A September Gift

Polly finished turning down the gas lights in her mistress’s bedroom. Exhausted, she made her way upstairs to the attic space she shared with Charlotte, the parlour maid, who was already asleep.

For months, Polly had kept her swollen belly hidden under a high-waisted skirt, but she couldn’t ignore the pains that started earlier in the evening. A child was to be born out of the ninth month.

Midnight chimed on the grandfather clock as she struggled to stifle her groans. She became aware of Charlotte’s blue eyes burning into her. She expected her to run to the housekeeper; instead, she felt cool fingers on her forehead.

“I’ll fetch hot water and towels,” Charlotte said. “I helped Mother give birth to healthy babies. All I ask is, if it’s a girl, name her after me.”

It was a boy, and Polly named him Charlie.

Kim M. Russell, 4th November 2024

Image by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

It’s Prosery Monday at the dVerse Poets Pub, with Dora, our host, Walt Whitman, and the Voice of the Collective. We are writing flash fiction (144-words or less) using a given line of poetry, which Dora has chosen from a poem by Whitman. ‘Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking’.

Dora tells us that in ‘Out of the Cradle’ “Whitman recounts how as a child on a beach at night he watched two birds build a nest together and one of them disappears, leaving his mate searching for him.”

Our challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 144 words that includes this line from the poem: “Out of the Ninth-month midnight.” We may not alter the order of the words, although we may insert breaks or punctuation.

26 thoughts on “A September Gift”

  1. An unexpected friend is the nicest surprise, and blessing! Charlie already has a head start on life. Kim, you brought the times to life through these strongly formed characters. So good, the story is.

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      1. Thank you for the generous comment … I chose Charles because that is my 28-year old grandson’s name! We call him Charlie, I however love to call him “Charlie-Boy” which he secretly loves.

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  11. This beautiful intimacy is fiercely reminiscent of one of my own ancestors who is known as ‘poor Hannah’… but I believe she was deeply in love with ‘Mr John Flack, gentleman’ and may gave had further children with him – himself a fifth son of a gentry family in Northamptonshire. And John Flack just may be the same as a census entry from London, retired medical doctor living in lodgings.

    There be stories…

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