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In the dream, Mrs. Weiss stood in her daughter’s bedroom and knew at once that the labour had begun. Ada lay on her side, her face damp, her hands gripping the sheet. The room was warm, the lamp turned low, and somewhere outside a cart rattled over frozen ruts. Mrs. Weiss went to the bed and put her hand on Ada’s forehead. It was hot, but not dangerously so. “Where is Chan?” she asked.

Ada shook her head. “We cannot reach him. The telegraph office is closed, and no one has seen him since this afternoon.” Mrs. Weiss went to the window and looked down at the street. The snow had not started, but the air carried a heavy stillness. She tried the front door, then the back, calling Chan’s name into the empty stairwell. Nothing.

Ada’s pains grew stronger, and each one made her go quiet and still. Mrs. Weiss held her hand and counted the seconds between them. When Ada looked up at her, her eyes were frightened. “He will come,” Mrs. Weiss said, but she did not believe it.

Then she heard Chan on the stairs. His boots were heavy and hurried, and she ran to the landing. “Chan!” she called down. “Find a doctor now. The baby may come at any moment.” He did not answer, but she heard the front door slam, and then his footsteps on the street, fading. She went back to Ada.

At the bedside, something shifted. Mrs. Weiss had never helped somebody deliver a baby. But now, as she looked at her daughter’s face, a calm certainty settled over her. She knew what to do. She heard herself speaking, low and steady, telling Ada not to be afraid, telling her when to push and when to rest. Her hands moved without hesitation.

When Chan finally returned, he was not alone. A tall young man came in behind him, shaking snow from his coat. He had brown eyes, dark hair, and a ruddy complexion. He wore grey trousers and a grey vest, and around his neck was a cravat of bright blue patterned with coral sprigs. Mrs. Weiss noticed the cravat before anything else; it seemed out of place in that dim room, vivid as a flower in January. The doctor examined Ada, checked the baby, and said in a quiet voice that everything had been properly attended to. Then he was gone. Mrs. Weiss woke up from her dream with the blue cravat still clear in her memory, the coral sprigs bright against the grey morning light.

The next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Weiss set down her coffee cup and said, “I had a strange dream last night.” Ada looked up from her plate. Chan, who was reading a newspaper, folded it once and set it aside, though his attention remained on the columns. “About Ada,” Mrs. Weiss said. “She was in labour, and we could not find you, Chan. Nor the doctor. But in the end a young doctor came, and he wore the most remarkable cravat.”

“What colour?” Ada asked.

“Bright blue with coral sprigs. I remember it perfectly. I also remember that I suddenly knew how to help you, though I never have.” She laughed a little. “It was a very practical dream.”

Chan smiled. “Perhaps you have been listening too closely to the midwife’s stories.” He picked up his newspaper again. “I trust you will not need to make use of it.”

That afternoon, the snow began. It came down thick and fast, and by evening the telegraph wires were down. Mrs. Weiss stood at the front window and watched the street fill with white. A man across the way was trying to knock ice from his shutters, and his hammer sounded flat and distant. The dream returned to her then, not as a warning but as an unwelcome echo. She told herself it was only snow.

Three days later, Ada’s labour had started. Mrs. Weiss sent a telegram for Chan, but the office was slow, and the messenger had to walk through drifted streets. The nurse arrived before Chan did, a calm woman in a grey cloak, and she set about preparing the room. Mrs. Weiss stayed with Ada, holding her hand and counting the hours. Ada’s face grew pale and then flushed, and she asked, more than once, where Chan was.

He came at last, stamping snow from his boots in the hall. Mrs. Weiss met him at the top of the stairs. “Find a doctor,” she said. “Right away. The baby will not wait.” Chan turned without a word and went back out into the cold. Ada called for her mother, and Mrs. Weiss went to her.

The hours kept passing. The nurse brought hot water and clean cloths, and Mrs. Weiss did what she could. Ada’s pain was coming faster now, and each one made her grip her mother’s arm hard enough to leave a mark. “Where is he?” Ada whispered. “Where is Chan?” Mrs. Weiss did not know. She was frightened. She could feel the fear in her chest, a tight, cold weight, and she did not know what to say to her daughter.

Then, without any reason she could name, the fear left her. She heard herself speak, and her voice was steady. “Ada, listen to me. Do not be afraid. I know what to do, and everything will go well.” Ada looked at her, and something in her face relaxed. Mrs. Weiss moved to the foot of the bed, and her hands, which had never known this work, became sure. The nurse worked beside her, and together they guided Ada through the long push and the final release. The baby cried once, a thin, startled sound, and then was quiet in the nurse’s arms. Mrs. Weiss wrapped the child in a clean cloth and laid her on Ada’s chest. Chan had still not returned.

Chan came back an hour later, his coat heavy with snow, and behind him a young man in a dark hat. Mrs. Weiss heard them on the stairs and went to the door of Ada’s room. The doctor was tall, and when he removed his hat she saw that he was young, with brown eyes and dark hair. His face was ruddy from the cold. He wore grey trousers and a grey vest. She had the odd feeling that she had seen him before, but she could not place him.

He stepped inside, and the nurse made room for him at the bedside. He examined Ada with quick, careful hands, then turned to the baby, who lay swaddled on the chair by the window. Mrs. Weiss watched him without speaking. When he had finished, he stood back and said, “Everything has been properly attended to. Mother and child are both safe.” He smiled briefly, and Mrs. Weiss saw that his eyes were tired, but kind.

Ada reached out and touched her mother’s wrist. Her voice was very quiet. “Mama,” she said. “Look at his cravat.”

Mrs. Weiss looked. Around the doctor’s neck was a cravat of bright blue, patterned with small coral sprigs.

This story is based on “The Coral Sprigs,” a true account given by Mrs. Weiss in Andrew Lang’s The Book of Dreams and Ghosts. You can read Mrs. Weiss’s original account for yourself in the free Project Gutenberg edition (click here).

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