She does not remember this day. She was too young; a newborn. This putrid day that cursed her family and has forever burdened her. Her birth that her mother loathed the moment she was placed in her arms. It was a normal birth with absolutely no difficulties. Her mother survived and the baby cried until she was blue in the face. Yes, very normal. The only abnormal aspect was that she was delivered a bit earlier than her parents expected. The village doctor said something about his inaccuracy about the date and how it isn’t an exact science. Because of this, her mother had given birth with only her father present. The doctor was visiting a neighboring village. By the time my mother realized what was happening to her, it was too late to call the midwives. The baby was coming.
There was much screaming from her mother and nervousness was illuminating from her father. By the end of it, a different type of screaming was to be heard.
“It is a girl,” her father said. “We have a baby…oh.”
“What?” her mother hysterically exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
Her father was at a loss for words. All he could do was stare at his child that shivered in the brisk November air. Her mother started to sit up to get a better look at the child. She was too shaken and exhausted and plumped back down in her birthing chair, panting. Her cheeks were rosy and perspiration cascaded down her keck. Her thick brown curls clung to her skin like seaweed.
“Give her here,” the woman commanded. Her mother held out her arms. At first, he looked as if he would protest the demand, but a stern look from his wife silenced him.
Carefully, he placed the newborn baby into the arms of the new mother. “There,” she cooed, “isn’t that better?” Her mother was smiling. There was proof of love and care in her eyes. However, that smile quickly disappeared. “Benjamin.” Her father had turned his back on his wife and daughter and began to pace. “Benjamin, what is wrong with her?”
It was then that she examined the child.
“Get rid of it.”
“Margaret!”
“On the fire with it!”
