Written on My Heart by Morgan Callan Rogers

works in mysterious ways.”
    â€œI know that, for sure,” I said. “But let us come to that on our own, if you don’t mind. That way, it would be our idea.”
    Ida swallowed the rest of her tea and got up to leave. “I guess,” she said. “But maybe you and Bud should have a talk with Billy about it.”
    â€œMaybe,” I said.
    Before she could turn to walk toward the hall I said, “Wait!”
    And a streak of lightning tore through my belly.

    I talked to Jesus a lot the rest of that day, night, and the morning of the next day. I hissed his name through gritted teeth and shouted it into the ceiling of the delivery room. Bud, pale as skim milk, stood beside me and told me to take deep breaths and just relax, relax, until I swore at him and told him to get out, that I didn’t need him, I’d never needed him, I didn’t need anyone, and why didn’t he leave me alone. But he didn’t leave, and finally, the baby found the tiny escape tunnel and I began to push, push, push and then, there she came, all seven pounds six ounces of her, screaming at me and at anyone within a half mile of her voice.
    I named her Arlee June before she could go from blue to pink. They took her from me for a minute or two, and then placed her on my chest. Bud and I cried, and I pledged to her that should anyone dare touch one copper hair on her head, they would suffer great harm. She blinked and cooed and my heart was swallowed up by love so intense I shook with it.

    â€œTuesday’s child is full of grace,” Madeline Butts said to me, sometime after Arlee and I had been cleaned up and they brought her to me. She and Dottie sat in matching tan visitor chairs by the bed.
    â€œShe’s a looker,” Dottie said.
    â€œCan’t you see it?” I said. I could, plain as the minute nose on Arlee’s perfect face. “She looks exactly like Carlie.”
    â€œI guess she does,” Madeline said. “She has her red hair, sure enough.”
    â€œWhy did you name her Arlee June?” Dottie asked.
    â€œRhymes with Carlie, but the l-e-e is for Leeman,” I said. “The June is because she was born in June.”
    â€œMakes sense,” Dottie said. “Arlee Dot would have been nice, though.”
    Arlee and I slept away much of our first afternoon together, until about six o’clock, when Bud came back and we wondered at our baby, who was the most beautiful child ever created.
    â€œTime to have another one,” I said to Bud as he held our daughter. He looked up at me, his eyes stupid with love.
    â€œLet’s spoil this one for a while,” he said. “And before we do have another one, we should think about where we’re going to live and get settled.”
    My heart sank. Bud was restless and I knew that. He talked about seeing new places, all the time. For the time being, he worked at Fred’s, but Fred had told him that his brother, Cecil, who had a garage down to Stoughton Falls, might be looking for help in the near future. Bud had gotten all fired up at the thought of an adventure, so we had driven south for about two hours to check out the area. The autumn leaves along the drive had been pretty, but Stoughton Falls was tiny, and it lacked the backdrop of an ocean. None of that had fazed Bud, though, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about working there since.
    For me, moving to Stoughton Falls meant no sassy whitecaps whipped up by flirty winds. No watching the sunrise yawn its way up over the east and stretch out into day over The Point and the harbor. No double-yolked sunsets dipping behind the pines at night. No sweet, familiar house. No people that I knew. I went quiet whenever he mentioned it. This time was no exception.
    As he nuzzled Arlee’s fuzzy head, he said, “Florine . . .”
    â€œI know,” I said. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”
    A shadow fell over his