Árdís - 01.01.1953, Blaðsíða 56

54
ÁRDÍ S
Eve Torrence, Mrs. Leland. We brought some things for the baby.”
Taking parcels from the carriage she placed them on a chair.
“There’s a mattress in the buggy,” Eve said, “and here’s a
carriage cover.” She held up a white satin cover. “Helen put a big
pink satin bow on it. And here’s an electric bottle warmer, Lil’s
not using.”
Grace gazed at the pretty young women, more interested in
them than the things they brought. They were so thoughtful, and
kind.
“Oh, there she is,” Betty said, going to the divan and looking
down at the child.
Grace winced at the thought of anyone seeing the infant’s
shocking head. But neither young woman seemed to notice it.
“Poor wee one,” Eve said. “Can I try some of the dresses on
her?” She unwrapped a bundle. “This should fit.” Without waiting
for consent, she took the child on her lap, took oíf the nightgown
and slipped on a pink dress. She rummaged in a paper bag of
bootees, and after trying on several, found a pair that almost fitted.
“There now,” she said, holding the child up for inspection.
“She’s a darling,” Betty said admiringly. “Now we must run,”
she said to Grace. “We left our scamps with Lil. About three, we’re
calling for you to take Cecilia May to Victory Park.”
When they were gone, Grace stood looking down at the child.
Dressed like this she looked even worse; the pink dress showed up
her sallow complexion, and the spindly legs were exposed for all
to see. She looked like a miniature clown.
The young women were calling for her to take Cecilia May to
the park. Her head must be covered, Grace thought. I will not
have her exposed to idle stares, of curiosity, or disgust. Then,
remembering the Irish Rose bonnet she had crocheted years ago for
her daughter, she ran upstairs and found it in the bottom of her
cedar chest. It reeked of cedar, had turned slightly yellow, but
was clean and uncreased.
When called for they were ready and waiting, Grace wearing
a blue pique summer dress, beneath her short white jacket, and
Cecilia May the bonnet, which completely hid the scum on her head.
Grace jointed the calvacade of seven young mothers, each push-
ing a baby buggy. This is a little like old times, she thought, as she