|Subject:||You guessed right. Here's Meg at age 20...|
|Author:||Billina (Authenticated as Billina)|
|Date:||June 23, 2012 at 7:25:53 PM|
|Reply to:||I'm guessing by klundtacular|
December 27th, 1915
Christmas has come and gone. I enjoyed myself, despite Mother's cooking. This year, she made a particularly horrid plum pudding that seemed to quiver on its own. I don't know how she does it.
James was in good spirits, and it showed. His cheeks were pink and his laugh was merry. I think he is looking forward to the birth of the baby; he kept putting his hand on my belly under the table and smiling that bashful little smile. It's almost as if he is in awe that the two of us created life...personally, I don't see what is so miraculous about it. An alley cat creates life. My mother and father created life, and the two of them are as lively as bumps on a log. However, since I do not wish to wipe the smile from James' face, I tell them what they want to hear. Yes I am excited, yes I do hope it is a boy. What else is there to say?
Truth be told, I have this overwhelming feeling that it is a girl. I don't know why. If it is a girl, I will name her Albertine. James will be none the wiser...he doesn't know a thing about Albert. He came to town a year after the disaster, and Mother never told him. I think she was relieved that a good man from a good family was willing to court me after I had become distant and morose. Little did I know, there was talk of putting me in an institution for a while. I only found out after overhearing a conversation Mother was having with a friend.
So, tall and handsome James Willoughby came to town and saved me from that. His father owns the lumber mill, and one day James will take his place. I must say I am looking forward to the day James takes the reins. He is a smart, capable man. Just like Albert.
Yes, James is goodness personified...but I still see his blue eyes every night before I go to sleep. I will never admit this to anyone. Sometimes I still go to the meadow and talk to him, rubbing my swollen belly. I tell Albert this is really his daughter. I was thinking of him during the act, so there is no denying it.
James will be home soon. I will write more later.
"An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way."
"And by the way, dearie, your punctuation sucks canal water!"
-The ghost of Vivian Vance
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