Robert
Davenport, on the other hand, was not bound by the same professional etiquette
and when he learned that his wife was expecting for a third time, he had been
characteristically blunt. He simply issued an ultimatum: “this time you will
take it easy,” a euphemism for don’t do anything that might harm the birth of
our son. Robert Davenport assumed his firstborn would be a boy.
He
also knew that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for his wife to “take
it easy.” She was, after all, the daughter of Josiah Preston, and it was often
said that if Ruth had been a boy, she, and not her husband, would have ended up
as president of Preston Pharmaceuticals. But Ruth had to settle for the
consolation prize when she succeeded her father as chairman of St. Patrick’s
Hospital Trust, a cause with which the Preston family had been associated for
four generations.
Although
some of the older fraternity at St. Patrick’s needed to be convinced that Ruth
Davenport was of the same mettle as her father, it was only weeks before they
acknowledged that not only had she inherited the old man’s energy and drive,
but he had also passed on to her his considerable knowledge and wisdom, so
often lavished on an only child.
Ruth
hadn’t married until the age of thirty-three. It certainly wasn’t for lack of
suitors, many of whom went out of their way to claim undying devotion to the
heir of the Preston millions. Josiah Preston hadn’t needed to explain the
meaning of fortune hunters to his daughter, because the truth was that she
simply hadn’t fallen in love with any of them. In fact, Ruth was beginning to
doubt if she would ever fall in love.
Until she met Robert.
Robert
Davenport had joined Preston Pharmaceuticals from Roche via Johns Hopkins and
Harvard Business
School,
on what Ruth’s father
described as the “fast track.” In Ruth’s recollection, it was the nearest the
old man had come to using a modern expression. Robert had been made a
vice-president by the age of twenty-seven, and at thirty-three was appointed
the youngest deputy chairman in the company’s history, breaking a record that
had been set by Josiah himself. This time Ruth did fall in love, with a man who
was neither overwhelmed nor overawed by the Preston name or the Preston
millions. In fact when Ruth suggested that perhaps she should become Mrs.
Preston-Davenport, Robert had simply inquired, “When do I get to meet this
Preston-Davenport fellow who hopes to prevent me from becoming your husband?”
Ruth
announced she was pregnant only weeks after their wedding, and the miscarriage
was almost the only blemish in an otherwise charmed existence. However, even
this quickly began to look like a passing cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky,
when she became pregnant again eleven months later.
Ruth
had been chairing a board meeting of the Hospital Trust when the contractions
began, so she only needed to take the elevator up two floors to allow Dr.
Greenwood to carry out the necessary check-up. However, not even his expertise,
his staff’s dedication or the latest medical equipment could save the premature
child. Kenneth Greenwood couldn’t help recalling how, as a young doctor, he had
faced a similar problem when he had delivered Ruth, and for a week the hospital
staff didn’t believe the baby girl would survive. And now the family was going
through the same trauma thirty-five years later.
Dr.
Greenwood decided to have a private word with Mr. Davenport, suggesting that
perhaps the time had come for them to consider adoption. Robert reluctantly
agreed, and said he would raise the subject with his wife just as soon as he
felt she was strong enough.
Another
year passed before Ruth agreed to visit an adoption society and with one of
those coincidences that fate decides, and novelists are not allowed to
consider, she became pregnant on the day she was due to visit a local
children’s home. This time Robert was determined to ensure that human error
would not be the reason for their child failing to enter this world.
Ruth
took her husband’s advice, and resigned as chairman of the Hospital Trust. She
even agreed that a full-time nurse should be employed-in Robert’s words-to keep
a watchful eye on her.
Mr.
Davenport interviewed several applicants for the post and short-listed those
whom he considered held the necessary qualifications. But his final choice
would be based solely on whether he was convinced the applicant was
strong-willed enough to make sure that Ruth kept to her agreement to “take it
easy,”
and to insist she didn’t lapse into any old habits of
wanting to organize everything she came across.
After
a third round of interviews, Robert settled on a Miss Heather Nichol, who was a
senior nurse on the maternity wing of St. Patrick’s. He liked her no-nonsense
approach and the fact that she was neither married nor graced with the kind of
looks that would ensure that situation was likely to change in the foreseeable
future.
However,
what finally tipped the balance was that Miss Nichol had already delivered over
a thousand children into the world.
Robert
was delighted by how quickly Miss Nichol settled into the household, and as
each month slipped by, even he started to feel confident that they wouldn’t be
facing the same problem a third time. When Ruth passed first five, six, and
then seven months without incident, Robert even raised the subject of possible
Christian names: Fletcher Andrew if it was a boy, Victoria Grace if it was a
girl.
Ruth
expressed only one preference; that were it a boy he should be known as Andrew,
but all she hoped for was to be delivered of a healthy child.
Robert
was in New York attending a medical conference, when Miss Nichol called him out
of a seminar to report that his wife’s contractions had begun. He assured her
he would return by train immediately and then take a cab straight to St.
Patrick’s.
Dr.
Greenwood was leaving the building, having successfully delivered the
Cartwright twins, when he spotted Ruth Davenport coming through the swing doors
accompanied by Miss Nichol. He turned around and caught up with the two ladies
before the elevator doors closed.
Once
he had settled his patient into a private room, Dr. Greenwood quickly assembled
the finest obstetrics team the hospital could muster. Had Mrs. Davenport been a
normal patient, he and Miss Nichol could have delivered the child without
having to call on any extra assistance. However, following an examination, he
realized that Ruth would require a Caesarean section if the child was to be
delivered safely. He looked toward the ceiling and sent up a silent prayer,
acutely aware that this was going to be her last chance.
The
delivery took just over forty minutes. At the first glimpse of the baby’s head,
Miss Nichol let out a sigh of relief, but it wasn’t until the doctor cut the
umbilical cord that she added “Alleluia.” Ruth, who was still under a general
anesthetic, was unable to see the relieved smile on Dr. Greenwood’s face. He
quickly left the theater to tell the expectant father, “It’s a boy.”
While
Ruth slept peacefully it was left to Miss Nichol to take Fletcher Andrew off to
the special care unit where he would share his first few hours with several other
progeny. Once she had tucked up the child in his little crib, she left the
nurse to watch over him before returning to Ruth’s room. Miss Nichol settled
herself into a comfortable chair in the corner and tried to stay awake.
Just
as night was contemplating day, Miss Nichol woke with a start. She heard the
words, “Can I see my son?”
“Of
course you can, Mrs. Davenport,” replied Miss Nichol, rising quickly from her
chair. “I’ll just go and fetch little Andrew.” As she closed the door behind
her, she added, “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
Ruth
pulled herself up, plumped up her pillow, switched on the bedside lamp and
waited in eager anticipation.
As
Miss Nichol walked along the corridor, she checked her watch. It was 4:31 A.m.
She took the stairs down to the fifth floor and made her way to the nursery.
Miss Nichol opened the door quietly so as not to wake any of the sleeping
offspring,
As
she entered the room, illuminated by a
small fluorescent light glowing overhead, her eyes settled on the night nurse
dozing in the corner. She didn’t disturb the young woman as it was probably the
only few moments of slumber that she would manage during her eight-hour shift.
Miss
Nichol tiptoed between the two rows of cots, stopping only for a moment to
glance at the twins in the double crib that had been placed next to Fletcher
Andrew Davenport.
She
stared down at a child who would want for nothing for the rest of his life. As
she bent over to lift the little boy from his crib, she froze. After a thousand
births, you are well qualified to recognize death. The pallor of the skin and
the stillness of the eyes made it unnecessary for her to check the pulse.
It
is often spur-of-the-moment decisions, sometimes made by others, that can
change our whole lives.
when
dr. Greenwood was woken
in the middle of the night to be told that one of his new charges had died, he
knew exactly which child it was. He also realized that he would have to return
to the hospital immediately.
Kenneth
Greenwood had always wanted to be a doctor. After only a few weeks at medical
school, he had known in which field he would specialize. He thanked God every
day for allowing him to carry out his vocation. But then from time to time, as
if somehow the Almighty felt it was necessary to balance the scales, he had to
tell a mother that she had lost her child. It was never easy, but having to
tell Ruth Davenport for a third time...
There
were so few cars on the road at five o’clock in the morning that Dr. Greenwood
was parked in his reserved spot at the hospital twenty minutes later. He pushed
through the swing doors, strode past the reception desk and had stepped into
the elevator before any of the staff had the chance to say good morning.
“Who’s
going to tell her?” asked the nurse who was waiting for him as the elevator
doors opened on the fifth floor.
“I
will,” said Dr. Greenwood. “I’ve been a friend of the family for years,” he
added.
The
nurse looked surprised. “I suppose we must be thankful that the other baby
survived,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
Dr.
Greenwood stopped in his tracks. “The other baby?” he repeated.
“Yes,
Nathaniel’s just fine, it was Peter who died.”
Dr.
Greenwood remained silent for a moment as he tried to take in this piece of
information. “And the Davenport boy?” he ventured.
“Doing
well, as far as I know,” replied the nurse. “Why do you ask?”
“I
delivered him just before I went home,” he said, hoping the nurse hadn’t
spotted the hesitation in his voice.
Dr.
Greenwood walked slowly between the rows of cribs, passing offspring who were
sleeping soundly and others who were yelling, as if to prove they had lungs. He
stopped when he came to the double crib where he had left the twins only a few
hours before.
Nathaniel
lay peacefully asleep while his brother was motionless. He glanced across to
check the name on the headboard of the next crib, Davenport, Fletcher Andrew.
That little boy was also sleeping soundly, his breathing quite regular.
“Of
course I couldn’t move the child until the doctor who had delivered...”
“You
don’t have to remind me of hospital procedure,” snapped Dr. Greenwood
uncharacteristically. “What time did you come on duty?” he asked.
“Just
after midnight,” she replied.
“And
have you been in attendance since then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did
anyone else enter the nursery during that time?”
“No,
doctor,” the nurse replied. She decided not to mention that about an hour ago
she thought she’d heard a door close, or at least not while he was in such a
foul mood. Dr. Greenwood stared down at the two cribs marked Cartwright,
Nathaniel and Peter. He knew exactly where his duty lay.
“Take
the child to the morgue,” he said quietly.
“I’ll
write up a report immediately, but I won’t inform the mother until the morning.
No purpose will be served waking her at this hour.”
“Yes,
sir,” said the nurse meekly.
Dr.
Greenwood left the nursery, walked slowly down the corridor and stopped outside
Mrs. Cartwright’s door. He opened it noiselessly, relieved to discover that his
patient was fast asleep. After climbing the staircase up to the sixth floor, he
carried out the same exercise when he reached Mrs. Davenport’s private room.
Ruth was also sleeping. He glanced across the room to see Miss Nichol seated
awkwardly in her chair. He could have sworn that she opened her eyes, but he
decided not to disturb her. He pulled the door closed, walked to the far end of
the corridor and slipped out onto the fire escape stairs that led to the
parking lot. He didn’t want to be seen leaving by those on duty at the front
desk. He needed some time to think.
Dr.
Greenwood was back in his bed twenty minutes later, but he didn’t sleep.