“Briana is hungry,” the midwife said from the rug by the fire. “Do you need my help?”
“I’m fine.”
Loosening her nightdress, the woman pulled the baby close. Something soft and loose brushed against the sagging skin of her stomach.
“Does the hair grow before it falls out?” she asked.
The midwife fetched a candle. “No,” she said. “I don’t know what this is.”
The baby’s hair reflected the flickering candlelight, transforming the swaddling blanket into a weave of precious metals.
“It’s grown,” the woman said. “Her hair. It’s longer than she is.”
“Yes,” the midwife said. “It’s a miracle.”
“If it’s a miracle, he’ll take her from me.”
“Who? Your man?”
“Yes.” The shame passed through her like a wave of heat, leaving her shivering. It had been her obsession to have him, and now she had less than nothing. “He is selfish and cruel. If he sees profit in it, he will use her.”
The midwife reached out with an unsteady hand, touching the hair that flowed out over the infant. “Then we’d better cut it off.”