The Fourth Child by Jessica Winter (best classic novels TXT) 📕

see you!” Jane said, waving back, hoping the cop would take note of this neighborly exchange. Mirela smiled sweetlyat the cop, mimicking Jane.

The cop shrugged and looked away. “Do what you gotta do,” he told Jane. “But this is no place for a kid.”

“I’ll get her home safe, Officer, thank you,” Jane said. Jane and Mirela walked silently past Dr. Rosen’s practice, the pythonon their left, the line of riot cops on their right. Jane recognized the reverend’s voice, calling from the front of the kneelingprocession.

“What do we do when they scream in our faces?” the reverend was asking. His batter-beigeness in person put Jane in mind ofthe gingerbread man. “We stay calm. We sit. We sing. We pray. We think about the babies. We need to stay with them. Stay rightthere with the babies. Feel them in your hearts. They need to know they’re not alone.”

This all sounded like a speech Father Steve would give. Jane wondered if he had arrived at WellWomen yet. She hoped the cops hadn’t snagged him before she’d had a chance to talk to him about how the protest was going.

“Let’s pray for the women who have been scheduled here. There are appointments that will be happening right now.” The membersof the procession folded their hands on the pavement and rested their heads there. Butts in the air. Each of Jane’s kids hadslept like that at some point in their babyhood.

Jane could see, as she and Mirela came closer, that the reverend was standing atop a wooden crate. The sun had come out justfor him. Three local camera crews were set up in front of where he stood, as if he had summoned them, directed them.

“You, there,” the reverend called. “The woman in the blue coat, with the child. Welcome!”

“Hello, howyoo!” Mirela replied.

“Keep moving, lady,” said a cop on her right.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a mother with her child—we haven’t seen enough of that today, have we? Because that is what this isall about, isn’t it? Join us, please.”

The cop moved to place himself between Jane and the kneeling procession, and Mirela darted around him and into the street.“I have to . . .” Jane began, and the cop put up his hands, allowing Jane, too, to run into the street and catch Mirela bythe arm just as the girl tripped over a praying leg.

“What did Jesus say?” the reverend was asking. “Jesus said, ‘Suffer the children and forbid them not to come unto Me, forsuch is the kingdom of heaven.’ Who is this child, ma’am? Come closer, both of you.”

Jane and Mirela edged closer to the reverend, praying bodies shuffling aside to let them past. Jane got to her knees on theasphalt and pulled Mirela down beside her.

“Tell us of yourself and of your child, ma’am,” the reverend said.

“My name is Jane, and this is my daughter Mirela,” she began, and faltered. She could not find the rest of it. “She is—I am—blessedand humbled by God.”

“Your soul is a masterpiece, Mariella!” someone called out behind them.

“Every child deserves a birthday!” another yelled, and others began chanting the refrain.

“Mah buh day?” Mirela asked.

Behind her Jane sensed the cops moving in on the procession. She could hear the clink of handcuffs, the grating of the bodies on the pavement. Jane craned around to watch the last testaments of the witnessesbefore they were swept into police vans.

“We are not the ones disturbing the peace and killing babies! Over there—arrest them, arrest them! We are here for peace!”

“I pray to God for a peaceful resolution of the child-killing issue before other people get hurt!”

Jane turned back. The reverend was rummaging around beneath his crate. There was Tupperware under there.

“There is a doctor who performs late-term abortions at Children’s Hospital! At a children’s hospital! Can you imagine the depravity?!”

The reverend stood up and held aloft—

He held—

He had—

Held in his hands—

What was it? What did Jane think—at first, at the time—it was? A doll? A package? A parcel of victuals for the tailgate theyhad all been promised? A rubbery cross-section of internal organs used as a teaching tool in middle-grade science classrooms?She blinked and cocked her head and still it refused to come into focus. She could not see what she was seeing. She hearda gasp, a shout, a collective groan. Other people were seeing it. What was it?

You are far enough along that we have two choices here.

(The first choice, of course, was they could break down the baby inside her and take it out with instruments.)

She’d seen her before.

(The second choice, of course, was she could give birth to the baby, who was already dead.)

They put you in my arms, and I knew it was you.

“This! This is what abortion on demand and without apology looks like—that says it all, doesn’t it? Nips it in the bud.”

“Buddy, what is—is that what I think it is?” A man’s voice, a Buffalo accent, from over near the camera crews.

She glanced over at Mirela, who had acquired an abortion kills children sign and held it over her head as she spun in circles.

“What do you think it is?” the reverend asked.

“Buddy, that is—you are disgusting. That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“That’s horrible.”

“Isn’t it horrible?”

“You are horrible. That is sick, what you’re doing. You are sick.”

“This is sick? Well, I would agree. We agree with each other.”

“How did you get that?” a woman’s voice called.

“I agree with you that—”

“How did you get that? Where the hell did you get that?” More and more voices. Bystanders, Jane could see. Not necessarilyproborts.

The python couldn’t see the reverend.

“See, we have found a place where we agree. We agree that this is sick.”

“Is that real?”

“This is not a political issue. This is not a partisan issue.”

“Is it real?”

“This is not politics.”

“Guys, it’s real—he says it’s real!”

“It’s not real.”

“That is sick!”

“If it’s real—”

“Would you like to touch her?”

“You are sick—”

“Say what you want about me—but would you like to touch her? Her name is Thea.”

“You are fucking sick,