As they entered the parsonage, a stout maid opened the door. The maid bowed politely to the couple and led them to the drawing room.

While waiting on the sofa, about five minutes later, Mrs. Star, with flour on her cheeks, entered the drawing room.

“Welcome!”

She waddled in, her gait resembling that of a duck. Yet, no one would laugh at her walk. A smile born of warmth, perhaps, but nothing more. Mrs. Star’s belly was round and swollen, as if cradling a full moon.

Laura, ignoring the flour on her cheeks, shook hands with her.

“Have you been well?”

“Well, indeed! I’m baking raspberry pies to serve you both. I’ve asked for tea to be brought out, so please wait a moment. He’ll be here soon. He went with Harry to see the rabbit hutch.”

The three sat down.

Mrs. Star’s belly seemed even larger than when they last parted. It was proof that the child within was growing rapidly each day. Having announced her pregnancy around the time Laura adjusted to life in Whitefield, Mrs. Star was now eagerly awaiting her confinement.

Hoping for a daughter, she prayed daily to God for a girl, played the piano clumsily while singing to the daughter in her womb, and drank herbal concoctions from gypsies, said to ensure a daughter instead of a son.

Laura presented her with a gift from London: a silver-rattled toy and a vibrant mobile adorned with colorful animal figures.

“Goodness, such lovely things!”

Laura smiled warmly.

“I hope the baby will like them.”

“Of course, they’ll love them! Oh, I’m delighted. When Harry was born, we couldn’t afford such fine things. Back then, he was an assistant pastor, and our income was modest. Thank you so much.”

Mrs. Star shook the mobile with admiring eyes.

Watching her joy, the Daltons exchanged glances. It was heartwarming to see the recipient so delighted, but they were unsure how long they could pretend not to notice the flour on her cheeks.

Soon, Pastor Star and his son Harry entered. Seeing the Daltons, Pastor Star removed his hat and strode forward.

“Welcome, Mrs. Dalton, and Mr. Dalton. Did you enjoy your visit to London?”

Ian shook his friend’s hand with a cheerful reply.

“Of course, Oliver.”

Laura nodded with a smile.

“Thanks to your concern, we had a wonderful trip, Pastor Star.”

“Look, dear,” said Mrs. Star. “Mrs. Dalton brought this splendid gift from London.”

Pastor Star turned to his wife. Seeing her shake the ornate mobile, his face flushed.

He sat beside her, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began wiping her cheeks. When Mrs. Star saw the flour whitening her husband’s green handkerchief, her face turned scarlet with embarrassment.

Laura quickly interjected.

“Oh, there was flour on your face! Your skin is so fair, we didn’t even notice. Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Of course,” Ian said. “I didn’t see a thing. Mrs. Star, your face blends perfectly with the dough.”

True to Ian’s blunt nature, his lie was awkward. The remark, neither clearly a compliment nor an insult, made the moment briefly tense.

Mrs. Star seemed to feel not just embarrassment but self-reproach. Having always admired the Daltons, showing herself in such a state was devastating.

To shift the mood, Pastor Star introduced Harry to the Daltons.

Harry, soon to be five, was a handsome boy who inherited his father’s refined features and his mother’s clear complexion.

He removed his hat and greeted them with impeccable manners, a poise unmatched even by London gentlemen.

“Hello, Harry. You grow taller every time I see you,” Laura said kindly.

The boy responded with a serious expression.

“Thank you. You grow more beautiful each time we meet, madam.”

The adults burst into laughter at his precocious reply.

Laura praised Harry’s cleverness generously. Mrs. Star’s mood lifted, and the atmosphere warmed again.

Raspberry pie and tea were served. They ate and chatted. The Daltons spoke of the wedding they attended in London, while the Stars shared news of Whitefield’s happenings during the couple’s absence.

Amid the lively conversation, Laura found her attention drawn to Mrs. Star’s belly. The large, round belly, disproportionate to her delicate frame, seemed as if it might burst like a balloon with the slightest prick.

What must it feel like to have such a swollen belly?

Laura had seen many pregnant women before. In London, she often visited friends or neighbors in their final months. Some suffered unrelenting nausea, lying half-dead, while others waddled eagerly, gathering baby supplies.

Back then, she found the varied states of expectant mothers merely fascinating. But now, watching Mrs. Star, Laura was gripped by more complex emotions.

It had been a year since her marriage, yet she had not conceived.

A year wasn’t terribly long, she knew. Many couples conceived in their third or fourth year. But Laura was anxious. Age weighed heavily on her mind when it came to pregnancy.

She was already thirty-one.

Most women around her married in their early twenties, some even in their teens. At her age, she should have two or three children and be a respectable matron.

Of course, women in their thirties could bear children. Mrs. Fairfax had most of her children in her thirties, and Mrs. Star, now full-term, was only a year younger than Laura.

But Laura’s past was unique, and she had never known true health. As a child, she suffered malnutrition under her uncle’s abuse. At boarding school, she overworked herself studying to escape the stigma of being called illegitimate. In society, she endured humiliation, exclusion, and insults, carrying headaches and stomach ailments like chronic diseases throughout her twenties. She digested poorly, rarely gaining weight.

Lately, Laura was haunted by a thought: had her past hardships broken something within her? Was her body too frail to sustain a pregnancy, too weak for a child to take root?

If so, she could never give her husband a child. She would rob him of the joy of fatherhood, and the Dalton lineage would end, their beautiful estate passing to distant, uninvolved kin.

Ian could have married a younger, healthier woman. Because of me, he’s denied the happiness he could have easily had.

When her thoughts reached this point, Laura felt paralyzed.

“Is the pie to your liking, Mrs. Dalton?”

Snapped from her reverie by Mrs. Star’s question, Laura quickly composed herself.

“Yes, it’s delicious. The raspberries are so fresh. Did you buy them at the market?”

“No, the choir children picked them. They say the hills are full of raspberries now that the weather’s warm. They go in groups to gather them in the woods. Oh, if my belly weren’t like this, I’d join them.”

Laura smiled.

“Raspberries will bloom next year and the year after. If God grants your wish, you might hold your daughter’s hand and pick them together.”

Mrs. Star giggled.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I’ve prepared heaps of girls’ clothes. I’ll make her pretty dresses every day, braid her hair, and play house with her. Speaking of which, raising Harry isn’t as fun. He’s always buried in books in his father’s study, leaving me lonely. If God grants me a daughter, she’d surely be my closest friend.”

Laura glanced at Harry, worried he might be hurt by his mother’s words.

Harry sat on a small stool, eating raspberry pie from his plate.

Pastor Star stroked his son’s head and asked, “Harry, are you excited about having a sibling?”

The boy set down his fork and plate on the table, as he’d been taught to do when an adult asked a question.

“Of course, Father. It will ease Mother’s loneliness and bring you great joy.”

Laura asked gently, “That’s wonderful for your parents, Harry. But I’m curious about how you feel. Your mother might be too busy with the baby to give you as much attention.”

“Thank you for your concern, madam. It will be disappointing, but it’s something I must accept. Sharing parental love with a sibling is a common hardship, not worth despairing over. Besides, a dear sibling will bring me joy, too.”

He spoke clearly, with a gravitas surpassing even his pastor father.

“So, a sibling is a joyful thing for you, too, Harry?”

“Yes, madam. I eagerly await their birth. Every night, I pray to God for their healthy arrival. And, if it aligns with His plan, I pray for a sister, as Mother wishes.”

“Really?”

Mrs. Star, as if hearing her son’s heart for the first time, gasped in surprise. The boy gave his mother a dignified smile.

“God made me a serious, dull child. No matter how I try, I can’t be the charming friend Mother deserves. I’ve always felt sorry for that. But if I have a sister, she’ll do for Mother what I cannot. Then Mother will be happier than ever. And if Mother is happier, our family will be even more so.”

Tears welled in Mrs. Star’s blue eyes, moved by her son’s sincerity. She opened her arms, and the boy walked calmly into her embrace.