Ripper by Amy Carol Reeves Read Free Book Online

named her before he left last Thursday—Lizzie is what he called her.”
    I found it mildly surprising that William would take the time to name an infant, but Lizzie seemed like a good name. I took her into my arms, and, sitting in one of the hard rocking chairs next to Josephine, I began trying to get her to suckle the bottle. But she pursed her mouth into a tiny “ o” and grasped the air with her lips, not quite getting a tight-enough suck on the tube. She struggled and kicked her legs in frustration.
    Josephine shook her head. “She was born too early. She’ll suckle best from a breast. I’ll try to find a wet nurse for her.”
    â€œWhat will happen to her?”
    Josephine shrugged. “She needs to eat. I’ll try her with the bottle when I’m done with this one, but, like I said, she’s too young.”
    The baby in Josephine’s arms had already gulped its entire bottle. She passed that infant to me and I gave her Lizzie. Sister Josephine had no better luck with Lizzie than I had. She finally gave up, saying that when we were finished she would set about trying to find one of the lactating mothers on the first floor to nurse the child.

    When I emerged from the nursery in the afternoon, I felt exhausted. My shoulders reeked of spit-up, and my hands, though I had washed them several times, still seemed saturated by the smell of feces. A foul urine stain marked my apron, a souvenir from a baby boy I had bathed.
    The ward of women and children seemed just as chaotic as the nursery. I saw William, with several other physicians or medical students, walking hurriedly in and out of the ward, inspecting patients and writing notes. Nurses chased children, changed bedsheets, and administered medicine. As I scanned the room, I saw in the bed farthest away from me, nearest to the front entrance, a woman holding a too-still infant. She seemed to be in despair.
    Simon St. John sat in a chair by her bed.
    I had not seen him since the day I fell. I remembered how kind and attentive he had been to me, and I watched him with interest. Though I could not hear what he said to the woman, I saw his long, graceful fingers smoothing the swaddling blanket of the dead infant she held. After a moment, he took the baby from her and began walking toward me.
    â€œAbbie, I am glad to see you back at work. Your ankle is mostly healed?”
    â€œYes, it hurts very little now.” I tried not to look at the dead baby in his arms.
    â€œWould you mind sitting near Mrs. Rose Elliot?” He nodded back in the direction of the infant’s mother. “She is heartbroken. This is her third stillborn child. And her marriage is truly terrible. Dr. Bartlett is trying to find a way to help her.”
    â€œYes, certainly.”
    He took the baby back to the nursery area.
    When I sat in the chair by Rose Elliot’s bed, I did not say anything. She had begun sobbing again, and I did not see how any words of mine could help the situation. But I was there, and I hoped that my presence mattered.
    She lifted one hand to wipe her eyes. It was then that I saw the bruises on her arm.
    At almost the same time, the front hospital doors slammed open.
    â€œYou can’t be in here, Mr. Elliot!” I heard a nurse shouting at the intruder as he pushed past her.
    â€œYes I can! You have my wife in here!”
    The man spotted the woman in the bed beside me and began storming toward us. He was tall, burly, and sported a thick mustache.
    â€œGet up! Get up, Rose!”
    â€œNo, Jess,” Rose replied meekly.
    I scanned the room. Dr. Bartlett was nowhere in sight, nor the constables who had accompanied him this morning. I saw several medical students in the far part of the ward, but they looked inadequate for a confrontation.
    â€œGet up, Rose! Now!”
    Then I saw William sprinting toward us.
    As Jess lunged at Rose, William restrained him, pinning his arms behind his back. Jess cursed and shook