Indigo Christmas by Jeanne Dams

the dishes and getting dinner started. “Babies come, and the world goes on, and people have to eat,” said Molly, when Hilda protested about Molly continuing to do menial work. “You’re no use in the kitchen, child. Away upstairs with you and take a look at the young lady. But don’t tire Norah. She lost a good deal of blood, and she needs her rest.”
    Hilda tapped on the bedroom door and went in. The room was transformed. Huge bouquets of roses stood on the dresser, Sean’s roses he’d bought with Hilda’s money. Mother and child had been washed and dressed, the bed had been freshly made, and Fiona lay contentedly in her sleepy mother’s arms, nuzzling at a breast. “Such a smart girl she is,” Norah murmured. “Found what she wanted the minute they gave her to me. Isn’t she the prettiest little thing, Hilda?”
    Hilda privately thought Fiona looked like every other newborn baby, red, wrinkled, and ancient. Of course she didn’t say so. “I think she will look exactly like you,” she lied. “Her eyes are just the same color blue.”
    â€œAll babies have blue eyes,” said Norah with the authority of an hour’s motherhood. “She will be much more beautiful than me. Look at all that lovely black hair.”
    Many of the babies Hilda had known had been born with lots of black hair, and lost it in a month or so. Hilda didn’t say that either. “Sean thinks her hair is like his.”
    â€œBut nicer,” said Norah with a yawn. “And her hands—just look at her hands.”
    Hilda obediently looked. People were so silly about babies’ hands, but really, it was a bit amazing that anything so small could be so perfectly made, right down to the minute fingernails. Hilda gently touched one tiny palm, and the baby’s hand immediately curled around her finger and grasped it tightly.
    Hilda was instantly enslaved. This was, after all, a beautiful baby! “Look, Norah! Look, she likes me! She is holding my hand!”
    â€œMmm.” Norah was almost asleep. “Smart little girl.”
    Sean knocked and came in, carrying a wooden basketwork cradle. “Me brother brought this from home,” he told Norah. “He thought we’d need it before long. I told him about our angel girl!” He set the cradle tenderly on the floor beside the bed.
    The miniature bed had obviously been prepared with much love. It wore deep, ribboned flounces on the hood and sides, and was fitted inside with a white pillow and a soft white blanket of finest wool.
    Fiona had fallen asleep, still grasping Hilda’s finger. Carefully Hilda moved the baby’s hand and lifted her away from Norah, also asleep. “Do you know how to carry a baby?” she whispered to Sean.
    â€œEight younger brothers and sisters,” he whispered back.
    Reluctantly Hilda handed the small warm bundle to its father. “Here is your daughter, then. She will sleep in her cradle for a little now, and Norah must sleep, too. She is a wonderful little girl, Sean. You must be very proud.”
    Sean cuddled the baby and beamed. Hilda planted a kiss on the baby’s forehead and stole out of the room. This was a time for the little family to be alone together.

Heaven holds all for which you sigh—
There! little girl; don’t cry!
    â€”James Whitcomb Riley     A Life-Lesson , 1890
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    10
    H ILDA WANDERED downstairs to the parlor and dropped into a chair, still in something of a pink haze. What a wonderful baby! named after her, Hilda. Well, in a way. And so adorable, to hold her finger so tightly. Almost as if she knew whose namesake she was.
    Aunt Molly came into the room. “I’m going home, child. Mrs. O’Rourke’s reclaimed her kitchen, and she’s in no sweet temper, I must say. Worn out, and not pleased about other women in her domain. What you’ll have for dinner, I’m sure I