Everyday Heroes

The street was bustling today, as it always is in spring when the city finally feels the warm sun after months of grey drizzle. The usual puddles had long since drained away, leaving little ribbons of water that glittered like silver threads as they slipped down the cobbled lane toward the alley and then along Maple Street to St.Marys church. Even the churchyard was alive with activity.

A small group of ladies alighted from a doubledeck bus, their dresses and scarves a pastel parade of babyblue, sage and ivory. Their scarves were tucked snugly against their faces. Men in crisp suits, ties perfectly knotted and polished shoes, followed them.

From a smaller van, a woman stepped out, looking focused and a little cautious.

Kate! What are you doing out here on your own? called Simon, hurrying past the vehicle toward her.

Dont shout, love. Peters asleep. Lets keep it down. Im scared, Simon Kate whispered, clearly unsettled. She had never baptized a baby before; this was her first time as a mother, and the thought of little Peter crying out in panic, as he had when we first gave him a bath, made her nervous. The babys first bath had been such a fiasco that Simon had to call a doctor.

DrMargaret Clarke, a calm, nononsense paediatrician, entered the hallway, paused to catch her breath, and then stepped into the modest bedroom where a young mother cradled a squirming infant.

Lay him down, instructed Margaret.

What? I cant hear you, Kate murmured, shaking her head in confusion.

Youre shaking the baby like a rattlesnake! Youve got his little bones all twisted! Margaret snapped, her voice sharp as a schoolmasters.

Lord, Kate gasped, eyes wide as she stared at Simon.

He gave a halfsmile.

Kate, youre still a girl at heart, but youve already brought a son into the world. Neither of us knows how to raise him, Simon said, trying to keep the mood light.

Just put him down, love, the nurse chanted. Look at those little cheeksso cute! He looks just like his dad!

Simon puffed up with pride. Thats right, Mums a Clarke, and youve got the nose to prove it! he joked, pointing at the babys buttonlike features.

DrClarke continued, Your foreheads a bit puffyprobably just a full nights thoughts. Can you close the window? Hell catch a chill otherwise.

Simon dashed to shut the sash.

Whats wrong with him? Kate asked, almost in tears.

Why would a man want a boy? He could have had a girl and it wouldve been simpler. A boy with that stubborn foreheadyour father must have been a tough old chap, Margaret laughed, examining the infant, gently rotating his limbs and coaxing his tiny fingers open.

Its colic, she finally declared. Ill write you a prescription. Stop shaking him, dearhell settle down. Hes a strong lad, but give him a dummy, would you? Hes fussing badly.

Were absolutely against dummies! Simon protested, his voice booming. Theyre pointless.

Against what? Margaret asked, feigning disinterest. Kate oh, yes, give the baby to his father and head to the kitchen. Wrap him up, thatll be safer.

Kate shook her head, then, exhausted, handed the baby to Simon.

Alright, love. Lets have a cuppa, Margaret said, laughing. Tea, tea! Children, I swear!

She took Kates arm and led her away. Simon, cradling his son, lingered by the window, coaxing Peter to settle.

The kitchen was dim, cool, and smelled of fresh coffee.

Theres a kettle, theres sugar, lets brew a pot and set the table. We could have a biscuit too, Margaret said, surveying the room like a hostess.

Kate set out two cups. Shed never seen a community health nurse get so involved in a home brew.

What do you mean involved? Margaret asked.

Kate shivered at the question. She began to think aloud, her words stumbling over each other.

Its we havent been scolded, we havent been taught the right way, we just try to be decent, she shrugged. Being a paediatrician must make you feel you can cure anything, right?

Margaret nodded. Books are good, thank God most people can read now, otherwise the internet helps. Problems are the same for everyone. Youre a responsible mother, I can see itthermometer in the bath, clean coat, a wellkept child. Have a tea while you can! Drink up. She handed a steaming mug to Kate. Youre just frightened, thats natural. If you need to shout, you can. Shout? Only if you need to vent, right? she smiled.

Dont, Kate squeaked, then began to sob.

What’s happening? Margaret asked, startled.

Im tired. I want to sleep. Peter eats a lot, hates a wet nappy, and Im out of strength Kate hiccupped, lips trembling. Days, months, yearsI cant even recall my own name. Everythings a blur. I cant keep up, you understand? I have exams, three more to go, and Im studying with Simon. I cant do it I want nothing.

Margaret sighed, tapping her tablet screen.

Wheres help? Family? she asked.

Familys far, they wont come. My parents opposed the marriage, opposed Peter. They liked the grandson eventually, but my mother told me it was too soon, that I should finish university first. We fought, and she said she wouldnt help. Im to blame, I guess.

Kate sipped her tea, eyes closing.

Blame? For becoming a mother? For bringing this little stubborn lad into the world? Margaret teased. Maybe youre just a bit chubbier nowfour and a half kilos, six hundred grams, to be precise. She winked. Youve got a gift, you should be proud of it.

Eat something, Margaret prompted, tapping Kates chin. Quiet, love. No need for a dummy just feed him and rest. Hell sleep after a good feed. And Ill go write some notes, do a little massage, keep calm. Everything will settle, I promise.

She patted Kates shoulder and left.

Kate, as if fearing the next moment would be taken from her, wolfed down a meat patty, washed it down with tea sweetened with apple jamSimon had bought the jam from a local stalland flopped onto the small overthedoor sofa. She tried to pull a blanket over herself, but her strength gave out. She fell asleep right there.

It felt like yesterday.

Now Kate, in a cream dress and lowheeled shoes, stands at the entrance of the cottage beside the church, baby Peter cradled in her arms. Hes due to be christened today, and shes a bundle of nerves.

Come on, love, lets get him inside. Oh, my sweet boy! Simon cooed, marching confidently toward the guests.

Soon theyll enter the little chapel, the baptism will take place, Peter will hiccup a couple of times, then his blue eyes will widen at the painted saints on the ceiling, and hell stare in wonder. The godmotherKates close friend, still a girl herselfwill give a shy nod.

Peters a tough nut, she whispers to Kate. Well done, you two!

DrMargaret Clarke slipped through the wroughtiron gates into the churchyard and crossed herself.

She, unlike the man nearby in a battered cap and hooded coatthough he was in a suitknew that sometimes only a higher power, whatever you want to call it, could lend a hand.

Excuse me, sir, could you remove your cap? This is a place of worship, Margaret said politely.

The man hesitantly lifted his cap, revealing a balding head and a few wispy strands. Margaret shook her head disapprovingly, as if noting a loss of decorum.

Thank you, the man muttered, turning his attention to the infant being baptized.

The baptism looks lovely, the couple is beautiful, and the child is healthy, Margaret remarked, not approaching Kate directly.

The baptism is just a baptism. Its the child who suffers, the man retorted.

You dont understand, young man Margaret replied softly.

Simon, we have to baptise him. I feel itll set things right, and Sam will get better. Hear me? she shouted, her voice cracking with exhaustion and fear.

Simons son, Sam, had been born a few years earlier, a source of pride. Simon was an architect, Margaret a paediatrician. Their lives seemed straightforward.

One evening, after a lively gathering, Sams mother called from the maternity ward: Its critical. Hes not doing well. The news hit Simon hard. He stared at his laughing friends, then slumped onto a stool, bewildered.

How? I didnt understand what you said, he muttered into the phone, looking at his palecheeked mates. What could have happened to my son?

The situation was grima newborn infection that threatened Sams life before his first month. Doctors, needles, tears, and arguments with hospital staff followed. Igor Anderson, a family friend, tried to help.

Tell me the truth, Igor. Whos to blame? Simon demanded, pounding the desk.

Its nothing we can change now. Hell pull through. We just need to get my wife and Sam home, feed him, give him milk Igor replied, checking his watch.

Simon snapped, Youre always at work. I cant believe youre sober! He pointed toward a cupboard where a box of medical supplies lay. If any hair on him is wrong, it dies!

After that, Igor stopped visiting, their friendship faded, and they never went to the riverside park together again.

Margaret and Sam were discharged, and Simon drove them home in a taxi, lifting Sam into their flat. The apartment was spotless, ready for any medical procedure.

Sam, I love you, Margaret whispered, kissing her husband, Michael, who was waiting.

Sams cries softened as he was fed, bathed, and rocked. For a while, it seemed the nightmare had lifted.

A week later, Sam developed a fever and rash.

The immune system is weak. He needs to go back to the hospital, the visiting doctor declared. Margaret, youre a professional. Youve seen worse.

Margaret, feeling the weight of the world, muttered, Come on, well be ready in ten minutes. She asked Michael to help settle Sam.

She was exhausted, her mind foggy, her cheeks dry from tears. Emily, a cleaner who worked at the hospital, appeared with a bucket and a broom, humming a tune about opera singers, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Emilys bright chatter reminded Margaret of a time when she had grown up in a small village, caring for many younger siblings, learning to nurse them with instinct and love. Emily believed that every child, no matter how frail, would find a guardian angel.

Later, as Margaret stood in the church courtyard watching Kate and Simon carry their child toward the baptismal font, she smiled. Everything will be alright for them, she thought, adjusting her scarf.

She walked up the high street toward the register office, its old stone façade capped with modern windows and plaster columns. The man with the cap, now balding and swaggering, followed, both heading toward the same destinationeach on his own path.

At the doorway of the register, a young bride in a freckled face waited, radiant and nervous. The man beside her, a lanky fellow, said, I never thought Id see the day Id be getting married.

And whose? the woman asked.

She replied, My son is a good lad, works hard, but he doesnt want to settle down. Its terrible to stay single forever. The man scoffed, Times have changed. You need a career first, then a family later. Young people are all infantile now.

She retorted, Building a house is not the same as building a family. My son builds houses; love is something else entirely. She stared at the capwearer, who suddenly grabbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

Enough! she shouted, Call the police if you must! He laughed, Call them all! Ive lived with this woman for years, and well still go to the register later! The crowd turned, bewildered, as Sam shouted, Rings! Ive got the rings! He tried to hide his embarrassment, joking about dinosaurs and fossils.

Sam! Margaret cried, How could this happen?

Its all possible, Mum. My parents are marrying again. Im the halfbaptised son who organised all this. God, where is the world heading? Sam rolled his eyes, then hugged his parents and led them to the banquet hall.

The hall would later celebrate an ordinary couple whod raised a decent son, lived a steady life, never considering a split. Margaret worked as a paediatrician; Michael designed buildings and grew microgreens for the family. Sam was a carefree lad, promising marriage one day, but always dragging his feet.

When Sam was seven, munching on a sandwich, a stray dog appearedscruffy, hungry, and angry from being chased by market men. The dog snarled, but a warm hand fell on Sams shoulder.

Stay calm. Hell understand and go, a male voice said. The dog, eyes softening, trotted off, taking the sandwich with it.

Sam later told his parents how a mysterious stranger had saved him. That was an angel, Sam, Margaret whispered later. Michael, though skeptical, didnt argue. As the years passed, Michael began to believe in something brighter, some unseen help.

Now, standing in the churchyard, Margaret watched Kate and Simon lift their baby, confident that all would be well for them too. The sunlight danced on the river, the world clean and ready for the spring rite. The man who had reluctantly removed his cap walked toward the marriage registry, joining the procession of newlyweds.

Its a strange world, Margaret mused, but love endures, and faithwhether in God, angels, or simply each otherkeeps us going.