The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

the time the washing was safely pegged on the line, Jimmy was beginning to whimper. She would feed him and then take him out for a walk, she decided. Arthur was right; it would do them both good. Certainly, his airways needed clearing, she realised, as she tried to find a comfortable position for him to feed. As usual, he latched greedily on to her nipple and sucked fiercely but then, after a few seconds, he released her as he struggled to breathe through his blocked nose. Poor little thing, she thought in a moment of tenderness; none of this was his fault.

She wrapped him securely in his shawl and lay him down beneath a blanket in the pram she had borrowed from Cissy. Then she combed her hair, put on her coat and stepped out into the April morning sunshine. Her spirits lifted almost immediately. It felt good to be outside and to have a break from the chores awaiting her. She walked briskly up the lane, past the old barn and paused for a moment beside the driveway leading to Willow Farm. It was no longer a farmhouse, as such, because the original farm was still owned by Cyril Brooke who lived at Chalkham Hall. Now, it was owned but  by a family called the Catchpoles. There was a stir when they'd first arrived in the village as they had their own automobile – a black MG. Since then, the Brookes had also purchased a motor vehicle but this was not often seen on Chalkham’s roads. Rumour had it that Cyril was afraid to drive it.

She headed down the hill towards the village. On the way, she met old Mrs Cardew, the retired schoolteacher, carrying a bag of groceries.

‘Why if it isn’t Norah Dunn!’ the old woman exclaimed, peering into the pram. ‘And who have we got here?’

‘It’s Norah Fletcher now and this is James Arthur Fletcher,’ she replied.

‘My, he’s a fine-looking chap. Looks just like his daddy with that dark colouring.’

‘Yes … yes, he does,’ Norah said firmly. She was aware that there had been a certain amount of gossip about her surprising return to Chalkham, marriage and delivery of a son in quick succession and she was determined to quash any rumours. ‘He is the very image of Arthur. Lovely to see you Mrs Cardew.’

She walked on and reached Chalkham High Street where her appearance created a buzz of interest. Mrs Allen was nattering to Mrs Nobbs outside the butcher’s shop but immediately stopped and watched Norah’s approach with undisguised curiosity.

‘How are you, my dear? I understand it was touch and go for a while but there … we all have to go through it. Let’s have a look at the bairn.’ Mrs Allen pulled back the covers to get a better look. ‘My, he’s a bonny chap and a good size too, by the look of him.’ She cast a sly glance at Mrs Nobbs. ‘Considering he was born so early …’

Mrs Nobbs returned her look with one of reproach and smiled warmly at Norah. ‘It’s good to see you out and about. We were all most concerned when we heard what a difficult time you had. But what a beautiful baby!’ She reached out a gnarled finger to tickle him under his chin.

Norah felt a glow of pride. ‘Thank you, Mrs Nobbs. How’s Jack?’

‘Ah, bless you for asking. He’s doing a little bit of labouring for Mr Brooke which helps. We get by, same as everyone else. But we’ll never forget how you came by to help us after Jack was laid off by your poor father. You were an angel, you were.’

Norah smiled, a little embarrassed by the praise. ‘It was the least I could do.’

‘Sounds like the bairn is a bit wheezy,’ said Mrs Allen, once again peering into the pram. ‘What did you name him by the way?’

‘James Arthur. Jimmy for short. Yes, he’s got a bit of a cold at the moment.’

‘Ah, you named him for his father.’ Another sly look at Mrs Nobbs. ‘Well, you’re doing the right thing in getting him outside. You don’t want it settling on his little lungs. That was what happened to Blanche Crabtree’s new-born … ouch!’ she exclaimed as Mrs Nobbs poked her with a sharp elbow. ‘You’re right. Best not to talk of such things. Well, I’m glad we’ve seen you, young Norah. You and little Jimmy. You make sure you take good care of him.’

As the two women headed away from her, Norah felt a momentary pang of fear. Blanche Crabtree’s baby had died of pneumonia after just a few weeks. She watched Jimmy anxiously as she continued on her way. Surely it was just a cold … nothing to worry about … and he did seem to be breathing more easily than he had in the confines of the cottage.

It took a while for Norah to negotiate Chalkham High Street as all the shopkeepers and their customers wanted a first look at the baby. Jimmy was much admired and she felt warmed by the plethora of compliments. Eventually, she managed to make her escape and turned up the lane which would take her, in a loop, past the chalk pits, round the back of Willow Farm and then back home. Jimmy was sleeping soundly by the time they returned and Norah felt quite pleased with herself. She would have to ask Arthur for some money so she could buy some meat and groceries if she went out again tomorrow. He had taken over shopping duties since the birth but it was time she became less dependent upon him. Already, she was looking forward to another walk the next day.

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However, Norah was unable to leave the cottage that following morning. After that first excursion, Jimmy took a turn for the worse. He started coughing, huge wheezy coughs which wracked his whole body and then developed a fever. Arthur had brought home a small bottle containing a mixture of brandy and port wine