By Rose de Sharon
DISCLAIMER: the recognizable characters belong to Mickey Mouse.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
- English isn't my native language, all mistakes are mine.
- Cuteness ahead! ;-)
FEEDBACK: Flames will be ignored. Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!
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"Here you are Mr. Turner," said the midwife while delivering to Bill's embrace a small bundle of blankets. "It's a boy."
The large, red-faced woman didn't wait to see the reaction on Bill Turner's face. As soon as she was relieved of the precious cargo, she turned heels and went straight back to the bedroom where Mary Turner has fallen asleep, exhausted by eight hours of labor. The midwife had to take care of the mother and she'd rather not do it while keeping an eye on the baby at the same time.
Bill watched the midwife disappear behind their room's door, which closed with a thud. Only then did he dare to look at the package she has shoved into his arms.
Wrapped in its cocoon of blankets, the infant was blissfully quiet, unaware of the commotion his birthing had created. He had a tiny nose emerging from chubby cheeks, long eyelashes, a cleaved chin and the few strands of hair on his head were dark in color. The eyes were closed and the skin was flushed, giving the infant a look as if he was going to explode any minute, and yet Bill Turner had never seen anything more beautiful.
A boy. It's… a boy.
A baby boy!
Emotion was tightening the father's throat like a carpenter's vice. Only once in his life had he felt this nervous, it was the day he asked Mary to be his wife! And now after three years of marriage, two long travels at sea and nine months of expectation, Bill and Mary Turner were the parents of the most beautiful baby of the world.
Bill settled down on an old straw-bottomed chair nearby the fireplace and he got absurdly afraid the simple movement of sitting down could be upsetting or dangerous for the baby. But the child didn't seem to mind: with a soft sigh, he moved slowly beneath the blankets, like he wanted to stretch his limbs after nine months of confinement.
Bill gently removed the blankets to get a better look at his son. Perfect, he was perfect. Ten little fingers, ten little toes, good arms and long legs, there was not a trace of bone deformation or skin imperfection. The cloth covering the baby's loins and protecting the remains of the umbilical cord was clean and dry, yet Bill knew it would be a matter of minutes before it would be soiled. The price to pay for having a healthy child! He put the blankets back into place, not wanting the baby to be cold even for the briefest moment. The fire has been reduced to dying embers but the Turner's household couldn't afford to burn more than a log per day during the winter.
"Little One," whispered Bill Turner to his child. "I am your Daddy."
The infant moved and then turned his head towards his father while unsuccessfully trying to open his eyes. A comical expression came across his face, as if to say: "You are?"
Bill Turner laughed out loud: "Yes I am, Little One, and I am very pleased to meet you!"
A tiny arm got out of the blankets and miniature fingers clamped on the man's thumb. Bill marveled at this feeling: his son, barely out of the womb, had a good grip. He wanted to shake hands with his old man!
Little One, you have grabbed my thumb, and I am already wrapped around your little finger!
Oh, Bill was going to give the world to this little angel! He would shower his son with toys, he'd buy him the nicest clothes, send him to the best schools, give him a future made of gold! He would, would…
A fizz and a bang suddenly were heard in the fireplace: the final remains of the log, made of pinewood, had disappeared in a small explosion of resin. Bill raised his head at the sound and, when he looked back at his son, he could have sworn the infant had frowned.
Reality slapped the father in the face, cruel like a quartermaster's whip. How could he dream to give the world to his son, even though he couldn't even afford to buy enough food and firewood for his family during the long winters?
Bill looked sadly at his miserable lodging: mismatched chairs, rickety table, threadbare carpet, windows giving a very poor protection against the winter's bitter cold. Only Mary's talents as a housekeeper had prevented this place to become a dump: she scrubbed and washed the rooms every day, until just before the child was born. To brighten up their home, she would pick up wildflowers, autumn leaves and branches of berries to decorate it. Mary also knew how to make shirts and underwear from the best parts of second-handed cloths, and she could knit socks and sweaters in a blink of an eye. Still, her husband didn't earn enough working as a merchant seaman and secretly considered himself being a failure.
And now he had a new, hungry, adorable mouth to feed, comfortably nestled in his arms.
Instinctively, Bill tightened his hold on his child. The man's blue eyes hardened in anger at the recollection of his latest trip to the Caribbean. On their way back to England, his ship got attacked by pirates and only the desperate efforts of Bill's comrades have prevented them to be captured. A victory that had cost them a terrible price: half of his shipmates have been killed or wounded, one-third of the freight has been destroyed, and the remaining skeleton crew had to operate the vessel in backbreaking conditions for weeks. When they have finally reached England's coasts, the ship's owner 'graciously' has granted each sailor a bonus of… £6 each, while pocketing huge reimbursements from the Lloyds Insurance Company!
The souvenir of this injustice was still very raw in Bill's mind. He knew he should consider himself lucky to be unhurt and at home just in time for the birth of his first child. But he couldn't help but harbor resentment against his employer, even if this kind of abuse was no exception. In fact, England's whole society was built on the miserable conditions of the working classes, composed by millions of Bill Turners who didn't have a hope or even a dream for a better future. No wonder some of them rebelled and turned into pirates, they had nothing to loose!
A souvenir of the Caribbean flashed in the depths of his mind: turquoise seas… sunshine all year along… food in abundance… vessels full of riches… labyrinth-like islands, where it is so easy to hide…
The man snapped out of his dangerous reverie when the infant twitched and moved. His face was scrunching and Bill thought the baby was going to cry, like he was bothered by something (or by his thoughts?). In a panic, Bill considered calling out for the midwife to ask what to do but the child stopped squirming. Unfocused eyes opened and stared at the man, while the fingers tightened their hold on his father's thumb. The ghost of a smile appeared on the infant's lips, like he wanted to say: "What are you worried about? I'm here!"
Bill Turner laughed out loud again, hugging his son to his chest. It wasn't possible to mull dark thoughts in his brains with this little angel around! He kissed the child lightly on the forehead and said:
"You're a miracle, Little One. You are hope, love and strength wrapped in a bundle of blankets."
The infant sighed and Bill realized they haven't named their son yet. During Mary's pregnancy, thousands of suggestions have sprung but none of them had really taken roots in the parents' mind. Ideas for girl's names could be abandoned now – well, until next time – but now that the baby was born, what would they call him? Peter? George? Andrew? Thomas?
The child's grip was still firm, and Bill couldn't help but feel proud and amazed by the force of will displayed by this wee creature.
Will…
All of a sudden, the baby's name clicked into place.
William Turner, Junior.
Of course! Mary had suggested it during her pregnancy but Bill has discarded the idea, thinking for some unknown reason his own name being an embarrassment. Now, he couldn't imagine calling his son anything else.
"William Turner, Junior," said Bill aloud. "Will, heart of my heart. My William."
The baby celebrated his naming with another almost-smile, and for a second Bill recognized his own features in his son's face. Then Will yawned adorably and fell promptly asleep. Pushing his way into the outside world has been a very tiring business! The fingers released his father's thumb and the tiny hand fell on the blanket, relaxing in sleep.
Who said newborns were ugly?
A madman, by no doubts. Or someone who didn't have a son as beautiful as Will!
The bedroom's door opened, and the midwife pocked her head out: "Mary's awake, she wants to see you," she announced morosely.
Bill made sure the blankets were securely tucked around Will and got on his feet, clutching their child in his arms. Deep down in his heart, he knew nothing wrong could happen to them as long as Will would be here. His son was an angel, a little piece of heaven in the shape of a baby, and Bill silently swore to always protect him at all costs, even if those wild dreams were clouding his eyes at times!
Both William Turners went into the bedroom to see the woman of their lives. One was sleeping, the other was beaming.
THE END!