“Mrs Chesterton? Your father is here to see you!” The midwife was awfully chipper, but it wasn’t the tone of voice that was bothering Barbara. It was what she had said. Her father? Her father died in 1941, a good many years ago.
She was about to tell the woman that no such man should be visiting but there was a soft noise coming from the bundle comfortably resting in her arms. Johnny Chesterton, just barely a day old was awake, fussing a little in his blue blanket. Barbara’s attention was immediately drawn to her son, holding him closer, and gently stroking his cheek with just her pointer finger. “Shh..it’s alright, little man, mummy’s here,” she whispered.
She was so wrapped up in her boy, that she barely noticed the figure standing in the doorway. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see grey hair, dark sunglasses, and what looked like the neck of a guitar slung across his back. But a fond smile on a wrinkled face.
“Well hello Doctor,” she looked up from her sweet little son, a smile on her face, not a question in her mind of who this man was. “There’s a new Chesterton who would love to meet you.”
