The big day had finally come; seven pounds, nine ounces and twenty-one inches long. Stacy Steimel was in labor less than two hours when she pushed the bundle of joy out in Doc Pearlman’s office, it was a baby girl.
Baby looked nothin’ like Bobby Taylor, Doc thought, but, at that time of life, no matter what the relatives might say, most don’t favor either parent. Some newborns are downright homely as Doc can attest.
Stacy was asked, what name to put on the birth certificate as to the father? Bobby Taylor, came her reply, and by what name will the child be called? Loretta Steimel, after her saintly mother, god rest her soul.
As news reached the good Christians, they shouted with jubilation, for Stacy’s little bastard was nowhere near the three hundred mark. A sigh of relief washed over the quaint little township; as for the first time, the murders were a good thing as some good churchgoers saw it. Look hard enough, and you can always find a silver lining, as the good Father Lonigan always said.