The Surrogate by Henry Wall Judith

on her bedside table.
    Freda came twice a day to give her IV fluids. “This will pass, sugar,” the nurse assured Jamie. “I promise that it will. And don’t worry about your baby. Nature looks after babies first and mothers second.”
    Jamie wanted to correct Freda. The baby in her womb was not her baby. It belonged to Amanda Hartmann. But talking took too much effort. And to think that she had willingly subjected herself to this torture! If she ever decided to have a child of her own, she would adopt one.
    Once a day, Miss Montgomery and Freda would help Jamie to the shower, where she would sit on a metal stool and allow the hot water to stream over her body. Which was heaven. For a time she could almost forget about the nausea. Then her two keepers would decide she had been in heaven long enough and dry her off, then help her into a nightshirt and back into bed. She hated being so helpless, but she was grateful to them. “You’re very kind,” she would say. Of course, a little voice inside her head would remind her that it was not just kindness that motivated the two women. Caring for her was one more way they could serve Amanda Hartmann. When Miss Montgomery was alone with Jamie, she was less gentle as she helped her back and forth to the bathroom or lifted her head so she could take a sip of water. “One of the reasons Amanda selected you was because you seemed so strong and healthy,” the housekeeper mumbled on one occasion. “And just look at you. You have no idea what you are putting that dear woman through.”
    Jamie now slept most of the time. Wakefulness meant the return of nausea. When she felt herself waking, she would concentrate on going back in the other direction. Often she would find herself stalled just on the edge. Not asleep. Not awake. Balancing there like a trapeze artist on a high wire.
    She was seldom alone. If the nurse or Miss Montgomery wasn’t with her, one of the housemaids would watch over her. And even at night, she was aware of Miss Montgomery coming into her bedroom to check on her. Sometimes she would sit in the corner chair for a time. Or kneel beside the bed and pray that God would watch over the blessed baby in this young woman’s womb.
    But sometimes it was Jamie’s grandmother sitting in the corner chair. At times, she could even feel her grandmother’s gentle hands placing a damp washcloth on her forehead.
    When Jamie woke during the night, she would look to see if anyone was sitting in the chair, hoping that her grandmother would be there. Of course, she knew perfectly well that Granny was dead and that she was hallucinating because she was so weak. But she didn’t care about the reason why. She liked having her grandmother look after her.
    One night Jamie felt well enough to speak to her. “Is it hard for you to come here, Granny? Do you have to ask permission?”
    Granny cackled like an old hen laying an egg. Which seemed strange. Jamie couldn’t ever remember her grandmother laughing like that.
    Jamie struggled to rise onto an elbow and gave the shadowy figure in the corner a better look. The woman had long white hair rather than her grandmother’s frizzy halo.
    “You’re not my grandmother,” Jamie said accusingly.
    “Never said I was,” the shadowy figure said.
    “Who are you, then?” Jamie asked, allowing her head to sink back on the pillow. She felt light-headed. Maybe she was still asleep and having a strange dream. Then she realized the most incredible thing.
    She wasn’t nauseated.
    The figure in the corner rose from the chair and came closer to the bed. It was an old, disheveled woman who smelled bad. “I am Mary Millicent,” the woman said. “I can save your soul if you want me to.”
    “Mary Millicent Tutt ?” Jamie asked.
    The old woman sat on the side of the bed. “ Tutt? Yes, that’s my name. And there was another name, too.” She frowned and looked around the room as though searching for her other name. “Oh, dear, what was