Epilogue

Six years later

Otis sat on a narrow wood bench in the waiting room of the local hospital. His foot tapped impatiently as he awaited word

that Sadie and his third child were safe and well. The doctor had declared Sadie built for childbirth upon the arrival of

their first, a son, who had come screaming into the world after only two hours of pains. Their second child, a daughter, proved

herself naturally competitive and entered the world only an hour after labor began.

This time was different. Mildred had fetched him from the button factory four hours ago, telling him that it was time. He'd

rushed to his wife's side and hurried her to the hospital. With each tick of the clock, his fears grew.

"Don't fret," an older woman sitting in the same waiting room said, interrupting his worrying. "They all come in their own

time. I had six myself. Most were fast, but I had one that wasn't quite ready to enter this big, scary world."

Otis nodded. He could understand a reluctance. His life since meeting Sadie had been mostly exquisite, the happiest he'd ever known or could even imagine. But there were still cruel looks and challenges. A newspaper from up north had even published a story, trying to sell papers by telling the world that the famed composer Otis Taylor was a ghastly sight. Sadie had torn it to bits. Her scrunched-up nose and furrowed brow, so full of indignation, softened the blow. She'd promised to stand by his side on their wedding day, and she'd never wavered.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Was she in pain? Dear God , he pleaded, be with her. He rubbed his chest, but the tightness remained. Childbirth was miraculous, but he would never enjoy these long moments of

fear. If only he could be by her side.

"First child?" the woman asked.

"No," he said. "Third. We've a little boy, Leon. And we have a girl. She's not yet two."

"What's her name?"

"Jane."

Mildred was watching the children. They'd been reading books together when he left, happy and carefree. Someday they'd love

reading Sadie's stories about Daphne and Mr.Darling. He smiled. Sadie would have to weave children into Daphne's storyline.

"Lovely names."

"Thank you."

The door opened. Otis held his breath.

"Mr.Taylor." The man spoke slowly, and Otis's heart beat faster. "I'd like a private moment with you."

A private moment? Why?

He was supposed to follow. But he couldn't move. Every worry, every fear, every heartache—they assaulted him. He couldn't lose Sadie. The look in the doctor's eyes, his tense expression, told Otis that something was wrong. Where was the smile? The congratulations?

The older woman stepped near him. She put a hand on his arm. "Go on. It's always better to know."

"Yes... yes." He staggered to his feet and followed the man into the hall. They were alone there. Whatever wretched news

he had, it was in this barren hallway that Otis would hear it. His life would change in this sterile, sad place. "What happened?

My wife... is she..."

"Your wife is tired, but she will be fine."

Otis's legs went wobbly. He braced himself with the wall. Sadie was fine, she was safe. Oh dear. It hit him. "And the baby?"

"The baby is healthy..."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Your son has a birthmark. A large one that covers a fourth of his face—"

"But he's healthy? He's well?" The onslaught of feelings came too quickly. He couldn't keep up. Relief. Worry. Joy. Confusion.

"A mark? I don't understand."

"These types of marks don't affect the child's intellect or physical growth. They do, however, cause eyebrows to raise. And

there's folklore around them. Some believe they're a reflection of the mother's state of mind during her pregnancy. The medical

field does not adhere to such a belief, but that does not negate the difficulties it could present for him." He paused, his

eyes full of concern. "I wanted you to know before you saw him."

"May I see him now?"

"Yes, if you're ready. Follow me."

The doctor led him to the nursery, where four tiny babies were swaddled and sleeping in cradles.

Otis stepped away from the doctor, ready to meet his son. He glanced at each baby, and then he saw him at the end of the row, eyes closed, asleep. He moved closer, and for a long moment he simply watched as the new child's chest rose and fell. With the tips of his fingers, he brushed his hands across the discolored skin.

"Hello, there," he whispered, his first words to his son. "Don't be afraid." Tears of joy and remembrance and love raced down

his cheeks. "Don't ever be afraid. I'll be with you."

The baby's eyes fluttered open. Taylor eyes. Love, as strong as it had been when his other children were born, filled him

now. He took his son in his arms, cradled him against his chest, and then kissed the babe's button nose, his forehead, his

cheek. Otis turned back toward the doctor. "Can I take him in to see my wife?"

"Son," the doctor said, "I've seen a lot of babies come into this world." The man's voice cracked. "Well done."

Sadie propped herself up in the hospital bed the moment the door opened. He studied her from the door, assuring himself that

she was indeed well. Her hair glistened with sweat, and her eyes looked tired, but she was smiling at him.

"I was worried," he said.

"Don't be," she said and then held out her arms. "They took him so quickly that I haven't really seen him. Will you bring

him to me?"

"Come on, little one. The General wants you," he said to the baby.

Three long strides later and he was on the edge of the bed beside her. Into her arms he put their son. She pushed the blanket back so she could see him. And then just like she'd done with their other babies, she touched his nose, his ears, his soft head. She cooed at him as she stroked his tiny hands and counted his toes.

"He's so handsome," she said after becoming acquainted with him. "What do you think of the name Alexander?"

"He is a little darling." Otis put a hand on his son's back. "It'll be hard for him. You know that, don't you?"

"He'll have us, and you'll show him how to be his own kind of normal." She bent and kissed the baby's cheek. And then she

reached for Otis's hand and held it. "You're not your father. I've always known it, but right now I can see it. You look at

this baby with so much love. I am not worried about him, because he has you."

He leaned closer, his head touching hers, the baby between them. She kept talking, soothing old injuries he had believed long

healed. "Otis Taylor, I've never loved you more."