Alice took a walk outside to nurse in the beautiful garden. Even though she struggled with the conundrum of what was true for the cook wasn’t true for herself, the sun shined a sizzle of warm promise and hope upon Alice as she fed the babies. One of the babies burped.
“Now that’s a healthy appetite,” Alice said.
The other squealed, of what sounded like delight, if she could interpret starfish sounds correctly.
“Excuse you,” Alice said. A curly, pink tail wagged from one of the starfish’s bodies. “I didn’t notice your tail before.”
The other also had a tail.
“What’s going on?”
Before she knew it, a leg turned into a snout, remaining feet became hooves, and she had two piglets wriggling in her arms.
Alice couldn’t hold on. She dropped the piglets onto the ground. They scampered into the forest.
A sinking dread weighed heavy inside her gut. She just lost someone’s children! Alice didn’t know what the punishment was for losing someone’s children, but it couldn’t have been good. There had to be a reason why losing them didn’t matter. A reason she could give, if asked. They were never really children to begin with, right? How do you lose children that aren’t children? Surely she wouldn’t be in trouble for losing starfish that turned into piglets.
Alice thought of the duke discovering his babies being gone. She suddenly didn’t feel so bad. In fact, she felt a wicked grin come over her. Serves him right! Better yet, “the boys” were surely better off away from the duke. Alice couldn’t imagine how horrible a father he was. But what about the cook? She loved those babies so much! They were the reason she stayed. That’s when Alice realized the full extent of how good it was that she lost those babies. Now the cook wouldn’t have a reason to stay. She’d leave the duke and would never submit to his temper again.
Alice moved on into the woods comforted, at least, that she had the benefit of having the experience of nursing at all. Something she could look forward to as a mother of her own children.