“But the resentment was in her mind, sir, and had nothing to do with Cox really. It was a transference. It had nothing at all to do with his behavior toward her. We have a great deal of that to deal with. But, it just doesn’t always come out in such violent forms. We tried — I tried — to work it out to a point where the girl could see that the hostility she experienced came from within herself. But she was determined to have another doctor, and she became enraged with me, finally, because she became convinced I was the one who was frustrating her. She would naturally think that in her kind of illness.”
Amundsen nodded. “I’m afraid these things are a lot more complicated than the police will believe; or want to believe. The thing I fear, Dr. Craig, is that in their anxiety to wind this case up, they’ll hang it on somebody who is completely innocent. And then it will be weeks and months of trouble for all of us. Not to mention the hospital’s reputation, which, in my poor way, I’m concerned to guard.”
“I understand only too well,” Craig said. “What troubles me especially is this: if one of the patients didn’t do it — and I’m virtually certain none of them did — where do we look? It happened right here in the hospital, worse luck for us. And he couldn’t have stabbed himself in the back. Was it one of the medical staff? Or a disgruntled nurse? Or an angry cleaning man?”
Amundsen shook his gray head disconsolately, moving at last into the hall. “It’s a bad business. I wish I could go home and go to sleep and forget it. You’d better call it a day yourself, Dr. Craig. You could do with some rest.”
Craig smiled thinly. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’m on my way to the University Hospital. My wife is meeting me there.”
“My dear dear boy.” The superintendent was abashed. “And I’ve been holding you up with all this. Go ahead now. Don’t keep her waiting.” He almost shoved Craig out of the swinging back doors.
“And my best to Mrs. Craig. And to you!” he called warmly. He strode across the parking lot to his car, which was parked near the end of the circle.
IV
Marianne was nowhere in sight when Craig arrived at the University Hospital. Having found a white coat for himself, he looked up Pete Jeffries and engaged in an exchange of conversation with the elderly O.B., while both of them drank a quick coffee in the nurses’ kitchen. In the course of their talk, Craig remembered that it was quite likely that Mrs. Cox had been under Pete’s care and queried the obstetrician.
“That’s right,” Pete nodded, pouring a second steaming cup for himself. “Brought her in here last night, near collapse. She’s just down the hall there. Under sedation.”
“Poor girl,” Craig sighed. “Sedation can’t be used forever. She’s going to have a bad time of it, I’m afraid.”
“She always does,” Jeffries said, unexpectedly, and then looked sidewise at Craig. “Excuse me, me, Bill. I don’t mean to appear unsympathetic. But... well, let’s say she isn’t like Marianne; or like ninety percent of my patients for that matter. She fights pregnancy every step of the way. She hates it, and that makes it harder for her, Of course. Even during the first few months.”
Dr. Jeffries sighed, wiped his hands on a towel and turned back to the corridor. “This will be a bad one, of course. But... when anybody feels as sorry for herself as Vicki Cox, I tell you it’s damned hard to give her any extra sympathy. You feel as if she’s already had her share, and then some. All self-imposed.”
“Does she have an especially hard time delivering?” Craig asked, following closely on Jeffries’ heels and looking out the window for the cab.
Jeffries shook his head. “Not her. Perfectly simple. It’s just that some of them love to feel as if it’s a special burden, a kind of personal affront, and they make a real big deal out of it. I’ve seen... but here,” his voice quickened with pleasure. “This, I think, is your Little Woman — and looking wonderful.”
The two doctors met Marianne as she arrived. She was wearing, Craig noticed with tender amusement, an enormous garden hat and the most beautiful blue maternity smock she had been able to get her hands on. She looked radiant, and she greeted them as though she were hostess at a particularly fashionable party.
“Were you going some place, darling?” Craig took her hands and then leaned over to plant a kiss on her smile.
“Some place special.” She squeezed his arm. “I won’t be long, either. Pete, if you’re ready I wouldn’t keep you waiting for the world.” She winked, and turned to follow the nurse. Then she walked back a quick step or two and ran her fingers along the lines in Craig’s face.
“Take it easy, dear, won’t you? I feel wonderful; and you know how it is with me. A picnic. Ask Pete.”
And this time she nearly ran after the nurse.
It wasn’t a picnic. Craig had called the girls three times, each time with increasing anxiety, before he was able to say, “It’s a boy” — not quite believing it himself. There were ecstatic rumbles at the other end, and finally it was sober, sweet-natured Rosemary who said, “Is Mommy all right? Kiss her for us. I’ll get the others to bed. Good night, Daddy,” and hung up.
He leaned his head on his hand for a moment, then ran it through his hair, which was damp with sweat, and straightened his tie and went back to the room, where they were making Marianne comfortable. It was past three. Her face was drawn, and pale, but she managed a twinkle when her husband’s head appeared in the door.
“Bill?” her voice was close to a whisper. He took her hand, smoothing the fingers, and the nurses rustled out, after opening a window and smoothing the sheet one last time.
“Darling,” he answered.
“Bill... you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” He was aghast.
“Mind the boy, I mean? After all, you’ve been head man in that little harem of ours for a long time. Now we’re going to have another male around the house. And a beauty he is, too,” she couldn’t resist adding.
Craig had seen the baby, and felt that perhaps this last description was a bit extravagant.
“You’re a silly woman.” He laid her hand along his cheek. “Of course I mind. Male jealousy, and all that. I’ll probably hate him when I see all of you silly females gushing over him, the little monster. But I’ll do my best to pretend I’m pleased, for your sake.”
She laughed weakly but still like Marianne, and kissed the hair on the back of his hands.
“Bill... Bill... You’re such a darling. Such a total darling. Just imagine the glorious luck; I’m going to have two of you!” She sighed in utter bliss; and was asleep before he had drawn up the sheet and closed the door behind him.
Next morning reaction had set in, and he sat on the side of the bed, considering for a long while the possibility of canceling his appointments for the day and staying home. He felt tired, and old, and now that Marianne was safe, painfully conscious of the struggles of the months ahead. A small baby, again; with all of the nocturnal disorder and daily high crisis such an event implies. I’m past forty, he thought, and some of the old bounce is gone.
Downstairs the girls were fighting in high voices over breakfast chores, and before he had his socks on at least one spell of tears announced that school time must be near. He groaned; he needed a day off, all right. But maybe he’d better save it until Marianne and the young squirt came home from the Hospital. There was, also, Miss Nine O’clock to be considered. She was as jealous of her time as she was of her relationships. And it might be better, on the whole, not to give her any excuse for triggering off. For intricate reasons, she was going to be unhappy enough about the new addition.
He restored peace over the oatmeal and outlined a series of chores for the girls to undertake in their Mother’s absence with only minor rebellion in the ranks. They were, he reflected as he saw the last and smallest off to school, fine girls. Like their Mother in warmth and quickness and charm; and perhaps, just a little like him in clinging to an old situation until the last possible second. They made the school bus by a hair’s breadth apiece.