She sat up out of a dead sleep when the sounds happened. It gave her the chills... When the baby cried in reaction to Iris' startlement, she lifted her and cradled her to her, offering her breast. Assuming the child latched on, she began to hum softly to try and calm the child. Iris would let the babe feed for however long it took, making sure to be done before it was time to change her into her little gown. Her fingers idly brushed the downy infant hair, her brow, her cheeks, and she would find herself wanting to love the babe as she would her own. "I'll make sure you live, baby," she whispered softly, "I couldn't help my own but I can help you."

When the feeding was over, she changed the little one from top to bottom, putting on a new cloth and then the gown. She lay the babe down and pulled on her Sunday best since it was the respectful thing to do. Of course, that was black too because she was a recent enough widow that it still mattered, not that she loved her husband... She did not hate him though. The gown was devoid of flounces and decoration, but it was rich enough material that it would be easy to surmise that she was of the gentry at one point in her life.

She carried the baby downstairs.