Agnes Whitfield was halfdressed when the sharp ring of her colleagues phone cut through the thin morning air.
Agnes, you promised to be here half an hour earlier today. Can you make it?
Of course, she replied, go on to the dentist, Im about to step out.
She hurried down the stairwell, flung open the heavy front door, and was greeted by a sheet of black ice that had frozen the path leading from the courtyard onto the street.
It wont be quick, she muttered, slipping onto the slick surface and wobbling toward the bus stop.
Midway, the groundsman Alberteveryone called him Albert, though his full name stretched beyond ten lettersapologised to each passerby:
No sand today, the delivery missed us.
Everyone smiled and called out, No matter, Albert, well push through!
When Agnes emerged onto the pavement, a slushy mixture of mud and the nights light snow lay glistening under the early sun. Pedestrians had already smeared it with their black soles, turning the halffrozen snow a deep charcoal. She trod on, contemplating whether to discharge the expectant mother from Ward5 or keep her a few days longer in the maternity unit.
Then, without warning, the world tilted. She slipped, and to rise she had to thrust her hands into the filthy, soupy muck. She recoiled at the grime that spread both ahead and behind her, when suddenly strong arms slipped under her elbows and lifted her upright.
Thank you, she said, turning to see a tall, smiling man.
No trouble at all, but youll have to wash up when you get home.
Im in a rush, I cant stop.
Then best of luck at work, he called, disappearing into the nearest side street.
Later, in the staffroom, Agnes handed a dirty coat to a nurse, asking her to hang it. The nurse whispered, Everythings as usual. The oncall doctor is still here, keeping an eye on the new patient. Shes a frightened young thing, terrified of giving birth, but shes decided to keep the baby. Her parents live up north; she came to her aunts house to deliver, then will go back.
Which ward is she in?
The seventh.
Agnes sighed; the days duties were beginning. She entered Ward7 and met the oncall doctor, collected the necessary paperwork, and slipped into the seventh room. A young woman lay turned toward the wall. Agnes placed a hand on her shoulder; the woman turned, eyes wide.
Are you a doctor?
Yes, Im Agnes Whitfield. And you are?
Ethel, the girl replied, Ive already decidedIm going to give up the child.
Is that your decision alone, or does your family agree?
Its a joint decision.
Does the father know?
Not yet. I suspect he doesnt want a child.
But hes the father. By law you must tell him. A child isnt a toy. You have your own mother and fatherwhy deny him love?
Im still young, I need to study.
You should have thought of this earlier. Every action carries responsibility. Is it right to shirk that duty and abandon a tiny life? In the first days a baby needs its mother most, she said, feeling the girls breath catch, Imagine youre in a comfortable train carriage, then suddenly youre thrust out into the cold, naked. How does that feel? Youre an adult, youll find a way out. A newborn cant survive that shock.
Youll help him! Ethel cried.
He has you.
I dont want that.
You still have time to think and call his father. Do not fear childbirth; it will be alright.
Agnes squeezed Ethels hand, offering a warm smile. In Ethels eyes flickered pain, confusion, and a hopeful wish that her troubles would dissolve like mist.
The whole day Agnes thought of the girl and of herself. At thirtyfour she still had no family of her own. In university shed been engaged; a drunk driver had taken his life on her final year. The grief lingered, and shed since buried herself in work, watching husbands escorting their wives home, tears welling as she imagined cradling her own child.
Now, looking out the clinics window, the sky was bleak, wet snow falling in sheets. Evening would bring another freeze, the streets turning into a treacherous, oily glaze. She remembered the coat she needed to dry and drifted to the staff locker and the small staff kitchen.
The day passed uneventfully. Later, she returned to Ward7 to check on Ethel, now eighteen, from a nearby town, embarrassed to give birth in such a small community where everyone knows everyone. Shed had time to weigh pros and cons, yet the fathers signature was still missing.
Usually Agnes kept at arms length the dilemmas of women refusing babies; now she felt a strange kinship with Ethels plight, as if that file had been etched into her own heart.
She left the ward, but the icy pavement claimed her again. This time she fell on her knee, unable to rise. A woman behind her tried to help but lacked the strength. Suddenly, strong hands slipped under Agness arms and hoisted her, a broad grin on the rescuers face.
Thank you.
Im Ian, the man said, waiting for her name.
She answered, and, though she would never have spoken to a stranger on a normal day, she felt compelled to reply.
Its just a bruised knee, no hospital needed.
Ill see you to your flat then.
He chatted as they walked, saying he was a mechanical engineer at the steelworks, with a younger brother and a sister he cared for.
My sister, Daisy, is my golden girl, he said, my brothers tangled up with a girl who wont open up to me, but Im older, Ive learned a thing or two.
He helped her up the stairs, introduced himself to Mrs. Lydia Harper, who offered tea, but he declined, saying his children were waiting.
Mrs. Harper, hearing of the children, sighed, Thank you for helping my daughter.
A neighbour muttered, What a good man, but hes marriedwhat a shame.
Agnes gently corrected, Ian isnt married; he has a brother and a sister.
As the neighbour cleared the table, she turned, One day Ill be gone, and youll be alone. Apart from my sister Molly, two years younger, youll have no one.
Agnes embraced her mother, whispering, Live on, dear. Im exhausted; I must sleep. Tomorrow Ill tend to a girl.
At six oclock the next morning she called the ward: Hows Ethel in Ward7?
Contractions have started, you can have breakfast first.
All morning her thoughts drifted to Ian, picturing him holding a newborn beside Ethel. Am I falling in love in my old age? she wondered, smiling at the memory of his grin. She dressed, hoping to see him again, but the corridor held only strangers.
In the lobby she saw two men; one was unmistakably Ian. She approached him.
Good morning, how can I help?
How did you end up here?
I work here. Did something happen to your sister?
My sister is twelve. I hope she doesnt follow this fools path; let her finish university first.
She turned to Ians brother, Victor, Whats wrong with your
That lad managed to make a child, now he hides from a deceived girl. She called him twenty times yesterday. Hell have to marry, you see.
Ethel is about to give up her son, Victor explained.
Agnes Whitfield, to the delivery suite, a voice called, echoing the earlier ring.
Agnes, already dressed, answered, Who?
From Ward7.
Hold on, well talk later.
Ethel trembled, fearing death, seeing a smug Victor in her mind, the pain blurring her thoughts, anger rising.
Where is Agnes Whitfield? Why isnt she here?
Ethel brightened at the mention of Agnes, smiling weakly.
Dont be afraid, everything will be alright.
The scene ended abruptly.
A nursery nurse lifted a baby, showing it to Ethel.
Will you name him Ian? asked Victor.
Why?
In gratitude for your care. Ethels fine.
Ian, watching Agnes, broke into a smile.
First Ill ask Ethel, shes the one who gave birth.
A week later, the brothers and sister gathered around the newborn Ian, with Lydia Harper preparing a celebratory lunch. She moved in temporarily to help Ethel, whose aunt had been hospitalised. Ian often whispered to relatives that hed spend the night at a friends, but everyone saw the delighted look on Agness face and his eager devotion.
Ethan, Ians younger brother, was presented to the grandparents, followed by his christening. Lydia acted as godmother, Ian as godfather. Two months later they married. The young couple radiated happiness, while Lydia rejoiced most, secure that her daughter now had a loving, bustling family, and only awaited the arrival of grandchildren. All in its own time.
