Today is the birthday of my youngest child, Abigail Christiana Newsom. She is two years old. Her name means, "joy of her father," and I don't know any better way to describe what she means to me. Happy Birthday, Abigail!
I have mentioned before that for several years I’ve had a tradition of writing poems or stories for my wife and children on birthdays and anniversaries. For the next few days, I’ll be posting things I’ve written for Abigail.
Before I do, let me again encourage parents (especially fathers) to do something like this. Homeschool Dads need to engage their children’s imaginations, and one great way to do that is by creating things just for them. Not everyone has the same talents and gifts, of course—there’s a very good reason I don’t paint pictures for my kids on their birthdays. So this kind of creative endeavor can take many forms: songs, poems, stories, pictures, letters, sculptures, hand-carved toys, or tree-houses. Maybe it’s as simple as buying your son a new camping knife and putting a good edge on it. But whatever you do, use it to bless and encourage your family. This was the practice of G. K. Chesterton’s father, and it left a profound mark upon his son, who would go on to shake the world:
“One of the sports of the imagination, a game I have played all my life, was to take a certain book with pictures of old Dutch houses, and think not of what was in the pictures but of all that was out of the pictures, the unknown corners and side-streets of the same quaint town. The book was one my father had written and illustrated himself, merely for home consumption…He was the sort of man who likes to try everything once. This was the only book he ever wrote; and he never bothered to publish it…the same sort of invention created for children the permanent anticipation of what is profoundly called a Surprise…His den or study was piled high with the stratified layers of about ten or twelve creative amusements; water-colour painting and modelling and photography and stained glass and fretwork and magic lanterns and mediaeval illumination…He never dreamed of turning any of these plastic talents to any mercenary account, or of using them for anything but his own private pleasure and ours. To us he appeared to be indeed the Man with the Golden Key, a magician opening the gates of goblin castles or the sepulchres of dead heroes…If my father had been some common millionaire owning a thousand mills that made cotton, or a million machines that made cocoa, how much smaller he would have seemed…All the things that happened in the house, or were in any sense done on the premises, linger in my imagination like a legend…”
The Autobiography of G. K. Chesterton
Now that I’ve ridiculously prefaced my own work with Chesterton’s, here at last is Abigail’s story. It says many things that I want her to know, especially for one just starting out on the journey of life.
A Birthday Adventure
A Story for Abigail on the Occasion of Her Birth
By Her Father
This story happened when Abigail, who was the youngest of the children in those days, had just been born. Mother was lying back in bed, weary but very happy, and Father was beaming like that sun-face on the Raisin Bran boxes. The older children (Abigail had two older brothers—Nathanael was two and William was five—and a seven-year-old big sister, whose name was Grace) were trying to get a peek at the newest initiate into the World of the Little People, and Nurse Waters was talking to Mother about Weight and Length and What a Good Strong Voice She Has.
The whole thing started when William accidentally knocked his plastic cup of water off the table in the corner. It was one of those great and terrible Moments for a five-year old, fraught with the kind of temptation and hidden danger that fills even the most ordinary events with unexpected grandeur and nobility. But William of course didn’t know all that, nor would you or I if it happened to us. For him it was a rather commonplace temptation: no one saw him spill the water, and he didn’t much feel like cleaning it up. He hesitated, perched on the edge of a cliff that was a good bit higher than he realized, his Spider-Man tennis shoes sending bits of broken rock plunging into the unseen abyss below. He glanced up, saw everyone’s heads turned the other way, and walked away from the spilled water, upon which his young conscience begin to pelt him with rocks from the gorge, a process it would continue for the next hour or so.
The rest of the family and friends would be coming in shortly, but Doctor Fontaine had a few tests to run on the newborn first, and so Father and the older children kissed Mother and Abigail, and left them alone to rest for a half hour or so. Father would officially welcome Abigail into the family when everyone was gathered around, a ritual he had begun with the birth of their oldest nearly eight years before.
The lights had been turned off, and both mother and child had dropped off to sleep instantly. Abigail was lying in a crib beside the bed, the little plastic armband identifier firmly in place to prevent those tragic switch-ups that one reads about now and then. There was no noise but the soft beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed, and the occasional drip of the IV. It was a couple of hours or so before dawn and even the noises from the hallway were minimal.
A ray of moonlight sliced through a grey cloud and found its way behind a slightly pulled-up curtain and into the very corner of the room, where it came to rest on the little pool of spilled water. There it remained, happy to have found a reflective surface, however small, to radiate its beauty into the room, even if there was no one to notice.
About ten minutes later, the pool of water began to shiver, as if someone with heavy boots had shaken the floor around it, but of course there was no one walking nearby. This continued for a minute or two, and then, a sort of dark shadow covered the spilled water, as if a cloud had covered the moon—but it hadn’t. Then something happened that…well, at any rate, I’m glad Mother and Abigail were asleep.
A hand appeared, rising straight out of the puddle of spilled water. It was small, about the size of a child’s, but thicker, and covered with hair, and it was wet. A silver ring with a black stone was set on one finger. It continued rising, and was followed by an arm, again, short, and thick. The arm was covered with a dark red garment of some kind, and it too was wet. Then—I’m not sure whether the pool of water grew larger, but somehow, the arm and hand were followed by an entire body, which rose from the water until it simply stepped out of the puddle and stood on the floor of the hospital room.
If the person had been standing in shadows you might have mistaken him for a child, for he was about that height; but the moonlight covered him, and this is what he looked like. He was short, probably three feet tall, but thick and strong-looking. He had a long, flowing beard, almost blue, or so it seemed in that dimly lit room. He was wearing a red mantle, trimmed in gold, and had a steel cap on his head. A dagger hung from a belt around his waist, sheathed in a richly-ornamented scabbard. His eyes were a deep black, just like his boots. His overall appearance was neat and clean, though he was just a bit wet, as if he had walked a little too close to a waterfall. But the left arm of his red cloak was soaked.
He blinked and looked around. A slightly bewildered look wrinkled his face, and he scratched his beard, evidently in a state of puzzlement. He took a few steps into the room, taking in the various bits of electric and computerized equipment, which he had evidently never seen before. But his gaze was not one of blank stupidity, as if he were one of those displaced fictional cavemen in the movies who always end up in New York, gawking at taxis and marquees. No, this person looked on all the strange, blinking, beeping gear as if they were curious to him, but not particularly attractive. Clearly he wondered what they were, but didn’t imagine they held any particular use or beauty that was worth long thought.
Instead, his bewilderment seemed to come from the fact that he was not where he expected to be. But almost immediately after his eyes left the monitors and wires and red numbers, he saw Mother and Abigail. Then, a new look lit his face, and he breathed out what looked for all the world like a sigh of relief, as if he’d found what he’d come for. Mother was deeply asleep, her face nearly buried beneath the sheet and blanket, and Abigail stirred ever so slightly in her sleep. The man, if man it was, took three silent steps to the crib, and looked down on Abigail. She stretched out her hand, reaching up to someone in an infant-dream perhaps, and the stranger, instinctively, it seemed, moved his ringed finger towards her, and let her grasp it. She was quiet, then, and still, settling back down into her slumbers.
Without another word, the blue-bearded stranger reached into the crib, picked up Abigail, and held her close to his chest. He looked around again, still with a bit of perplexity, until he saw a door. Perhaps he didn’t remember that he’d come into the room through the puddle of water, but at any rate, he went to the door and opened it. It didn’t seem to go anywhere, but the silvery metal of the faucets caught his attention, flashing in the small bit of light that entered the bathroom over the stranger’s head. This intrigued him, and he reached out his hand to touch the odd device. Somehow he managed to turn the handle, and water flowed out instantly, causing him to jump back a bit, nearly waking Abigail. He ran his hand under the water for a moment, and this seemed to interest him far more than the electronic gadgets in the main room. Several times he turned the handle on and off, but finally, he seemed to think he’d better be going, and, turning the water off, he backed out and closed the door. Mother was still asleep, though she tossed about a bit, and moaned softly in her sleep.
There was only one other door in the hospital room, and this one the stranger took. He found himself in a long, dimly-lit hallway, with lots of doors nearly like the one he was coming out of, except that some had long ribbons of pink or blue on them. The nurse’s desk was at the far end of the hall, and no one was in sight. He clearly did not know where to go, and pondered his course for some time; but eventually, realizing that neither way is better if you don’t know where you’re going, he set off to his right.
***
Father and the older children were on their way to the drink machines. The others had not yet arrived, but more than one had phoned to say they were on the way. Father stopped by the nurse’s desk to ask whether the tests for Abigail were complete, and was told that they hadn’t gone to get her yet. Father nodded, and was about to walk away, when he saw something moving in the hall, farther down from Mother’s room.
“You know,” he said to Nurse Waters, “I think there’s a kid walking down the hall up there, and I don’t see an adult with him. Might be lost.”
The nurse peered down the hall and caught a glimpse of a small form just turning the corner. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I’ll check on it. Thanks!”
Father and the children returned to the waiting area, and Nurse Waters hurried up the hall to see if she could help the lost child. She turned the corner, and followed the corridor past several side hallways, looking down each one, trying to catch a glimpse of the child. But she never did see him again, and finally returned to the desk, thinking that he’d likely found his way back to the room he was looking for.
***
Abigail nestled comfortably in the arms of her red-cloaked kidnapper, and remained asleep, though her facial expressions revealed a dreaming child. The stranger strode through the halls, all of which looked nearly the same, and the worried look above his beard began to grow. Finally, he found himself back in front of Mother’s room again, which he recognised from a series of odd figures written on a paper on the door that he’d noticed when he left a few minutes before. He went back inside, and looked around again, hoping, perhaps, for some new light or wisdom to point the way. The room was nearly dark except for the strand of moonlight in the corner, and, since it was near a window, the stranger decided this should be his next destination. He walked, without a sound, to the corner, and his black boot stepped directly onto the puddle of water that William had spilled earlier.
The obvious danger, of course, was that he might slip, and Abigail might have been hurt, but this didn’t happen. Instead, both baby and kidnapper went down, straight down, into the water, just as the stranger had come up from the water a few minutes before. They slipped completely into the pool and disappeared. Mother, now alone in the room, tossed and turned in her sleep, troubled by bad dreams. Abigail had been taken, and no one knew she was gone.
***
A moment later, the short man in the red cloak and blue beard found himself in nearly total darkness. But after a minute, his eyes melted away the foggy vision and he could see a bit. Even if he hadn’t, the sound told him enough to know that all was well. It was the sound of rushing water, quite close. He breathed another sigh of relief and shook his head, as if to shake from it the bizarre things that had just happened to him. He looked behind him at the bedchamber he knew was there, but could see nothing clearly in the darkness. But no matter. He knew where he was now. He made his way down a very short hallway to the left, then down an even shorter stair, where the noise of the waterfall was at its loudest.
Yes, it was a waterfall, indeed: an underground river in an immense cavern. He shielded Abigail from the spray as he walked behind the waterfall with his back to it. The ledge behind the water was big enough for three to walk abreast, but he still got a bit wet whenever he went through it to enter the Queen’s chambers beyond. Past the waterfall, he made his way down another, longer stair, and so into the throne room, where the King sat, awaiting him.
The throne room was filled with light, and torches were set in iron brackets in many places around the walls. A great throne sat on a raised platform near the further end, but no one was sitting on it. The King had commanded a high feast and all were seated at a long table in the center of the room. The King himself sat at the near end. He was slightly taller than our blue-bearded friend, and his own beard was a silver-white. There was a great crown of gold on his head and he was dressed in flowing robes of purple and gold. Around him were seated many more Dwarves (for that is what they were, of course), but on the King’s right hand was seated someone much taller than the others: someone with a noble-looking face, and long, flowing white hair. But though his hair was white, his face was young and strong, with no wrinkle or blemish. He was clad in a mantle of green and white, and his eyes were green.
The King looked up and saw the Dwarf who had kidnapped Abigail. His eyes grew wide, and he stood, and everyone in the hall stood with him.
“She is here!” thundered the King, and he began laughing with a great joy. “Bring her here, Riverbeard!” Musicians began to play and everyone at the table cheered.
Riverbeard the Dwarf, who had taken Abigail from her Mother’s side, now entered the chamber, brought the sleeping child to the King, and set her in his arms. Another great cheer was raised by the feasters, but the King at once silenced them, lest they waken her.
“You lot of thundering great idiots!” he fumed. “You’ll wake my little Silverbrook, princess of the Mountain Kingdom.” He smiled and caressed her tiny hand.
“This is a time of joy and thanksgiving,” he said to those assembled, “for, as you know, many long years have passed, and no child had been granted to me and my Queen. But now there is great cause of rejoicing, for she is here at last!”
Again, he had to calm a potentially rousing cheer. He sat in his great chair, and everyone got back to their plates. It was after this that he happened to look closer at the child in his arms.
“Riverbeard,” said the King. Riverbeard had been standing off to the side, with a curious and not altogether happy look on his face. He now came forward to the King and bowed.
“Yes, Lord?”
“Why have the women dressed my princess in such curious clothes? And what means this strange bracelet upon her arm? For surely she must wear nothing but the finest gold from our mines.”
“I do not know, King Goldenmere,” said Riverbeard. “To speak plainly, my Lord, there is something strange about…well, something strange happened, Sire, when you sent me to fetch the newborn child, after we had heard from the midwife that she had been born.”
There was a dark look in the King’s eyes at these words. “Say on, faithful steward.”
“Well, my Lord, I departed from your presence, and made my way to the Queen’s chambers, there to fetch the child, as both the custom of our people, and the rights of my office, prescribe. But when I had passed through the water that guards the Queen’s doors, I found that the room was…well, much different than I remembered. There were strange and curiously-wrought devices, with long cords tied to them, and then stuck fast into the walls. To tell the truth, it looked like a different room altogether. The midwife was gone, but there was the Queen, asleep on the bed, which was also much smaller than I’d remembered. And in a glass cradle by the bedside, there was the princess, also asleep.”
Then Riverbeard told the King the rest of his adventures, which you already know about. And so it was that little Abigail was mistaken for the princess of the Dwarves, and still her family did not know that she was missing, nor did the Dwarves know that they had the wrong child.
“This is a strange tale you tell, Riverbeard,” said the King. “And it darkens my heart, for it seems as if some bad spell or evil omen has encircled the birth of my long-awaited child. What shall we do?” The King was more than a little worried, for among the Dwarves of the Mountain, the presence of bad magic at important times was thought to be a sign of coming trouble.
The tall visitor with green eyes then spoke. “If it please the king, let us visit the Queen’s chambers and learn what we can, for it does indeed seem as if some strange magic is at work here.”
The King nodded in agreement. “Very well, Lord Willowlake,” he said. “Maybe your wisdom may help us, for surely it is no accident that brought the Minstrel-Counsellor of the Elves to my door during the very time of our uncertainty.”
So Riverbeard led the way, and the King and his Elven guest followed. They passed behind the waterfall, and arrived in the Queen’s chamber (having first received permission to enter, of course). It was a large place, carved out of the rock, as was everything in this under-mountain kingdom, but beautifully appointed, after the fashion of the Dwarves, with much gold and precious stone to be seen. There were three or four lamps lit, and several Dwarf-women were bustling in and out. Here they found the Queen sitting up and holding in her arms a newborn baby.
“What is this?” cried the King in dismay.
“This,” replied his wife, “is your new daughter. Come and see! Though I wonder why you have broken our old custom of having your chief steward come to bring her to you.”
“I did not break the custom, my dear Queen Rivulet,” said the King, “and Riverbeard has been here already, and brought to me this child, which he found here, behind the waterfall, in your chamber.”
In answer to the Queen’s astonished and frightened look, the King told her what had happened, while Willowlake the Elf walked around the room, looking for…well, even he didn’t know quite what he was looking for.
There was no doubt, it seemed, which of the two children was theirs, for the little princess was wrapped in the clothes and blankets common to her people, and the Queen was quite certain that she had never before seen Abigail. There remained only the questions of how such a thing had happened, and what they ought to do about it.
Willowlake returned to the King’s side. “There is more to this curious business than even friend Riverbeard’s story has revealed,” he said.
The King looked at him for a few moments, and then nodded. “You are wise and subtle, minstrel,” he said at last. “Let us hear your wisdom, then.”
The Elven counsellor bowed. “Such wisdom as I have is merely the guess of the Wise, for though I have heard of such things before, I never met any who could speak of what he had seen with his own eyes. It has long been known to the Wise that there are lands that cannot be reached by horse or sea-vessel, but only by magic. Other countries, other worlds, with other Peoples living other lives. Elves and Dwarves, perhaps, or maybe even Men. Or other beings of whom no word has yet reached us.
“Only by magic, I said, but it is a magic of which we know little; yet in our ancient lore, there are tales that tell of doors between the worlds—doors that burst open without warning. These doors may remain open for days, or years, or they may shut of their own accord within hours.”
“But what causes these doors to open at will?” said the King.
“We know not for certain, but the tales suggest that there are three elements that must join together to open the doors between the worlds.
“First, there is what the Wise call erinale, or ‘Event,’ ‘Happening.’ That is, a certain thing must happen that is common to both worlds.”
“But what thing happened in both worlds in this case?” asked the King.
“That is plain enough,” answered Willowlake, “the birth of two children, perhaps at the same moment. The second element is aurienth, our word for ‘Symbolic Matter’—which I suppose requires some explanation these days.” (He said this because the looks on the faces of the King, the Queen, and the Steward were blank with puzzlement.)
“Symbolic Matter in this case means simply a thing, an object, but one of great meaning to both worlds. It might be a tree, a book, or a loaf of bread, but even better are things like water, or even light itself.”
“And what do you think the thing is in this case?” asked the King.
“I think,” said the Elf, “that it must be water.”
“Why so?”
“Because there is a small pool of it on the floor of this chamber.”
They looked and saw a little pool of water—exactly the size and shape of the water that William had spilled back in the hospital room, though of course they didn’t know that.
“My Lady, how came this water to the floor of your chamber?” asked Willowlake.
“I do not know,” answered the Queen. “I’m sure it was not there an hour ago, when I gave birth. But perhaps Stonespring will know.” They called in the midwife then, but she was even more adamant that they would never have spilled anything without cleaning it up afterwards. Nor had she seen the puddle of water earlier, while helping the Queen.
“Then water is the common thing, the thing that has meaning to both worlds?” said Riverbeard.
“Yes, I think so,” said Willowlake.
“But then what meaning has water for that Other Place?”
“We know not,” said the Elf. “For us, of course, the meaning is clear—do not all our peoples pass through the cleansing waters of the Falls of Mithradell after birth, as a sign of thanksgiving and blessing? But for that Other World, who knows what value the sign of water may be? But that it has a value to them, I am certain, for by it, the chasm between the worlds was bridged. Doubtless there is a small pool of water in that Place, like this here, and you, Riverbeard, stepped into it, or upon it, and thus found your way back here.
“And so, two children were born, worlds apart, and water was cast forth from that place. But I have not yet told you the third element that is needed for the Doors to open, and that is velia, or ‘Time.’ For the doors to open, or so say the old tales, the children must have been born at the same moment, and the water from that world must have been cast forth at the same moment that water was cast forth here.”
“The puddle of water on the floor,” said the King. “But how came it here?”
“That only Riverbeard can answer, I think,” said Willowlake.
Riverbeard glanced up at them. “Well,” he began, “now that you mention it, there is something. I did of course pass through the waters of the falls to reach the Queen’s chambers. I have done so before, as messenger to my Lady, and all, and I’m always careful not to get in the water. Of course, it always sprays me a bit, but that’s to be expected. But—and I’ve only just remembered this—I slipped while crossing over, and put out my hand to steady myself. My other arm flailed out, and got wet. I noticed it just as I entered the chambers—I had called out for permission to enter, but got no reply, and I figured her Ladyship must have been asleep. I had just noticed—” here he began to get excited, as he remembered what had happened—“I had just noticed that I was dripping water onto the floor, when I felt something pull on me and thought I had slipped and begun to fall. Then I saw the strange changes to the room, and forgot all about the water.”
“An understandable reaction,” said the Elf. “But what had really happened was that you had, as it were, cast forth water at the same moment as someone in the Other World, and thus opened the Door between the worlds. When you thought you had fallen, you had actually passed through the door into that Place, whatever its name might be.”
“Then all this means,” said the King in a breathless voice, “that this child—” and here he glanced down in wonder at Abigail, still sleeping in his arms—“this child belongs to someone in that Other World.”
“Oh, dear,” said the Queen, “and the poor mother no doubt frantic with worry, not knowing what has happened to it, and—”she gave a little gasp—“and we with perhaps no way to get the little thing home again!”
At that, Willowlake took Abigail from the King, and looked closely at her. “This strange bracelet may tell us something,” he said. “There is writing here, though I do not know the language. Perhaps it is the child’s name. Her clothing is strange, and has images upon it of a comical bear holding a large jar or pot. It is not much, yet we must try to take her home.”
“But how?” said Riverbeard.
“The same way you passed into and out of that Place. Through this tiny pool of water—if the Door is still open, that is.”
“It’s a heavy thought,” said Riverbeard, “to think that I might have gotten stuck in that Place, with no way to get home.”
Willowlake took several steps toward the mysterious pool of water.
“What,” said the King, edging cautiously along behind him, his voice barely above a whisper, “what are you going to do?”
Willowlake looked back at him and smiled. “I know of nothing else but to step into the water,” he said.
“But what if you cannot get back?” said Riverbeard.
“Then I shall go on with the adventure that is given me. But if the door is still open now, I think it may stay open a bit longer. I do not plan to stay long, for I have a duty to my family, and to the Elven King, to return home, if I may.”
“Good luck, then,” said Queen Rivulet, softly, “and thank you.”
Willowlake bowed and turned his back on them. He took the remaining steps to the water, and without a moment’s hesitation, stepped into it.
King Goldenmere, his Queen, and Riverbeard, all saw the Elf and the Child fall straight down, as if they had plunged over a cliff, and then disappear into the pool of water. Each looked at the other, and their eyes revealed their unspoken hopes that the noble Elf would be able to return.
***
For Willowlake, it did not feel like falling, but like sitting up in bed after awakening. There was darkness for a moment, and then the dimness of the hospital room, lit only by the silver shaft of moonlight, which had grown a little bigger since Riverbeard had been there. He heard the soft beeping of the heart monitor and the slow drip of the IV, and marvelled at the wondrous machines before him. He longed to examine them, to learn of their purposes and inner workings—and more, to explore this strange new world—but he knew there was no time to do so. He was entrusted with high office, and could not run off on wild adventures just to sate his own curiosity, his taste for glory and honor. And so, he knew, he must return, and quickly, for he did not know how long the door would remain open.
He looked around him. There was a lady asleep in a bed, and beside it, an empty glass cradle, just as Riverbeard had said. He moved to the bed, and looked closer. On the Lady’s arm was a bracelet much like the one worn by the Child, and when he examined it closer, he saw that it had many of the same words as those on the smaller bracelet. Then, on a small table beside the bed, he saw a tiny nightcap, and there were pictures on it—pictures of the same funny bear holding a big jar.
He smiled. These things told him enough to know that he was in the right place. He kissed the child on her forehead, and set her in the cradle. Then he lifted his hands and softly spoke words of an Elvish blessing upon the Mother and her Child, and turned his back, however unwillingly, on the Other World. He walked to the corner of the room.
At that moment, Mother woke up, startled out of her sleep by a dream that Abigail had been taken away from her. Her heart pounding, she sat up, and looked into the crib. No, there she was, safe and sound, and still asleep. Just a bad dream. Mother caressed the tiny cheek. She did not look behind her, where Willowlake was still standing, perfectly still and quiet. She laid her head back down on the pillow and went to sleep again. Willowlake smiled, and immediately stepped into the moonlit pool of water on the floor, and disappeared back into his own place—though he thought he heard the sound of a door opening as he departed.
***
Father opened the door and walked into the hospital room. There was someone standing in the corner—Doctor Fontaine, perhaps? But he didn’t look like a doctor. He was taller, for one thing, and wore a strange, long cloak of green, and his hair was long and white, though he looked to be a young man, by his face. Or was he? It was hard to tell. But no—there was no one there, after all. Father shook his head, and rubbed his weary eyes. He looked again into the room. No one. He smiled at his own silliness, but there was a strange look on his face. Up all night. Must be more tired than I think. Moonlight was shining into the corner; working in alliance with the Darkness in the rest of the room, the Man in the Moon had played tricks on his eyes.
Then he noticed Abigail. She was lying in the small crib with her head towards the door. He recalled having laid her there himself, with her head towards the bed, so he supposed the doctor had already taken her, and run his tests, and it was therefore okay to bring the rest of the family back to visit now. He walked to the nurse’s desk to confirm that fact.
“No,” said Nurse Waters, “the Doctor got called away for another delivery; but he’s finished now, and already on the way back. He hasn’t come to get Abigail yet.”
Father looked puzzled. “Really?” he said. “But Abigail is turned around, so someone must have picked her up and set her down again since I’ve been in there, and her mother is still asleep.”
“Well, I’m sure no one has been in there since then,” said the Nurse. And they talked about it for another minute or two, but never could figure it out.
***
A half hour or so later, Doc Fontaine was all finished with the child.
“She’s healthy and strong,” he said to the baby’s parents, “in fact, I’ve never seen a child in such vigorous good health before. You know, she doesn’t really look like a newborn, she looks like a three or four month old child—not in size, but in her eyes, in her expressions. And she’s even changed since I saw her after her birth. Also, there is this—she seems to have a strange birthmark of some sort, but…well, it’s kind of hard to tell.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mother.
“Well, it’s just that you can’t always see it,” said the Doctor, with a nervous little laugh, as if he were afraid they wouldn’t believe him. “It’s right here, on her forehead.”
Both parents leaned in close for a look, but shook their heads. “I don’t see anything,” they both said.
“I know,” said Doctor Fontaine. “Neither do I. But watch this. Nurse Waters first noticed it when she gave Abigail a bath.” The Doctor took up a cup of water he had brought for just this purpose, and dipped his fingers into it. Then he gently rubbed the water onto Abigail’s forehead. Immediately there appeared the image of a tiny star. It was only slightly paler than Abigail’s skin, so that one had to look closely to see it, but there was no doubt that it was there.
“You see?” said the Doctor, who seemed relieved that they’d seen it too. “And it disappears when her skin dries. It’s already fading, as you can see.”
“Very strange,” said Father, whose mind had inexplicably jumped back to the cloaked stranger he’d thought he’d seen in the hospital room. “You don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about, do you?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t worry. I’ve run a few tests on it, so we’ll see, but I don’t think any harm of it. Just an unusual mark, I suppose.”
***
At that moment, William approached his Father and looked up into his eyes. He tugged on his shirt.
“What is it, son?”
William pointed to the cup and pool of water in the corner. “I spilled my water,” he said, simply.
Father smiled and nodded. “Well, you did the right thing by telling me. I think you’ll find a towel in the bathroom there. Go ahead and clean it up.”
“Okay.” He smiled and went for the towel.
***
A few minutes later, all the family was gathered around the bed, along with the Doctor and Nurse. The ritual of welcome was performed, and Father read to Abigail her first story. He was silent for a moment, then, and everyone waited patiently for him to conclude the ceremony. But Father was thinking of the stranger in the corner, and Abigail facing the wrong way in the crib, and the star on his daughter’s forehead, and he even thought about the small shadow in the hallway that he’d taken for a child, and wondered if it was tied up in all this, somehow. He shook his head, smiled, and spoke to the newborn infant, who was looking up at him with eyes as big as the sky.
“Welcome to the big world of God, little one,” said Father, as thoughts of mystery floated in his head. “I can promise you little more than the comfort of love, the possibility of honour, and the certainty of adventure, but what of that? For joy as well as fear comes with adventure. It is a world of surprises and miracles you are born into, my girl; dangers and wonders alike may lie around every corner.”
But Abigail already knew that!
The End
