Free The Wet Nurse's Tale by Erica Eisdorfer Page B

the room. My despair was very great. The “baby’s milk,” he’d called it, as if I had been born for them, as if my own sweet Joey had given me my milk for my masters and their brats.

    The next morning the door to the nursery opened quietly, and I rose from my chair and bobbed my curtsy for Mr. Holcomb. My face had swelled, I felt sure, from having cried all night but there was naught I could do for it. I put the baby in the crib and he was good and did not cry.
    “Susan,” said he, “Mrs. Holcomb feels she has been too hard. She wishes you to know that you may have the three days you wish for.”
    I gasped for I had not thought it would turn thus. “Oh, sir,” said I, my voice hiccoughing with new tears. “I am so grateful to you.”
    Mr. Holcomb cleared his throat. “She worries, Susan,” said he, “that you will decide to remain in Leighton. She feels that it would be difficult to immediately find a replacement nurse for William and that his health would suffer for it.”
    “I promise to return with haste,” said I. “I promise . . . on Jesus’ own name, sir.”
    He smiled. Then he said quickly, as if he were explaining, “Mrs. Holcomb is herself so innocent, you see. She feels . . . she believes . . . that you care as much for William as . . .” and then he bit his tongue. “Well,” he said, “I have said too much and perhaps made the both of us uncomfortable. Susan, you have been careful of Mrs. Holcomb’s feelings these months; please do not let your sensibilities diminish in this regard.” And then he bid me good morning.
    I hardly knew what he meant with that last, but I was so happy I hardly cared. My milk let down just to think of my own baby’s face, and I thought to pick up little William and offer him to suck which he did do. I smiled down at him in my joy. I thought about what Mr. Holcomb had said about Mrs. Holcomb and how she wished for me to love the baby, not just nurse it. She has learnt a hard lesson, I thought, and perhaps a bad one for me. It’s like King Solomon did with the two mothers who wanted the same baby. When he threatened to halve the baby and give each woman one piece, one of them agreed and the other refused, and that’s how he knew which was the real mother and which the false. Perhaps that’s what my mistress is thinking to herself even now: that I would let her baby be cut in twain if twere to serve my purposes. “Ah,” I whispered as I looked down at the sucking baby, “your mother’s near a fool, isn’t she, my dear.”
    I waited anxiously for the days to pass. While I watched the babe in the night, I burned a tallow candle that I might sew my Joey a bonnet from a scrap of muslin I had bought in the shops. I have never cared for needlework much, but I wanted to bring a gifty with me. I had some ribbons for Ada and some loose sugar for my mother and I meant to buy an orange for the children, once the time for leaving came close.
    Once Mrs. Holcomb came in and saw me sewing at the bonnet in candlelight and gave me a smile before she looked at her baby in his cradle. I saw how it was: she did not offer me the use of one of the house lamps, which she would have done before I had asked for the leave.
    Three days before our journey, Mrs. Potts and Mrs. Holcomb both wished me to make an errand to the baker’s shop while the baby had his nap. Mrs. Holcomb had neglected to advise Mrs. Potts that there’d be company for tea, and Mrs. Potts had naught but brown bread in the cupboard as the next day was her baking day. I welcomed the errand. Partly, it felt lovely to be out of doors as I had been in the nursery for many hours that day; William was hurting with a tooth coming in and squally. And partly I wanted to make up to the mistress, as I knew it would go better for me once I was back in her good graces, so I thought to do the job fast and well.
    I was diligent in my errand and bought a lovely plum cake which I got for less as it was crookedly rised but, I