Their Doorstep Baby

‘Jim’s probably still fighting his way through the peak-hour traffic, but, please, sit down,’ Maria said.

Claire wanted to ask about the new baby, but instead she took her seat and pointed to the gifts. ‘We brought you some souvenirs that can’t wait till Christmas and there’s a panettone from Siena.’

An image of the narrow, ancient, cobbled streets of Siena, dark and crowded in by tall medieval buildings, flashed through her mind as she handed Maria the boxed traditional cake and she felt a pang of sympathy for her brother’s wife, who had never seen the fascinating homeland of her family.

‘Thank you,’ Maria said, waiting until her guests were seated before she took her place in an old lounge chair. ‘Did you like Italy?’ She frowned as she tried to poke some stuffing back through a tear in the upholstery.

‘We loved it,’ Claire said gently. ‘We’ve brought you lots of photos.’

The children, their dark eyes big with excitement, crowded closer and it seemed as good a time as any to hand out all the things she and Adam had brought for the family. For the next few moments there was a flurry of unwrapping and cries of delight.

Maria set Claire’s gift, the delicate Venetian glass angel, on the sideboard and Claire felt a stab of discomfort as she noticed that it looked sadly out of place next to the roughly painted nativity scene the children had made from play dough. In this little house, it suddenly looked as unsuitable and showy as an exotic orchid in a bunch of humble field daisies.

The little layette she’d bought in Florence was left till last.

‘This is for the baby,’ Claire said, handing Maria the slim parcel wrapped in tissue paper and hoping no one noticed how her hands shook.

‘Oh,’ gasped Maria as she pulled the tissue aside and drew out the contents. She held the dainty garments out in front of her. ‘How—how exquisite.’

Tony ran to his mother’s side. ‘Rosa will look like a baby princess.’

Claire and Adam exchanged a quick glance and Claire read mild concern in her husband’s eyes. She looked again at the delicate baby clothes trimmed with exquisite hand-stitched embroidery and then at her sister-in-law’s simple cotton dress that had gone out of fashion at least five summers ago.

Her eyes strayed to the hovering circle of happy, bright-eyed children. Their feet were bare and they all wore obvious hand-me-downs—tee shirts and shorts, faded from much washing.

Claire compressed her lips tightly as she realised how impractical she’d been. Maria wouldn’t have time to hand wash and take special care of this delicate baby wear. Rosa would no doubt spend her first long, sizzling summer in their hot little box of a house, dressed in little more than a nappy and a cotton singlet.

‘I couldn’t resist it,’ she said weakly.

‘It’s beautiful. Thank you so much. Rosa will wear it to mass on Christmas Day and be the best-dressed baby in Sydney.’

Maria’s eyes shone warmly and Claire felt a little better. She looked again to Adam for support, but he’d finally succumbed to a wrestling match on the floor with Tony and Luke. The two boys were gleefully bouncing on top of him while little Toto watched and cheered.

Before she could indulge in second thoughts about the suitability of her gifts, a lot of things happened quickly. Jim strolled through the front door with a six-pack of beer under his arm. Toto tried to join the wrestling, banged his head on the corner of the coffee table and began to bellow loudly. The telephone rang and a tiny little wail sounded from down the hallway.

After a quick ‘Hi, sis,’ and a peck on the cheek, Jim dealt with the phone call. Only Maria could console Toto.

‘Would you like me to see to the baby?’ Claire asked.

Maria looked at her over the top of Toto’s curly head. Her eyes were underlined by heavy, dark circles. She looked dreadfully tired. ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed above her little boy’s wails.

And as Claire crossed the room before heading down the hall she fancied she saw tears in Maria’s eyes.

The baby’s cries were coming from the main bedroom at the back of the house. As soon as Claire entered the darkened room, her eyes flew to the bassinet in the corner by the curtained window.

Making her way around the bed, she stepped over a mattress on the floor. No doubt it was where Francesca slept. Then she held her breath as she saw the tiny form in the basket.

Rosa Claire Tremaine, just a few weeks old.

She couldn’t help her reaction. Her throat grew painfully choked and her eyes brimmed with a rush of hot tears as she stepped closer.

The little baby lay on her side in the simple, unadorned crib. There wasn’t even a ribbon threaded through the cane work and, as Claire had guessed she would be, the tiny girl was dressed in a simple white singlet and nappy.

Her little face was red and screwed up with the effort of crying. Claire stared at her, taking in every detail. Her head was covered by the sweetest cap of fuzzy brown hair—her dainty little limbs, hands and feet, were pink and perfect, as were her ears. Her little chest was rising and falling.

Rosa was a miniature miracle.

‘Such a sad little girl,’ Claire cried as she bent down and carefully lifted the sobbing baby. Her heart swelled with emotion as she held the warm, minuscule body against her. She supported Rosa’s weight with one hand, while her other hand gently stroked her super-soft skin.

Almost immediately the cries subsided into little snuffles. Claire pressed her lips to the back of the tiny girl’s neck and her nostrils were filled with the unique, intoxicating smell of new baby.

Like a snugly puppy or kitten, Rosa’s head nestled against the curve of Claire’s shoulder and, with her open mouth, the tiny baby nuzzled her neck.

Claire hardly knew how to cope with the flood of unexpected love she felt for this sweet little creature. Oh, God! She wanted to be brave, but her arms were so starved for the feel of a warm, live baby. There’d been an aching hole inside her for so long, and now her heart almost broke with the bittersweet pain of her longing.

Even though she and Adam hadn’t bothered about a family during the first three years of their marriage, she’d endured five years of trying since then. Sixty months of disappointment and unbearably empty arms.

And here was Maria, so much younger, and for each of those five years she’d produced a baby. Maria only had to look at Jim and she was pregnant! Five of them! It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair at all.

‘If you were mine,’ Claire whispered as she rocked Rosa gently, ‘I’d make you such a sweet little nursery in our home at Nardoo. I’d have the cutest baby things for you—the prettiest clothes—lovely soft talcum powder and baby creams for your delicate baby skin. I’d look after you so beautifully.’

She glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of herself in the age-speckled mirror above the dressing table. Looking back at her was a tall, slim woman with big brown eyes and a delicate but sad face, surrounded by a mass of soft, light golden curls.

Surely I look like a normal, nice enough woman who deserves to be a mother?

Her eyes lingered over the most wonderful part of that picture, the dear little baby curled in her arms. Rosa looked so perfect, so perfectly at home as she snuggled against her breast.

A fierce pain speared Claire’s chest. It felt as if someone had plucked at her very heartstrings.

‘I’d set up a rocking-chair on the veranda and we’d sit there and watch Adam riding home at the end of a long, hard day in the outback,’ she whispered. ‘You’d love it up there in the bush. You could help me to feed all the pretty, noisy parrots that fly in at sundown.’

The baby’s snuffles stopped. It was almost as if she were listening to Claire.

‘There’s a pied butcher bird that taps on the kitchen window every morning for his breakfast,’ she told her. ‘And when you’re bigger, you can play in the beautiful garden I’ve made at Nardoo. Adam will buy you a dear little pony and we can both teach you to ride.’

She knew Adam would be a fantastic father. The best father in the world! It would be so wonderful.

Claire kissed the back of the baby’s little head again and she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. No one understood her pain.

No one.

A throat-clearing sound from the doorway startled her. Adam was standing there, watching her, frowning. He stepped into the room and walked towards her, his mouth tilting into an uncertain smile.

He looked at the baby in her arms.

‘She’s so sweet, isn’t she?’ she whispered.