August 4 -- Joseph H. David, Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Otis and Child. They sat like that every evening before supper, Daniel reading the newspaper and Betsy holding the baby on her lap. The miracle baby, Betsy thought of her small daughter. They had been married nearly twenty years before the interruption of her monthly cycle made her think that her barren womb might finally bring forth life. Daniel had never seemed to care one way or another about children. He went to his bank every day but Sunday, read the paper when he arrived home, and expected his evening meal at six precisely. He was not a sportsman or a hunter where having a son to teach might be a good thing. Betsy ached for a child. She suffered near crippling jealousy whenever a young wife came to church big with child or carrying a tiny scrap of humanity wrapped in swaddling clothes. Finally last year the miracle happened and baby Patty was born after a long and hard labor, but she was worth every pang to Betsy. Daniel paid very little attention to her; she was a girl after all, unable to inherit his bank and property.
Ah, Dan, you moron, don't you know that girls can do just about anything? Tsk. Now I'm off to snag my audiobook copy of To Kill a Mockingbird before the Ashwaubenon Library closes and then it's down into the dungeon, better known as my studio (spoken with a nasally, fake-British accent), to sew up that quilt block in the picture and make it's sibling because I'm really excited to see how those fabrics look cut out and pieced together. Then later I made coffeecakes. You totally wish you were here for that. Totally. (I'd send you some, DD, if I thought it'd survive the trip. Love, Mom)