Árdís - 01.01.1953, Qupperneq 60

Árdís - 01.01.1953, Qupperneq 60
58 ÁRDl S alone. “I’m surprised,” she said, standing up, “that a man of your intelligence should allow a childhood inhibition to ruin his life, and that of a loved one.” She looked at him sternly, and said. “I think you should consult a psychiatrist.” A surprised look flashed in his eyes, and he laughed shortly. He stood up, and not quite meeting her eyes, said. “I didn’t come to talk about myself, but to get Cecilia May.” Grace drew in her breath sharply, and felt her temples begin- ning to throb. “When something unpleasant has to be done,” Dr. Mike said, watching her, “it should be done quickly, with no time to dwell on it. Cecilia May’s new parents are in from the farm to get her. I’m taking her now.” “I’ll get her ready,” Grace said in a flat voice. She had a numb feeling as she changed the child to the white dress with green smocking, and green coat with matching tam, that she had made for her. Without a word, Dr. Mike picked Cecilia May up, when she was ready. Grace’s arms ached to hold her in her arms once more, to crush her to her bosom for the last time, but she kept her arms limp by her sides. The little girl tugged at her tam, pulling it down across her forehead, hiding her curls. Grace longed to straighten it, but something held her back. “You’ve got what it takes,” Dr. Mike said. “I knew you’d be like this.” He gave her shoulder a little pat, and said. “I’m coming back to see you after seven this evening. I’ve got plans for you.” “She’ll miss her nap,” Grace thought, when they were gone. Then remembered that the child was no longer her concern. Listlessly, she began to pick up the baby toys and clothes and placed them in a carton. She put that, and the high chair, and the carriage in the alcove off the hall. Now there was not a thing to remind her that a child had been in the house. It was a little like putting away a dead loved one’s belongings, she thought. “Don’t be an idiot,” she said aloud, when she found herself on the verge of tears. “Cecilia May isn’t dead. She will be happy, and make others happy.” But she, herself, was anything but happy. She even felt worse than she did six months ago. When the silence of the house became
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