Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

Emma pulled the paper off excitedly and held up the fluffy white lamb which sported a large pink bow and a bell at its neck. ‘Oh, isn’t it sweet! And you bought a rattle as well.’ She shook the polished bone ring, which also had a bell attached, and then placed the lamb and the rattle in the cot next to the baby. She stood up and kissed Blackie. ‘Thank you, Blackie. You’re so good to us.’ Emma was touched by his thoughtfulness and the obvious care he had taken in selecting the clothes and the toys.

‘Aay, it’s nothing at all, me love,’ he said, and glanced around. ‘And where might Laura be?’

‘There’s a jumble sale at the Catholic church this afternoon and she’s looking after one of the stalls. She’ll be back in time for tea. You are staying, aren’t you? We expected you to.’

‘Sure and I am.’ He settled himself in the chair opposite Emma and fished around in his pocket for his cigarettes. After he had lit one he said, ‘And when do ye have to go back to the mill, mavourneen?’

Emma did not answer for a moment and then she lifted her head slowly. ‘I can please myself. The foreman told Laura I could have the whole week off, after I came out of hospital. We’re not so busy right now, and it doesn’t matter to the mill either way, since I’m paid by the piece. They don’t have to pay my wage when I’m not working.’

‘Are ye going to take next week off? I think ye should,’ Blackie remarked, eyeing her closely.

‘So does Laura. She worries about my health. But I feel very well. I do really, Blackie. I could go back on Monday but-’ Her voice trailed off and she examined the sewing, finishing thoughtfully, ‘I don’t think I will, though. I’ve things to do next week.’ Emma dropped her eyes, not elucidating further. Blackie did not want to pry, knowing this would irritate her. Emma was not always given to making confidences, and he had learned not to question her unduly.

After a moment Emma said, ‘So business is good, is it?’

‘Aye, it is, colleen! And do ye know, I am drawing up me first plans for me first house, one of me own design.’ He laughed wryly. ‘Well, it’s not a whole house, just a wing we are to build on to an existing house for a customer in Headingley. The gentleman that owns it, a real toff I might be adding, liked me ideas, and he told me to go ahead and to be making me plans. Them night-school classes in draftsmanship are going to be paying off. Ye’ll see, mavourneen.’

‘That’s wonderful, Blackie.’

This was said somewhat listlessly, and Blackie was at once aware of her closed face, her obvious lack of interest. He studied her carefully and saw the dark glint in her green eyes, the grim expression on her lips. No, not grim. Miserable, he decided. He wondered what was disturbing her, but again refrained from asking any questions. As he continued to expound about the wing of the house he was to design and build, Blackie continued to watch her out of the corner of his eye. Finally he could not prevent himself saying, ‘Why are ye looking so gloomy, me love? That’s not like ye.’ She did not respond. ‘Nay, Emma, ye’ve got a face like a wet week. What’s upsetting ye?’

‘Oh, nothing, really-’ She hesitated and then blurted out against her will. ‘I’m a bit concerned about the baby not being christened.’

Blackie was flabbergasted. He stared at her uncomprehendingly and threw back his head and roared with laughter. Emma looked hurt, but he could not help it. ‘Concerned about the baby not being christened!’ he echoed, trying to swallow the last of his merriment. ‘I can’t believe me own ears, Emma. Why should that matter to ye? After all, ye’ve been telling me for months that ye are an atheist.’

‘I am! I haven’t changed my mind about that ,’ Emma cried. ‘But I don’t feel right about it. Not having her christened. The baby might believe in God when she grows up, and then she might hold it against me if she ever finds out she wasn’t baptized.’

He could see she was in real earnest and so he said, ‘Why don’t ye go to see the vicar of Christ Church and arrange-’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ Emma interjected harshly, fixing him with a cold stare. ‘The vicar would want her birth certificate, that’s customary, and he’d see straightaway that the baby is-is-illegitimate, and then he wouldn’t do it. Besides, I don’t want him, or anyone else, knowing my business.’

‘Well, Emma, if ye don’t go to Christ Church, I don’t know what ye can do. There’s no solution I can think of. Ye can’t have her christened, and that’s that!’

‘Yes, I know. I wouldn’t have mentioned it to you if you hadn’t asked me why I was gloomy. And you’re right, there’s nothing to be done. I shall just have to hope the baby isn’t angry with me one day.’

If the child’s ever angry it will be about her illegitimacy and not her baptism, or rather lack of it, Blackie thought. But he said, ‘Ye are such a contradiction, mavourneen mine. But look here, Emma, if it’s that important to ye, why don’t we take the baby to a church in another part of Leeds? One where ye are not likely to be knowing anybody, and have her christened there. Then it won’t matter about anybody seeing the birth certificate.’

‘No! No! I don’t want a soul to know she’s illegitimate,’ Emma snapped.

Suddenly an idea occurred to Blackie. A marvellous idea. ‘I’ve got it! We’ll have our own christening! Right here and now!’ He leapt up and strode purposefully to the sink in the kitchen. ‘Leeds Corporation water is as good as any for a baptism, I am thinking,’ he shouted gaily. ‘Bring me a bowl.’

‘What do you mean by “have our own christening”? I don’t understand.’ Her brow puckered into a frown.

‘Since ye are so troubled about the bairn not being baptized, I meself am going to do it. Now. Bring her over to the sink. Come on,’ he urged, standing in the kitchen doorway.

Total disbelief flickered on to Emma’s face. ‘You do it! But would it be proper? Would it be a real christening, I mean?’

‘Sure and it would. Do as I say,’ Blackie commanded. ‘I can do just as good a job as a vicar, or a priest, for that matter. Even though I am a lapsed Catholic I still believe in God, ye know. I might not be going to the church, Emma, but I never lost me faith. Never. Be sure of that. And God lives within all of us. That is my true belief. I feel Him in me heart, and that’s what’s most important. To feel His love and His presence eternally with us.’

Although Emma was astonished, she knew that he meant every word he said.

Blackie continued in a tender voice, ‘I don’t think He will be angry that I am taking matters into me own hands, in this emergency. And He will accept her as one of His blessed children, Emma. Sure and He will. His own son, Jesus, said, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God.” Please, believe me, it’s the baptism and the spirit of love behind it that counts, and not the man that does it, or where it’s done. We need neither a church nor a font, Emma.’

‘I believe you, Blackie. I want you to christen the baby.’

‘That’s my Emma,’ said Blackie. ‘Now, pick up the baby and bring her over here.’ Blackie occupied himself at the sink, preparing the bowl of tepid water, and then he hurried across to the sideboard and pulled open a drawer, searching for a towel.

Emma now lifted the baby out of the makeshift cot and cradled her in her arms, stroking her small face and cooing to her. ‘Oh, my sweet little girl,’ Emma exclaimed, entranced with the child. Unexpectedly Edwin Fairley’s face flashed before her eyes. If only Edwin had not been so cruel. If only Edwin could see the baby now, he would love her as I do. To her horror, Emma found she could not expunge his face, or his name. She had not thought of him for weeks and then only with the most intense hatred. He had barely crossed her mind when the baby was born. Emma was so involved with these unparalleled thoughts of Edwin Fairley that she became distracted and her guard was lowered.