Epilogue
EPILOGUE
T he day Penelope had been waiting for had finally arrived.
Fiona, her beloved companion of so many years, was finally giving birth. Mr. Busch, the only veterinarian George trusted with all his horses, had begun spending nights at the cottage in order to remain close by, despite the incredibly close quarters.
“Any day now,” he had mused for a week, a wooden pipe clamped in his jaws.
Penelope and George always would share a knowing look, never once putting stock in the doctor’s words. It wasn’t until a fine autumn afternoon, when a cool, brisk breeze rattled through the stable, that Fiona began to show signs of the impending birth. Penelope ran through the field, one arm tucked beneath her own growing belly, shouting at the top of her lungs that her mare was finally having her foal.
All the while George chased after her till he was red in the face, insisting on her lying down. It only felt right that Penelope’s own pregnancy lined up with Fiona’s, neither one of them truly aware of when they’d finally be ready. It built an even stronger bond between them, and Penelope felt as though her life had been touched by nature in every way possible.
The afternoon was hectic and bustling. The vet dove in and out of the stables, unable to keep Penelope from coming in herself at some point. She had no plans of letting her precious steed give birth without her there to see it through.
In the stable, Fiona neighed and kicked at the ground, ready to give birth to her and Vaun’s foal. Penelope ran her hands along the horse’s spine, listening to the sounds that came from within her large, dropping stomach. Mr. Busch, with his sleeves rolled up, positioned himself behind Fiona, arms at the ready.
“Now’s the time to make an exit, your Grace,” Mr. Busch called out to Penelope as the horse began to buckle.
Penelope let out a loud shout. “Good try, Mr. Busch!”
From the stable doors, George came rushing through, carrying a stack of fresh towels along with a bucket of water. When his eyes landed on his wife, George glared, though there was an amused twinkle in his eye.
“Here you are, doctor,” George said, resting the supplies beside the vet. “As for you,” he pointed his stare over the horse’s back at Penelope, “You know what I’m going to say.”
“Then don’t bother saying it,” she quickly said with a confident smirk. “Get a hold of her, George, if you’re through trying to get me to leave!”
With a sigh, George argued no longer, taking up the same position Penelope did on the opposite side of Fiona. As the horse let out a pained neigh every once and a while, Mr. Busch guided the foal out of its mother’s womb, massaging and pressing upon the steed’s bulging stomach. Penelope watched in awe as the vet worked like a magician, knowing exactly where he needed to work in order to give Fiona the quickest relief. Without ever once dropping a trickle of sweat, Mr. Busch pulled the foal out the rest of the way, resting the newborn creature upon the hay. Fiona released a tired noise before resting against the ground, her loving warm gaze falling upon her newborn foal.
Penelope squealed, her arms shooting in the air excitedly as the foal began to shakily stand, letting out the quietest of snorts. She opened her mouth to praise the doctor, when a strange and utterly unexpected sensation erupted within her belly.
“George,” she breathed. “ George! ”
Flying towards her, George gathered her up in his arms, his eyes alight with energy at the own coming of his first born child. As the familiar chaos ensued once more, Penelope was hoisted off into the cottage, where new life once again burst into the world on that fateful afternoon.
Hours later, nestled in the blankets of their bed, Penelope held a quiet baby boy in her arms. He was bundled up in fresh towels, with not a lick of hair on the top of his head. He cried once or twice after coming into the world, only to fall into a deep and comfortable sleep against Penelope’s breast. George rested in the bed beside her, one arm tucked beneath her back and the other cupping the babe.
The birth went as smoothly as Penelope could’ve imagined. Mr. Busch remained, just in case they needed any assistance. With no time to send for a London doctor, Mr. Busch acquitted himself admirably. By the end of it, Penelope was breathless, eager to finally rest and take in the joys that came their way on that fateful afternoon. By that point, Mr. Busch was tending to the foal, giving the newly minted parents some time alone with their babe.
“How do you feel,” George whispered in her ear, “darling?”
Penelope smirked, the exhaustion from the day taking its toll on her. She leaned her head against him. “Outrageously happy,” she murmured back.
“Outrageously?” he repeated, giving a slight huff. “That’s quite happy.”
She chuckled. “Is it possible to be too happy?”
“Not at all,” he whispered. “In fact, I don’t think you’re happy enough.”
Penelope sighed. “I think you’re right.”
“Whatever shall we do to fix that?”
Penelope met his gaze, turning her head to face him. “I can think of one thing.”
With a teasing grin, George leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. He moved to her cheeks, leaving another upon her chin and the tip of her nose. When he came to her forehead, Penelope was already breathing heavier, the caresses bringing her closer and closer to the brink of falling into a deep sleep.
George rested his forehead against her own. “Sleep, darling.”
And without another word of convincing, Penelope was fast asleep, holding on tightly to the life around her, the life she had never expected to have.
The End?