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Authors: Laura Kinsale
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Park," Mrs. Fullerton-Smith informed her. "You may keep it, but we ask that you sterilize it and pass it to another needy applicant when it is no longer of use to the infant. The mother is resting quietly, as you see. In an hour or two, when she feels up to it, she may hold him. Mrs. Lay ton and I must return to the medical officer, as there are several other patients who need attention this evening. If any excessive bleeding occurs, send to us immediately."
Leda was about to correct Mrs. Fullerton-Smith's obvious impression that Leda had some personal connection to Pammy, when she overheard the nurse giving particulars to Sergeant MacDonald, who wrote them laboriously in the record book. "Mrs. Dawkins' in Jacob's Island," the nurse said, for Pammy's place of residence.
"Oh, no—" Leda tried to dodge round Mrs. Fullerton-Smith and her monologue of instructions. "Sergeant MacDonald—she doesn't live there!"
Her protest was lost amid the insistent questions of two reporters, who kept asking Sergeant MacDonald if he would unwrap the crown. Meanwhile, Mrs. Fullerton-Smith and the nurse were packing their grip. The nurse pulled her bloody apron over her head and stuffed it away. The baby began to wail again, and Leda looked down into the screwed-up eyes and open mouth.
"Hush, hush," she murmured ineffectually, patting the back of the bundle. The baby only screwed tighter and wailed more piercingly, making a frightful face, all mottled red and white. Leda caught at the nurse's arm as she sailed past after Mrs. Fullerton-Smith, but both ladies were gone before she could utter more than an incoherent objection.
Inspector Ruby and his chief walked out, fending off reporters. While Sergeant MacDonald was occupied with a particularly insistent journalist, one of the others sidled up next to Leda, where the wrapped shawl lay on the bench. He tugged at the edge of the paisley, rolling it free.
The Eastern crown of gold and enamel overturned onto the bench, a peaked helmet like a small, round temple, thickly studded with diamonds that culminated in one huge ruby set into a white shell.
The reporter began making quick sketches in his notebook, until Sergeant MacDonald gave an indignant shout and shoved him away. "What're you about, now? Get on with you; out of here, all of you!" He pushed the reporter through the door, dragging another along with him. They went protesting loudly. Leda could hear their voices ringing in the street as they detained Sergeant MacDonald on the steps.
Not knowing what else to do, she went into the cell and knelt beside Pammy. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Would you like to see him?"
The girl squeezed her eyes shut as hard as the baby did. "I don't want it!" she muttered. "Take it off somewheres."
"The nurse said you might hold him in a hour or so."
"I won't."
Leda looked down at the girl's sullen face. Pammy opened her eyes and lifted her hand, pushing weakly at Leda's arms.
"I won't take it," she said. "I hate it. Go away!"
Leda got up and went back to the bench. The tiny newborn wail just kept on and on. She sat down next to the crown and peered into the infant face. It was ugly, it truly was, all wet mouth and wrinkled skin, and its mother didn't want it.
Leda gave the unattractive bundle a hug, which only made it cry louder. She stared at the beautiful gold and rubied crown—and began, for no reason at all, to weep.
----
Chapter Six
The Song
Hawaii, 1871
Little Kai loved to swim. She squealed at the long breakers
that rolled across the reef at Waikiki, and beat her baby hands against Samuel's shoulders.
"Far! Fargo!" she demanded. "Big!"
So he kept his arm around her and plowed into the mild surf, a little farther out than most of the crowd of Hawaiian children. The long skirts of her bathing costume floated and swept against his bare chest with each wave as he bounced her up above the foam. She laughed and shrieked and sometimes he ducked her instead of rising over, so
Leda was about to correct Mrs. Fullerton-Smith's obvious impression that Leda had some personal connection to Pammy, when she overheard the nurse giving particulars to Sergeant MacDonald, who wrote them laboriously in the record book. "Mrs. Dawkins' in Jacob's Island," the nurse said, for Pammy's place of residence.
"Oh, no—" Leda tried to dodge round Mrs. Fullerton-Smith and her monologue of instructions. "Sergeant MacDonald—she doesn't live there!"
Her protest was lost amid the insistent questions of two reporters, who kept asking Sergeant MacDonald if he would unwrap the crown. Meanwhile, Mrs. Fullerton-Smith and the nurse were packing their grip. The nurse pulled her bloody apron over her head and stuffed it away. The baby began to wail again, and Leda looked down into the screwed-up eyes and open mouth.
"Hush, hush," she murmured ineffectually, patting the back of the bundle. The baby only screwed tighter and wailed more piercingly, making a frightful face, all mottled red and white. Leda caught at the nurse's arm as she sailed past after Mrs. Fullerton-Smith, but both ladies were gone before she could utter more than an incoherent objection.
Inspector Ruby and his chief walked out, fending off reporters. While Sergeant MacDonald was occupied with a particularly insistent journalist, one of the others sidled up next to Leda, where the wrapped shawl lay on the bench. He tugged at the edge of the paisley, rolling it free.
The Eastern crown of gold and enamel overturned onto the bench, a peaked helmet like a small, round temple, thickly studded with diamonds that culminated in one huge ruby set into a white shell.
The reporter began making quick sketches in his notebook, until Sergeant MacDonald gave an indignant shout and shoved him away. "What're you about, now? Get on with you; out of here, all of you!" He pushed the reporter through the door, dragging another along with him. They went protesting loudly. Leda could hear their voices ringing in the street as they detained Sergeant MacDonald on the steps.
Not knowing what else to do, she went into the cell and knelt beside Pammy. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Would you like to see him?"
The girl squeezed her eyes shut as hard as the baby did. "I don't want it!" she muttered. "Take it off somewheres."
"The nurse said you might hold him in a hour or so."
"I won't."
Leda looked down at the girl's sullen face. Pammy opened her eyes and lifted her hand, pushing weakly at Leda's arms.
"I won't take it," she said. "I hate it. Go away!"
Leda got up and went back to the bench. The tiny newborn wail just kept on and on. She sat down next to the crown and peered into the infant face. It was ugly, it truly was, all wet mouth and wrinkled skin, and its mother didn't want it.
Leda gave the unattractive bundle a hug, which only made it cry louder. She stared at the beautiful gold and rubied crown—and began, for no reason at all, to weep.
----
Chapter Six
The Song
Hawaii, 1871
Little Kai loved to swim. She squealed at the long breakers
that rolled across the reef at Waikiki, and beat her baby hands against Samuel's shoulders.
"Far! Fargo!" she demanded. "Big!"
So he kept his arm around her and plowed into the mild surf, a little farther out than most of the crowd of Hawaiian children. The long skirts of her bathing costume floated and swept against his bare chest with each wave as he bounced her up above the foam. She laughed and shrieked and sometimes he ducked her instead of rising over, so
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