Helene nodded grimly. Her thoughts exactly. Perhaps the mother was not in her right mind. That would explain a lot.
“Maybe God sent us the baby,” Janie said wistfully. “Like when God sent Baby Jesus for Christmas.”
Helene and Grace exchanged looks, but said nothing.
“How’s the patient?” George called out as he and Goldie came in from their after-dinner constitutional. “Resting well?”
“He appears more comfortable,” Helene told him. “Do you think the penicillin might be working already?”
“It’s awfully soon, but you never know. At least he’s not worse.” George leaned in to see the baby, checking him closely. “I’ve got the oxygen tent all ready to go. I’ll show you how to work it when you put him to bed.”
“I want to give him one more bottle before bedtime,” she explained. “In about an hour or so.”
“And I’d like to give him a second small dose of penicillin before I go to bed—”
“More penicillin?” Helene asked with concern.
“Yes, a single dose of penicillin has begun the battle against the pneumonia bacteria,” George explained, “but it will take more doses to complete his treatment.”
“Well, you’re the doctor.” Helene touched the baby’s forehead. “You’re in good hands, little fellow.”
“And before you put him to bed, I’d like to check his temperature and listen to his lungs again.”
“Can we put the baby’s pajamas on now?” Janie asked hopefully. “I saw some sweet little nightgowns in that paper sack.”
“Why don’t you help me get him ready for bed,” Helene told her granddaughter. “You get the bag and we’ll go upstairs to see if Velma has his room set up yet.”
“Can I help too?” Grace asked eagerly.
Helene laughed as she scooped up the infant. “Of course. We’ll all get him ready for bed together.” And like a tiny parade, they went up the stairs with Helene leading the way and Goldie following behind Janie.
“Look!” Janie exclaimed as they went into the small yellow bedroom. “It’s a baby’s room now!”
Helene glanced around, pleased to see that Velma hadn’t only found appropriate baby furnishings, but she had obviously cleaned everything as well. A changing/bathing table was set against the wall with a few diapering items within easy reach. And the white crib was freshly made up with clean white sheets and a twin-sized quilt that she’d folded in half. Velma had even put a rocking chair in here.
“Very nice,” Helene declared as she laid the baby on the changing table.
The baby was still wearing the little blue suit that they’d found beneath his other layers of clothing, and as Helene unbuttoned the pearl buttons, she couldn’t help but admire the workmanship. “Someone sewed you a very nice little suit,” she said quietly to him.
“His other clothes are well made too,” Grace said as she removed some items from the bag. “Someone obviously cared about this baby.”
“I think he should wear the blue nightgown,” Janie declared, laying the flannel garment on the changing table.
“First he’ll need a dry diaper,” Helene told her. “Can you get one out of the bag, Janie? And a fresh pair of rubber pants to go over it.”
“How about if I put his clothes and things in these drawers?” Grace pointed to the nearby dresser. “That’ll be handy to the changing table.”
“Here’s a diaper, Grandma.” Janie opened the folded diaper for her. “There’s something inside it.”
“What?” Helene glanced over to see Janie holding up a piece of paper.
“It looks like a note.” Grace reached for it.
“Read it,” Helene eagerly insisted as she slipped the diaper beneath the infant, securing one side with a diaper pin.
“Oh, my!” Grace sat down on the twin bed by the window.
“What? What does it say?” Helene pinned the other side, accidentally pricking the finger she had used as a buffer beneath it, but relieved she hadn’t pricked the baby.
“You want me to read it aloud?” Grace asked meekly.
“Of course.” Helene picked up the baby, who was starting to fuss again. With only his diaper and undershirt on, Helene held him close to her to keep him warm. She stared at her daughter. “Grace Anne? What on earth is wrong? What does the note say? Read it, please.”
“It says, ‘Please, take care of my baby. He is very sick and I can no longer afford to keep him.’”
“Is that all?” Helene frowned. That wasn’t anything to get upset about.
“No. There’s more.” Grace cleared her throat and continued. “‘My son’s name is Jimmy. He is eight weeks old. And he’s a good boy and I love him dearly. Thank you for helping him. Jimmy’s Mother.’”
“His name is Jimmy?” Helene took in a sharp breath.
“Jimmy?” Janie echoed cheerfully. “That’s a sweet name.” She put her hand on Helene’s elbow. “Don’t you like that name, Grandma?”
“Yes, yes, I do like that name.” Helene turned back to the changing table and, laying Jimmy back down, she slipped the soft flannel nightgown over his head, fastening the snaps at the neckline then pulling the drawstring at the bottom of the garment to turn the nightgown into a sleep sack that would keep his feet warm.
“You see, we used to call Uncle James by that name,” Grace explained to Janie. “When he was little we called him Jimmy. After he got bigger, he didn’t like going by Jimmy. He went by James instead. Some of his friends called him Jim.”
“Maybe Uncle James sent us Jimmy,” Janie declared with enthusiasm. “From heaven. Just like when Baby Jesus came from heaven.”
Once again, Helene and Grace exchanged uncomfortable glances. Some childish conclusions were just too hard to respond to in an honest manner.
“Well, we will take care of this little Jimmy just as if Uncle James had sent him from heaven,” Helene finally declared. She held the baby for Janie to see. “How does he look in his little nightgown?”
Janie reached out to touch the baby’s cheek. “Jimmy, you are very sweet.”
With Jimmy starting to fuss again, Helene sat down in the rocking chair, hoping to soothe him . . . and herself. As strange as it seemed, maybe Janie was right. Maybe God really had sent them this baby.
Helene had just finished Jimmy’s three a.m. feeding and, to her relief, the infant was breathing more easily. So far she had no need of George’s makeshift oxygen tent. Nor had she felt compelled to wake her husband. She was also relieved that the half-and-half mixture of cow’s milk and formula hadn’t bothered little Jimmy’s tummy. She’d found it disturbing that so many young mothers had taken to using these store-bought baby formulas. She knew it was convenient for working mothers. Especially since so many women had joined the workforce with their men off at war. But, according to George, formula milk wasn’t nearly as nutritious as mother’s milk—and he still believed cow’s milk was superior to formula as well.
She continued rocking Jimmy until she felt certain he was soundly asleep, then gently laid him on his side in the crib—the same way she had always put her own babies to sleep. Had it been more than two decades since she had been a young mother? She felt as if it all instantly had come back to her. So much so that she could imagine herself becoming a mommy to little Jimmy.
Climbing back into the narrow twin bed, Helene wondered again at what Janie had said. Maybe the child was right. Maybe God had given them this baby . . . perhaps as a replacement for her own lost son. Oh, she knew the child hadn’t been literally dropped down from heaven like Janie believed. But the circumstances that had delivered the baby into their manger might have been directed by God. In this twilight hour, she felt that was entirely possible. And suddenly she felt her heart growing warmer toward a God who could work such a miracle.
As Helene turned off the bedside light, she realized that she had been angry at God for months now—ever since receiving that awful telegram about James last spring. Certainly, it wasn’t a rage s
he’d ever expressed openly. But even while seated at church, it would be simmering inside of her. Perhaps caring for this helpless infant would allow her to let go of her fury. It was obvious that the child needed someone to care for him. He’d been in dire straits when they’d taken him in and already he was doing better.
Having Baby Jimmy to care for made it much easier to tell Grace and Janie goodbye. But it had the opposite effect on little Janie. “I don’t want to leave him,” she complained as George carried their bags out to their car. “He’s so sweet and cute.” Janie reached up to touch the infant’s cheek. “And his skin is so soft.”
“Well, we have to go home,” Grace firmly told Janie. “I have work and you have kindergarten. Remember?”
“Will Baby Jimmy still be here when we come back for Christmas?” Janie asked Helene.
Helene grimaced. “I, uh, I don’t know. He might have to—”
“What if I never see him again?” Janie looked close to tears. “You have to keep him, Grandma. God put him in our manger so that you could keep him.”
George knelt down in front of Janie, looking intently into her face. “We don’t really know that for sure, sweetheart. But we do know that no matter what happens with Jimmy, he will be lovingly cared for. Just like you are.” He kissed her cheek. “And just think—in a few weeks you and your mommy will be back here for Christmas.”
“And Daddy might be here too,” Grace announced.
“Daddy’s coming home! Daddy’s coming home!” Suddenly Janie was dancing about the driveway, her sorrow over not seeing Jimmy again replaced by exuberance.
“Really?” George stood. “Harry has leave at Christmastime?”
Grace smiled sheepishly at her parents. “Well, it was supposed to be a secret—and it’s not a hundred percent for sure—but I think so.”
Even if it was a smoke screen to distract Janie from fretting over Baby Jimmy, Helene was grateful for this news as she kissed them both goodbye. And, to her surprise, she no longer felt so angry at Harry for the role he’d played in enticing her son into the wide blue yonder. Truth be told, James had always been a strong-willed and adventuresome boy. It was no wonder he’d taken to the skies like he had. Perhaps it was time for her to move on . . . forgive and forget. Perhaps this baby would help her to do so. Bundling him closer to her, she waved to Grace and Janie as their car pulled away, then hurried back into the warmth of the house.
She felt confident, thanks to George’s medical expertise and her maternal skills, this child’s health would greatly improve in the next few days. She could just imagine the baby with a healthy glow, giggling and happy. Like Detective Albert had said, the child had “fallen into a fine-feathered nest.” And based on the note penned by Jimmy’s mother, Helene was certain the desperate woman must’ve specifically picked George and Helene for this task. Helene wondered about the mother . . . was she someone they knew? Perhaps someone from church? Or one of George’s patients? Helene’s best guess was that the mother was young. Perhaps an adolescent who had found herself in trouble . . . or perhaps someone trapped in poverty. Maybe even from the nearby reservation—although the child’s fair looks suggested otherwise. In fact, with Helene’s light brown hair and blue eyes, it wouldn’t be difficult to pass little Jimmy off as her own.
She wondered what George would say to the idea of them becoming parents again. Even though he was nearly sixty and planning for retirement in the next few years, Helene was only forty-eight. It was unusual, but she’d heard of women her age having babies. And George, despite his years, was young at heart. In her opinion, they would make fine parents to a young child. She felt certain that Jimmy’s mother would agree.
10
George felt torn as he walked to town on Monday morning. On one hand, he was thrilled to see Helene back to her old self. In fact, it was even better than that—he hadn’t seen his wife this happy in years. Not since before the war. Having a baby in the house just brought out the best in her. She wasn’t even depressed like she usually would be after Grace and Janie went home. It was refreshing.
But on the other hand, Jimmy was not their baby. And each additional day spent caring for the child would only make it harder for Helene to let him go.
“Good morning, Dr. Bradley.” Betty took his coat and hat for him, putting them in the closet. “Cora won’t be in until ten today. She had to take her mother to the train station. But I’ll cover for her.” She smiled. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
“Well, it was interesting anyway.” He quickly told Betty about finding a baby in the manger on Friday. She had been his nurse since he’d first opened this clinic and was almost like family.
“My goodness!”
“Helene has already grown quite fond of him.” He grimaced. “The child’s name is Jimmy.”
Betty had been an Army nurse in the First World War and was usually unflappable, but she looked genuinely stunned now. “How very, very odd.”
He nodded grimly. “Janie insisted that the baby had been sent to us by God. Just like Baby Jesus. And that’s why he was in the manger.”
“Oh, my.” Betty chuckled. “That little Janie is a clever one.”
He tapped the appointment book on Cora’s desk. “When is my first patient?”
“Not until eleven. But after that you’ll be busy most of the afternoon.”
George sat on the edge of the reception desk—something he wouldn’t dare do if Cora was here. Folding his arms in front of him, he let out a long sigh. “Helene is really hoping that we can keep the baby, Betty.”
“Oh . . . ?”
“She’s like a new woman. I haven’t seen her this happy since . . . well, it’s been a long time.”
“Bless her heart. Losing James has been very hard on her . . . well, on both of you.” She sighed. “On everyone . . .”
He just nodded.
“How do you feel about it? I mean, keeping the child.”
He pursed his lips. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’ll be sixty next year and I’d really been looking forward to retirement. I had hoped that Helene and I might do some traveling—well, if this blasted war ever ends.”
“So you’re not terribly interested in raising a second family?”
“Not really.” He frowned. “But I can’t tell Helene. Honestly, Betty, she is over the moon for this child. I heard her singing to him this morning.” He shook his head. “And now she is convinced that little Jimmy resembles James—when he was an infant.”
“Does he?”
George shrugged as he stood up. “You know me, Betty. All babies look alike.”
She smiled.
He explained about how sick the baby was when they took him in. “But I gave him penicillin and he’s much better. He’s responding like a sturdy little lad.”
“Where do you suppose he came from? Who left him there?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” He glanced at the wall clock. “You say I’ve no appointments until eleven?”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe I’ll do some sleuthing.” He went back to the closet and retrieved his overcoat and hat. “Do you recall any patients that I’ve cared for in the past? Any young women that might’ve found themselves in a difficult position? With child?”
“I can’t think of any offhand, and the only baby you’ve delivered in the past three months was a girl. But I can go over our files and see if there’s a woman that might’ve found herself in trouble like that.” She held up a finger. “And Harvey might know something.”
“Good idea. Ask Harvey.” Betty’s husband taught science at the high school. “I think I’ll run by the police station and have a conversation with Detective Albert. See if he’s discovered anything.”
“Good luck.”
George thanked her, but as he went outside he wondered what “good luck” really would be in this situation. Helene’s idea of good luck would be never to find the mother and sim
ply raise the child as their own. He knew he should be supportive of this—especially considering how much happier she’d been these past couple of days. He was amazed and impressed how easily she’d slipped into the role of mother. And, as she’d pointed out, some women her age had babies. After all, hadn’t he just delivered one with Ida Adams last year? And their family was doing just fine. “It will keep me younger,” she’d assured him this morning. And he had to admit that having Doris with them, as the baby’s nursemaid, certainly lightened the load. But, really, did he want to raise a child . . . at his age?
Detective Albert was happy to see George. “I was just about to call you,” he said as he led George into his office. “I think I might’ve discovered the identity of the mystery mother.”
“Really?” George removed his hat as he sat down.
“Well, some of the pieces fit. But not everything.”
“Tell me about it.”
“A young woman came to town last week. She’d been staying at the Wallace Hotel. And, according to Bill Jones, the manager, this woman had a baby.”
“Yes?” George leaned forward.
“The young woman was from California. Her name is Amelia Richards. Nice-looking woman, but Bill suspected she was down on her luck.”
“What do you mean? How would he know?”
“Apparently she was short on funds. She told Bill she wanted to get a job, but that she needed to have the room on credit for a week or so.”
“Oh?”
“Of course, Bill couldn’t give it to her. So she checked out on Sunday.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.” Detective Albert frowned. “This is where it doesn’t quite make sense.”
“What?”
“Bill said she had her baby with her when she left.”
“On Sunday?”
The detective nodded glumly.
“Then she can’t be the mother we’re looking for.”
“But that’s the only lead I had that made sense. A lone woman shows up in Rockford with an infant. Down on her luck. And you find an abandoned baby in your manger.”
The Christmas Blessing Page 7
