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her
mother.
    “Did anyone hear from Cynthia’s
brother?”
    Marjorie frowned. “I thought you were going
to look into that? I assumed he would have been in last night, if
he was interested at all.”
    “I did try to contact him, but I haven’t
heard anything back.”
    “I haven’t seen any visitors this morning,
but I guess it’s early yet,” one of the other nurses offered.
    Georgie acknowledged her comment with a nod.
As soon as she’d spoken to Cynthia and offered her condolences,
she’d call Chanel and see what she’d learned. With a heavy sigh,
she pushed away from the table and headed out the door.
    Georgie found Cynthia in a bed that was
placed against the far wall. The curtains were drawn, shielding her
from the rest of the ward. Sliding the curtains open just enough so
that she could slip inside, Georgie approached the girl who was
curled up in a fetal position on the bed.
    “Cynthia?” she called softly and laid a hand
gently on the teen’s shoulder. Cynthia tensed and curled herself
tighter, covering her head with her hands.
    “Cynthia, it’s Georgie. I’m the midwife who
was here yesterday. I helped you through your labor.”
    A torrent of sobs shook the young girl’s
shoulders and were quickly followed by a harsh gasp of pain.
Cynthia lifted her head momentarily and stared at Georgie with eyes
that were dark and desolate. Tears streamed down the young girl’s
cheeks and dripped onto the bed. Georgie couldn’t remember when
she’d seen anyone looking more wretched.
    “M-my b-baby! M-my J-Josephine! They t-told
m-me she was d-dead! You told me she was fine. What h-happened?”
Another howl of pain twisted the girl’s face and she once again
buried her head in her hands.
    Feeling more helpless than she ever had in
her life, Georgie perched on the edge of the bed and stroked the
girl’s matted hair. Even after a shower, the faint stench of body
odor and ingrained dirt hovered in the air. Georgie’s heart broke
at the thought of the life Cynthia had led—and more than likely
would continue to lead if help and better fortune didn’t come her
way.
    “ Why ? Please, nurse! Tell me why !” The anguished cry was muffled by the bedclothes, but
Georgie’s eyes filled with tears. She had no answers for the young
girl and the knowledge pierced her heart.
    Indeed, why did some babies suffer sudden
and unexplained deaths? That question had been asked many times
in the past, and would no doubt be asked again. Regardless, each
time it was howled or screamed or gasped or whispered, it was
always difficult to answer.
    “Sometimes things happen,” she whispered.
“They can’t be anticipated. I’m so sorry you lost Josephine,
Cynthia.” With her lips pressed tightly together in an effort to
stem her emotions, Georgie murmured more words of reassurance and
continued to offer comfort with every stroke she gave Cynthia’s
hair.
    Gradually, the girl’s sobs quietened to
hiccups. Georgie stood and went into the nearby bathroom. Taking a
washcloth, she dampened it under the faucet and came back to where
Cynthia lay. Wiping it across her face, she did her best to soothe
the pain away, knowing that nothing would remove the feeling of
emptiness and devastation, but doing all she could.
    “Excuse me. I’m looking for a patient by the
name of Cynthia Dawson. Can you tell me where she is?”
    The low rumble of a male voice sounded
somewhere in the open ward. Georgie set the cloth aside and pulled
the curtains back. A man stood a few yards away, talking to one of
the other nurses. At Georgie’s approach, the nurse looked up,
relieved.
    “You’ll need to speak to Georgie Whitely.
She’s the nurse looking after Cynthia today.”
    The man turned his attention to Georgie and
lifted a single dark eyebrow in silent query. Her heart skipped a
beat. He was tall and broad shouldered and looked about her age.
His hazel eyes captured hers for a heart-stopping moment and then
dipped lower, raking her slowly from