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Her baby was born latethe following morning, a sweet-faced bundle of joy. Meg held her daughter close and stroked her downy head and soft cheeks. Big blue eyes looked at Meg as though she was her baby’s entire world.
Vera sat carefully on the edge of the bed, leaned over and peered at the baby’s face. ‘You did well, both of you. She’s a bonny baby.’
‘And not the boy I thought she was going to be.’
‘Have you decided on her name?’
‘Jennifer Mary Dorset. Mary is after Seamus’s mother.’ Lost for hours in the fog of delivering her baby, Meg noticed Vera was no longer wearing her dressing gown, but properly dressed in street clothes. ‘Are you going out?’
Vera nodded. ‘Only up to the corner store for milk. The midwife recommended you drink plenty of fluids over the next couple of days.’
The midwife stuck her head around the bedroom door and Meg looked at her properly for the first time. She was a kindly, competent woman around Vera’s age, and something about her reminded Meg of Gerry.
‘All good in here?’
‘We’re fine. Thanks, Sister.’
‘You’re welcome, Meg. Now take it easy for the next few days. I’ll pop in to see you both next Monday. Vera, a moment of your time please.’ The two women left Meg alone with her daughter.
As she held Jennifer’s tiny hand in hers, love—fierce and pure for her child—welled within and, at last, she understood what Vera meant about choices. Her little girl had arrived and they were at the beginning of a new life together, one she would shape by the decisions she made for both of them. Kissing her daughter’s head she whispered, ‘We will be more than enough for each other, my darling, and together, we’ll take on the world.’
***
Jennifer lay in hercrib at Meg’s side, her rosebud mouth making little sucking motions. ‘You’re two weeks old today, my darling.’ Meg tucked the light sheet around her daughter and gazed her fill. Her hand lingered on Jennifer’s chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of each breath as she slept. This was what love felt like, the now-and-forever kind that bound her to her child. The kind of love that would hold them together like the Earth and Moon, although Meg wasn’t sure which role she filled. Wherever Jennifer was, Meg was drawn to her. Perhaps I’m the Moon?
Reluctantly, she turned to the desk. With her daughter settled and a cup of tea at hand, she picked up the letter that had arrived from Doc and read over it again.
My dear Margaret,
How do I offer both sympathy and congratulations in the same lines? I am joyful to hear of the birth of your daughter, but at the same time, words cannot convey my sorrow for your loss. My most sincere condolences. I know how much in love you were with your fiancé, and how much you were looking forward to his return before your baby was born. I am sorry things did not turn out the way you dreamed they might.
This is not the time to remind you of our conversation at the Queens Hotel but know that I meant every word. If I get the opportunity to take leave, I should like to visit you and your daughter in Brisbane. Would that be agreeable to you? I promise I will not press you for an answer, since I asked no direct question of you.
For now, I stand your friend. Should you need anything that is in my power to provide, do not hesitate to ask.
Know that you have my thoughts and prayers at this difficult time.
Warm regards,
Geoffrey
Dear, sweet, kind Geoffrey. Perhaps it was time to think of him by that name. For months, she’d kept him at a distance by thinking of him as Doc, but he had reminded her of the relationship offered months ago. An offer that, for all it was implied, had been repeated without any pressure on her to reply. If she accepted it, Jennifer would have a father. All she had to do . . .
Seamus. What do you think of me for considering another man’s offer when you’re barely cold in the ground?
But Geoffrey wasn’t pressuring her. There had been no formal declaration of intent or love. Just “feelings”. And a gentle reminder he was her friend. That was as much as she could cope with for now.
Shaking her head, she picked up her pen and wrote:
Dear Geoffrey,
Thank you for your kind letter offering your condolences on the death of Seamus ...
Black words on white paper, phrases she’d written after the death of her grandfather, when Grandma had been so distraught, she’d been unable to hold a pen. Although sad at his loss, Meg had scribed for Gran, but the words hadn’t laid her low. Not like now.
Meg stared at those same words. Polite, social words that buzzed in her brain, but were meaningless. Kind words and condolences wouldn’t fill the emptiness of Seamus’s absence. They wouldn’t give Jennifer the father she would never know.
