There, Mr. Hall, is your Rose.”
As he took in the wonder of the moment, studying the hairless head, the wrinkled, red face, and the tiny hands, he sighed in wonder. “She’s so small.”
“And your wife is more than glad she’s not bigger,” the nurse added. “Now, take one more good look, and then I want you to go grab your suit jacket and those nasty cigars, get into your car, go home, and get some rest. And that’s an order!”
“Can’t I see my wife?”
“Not now,” she barked. “She needs to get her rest, too. Now go home!”
Like an obedient child, Hall nodded, and, after watching his baby placed in her crib, he waved his hand, whispered, “I love you,” and moved back down the hallway to the waiting room. With a hundred different emotions flooding his soul, each of those varying and often conflicting feelings pointed out to him that his life would never be the same, he slipped on his suit jacket and headed toward the exit. He was almost to the door when he yanked a cigar out of his pocket, hurriedly unwrapped it, grinned, placed it in his mouth, struck a match against the wall, and lit it up. From the hallway behind him a woman’s voice yelled, “Mr. Hall, I warned you!”