Sarah's Baby. Margaret Way
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you trust me, Sarah? You know that anything you tell me in confidence I would never tell anyone else.”
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know that, Harriet. I’d trust you with my life. But there are some things we can’t unload on others. I’m fine, really.”
“That’s what your mother used to say when she was in the doldrums. ‘I’m fine, Harriet. Don’t you worry about me, Harriet.’ Of course I did.” Harriet paused briefly. “I couldn’t help noticing you and Kyall this afternoon. Neither of you is happy. You’re not married. Kyall’s not married.”
“Surely Ruth will get her way,” Sarah burst out scornfully. “God knows, she always does. I spoke to India briefly. She came up to me to say a few words. For appearance’s sake, only.”
“That’s right!” Harriet agreed. “She’s so different from Mitchell. But Ruth doesn’t run Kyall’s life, my dear. Pay attention, Sarah, because I’m right. Kyall is his own man. He has a different strength from Ruth’s. A better, brighter strength. So much time has passed, but I don’t think either of you has forgotten the other.”
“Isn’t that strange!” Sarah gave an odd little laugh. “Whenever I read an article about obsession I think of Kyall and me. And I think of a long-ago day when I made the decision to seek a new life. You have no idea how powerless I felt then.”
“I think I do. In fact, I swear I do.” Harriet sighed. “Am I right in thinking you still love Kyall?”
“Harriet, Kyall is a sickness. Nothing more.”
“That splendid young man a sickness?” Harriet snorted disgustedly. “I ain’t stupid, as the bad guy invariably says in the movies. I think for your own sake you have to get a few things out into the open.”
“I don’t have a child tucked away somewhere, Harriet, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Harriet didn’t answer immediately. “It’s not what I was thinking, not at all, because I never dreamed either you or Muriel would hide your own. All I know is, something is wrong. I’m speaking out because I feel you can’t go on this way. You deserve a full life, Sarah.” Harriet frowned. “A full life includes the man you love. Marriage. Motherhood. I had my chance at marriage when I was young, but I missed it. I was never pretty—not even a tiny bit—but I had a good figure, good hair and good eyes. But I played it too cool for too long. The chance never came again. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
SARAH SPENT THE EVENING sorting through her mother’s things. It was a heart-wrenching job, but she was desperate for something to take her mind off her despair. A comment of Harriet’s had upset her. The remark about her and her mother never hiding what was theirs. The terrible reality was that her mother had given in to Ruth McQueen’s demands for adoption, persuaded it was for the best. An absolutely harrowing decision, and it had returned to plague her. Her mother had gone into a kind of inconsolable bereavement. As she had herself. Except that she’d never signed the adoption papers, fighting it to the end.
Once that awful woman, the midwife, put the baby on her breast, there was no way she was ever going to part with her. A profound spiritual and psychological connection had taken place. Woozy, not exactly sure of her surroundings, she’d still protested, telling Ruth McQueen in the absence of her mother that she was going to keep her child.
“I’m keeping her, no matter what!” she’d cried, finally finding the decision so easy. “I haven’t signed your damned forms. I know I said I would, but now I’m not able to. This is my child. Mum and I will move away. We won’t bother you, but you’ll never take her from me.”
Words that must have brought down the wrath of God, for her child had been taken from her. She’d never seen her again, though she’d demanded in hysterics that she be allowed to kiss the lifeless little body.
She’d been given a sedative. And afterward she’d fallen into a deep depression, thinking she could still hear and see her tiny Rose.
God knows what had brought her back from the brink. Some inner strength she didn’t know she had. Or just the resilience of sheer youth.
“What you have to do now, my girl, is put your mistake in the past,” Ruth McQueen had told her, black eyes mesmeric. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Get on with your life. It may seem hard now, but you’ll survive. My grandson will, too. You’ll realize in time that you’ve done the right thing by not telling him. Especially now that the child has died. Make no bones about it, he would blame you. For keeping him in the dark about your situation and for losing the baby. I know my grandson. Do what you’re told and you’ll have me as a friend.” There was a short pause. “Do you really want me as an enemy?”
Ruth McQueen. How did you protect yourself from a woman like that? How did you protect your mother? So the woman she hated gave both of them a helping hand. With McQueen money, along with her job working nights, Sarah had become Dr. Sarah Dempsey. Battling her aversion to taking McQueen money, she came to reason that they owed her. After all, Kyall had been involved in making their baby.
The going had been tough, but she’d made it.
Until now. Her mother’s death was a powerful turning point.
It was midnight before she went to bed, sleeping with her mother’s pink cotton robe wrapped around her. A robe whose front was soon soaked in tears. Having used up all her strength, Sarah fell into an exhausted sleep.
SHE RETURNED Joe’s four-wheel-drive first thing in the morning, parking it on the hospital grounds, then walking into the building to speak to the man himself. Looking around, she had to applaud what she saw. McQueen money had provided this hospital for the town. No expense had been spared in its construction, its neat gardens, its medical equipment, its cheerful interior.
She found Sister Bradley at the nurses’ station and exchanged a few words before moving down the corridor to Joe’s office. Joe had said he particularly wanted to speak to her. What about? Word in the town for more years than she could remember was that Joe had been Ruth McQueen’s lover. A rumor Sarah had found so overwhelming she’d tried to discount it. She liked and respected Joe. Everyone did. He was a fine, caring doctor, devoted to his patients and the well-being of the town. Joe had brought her into the world. It was impossible to dislike or distrust him.
But his relationship with Ruth McQueen…it couldn’t be true. Wouldn’t Ruth have a problem mating with a mere mortal? Sarah wondered if this was some wild story people chose to believe simply because it was so bizarre. Not that Ruth McQueen was without a lethal sort of attraction. Even now that she was a woman in her seventies, you could see that she’d possessed sexual magnetism.
Imagine trying to make love to her, Sarah thought. Joe would’ve had to manage the whole business on his knees. When she tapped on the glass door, Joe raised his head, his gentle, worn face lighting up.
“Come in, Sarah. Please sit down.”
“I’ve left your car out front.”
“Thank you, my dear. Did you manage to get a little sleep?”
“Not right away, Joe. I don’t have to tell you what it’s like. Now, what’s this you want to talk over with me? You look awfully tired. Are you all right?”
“Sort of.” Joe responded.
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“All right then, my dear. I have cancer. I’m not telling anyone else.”
“Joe!” Sarah was saddened and shocked. “If you can bear to, please tell me more.”
Joe did, going into clinical detail. It was clear he had only six to twelve months to live. “As I say, Sarah, and you will know, it’s the end of the line.”
“You’re so calm, Joe.” Sarah said, finding it difficult to swallow.
“I’m seventy. I’ve had a good innings.”
Sarah