All Waiting Is Long. Barbara J. Taylor

and sat down next to her.

      “Fathers want sons.” Violet nodded toward the baby. “Is he sleeping?”

      Lily leaned over, observed the infant’s half-shut eyes, and shook her head. “Almost.” She moved closer and inspected his marred face for the first time. She knew about the harelip, but seeing it up close made Lily shudder. A woman oughtn’t look at a crone or a cripple when she’s in the family way. Lily hugged her stomach briefly before remembering something. “The baby started kicking this morning.”

      Violet flattened her free palm against her sister’s belly, but when nothing happened, she pulled her hand back.

      “I’ll let you know if she does it again.”

      “So she’s a she,” Violet said.

      “More than likely.”

      “Why’s that?” Violet switched Michael to her other shoulder.

      “Mother only had girls, and her mother before that. Just seems natural.” Lily glanced back at the cribs.

      “What about the father’s people?” Violet tossed the question out, hoping to unearth some detail that would reveal who was responsible for Lily’s condition—George Sherman most likely, though Violet couldn’t be sure. “Do they have many girls?”

      Lily refused the bait. “So where’s my present?” She glanced around the room.

      “In a minute.” Violet carried a sleeping Michael over to the empty crib.

      Lily’s eyes settled on her sister. “You look good with a baby.” She checked to see if Michael’s face was turned away, and when she saw it was, she stood up and walked over to the pair. “It suits you somehow.”

      “You think so?” Violet cooed in the infant’s ear. “We’ll have trouble adopting him out with his disfigurement.”

      “We? We who?” Lily searched her sister’s eyes. “He’s not yours, you know.”