The street bustled with the usual spring clamor, the kind that only returns when the city finally feels the warm kiss of the sun after a long, grey winter. The icy puddles that had once clung to the pavement were now melting away under the chatter of passing minibuses, and little streams of water glittered like silver threads as they raced down toward the back alley and then along Windsor Lane to St.Marys Church. Even the church was alive with activity that afternoon. A cluster of women slipped out of a minibus, their dresses and scarves a kaleidoscope of pastel blues, greens and whites, the fabrics fluttering against their faces. Men in crisp suits, ties knotted tight and polished shoes, followed behind.
From a smaller car a woman stepped out, eyes focused, moving with a careful steadiness.
Emily! What on earth are you doing alone, Emily? You should wait, Id have given you a hand! her husband Sam called, sprinting around the vehicle toward her.
Dont shout, Sam. Peters asleep. Please, dont raise your voice. Im terrified, Sam Emily whispered, her voice trembling. She had never baptized a baby before; she was a new mother herself, and the thought of frightening little Peter made her chest tighten. She remembered how, a week earlier, when they tried to bathe him, he shrieked so loudly that Sam had to call a doctor. The paediatrician, DrMary Vaughan, arrived with a calm air, her cheeks slightly flushed, and slipped into the hallway before disappearing into the tiny room where the young mother cradled the wriggling infant.
Lay him down, Mary instructed.
What? I cant hear you, Emily muttered, her head spinning.
Put the baby down, youre shaking him like a rattle! Have you broken any of his tiny bones? DrVaughan replied, her tone sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Lord! Emilys eyebrows shot up as she stared at Sam, horror etched across her face.
Sam gave a halfsmile.
Emily was still a girl at heart, yet she had already borne Sams first son, an heir they both knew nothing about raising.
Just put him down, will you? Look at those chubby cheekswhat a sturdy little thing! the nurse chortled. He looks just like his father.
Sam puffed up proudly. Thats a different story! he declared, recalling his mothers teasing about the familys noble lineage.
Even the doctor noted the childs prominent forehead. Whats the matter, father? Close the window, the draft will chill the little one!
Sam hurried to shut the window.
Whats wrong with him? Hes never been like this before, Emily whispered, on the verge of tears.
Why would a man want a boy? Id have preferred a girl! And look at that foreheadyour father was the same, the doctor jabbed, halfjoking, halfserious, while gently turning the baby, stretching his cramped limbs and soothing his clenched fists.
Colic, Mary concluded. Ill write a prescription. Stop shaking him, motherhell be fine. Hes a strong lad, but give him a pacifier, will you? Hes tearing himself apart.
Were absolutely against pacifiers! Sam stepped forward, his forehead creasing. Theyre useless.
Against what? Mary asked, feigning disinterest. Emily right, MrsSemenova hand the baby to his father and get him to the kitchen. Swaddle him tightly, thatll be better.
Emily shook her head, then, exhausted, handed Peter to Sam.
Good lad. Now, dear, lets have a cuppa, Mary laughed, and a biscuit, if you can manage!
She gathered Emily by the elbow and led her away.
Sam, cradling his son, stood by the window, coaxing Peter to settle.
The kitchen was dim, cool, and scented with fresh coffee.
Tea kettle? Sugar? Lets brew something, set the table, maybe a bite to eat Mary surveyed the room like a housewife.
Emily placed two mugs on the table, unaware that the visiting nurse would be so informal.
What do you mean such? Mary asked.
Emily shivered. She began to speak aloud, the first signs of panic rising.
Well they havent scolded us, they havent taught us how, they just treat us like people, Emily shrugged. Being a childdoctor sounds easy, you can cure anything, youre not scared.
Mary nodded. If you think a book will solve everything, youre rightnow everyone reads online. Problems are the same for all. You seem a responsible motheryour thermometer floats in the bath, your coat is spotless, the baby looks wellkept. Have some tea while you have the chance.
The nurse slid a steaming cup toward Emily.
Dont scream, just a little cry is normal. It happens, Mary said, smiling.
Emily sniffed, then burst into tears.
Whats wrong? Mary asked, startled.
Im tired. I want to sleep. Peter eats a lot, hates wet nappies, and Ive got no strength left The days blurmonths, years, even my own name feels distant. I cant go on, you understand? I have exams, three more to pass, and were both studying. I cant I dont want anything else
Marys eyes softened as she tapped her tablet, the screen buzzing.
Any help at home? Family? she inquired.
There are relatives, but theyre far. My inlaws opposed our marriage, opposed Peter. My mother said it was too soon, that we should finish university first. We fought, and she refused to help. Im to blame, I guess.
Emily sipped her tea, closed her eyes.
Blame yourself? Youre a mother now. The heavens gave you this little ladfour kilos and six hundred grams. Isnt that a gift? You should be proud, Mary said, winking. Eat something. Quiet down, lads. Maybe you dont need a pacifier after all. Let the boy rest; hell sleep through the night, and youll need it too. Ill leave you a notekeep the chair steady, give a little massagedont stress. Everything will settle, little one. Everything will be fine.
She patted Emilys thin shoulder and departed.
Emily wolfed down a meatball, chased it with tea infused with apple puréeSam had bought the real thing from a local bakeryand collapsed onto the kitchen settee. She tried to pull a blanket over herself, but her strength had fled. She fell asleep then, as if the day had never ended.
It felt like only yesterday.
Now Emily, in a creamcoloured dress and lowheeled shoes, stood at the entrance of the cottage beside the church, cradling Peter. Today they would baptise him, and Emilys heart thudded with dread.
Come on, love, hand him over. Oh, my sweet boy! Sam cooed, striding confidently toward the gathered guests.
Soon they would step inside, the rite would be performed, Peter would hiccup, wipe his lips, then open his blue eyes wide, staring at the painted saints on the ceiling, awestruck as if the heavens themselves were whispering. The godmother, Emilys childhood friend, would nod approvingly.
Peters a tough nut, she whispered to Emily. Well done, both of you.
DrMary Vaughan entered the churchyard through the wroughtiron gates, crossed herself, and gazed at the golden crucifix atop the altar. Beside her stood a man in a battered flat cap and a hoodie, his hair slicked back, looking skeptically at the shining cross.
Sir, could you remove your cap? This is a place of reverence, Mary suggested politely.
Reluctantly, he tugged off his cap, exposing a bald scalp, and smoothed the few remaining hairs. Mary shook her head, sighing at the loss of decorum.
Thank you, the man muttered, joining Mary and the couple in watching the infants baptism.
The ceremony is beautiful, the couple looks lovely, and the child is splendid, the nurse commented, staying clear of Emily.
The baptism is just a ceremony, the man replied, it only makes the baby suffer more.
You dont understand, Mary said softly, shaking her head.
Sam, we have to baptise him, Emily pleaded, voice cracking with fear and exhaustion. I feel it will bring peace, and Peter will thrive. Can you hear me?
Marys own son, Charlie, was born later, a bright spot in her life. She was a paediatrician, a proud mother, sure that everything would be simple for her family.
Michael, her husband, was an architect who now cultivated microgreens in their flat, feeding his wife and son with fresh sprouts while they struggled with vitamins.
One evening Michael, laughing with friends, boasted about taking Charlie fishing, about teaching him to ride a horse, to chop wood…
Then, in the middle of the celebration, a frantic call came from the maternity ward.
Critical condition, the voice warned. Little chance of survival.
What? Michael stammered, glancing at the smiling faces around him, his chair creaking under his weight. I didnt understand?
He could not grasp how his paediatrician wifes baby could fall ill so quickly, how a newborn could contract a deadly infection before his first month. It seemed cruelly unfair.
The hospital, the needle in the infants scalp, tears from Mary, Michaels angry confrontations with the staff, a heated argument with their family friend Ian Andrewseverything spiralled.
Tell me the truth, Ian! Whos to blame? Michael pounded the desk, the sound echoing through the ward.
It doesnt matter now, Ian replied, checking his watch. Well get Charlie discharged, youll feed him, give him milk. Lets focus on that.
The doctor
Im not at work now, Ian snapped back.
Michael, bewildered, shouted, Whats happening to my son? Hes just getting better
He slapped the wooden frame of the door, sending a plank clattering.
Since then Ian never visited their home, they stopped holidaying together, even avoiding the Silverwood Woods for swims. The rift lingered forever.
Mary and Charlie were discharged. Michael drove them home in a taxi, lifted them into the flat, which was as spotless as a surgical theatre.
Michael Charlie I love you both, Mary sobbed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Charlie wailed, then was fed, bathed, rocked. It seemed the nightmare had passed.
A week later, fever returned, a rash appeared.
We have a weak immune system. He needs a hospital, the visiting doctor declared. Mary, you know this could happen. Why are you crying? Weve dealt with worse.
Give me a moment, Mary said, her voice cracking, as she tried to gather the scattered pieces of herself.
She asked for help; the sanitation worker Vera, whod grown up in a rural village, appeared with a bucket of warmth. The redbrick hospital loomed, gloomy yet familiar, its large windows letting in muted light.
Vera, humming a tune, remarked, He sounds like a tenortwentyyearold tenor! Her chatter was grating at first, mentioning Pavarotti, Caruso, but eventually her steady presence soothed Mary.
Vera explained that shed cared for many children, that a frail baby once lay almost lifeless in her arms, that a stray dog once snarled at her but she calmed it with a gentle hand. She believed every child had an angel, even if unseen.
Later, a grownup Charlie, now tall from gymnastics, sat in a stadium watching football, shouting so loudly the goalkeeper could hear him.
Mary, watching from a bench, finally felt a breath of peace. Just tired of fearing, she told Michael later, who smirked, Im a man of science, but sometimes I think theres something more.
She remembered the nurses words about baptism, about an angel watching over Peter.
Back at St.Marys, Mary watched Emily and Sam carry their child toward the baptismal font. Hell be fine, she whispered, adjusting her scarf, stepping up the cobbled street, the sun glinting on the flowing streams, everything washed clean for the spring rite.
Sam, now without his cap, walked the same path toward the registry office, where newlyweds queued under the ornate yet modern façade.
What a pity Ill never see his wedding, Mary sighed.
Whats that about? her companion muttered.
My son is a good lad, works hard, but he refuses to settle down, she explained, He thinks career comes first, love comes latertypical of todays youths.
He scoffed, Everyones different now. My son wants stability first, then a family. Theyre all immature.
She retorted, Building houses isnt the same as building a family. Love isnt a blueprint! She glanced at a young bride, freckles sparkling, beaming with joy.
The love we need is simple, the man with the receding hair declared, I met mine, shes a dragonfly, we live, we try. Thats enough.
Maybe my child doesnt believe in love anymore, Mary mused, Has the younger generation forgotten how to love?
Its nonsense, the other replied, Theyll figure it outjust dont pry.
The man suddenly grabbed Marys shoulders, shook her, then kissed her boldly.
Enough! a woman shouted, Call the police!
Go ahead, call everyone! the bald man roared, Ive been with this lady for years, why not go to the registry again?
The youth turned to stare, Marys cheeks flushed.
Come on, Mum, Dad, stop dawdling! Everyones gathered, get married! shouted Charlie, holding a ring. Its not a dinosaur exhibition, its a wedding!
Charlie! Mary cried, How could this happen?
Anythings possible, Mum. My parents are remarryingwhat a circus! And I, halfbaptised, organised this whole thing. Lord, where is the world going?
Charlie rolled his eyes, then hugged his parents and led them to a small banquet hall where a modest, ordinary couple would be celebrateda pair who had raised a decent son, lived a steady life, never thought of parting ways. Mary practiced paediatrics, Michael designed buildings, grew microgreens for the family, and Charlie floated through life, promising marriage someday, but always later.
Now, as Mary stood in the churchyard, watching Emily and Sam lift their baby toward the holy water, she felt a quiet certainty: they would be alright. The spring sunlight caught the flowing streams, reflecting a world freshly washed, ready for a new beginning. The man who had reluctantly removed his cap walked up the street toward the registry, joining the procession of lovers heading for their new life.
Mary adjusted her scarf, smiled, and thought, Everything will be okay.
