October 29, 1931
Robert Trunchbull's hand was aching when he put down his fountain pen. He exhaled sharply through his nose as he carefully rotated it, trying to ease the pain. Even after twelve years of working at his father's law firm, Robert still hated doing paperwork. Always boring and always never seeming to make the time go by.
He turned in his chair to look out the window. Outside, heavy gray clouds blocked the beautiful blue sky and the bright yellow sun from view. Rain pattered down against the windows and roofs of the buildings on Slate Street. He saw a flash of lightning, and it was only seconds later that he heard the rumble of thunder. With a heavy sigh, Robert looked away. The weather had been like this for the past two days, and already some of his fellow co-workers were fearing that it was going to be like this forever and ever. Robert never liked this kind of weather, and neither did Grace, his wife of five years.
Grace. What was she doing right now? Robert took a glance at the small clock that sat on the small table across from his desk. It was half-past two, and she wasn't expecting Robert to be home until tea time. Grace always had something to do when nothing was happening in their mansion. She could be sewing. Or reading a book. Or taking a nap. Or even having a conversation with their maid Claudine. If Grace and Claudine were carrying on a discussion, then the topic of choice could only be about one thing: babies.
Yes, babies. It just so happened that Grace was expecting their first child. The pregnancy had been discovered back in early April, when Grace had been almost seven weeks along. But something was not right with the pregnancy. The baby Grace was carrying was seeming to grow faster than other babies did when they were in their mothers' wombs. By the end of August, Grace's stomach was as big as a watermelon, and she couldn't stand properly without the use of a cane. Hell, there were some days where Grace felt too weak to get out of bed, and this day made no exception.
Robert closed his eyes. If he thought hard enough, he could picture his wife lying in their queen-sized bed, her eyes closed, her beautiful face pale. He could imagine her placing a smooth, delicate hand on her swollen stomach, rubbing it in a circular motion. Robert was worried for her. What if something went wrong? What if his beloved Grace died giving birth to their baby?
Tap-tap-tap.
Robert opened his eyes and straightened himself in his chair. "Come in," he called.
The door opened. A thin man in a brown suit entered, carrying a dripping wet (and open) umbrella. He had a round face, dark brown hair, and a small nose. "Mr. Trunchbull? It's me, James Webb."
Robert's eyes widened. "James? What in the world are you doing here?" He felt his heart tighten in his chest. "Is Grace...?"
James Webb nodded. "Just a half-hour ago, Mr. Trunchbull. Claudine has called Dr. Fields—" Robert held up a hand to silence his chauffeur.
"Say no more. Take me home, now."
The Victorian mansion that housed the Trunchbull family was the largest residence on Slate Street, surrounded by an iron-wrought fence. The mansion was four stories high, gray-bricked with a dark gray roof, large windows, and an oaken door. A flowerbed was stretched out along one side of the house, and in the warmer months it was filled to the brim with beautiful honeysuckles, daisies, and coneflowers; favorites of Grace Trunchbull's. A row of pine trees grew at the far back of the yard, while a maple tree grew tall and proud at the front, just a few feet from the pathway leading up to the mansion.
A buggy pulled by an old gray horse stood in front of the mansion when James made the turn onto Slate Street. "Ah, good," he sighed. "Dr. Fields is here." He squinted. "And I see that Claudine is waiting for us beside the buggy."
A plump, middle-aged woman dressed in blue was holding an umbrella in one hand and the reins to the horse in the other. James pulled the Crossley up to the curb across the street and had just turned the motor off when Robert leapt out of the back and raced across the street to the woman. James shouted for him, but the man ignored his chauffeur.
"Claudine!" Robert cried as he reached the woman's side. The horse nickered and sidestepped, but Claudine tugged on the reins to keep the horse still.
"Dr. Fields is inside," Claudine said to Robert. "You'd best go in before you get ill, sir."
"I will. But tell me, Claudine, what happened to Grace?"
"Well, she was feeling mighty sore after you left, Mr. Trunchbull sir. She said the pain in her stomach was unbearable. I went to fetch her some water, and I was about to bring it up to her when she let out a yell, and it wasn't long before I knew she was going into labor." She dropped the reins to stroke the horse's face. "I came out here because the cries of pain were too much to me to hear. I've never heard a woman scream like that before."
"Please come in with me, Claudine. I'd like some company while I wait for the doctor to be finished."
Claudine shook her head. "I'd prefer staying out here with the horse than hear your poor wife in pain. Mr. Webb can go in with you."
"Oh come now, Claudine." James came up then, holding his umbrella close to his head. "I'll tend to the horse. Ladies should never really be out in the rain."
Claudine harrumphed. "I've been standing here for nearly an hour, Mr. Webb. Don't you—"
Robert Trunchbull had no time to listen to bickering. He raced to the porch, swung open the door, and hurried inside into the foyer. All was silent for a few moments before the man heard a scream of pain.
"Grace!" Robert thought, biting down on his tongue. His poor, darling Grace was suffering, and he was down here when he should be up there, by her side, helping her through this.
He took a deep breath before climbing up the flight of stairs that led to the second floor of the mansion. There were six doors on this floor, and only one was half-open. He could hear a man's voice talking, trying to calm someone down and assure her that she was doing fine. Robert stood still, waiting, listening. What was happening? The baby hadn't been born, correct?
Robert took slow, careful steps towards the half-open door. He considered calling out for Dr. Fields and Grace, but just as he was about to open his mouth, there came another pained cry. There was a brief moment of silence, during which Robert swallowed nervously. And then there came a...a small cry. Robert's heart skipped a beat. The baby! It was here! But what about his wife?
"Dr. Fields? Grace?" Robert called out. He put his hand on the door and pushed it open a tad bit. "Hello?"
A short man stood at the foot of the queen bed, holding a large, pudgy, bloody thing in his arms. He jerked his head up as Robert entered the room. "Mr. Trunchbull—!"
Robert didn't see him. His dark blue eyes locked on the fair-haired, pale-looking woman that lay atop the bloodied sheets. Her manicured fingernails were squeezing the bedsheets tightly, and her beautiful sky blue eyes were shiny with tears.
Robert placed his hand on her arm. "Grace...?"
Grace closed her eyes and turned her head to him. "R-Robert..." she breathed. She opened her eyes. "Y-You're here..."
"I'm here, Gracie, my dear. Are you all right?"
"I am now." She smiled in spite of the pain she had felt only minutes ago. "We...we have a baby now, Robert. Our baby is finally here."
Robert finally looked to Dr. Fields. "Is it a boy or a girl, Dr. Fields?"
Dr. Fields looked down at the thing he was holding. The thing, which Robert now determined to be his firstborn child, gurgled loudly and kicked out with its little chubby feet. The doctor looked up again.
"You both have a baby girl," he said. "And it's...well, it's not what...what you'd call...well, cute." His frown deepened.
The husband and wife exchanged uneasy glances. Dr. Fields placed the baby down on the sheets and pulled a pair of scissors out from the pocket of his trousers. He quickly snipped off the umbilical cord before wrapping the baby in a clean white sheet and holding her up for her parents to see. Robert's eyes widened.
"What...th-that...that's my...that's our child?"
Grace and Robert stared at the newborn. Their baby daughter, who should have been a pretty little thing, was anything but. She was almost the size of a six-month-old baby, with big shoulders, thin wrists. A thick neck attached her ovalish head to the rest of her body. Her face was the notably worst part. She had a very large and very crooked nose, a wide chin, a small set of pale blue eyes, brown hair, and a thin mouth.
"She is such an ugly little thing," Robert said, scowling. "No wonder my wife was in such a weakened state during the pregnancy. Take the baby out of the room, Dr. Fields. I don't want to see her anymore." Then, in an offhand tone, he added, "The nursery is at the end of the hall, on the right."
"Very well," Dr. Fields sighed, straightening himself. "But before I go, I would like to know if either of you two have a name for this infant." Robert shook his head, but Grace raised a delicate hand.
"Call her Agatha, doctor," she said. "It is all I can think of for her. Agatha Trunchbull."
Phew, I can't believe I actually got this done, just an hour before I am to leave with my mom and sister to pick up my aunt and uncle from the airport.
I've put up a poll to determine the name of Agatha's baby sister, who will probably make her debut in about 4 to 6 chapters. I would really, really appreciate it if your readers took the time to go to my profile and vote on at least 2 names that I've selected. The runner-up name will probably be the sister's middle name.
Review and vote, please!
Kinola :)