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 Posted: Mon Dec 01, 2008 11:24 pm
The ancient bookshelf looked as though it hadn’t been touched in ages. Leather-bound tomes and tattered paperbacks were shoved haphazardly along with loose papers and hastily scratched notes. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust. A quick sweep with the feather duster brought tears to Emma’s eyes; the doctor never was one for good housekeeping.
Holding back a fit of coughing, the plump housekeeper briskly dusted the shelves of the little-used upstairs study. Her brown feather duster stirred up clouds of thick grey dust, and revealed the shambled mess of books. She sighed and tried to tidy up the shelves, straightening books and refolding papers into neat rows.
She was working her way down the shelves when a sudden noise startled here, she turned quickly, in the process knocking nearly half a dozen books to the floor, and found only a mouse scampering across the faded rug that covered the study floor. She sighed as it scampered out of sight, then bent to pick up the fallen books. As she was returning the books neatly to the shelves one of the fallen volumes caught her eye.
It was a very slim volume, a logbook with a leather cover. It had fallen open face up on the floor, its yellowed pages showing its age. Neatly cramped handwriting filled the torn and tattered pages, jet black against the pale background. Emma would have recognized the distinct handwriting anywhere; the good doctor certainly had his own flair with the pen.
She knew she shouldn’t read it, it appeared to be a very personal artifact, and goodness knows Emma was not one to meddle in the affairs of her employers, but the book drew her attention. She turned to the first page of the longbook, and scanned the first entry. . .
March 22,
xxxxxxxxxI saw a butterfly today and, wondering what allowed it to fly while I must keep my feet on the ground, I caught it to take back to the lab and dissect. A truly fascinating specimen it was.
May 5,
xxxxxxxxxDr. Robertson says I spend too much time in the lab, and that a young man needs to be out in the sunshine chasing pretty women. I think I much prefer the lab.
June 17,
xxxxxxxxxI met the most charming young lady today, her name is Elizabeth Hale. She’s quite a mesmerizing creature. She only laughed when the frogs I had captured at the pond today escaped into the carriage we were sharing. Most ladies I know would have gone into a fit of vapors.
November 9,
xxxxxxxxxI think I’m going to ask Elizabeth to marry me.
From that point on the pages were ripped, as though someone had once tried to destroy the contents, some of the reaming edges were burned, and others were blotted with heavy water damage.
February 13,
xxxxxxxxxElizabeth has told me she is with child - - -
July 4,
xxxxxxxxx- - -and she is on constant bed rest and her spirits are low - - -
July 20,
xxxxxxxxxHe says they are deeply concerned for the heath of both mother and - - -
August 6,
xxxxxxxxxI brought Elizabeth the wind-up girl I have been working on, and have not seen such a smile on her face for so long, maybe there is - - -
September 11,
xxxxxxxxxShe’s very near due now, and the next few days will be very critical for - - -
September 14,
xxxxxxxxxThe labor pains have begun.
Following this entry a very large portion of the book was missing, and the remaining pages held only snippets of thoughts, with no dates attached to them.
xxxxxxxxxI am stretched on your grave - - -
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThings going bump in the darkness.
Water, 35 liters
Carbon, 25 kilograms
Ammonia, 4 liters
Lime, - - -
Dance Isabella. . .
Emma closed the thin notebook and carefully replaced in on the shelf. She stunned and filled with self-loathing for looking at the doctor’s personal thoughts in such a way. Thoroughly ashamed with herself she finished replacing the rest of the volumes and let herself out of the study, shutting the door firmly behind her, as though to shut the bad memories inside.
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Posted: Wed Dec 03, 2008 9:40 pm
Dr. Richard Calgori considered himself a man of science. Above all else he placed high value on logic, reason, and his own abilities. Therefore, being presented with a cabbage that would somehow birth a child was very much out of the scope of his belief.
Therefore he’d poked at the leafy green vegetable, prodded it, and sketched it into his lab journal. He’d measured the things several times over, it never seemed to grow. It was, altogether, a very curious specimen. His instructions were simple enough, give it a little water, and leave it in a sunny place; it’ll grow. Your child will grow.
It annoyed him that he could not comprehend the science behind this strange invention. What made it work? How did it make children? Water and sunlight did not make babies. People made babies, the old fashioned way. There was no other way.
There was no magic. All that was “magical” in the world, all that was good and bright and sunny and happy laid beneath the hallowed grounds of the churchyard. There was nothing left to fill the empty void it had left. Only science. Only logic. Only reason.
But he’d been to the labs, seen photos of the babies born from the cabbages. Some human, some more decidedly not, and this gave him hope. He wanted this child, wanted her so badly he could taste it. He wanted someone else to succeed where he himself has so gravely failed.
Unequivalent exchange. Nothing was lost and everything was gained.
It was unfair. It broke all the rules. But it worked. And that was all that mattered. This strange contraption was just a means to his end. It would work. It had to work. There was no turning back. If, somehow, this cabbage failed, he knew the only thing he could stand was the business end of a pistol.
William entered the lab that morning to find Dr. Calgori absently stroking the leaves of a very large green cabbage plant. The youth eyed the doctor cautiously; afraid the man had finally lost his mind. He stood in silence for several moments before coughing quietly. Calgori jolted with surprise and looked at his young assistant.
“Are you. . . er . . . feel alright, sir?” William asked cautiously. It was always better to tread carefully around geniuses where they were being particular. Calgori sat at attention and straightened his lab coat.
“Ah, yes.” He said, looking about the room as if having only just noticed it was there. “Quite alright indeed.” He muttered, William only stared at the cabbage, which he could have sworn had just quivered all on its own.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir.” He said warily. “What is that?” The doctor glanced once again at the cabbage and then looked back at William.
“That, young man, is a child.”
William was too dumbfounded to speak.
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Posted: Sun Dec 14, 2008 10:26 pm
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Posted: Tue Dec 23, 2008 12:09 am
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Posted: Tue Dec 23, 2008 12:12 am
Isabella did not know what to expect from this “Christmas” thing. People spent loads of money on gifts in an attempt to display affection to their loved ones because a baby was born? She did not comprehend, but then again none of the adults seemed willing to stop and explain it too her.
She decided that she too would have to do something for Christmas. She would make gifts for the important people in her life; Emma, her father, and William. So two days before Christmas she retrieved the box of crayons Emma had given her and set about to do just that.
For Emma she drew a portrait of the matronly woman in the kitchen baking a pie. It was okay, Emma’s nose was a little off, and the pie looked like it was floating in min-air, but it was passable by her standards.
William was a little trickier. She finally settled on drawing a boy with mess red hair reading a thick book. It looked like William, sort of.
Finally, her father. Isabella put careful time and effort into his drawing; she wanted it to be prefect. After trashing her first couple of drafts, she was finally satisfied with her finished product. She put the crayons away and hid the pictures in her bedside table until Christmas morning.
December 25th dawned bright and cold and Emma woke Isabella early, winding her key tightly. Once wound, Isabella bounded down the hallway in her tiny slippered feet to the tiny tree Emma had placed in the drawing room. There was a neat stack of presents on the table under the tree, gifts from Santa (thanks to a little divine intervention on Emma’s part). Isabella squealed in delight over the presents, but waited for a crisp Emma and a groggy William.
With Emma’s approval Isabella tore into the Santa gifts first, and gasped as the first of three exquisite ballet costumes was reveled. The other two costumes were promptly followed by a pair of children’s ballet slippers. Overjoyed, Isabella pulled the next gift, Emma’s to her. It contained, she was surprised to note, a pretty lined journal with a pink cover. William’s gift was a light purple stuffed bunny. Finally, it was time for her father’s gift. It was a slim package, tucked behind the rest of the pile, and was only there by some miracle since Emma had reminded the doctor a good dozen times to provide a gift.
Anticipation growing, she ripped the paper for the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a brand-new white toothbrush. Trying hard to hide her immense disappointment, Isabella gathered her presents and took them to her room, returning with the drawings she’d made.
Emma “ooed” and “awed” appropriately over her portrait and William had dozed off in his chair, so Isabella laid his drawing in his lap. Her father had not been out of his lab all day, so she crept down the strains to the basement to check on him. She found him hunched over a large tome written in a language that was not English. He was so engrossed in his work that he did not see of hear his daughter enter the room, nor did he notice when she placed a crayon drawing of him working in his laboratory by his elbow.
Isabella crept back up the stairs, and, changing into her leotard, went to the studio to practice her basic positions. It was, mostly, a very nice first Christmas.
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Posted: Thu Apr 23, 2009 11:12 pm
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