Aphra and Zaida

The girls were born six minutes apart, Aphra first, then Zaida. Their mother died six hours later, leaving them in the care of their father. Randolph was ill prepared, having hardly adjusted to sharing his bed and now struggling to accept the emptiness.

His mother suggested a wet nurse but then he would need two. The thought of having anyone replace his wife was too painful to think about. So he bought a case of canned milk and more baby bottles and rolled up towels to create a nest for each baby in an apple crate.

At first he couldn’t tell them apart, so he wrote their names on the bottom of their feet. He loved the soft murmur they made when he lifted a foot to see who was who.

They grew fat and rosy and soon followed his face with their eyes. His sister came for a week to help figure out what to do with their mother’s things. What to keep so that someday they could finger the lace and pearl buttons and smell the delicate perfume that was the woman who brought them into the world.