Harry’s son arrived in a roaring hurry one clear cold morning in January, much to the surprise and disarrangement of everyone on the wait for him. The baby’s prompt appearance made Charlie’s midnight drive for the doctor an embarrassing waste of time; the cord was cut, the baby washed, and the mother resting with her son in her arms long before Charlie and Dr Armstrong reached Flat Ridge. Kathleen had been jolted out of sleep and conscripted into the demanding service of Sergeant Harry Fletcher as she’d never seen him before. Here was a man who simply ignored blood and cries and advice while he had a task in hand, who grunted short orders over his shoulder, and had a bottomless store of encouraging nothings to tell his wife.
In the meantime Nora, indignant on all fours, was infuriated by
