As soon as her pregnancy began to show, Fern stayed at home. Visitors came daily, bringing little treats for her, and loads of advice. Eat this, drink that, don’t think about bad things, stay away from loud noises. Do this, don’t do that, here, let me help you, sit down, put your feet up. Fern gained weight. And more weight.

She laughed readily, enjoying the attention. Her healing work was reduced to a minimum, emergencies only, and the friction between her and Harry disappeared.

The doctor said the morning sickness was good—it meant the baby was well seated. But Harry worried. When the sickness passed, as Doc said it would, and the baby grew steadily and rapidly, Harry lost all his foreboding and looked forward to the birth with exuberant enthusiasm.

He built a cradle, and a crib. He painted the new room pink and blue, and the ladies all decorated it like a nursery.

Fern sat in the overstuffed chair and knit and grew larger. She waddled around the house, doing little more than cooking, and toward the end of her pregnancy, her feet swelled up, and she moved barely at all. She just sat and grew.

Christmas came and went. The baby’s room was filled with toys and stuffed animals and quilts and blankets and clothes. Fern would wander through the room, fingering all the handmade things and she would feel surrounded with love, so grateful for all that she had been given. This new life in Morgan was stranger than anything she had ever imagined, but it was a good life. Long ago she had stopped grieving for the old days in the white house on the tree-lined street.

After Harry went to work, she would slip off the huge dress Addie had given her and stand naked in front of the mirror. She was amazed. Her thighs looked like hams, and her belly like a pumpkin. Her breasts were swollen, huge, and they sat atop her stomach. Itchy, sore red welts striped her sides. It was not pretty, but it was certainly fascinating.

And she, too, dreamed about the future of their child. Could every mother feel this way about her children? She couldn’t imagine that. Surely no child was as special as this one. Did her mother feel this way about her? Did Addie feel this way about her kids? How could she ever let them grow up and move away? This baby would grow up with the blessing of God. Surely it is a chosen child, born to one who has his direct healing powers. She would spread her fingers over her swollen stomach and feel the baby, an active child, and wonder would flow through her entire being.