Everyone who came to see him said he was the most beautiful child they had ever seen. “That’s the prettiest baby I ever saw,” my mother said, and Aunt Celeste, and Aunt Roberta, and even old Doctor Freer, who should have retired years before, was jealous of the surgeon he had called in to do the operation and took the stitches out himself a few days later. He would come into my room every morning on his rounds and sit beside the bed and watch the baby. It was out of fashion to breast feed babies in 1957 but Doctor Freer had insisted I do it because he was so small. “You must feed him at your breast,” he kept telling me. “I don’t know why the women have stopped doing this. It’s the best food for him. We can’t take a chance on him losing weight.”

“Isn’t he wonderful?” I would say every morning. “Isn’t he the prettiest baby you’ve ever seen?”

“He’s a fine healthy boy. You gave us a scare, Rhoda. You sure gave us a scare.”

“He’s gained three ounces. He’s gaining every day. He’s getting bigger. When can we go home?”

“Wait until Saturday. You can go home then.” He patted my hair, patted the baby’s matching hair. “I almost tried to deliver him but it would have caused you too much pain. It might have broken his leg. You’re a fine healthy girl, a strong girl. The Mannings all are tough. I knew you’d make it.” He bent over me to watch the baby nurse. The smell of A&D ointment was everywhere. In a fury of mothering I rubbed it on my nipples by the handfuls. In all probability the baby was drinking about a fifty-fifty mixture of breast milk and A&D ointment. “Be sure and clean that ointment off before you feed him,” Doctor Freer said. “Did the nurse show you how?”

“I do. They showed me.”

“What does his father think of him?”

“He likes him. He won’t pick him up though. He’s afraid to pick him up.”

“He’ll get braver. When you get him home.”

“Well, I don’t care. Dudley picked him up. He went into the nursery. Did you hear about that?”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. He has two girls now. He wants a boy so much.”

“Did you name him yet?”

“He’s named Malcolm, of course. He’s named for his father. We always name boys for their fathers.” I bent down to the baby. Touched his hand, touched his cheek.

“Don’t wake him up. Let him sleep.” Doctor Freer kissed my cheek, kissed the baby’s head, kissed my hand. “I’m proud of you, Rhoda. You’re a fine girl. A brave girl.”