While Ruth slept peacefully it was left to Miss Nichol to take Fletcher Andrew off to the special care unit, where he would share his first few hours with several other progeny. Once she had tucked up the child in his little crib, she left the nurse to watch over him before returning to Ruth’s room. Miss Nichol settled herself into a comfortable chair in the corner and tried to stay awake.
Just as night was contemplating day, Miss Nichol woke with a start. She heard the words, ‘Can I see my son?’
‘Of course you can, Mrs Davenport,’ replied Miss Nichol rising quickly from her chair. ‘I’ll just go and fetch little Andrew.’ As she closed the door behind her, she added, ‘I’ll be back in a few moments.’
Ruth pulled herself up, plumped up her pillow, switched on the bedside lamp and waited in eager anticipation.
As Miss Nichol walked along the corridor, she checked her watch. It was 4.31 a.m. She took the stairs down to the fifth floor and made her way to the nursery. Miss Nichol opened the door quietly so as not to wake any of the sleeping offspring. As she entered a room illuminated by a small fluorescent light glowing overhead, her eyes settled on the night nurse dozing in the corner. She didn’t disturb the young woman as it was probably the only few moments of slumber that she would manage during her eight-hour shift.
Miss Nichol tiptoed between the two rows of cots, stopping only for a moment to glance at the twins in the double crib that had been placed next to Fletcher Andrew Davenport.
She stared down at a child who would want for nothing for the rest of his life. As she bent over to lift the little boy from his crib, she froze. After a thousand births, you are well qualified to recognize death. The pallor of the skin and the stillness of the eyes made it unnecessary for her to check the pulse.
It is often spur-of-the-moment decisions, sometimes made by others, that can change our whole lives.
3
When Dr Greenwood was woken in the middle of the night to be told that one of his new charges had died, he knew exactly which child it was. He also realized that he would have to return to the hospital immediately.
Kenneth Greenwood had always wanted to be a doctor. After only a few weeks at medical school, he had known in which field he would specialize. He thanked God every day for allowing him to carry out his vocation. But then from time to time, as if somehow the Almighty felt it was necessary to balance the scales, he had to tell a mother that she had lost her child. It was never easy, but having to tell Ruth Davenport for a third time...
There were so few cars on the road at five o’clock in the morning that Dr Greenwood was parked in his reserved spot at the hospital twenty minutes later. He pushed through the swing doors, strode past the reception desk and had stepped into the elevator before any of the staff could speak to him.
‘Who’s going to tell her?’ asked the nurse who was waiting for him as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor.
‘I will,’ said Dr Greenwood. ‘I’ve been a friend of the family for years,’ he added.
The nurse looked surprised. ‘I suppose we must be thankful that the other baby survived,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts.
Dr Greenwood stopped in his tracks. ‘The other baby?’ he repeated.
‘Yes, Nathaniel’s just fine, it was Peter who died.’
Dr Greenwood remained silent for a moment as he tried to take in this piece of information. ‘And the Davenport boy?’ he ventured.
‘Doing well, as far as I know,’ replied the nurse. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I delivered him just before I went home,’ he said, hoping the nurse hadn’t spotted the hesitation in his voice.
Dr Greenwood walked slowly between the rows of cribs, passing offspring who were sleeping soundly and others who were yelling, as if to prove they had lungs. He stopped when he came to the double crib where he had left the twins only a few hours before. Nathaniel lay peacefully asleep while his brother was motionless. He glanced across to check the name on the headboard of the next crib, Davenport, Fletcher Andrew. That little boy was also sleeping soundly, his breathing quite regular.
‘Of course I couldn’t move the child until the doctor who had delivered...’
‘You don’t have to remind me of hospital procedure,’ snapped Dr Greenwood uncharacteristically. ‘What time did you come on duty?’ he asked.
‘Just after midnight,’ she replied.
‘And have you been in attendance since then?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did anyone else enter the nursery during that time?’
‘No, doctor,’ the nurse replied. She decided not to mention that about an hour ago she thought she’d heard a door close, or at least not while he was in such a foul mood. Dr Greenwood stared down at the two cribs marked Cartwright, Nathaniel and Peter. He knew where his duty lay.
‘Take the child to the morgue,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll write up a report immediately, but I won’t inform the mother until the morning. No purpose will be served by waking her at this hour.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the nurse meekly.
Dr Greenwood left the nursery, walked slowly down the corridor and stopped outside Mrs Cartwright’s door. He opened it noiselessly, relieved to discover that his patient was fast asleep. After climbing the staircase up to the sixth floor, he carried out the same exercise when he reached Mrs Davenport’s private room. Ruth was also sleeping. He glanced across the room to see Miss Nichol seated awkwardly in her chair. He could have sworn that she opened her eyes, but he decided not to disturb her. He pulled the door closed, walked to the far end of the corridor and slipped out on to the fire escape stairs that led to the parking lot. He didn’t want to be seen leaving by those on duty at the front desk. He needed some time to think.
Dr Greenwood was back in his bed twenty minutes later, but he didn’t sleep.
When his alarm went off at seven he was still awake. He knew exactly what his first course of action must be, although he feared the repercussions could reverberate for many years.
Dr Greenwood took considerably longer to drive back to St Patrick’s for a second time that morning, and it wasn’t just because of the increased traffic. He dreaded having to tell Ruth Davenport that her child had died during the night, and only hoped it could be done without any accompanying scandal. He knew he would have to go straight to Ruth’s room and explain what had happened, otherwise he would never be able to go through with it.
‘Good morning, Dr Greenwood,’ said the nurse on reception, but he didn’t respond.
When he stepped out onto the sixth floor and began walking towards Mrs Davenport’s room, he found his pace became slower and slower. He came to a halt in front of her door, hoping she would still be asleep. He eased it open, to be greeted with the sight of Robert Davenport sitting beside his wife. Ruth was holding a baby in her arms. Miss Nichol was nowhere to be seen.
Robert jumped up from his side of the bed.
‘Kenneth,’ he said, shaking him by the hand, ‘we will be eternally in your debt.’
‘You owe me nothing,’ the doctor replied quietly.
‘Of course we do,’ said Robert, turning back to face his wife. ‘Shall we let him know what we’ve decided, Ruth?’
‘Why not, then we’ll both have something to celebrate,’ she said, kissing the boy’s forehead.