Rain battered the roof of a cramped Manhattan apartment. A gray cloak of a mood fell upon the establishment, as if something forbidden was occurring at the moment. In a window on the third floor, right behind the fire escape, a single candle burned persistently. The tiger orange flame licked greedily at the stub of melting wax, but no one came to extinguish it although the clock chimed twice, its way of saying, "Two o'clock in the morning! Two o'clock in the morning!"

The children of this four room apartment had long since gone to bed, save for the eldest: Belinda Matilda Kelly, a girl of ten. Round face, gray green eyes, caramel hair, freckles on her cheeks... she resembled her mother greatly. Her four younger sisters asleep in the neighbor's apartment across the hall, she had been intending to finally catch some privacy in her own home, as well as figure out why her parents herded them out earlier that day. Quiet as a mouse, she tiptoed into the kitchen toward the window. Strangely, a lone candle sat on the windowsill, burning like a bad omen. She turned on her heel slowly to see a middle aged man leaning against the inactive wood stove.

"Papa! What are you doing here?" Belinda cried, the image of a switch springing to mind.

"Waiting." Gerald Kelly twisted his hands. Beads of perspiration trickled down his balding head.

"For what?"

"Your mama, dear." He pointed to the narrow room that led to their bedroom.

"Is Mama in there?"

"Yes."

"Is she sick?" Belinda pointed to the stove. "I know how to make broth."

"No, no, dear." Gerald chuckled. "She is not ill, so far."

"So far?"

"Dear, why don't I explain." Gerald paused. He lacked talent in talking about sensitive topics, but leaving his daughter in the dark seemed wrong. How she hadn't figured this out for herself with four younger siblings, he didn't know, but to be fair Gerald did always take measures to guard her innocence.

"You know how Mama's been rather round lately?" he began shakily.

"Yes. That means the baby is coming."

"Smart girl. Well, after nine months, there comes the time for the baby to be born. That's when-" swallowing hard "-she loses that roundness. The baby comes out."

"Comes out?"

"Yes. The baby, you see, is inside of her. That's the roundness. And when it's ready it will come out to the world."

"Like an egg?"

"No, it doesn't hatch. It...it just comes out of her."

"You mean, it..." Belinda's face wrinkled in disgust. "That's gross!"

"It really is a messy process," Gerald admitted with a faint laugh. "It's also very painful. God's punishment on Eve for eating the fruit."

"It hurts too?" Belinda glanced concernedly at the bedroom door. "Maybe I should make that broth for Mother."

"No, the midwife will tend to her. Midwives help mothers giving birth." Gerald chuckled in spite of himself. "Don't worry about Mama. She's done it five times. This will be a piece of cake compared to your birth."

"What?"

"I fretted so much when you were born. Mama was in terrible pain. A whole day went by before the midwife got you out." He grimaced. "Childbirth is a messy business, like I said. I'd hate to be the midwife, always seeing that. Anyway, you're only ten and needn't worry about that."

"I'm never having children." Belinda crossed her arms. "If that's what I have to go through, forget it. No baby is worth that much work."

"You might change your mind one day," her father chided before steering her out the door. "Now get some sleep. I'll wake you when the baby is here."

"More chores for me, you mean."

"Hush Belinda. You sound like Anne, the whiner."

"I'm not whining. I have a lot of sisters to take care of."

"Good night, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead lightly before returning to his kitchen. Belinda sullenly returned to her makeshift bed in the neighbor's home and crawled into the puddle of blankets next to Anne, her junior by two years.

"What was that?" the eight-year-old queried.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

"Says you." The younger girl gave a defiant toss of her dark haired head.

"Well, if you must know, Mother's having a baby."

"A baby?"

"The baby was inside her the whole time. Now it's coming out. It hurts very much and causes a mess." Belinda yawned as she burrowed deeper in. "Let me sleep."
Anne's blue eyes stared into the ceiling, confused. Babies coming out of Mama? Gross. Pain, mess, grit. No sir.

"I'm not having babies when I grow up," she decided aloud.

"Me neither," her older sister agreed. "Now hush."

Like ducklings in a nest, five small girls snuggled together. Reliable Belinda, rebellious Anne, clever curly-haired Margaret, and the three year old twins, Mary and Betty. Their even breaths reminded Belinda of a raspy lullaby she heard her mama sing once. Gradually her eyelids drew heavy; a comforting darkness approached, relieving her exhausted body. She closed her eyes, prepared to drift off into the misty world of dreams.

Just then a frantic pounding ravaged the door. The five girls sprang up, the hairs of their necks standing on end. Mrs. McCarthy, mistress of the apartment, bustled to answer it, her wool shawl wrapped tightly around her loose nightgown.

"It's time, it's time," she sang melodically. She gently pulled the door open to find an ecstatic Gerald quivering in his boots.

"A boy! A boy! My first son!" He seized startled Mrs. McCarthy by the arms and spun her around. "It's a boy! It's a boy!"

"Heavens, your first boy ever!" Mrs. McCarthy tittered into the wall, clutching her spinning head. "Tell the girls."

"A boy?" Belinda mused. She'd never had a brother. Her schoolmate Laura had two older brothers who tracked mud in the house and called her rude names, but younger brothers surely were different. Right?

"You've got a brother! You are so lucky!" Gerald jumped like a youthful stallion, untamed in emotion. His blue eyes glowed like polished tourmalines inlaid upon pearls. "Tá sé ina buachaill!"

"Speak English, not Irish!" six year old Margaret cried, not understanding.

"His name will be Jack, yes, Jack!" Their father paced Mrs. McCarthy's floor ferverently. "Kirean, the middle name, for my father. My papa must be remembered. And, like the rest of us, he will be a Kelly. Jack Kirean Kelly, first son of Gerald and Matilda Kelly of New York!"

"You won't forget us, will you?" Anne demanded. Like Belinda, she shared a special bond with her papa, so the thought of any baby boy stealing him away sickened her.

"Of course not, of course not." Gerald hugged her. "We only have love to spare for Jack."

"When will we meet him?" Belinda inquired.

"Tomorrow morning," Gerald beamed. "Now get some sleep. Be good for Mrs. McCarthy. I'll see you tomorrow." With that he jigged into the hallway back to his wife and newborn son, stopping only to thank a flustered Mrs. McCarthy.

Belinda snuggled with her sisters, her mind numb at the idea of a brother. Jack, Jack Kelly...baby brother...Jack Kirean Kelly... Before she could comprehend this any further her instinct took over, and the girl drifted off into a welcome dreamless slumber.

Tá sé ina buachaill

It's a boy!