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Cynthia and Sophia - Written 21 Nov. 2019


Greshamsbury, Barsetshire, ENG – 1842

Frank Sr. didn’t cry when he held the twins for the first time.  No, he hadn’t lost the wonder of holding a child in his arms.  By now he’d merely lost the trepidation of a new parent.  He trusted at least his children’s futures in the hands of God.

Arabella had yet to awaken.  This had been her longest labor yet, three days, and she’d been unconscious before Fillgrave could tell her clearly that she’d borne not one but two. 

They were an early two, at that.  And they were knobby little things, dark-haired and long-faced.  Frank Sr. tried not to fear the worst.  He allowed the midwife to take one of the girls from his arms.

Arabella had spoken with him on the names she’d preferred for their next children.  She hadn’t figured they would come more than one at a time, but her planning ahead was useful.  The two female names she had chosen would be used at once. 

“Cynthia.”  Frank Sr. gestured to the babe in the midwife’s arms.  And the child in his own?  “And this is Sophia.”

And would God not soon bring these two to Him.