quietly gave her own opinion. She had been transformed by the
miracle—transformed into him. I remembered her as a young midwife,
so cautious, so meek about the lives over which she had such power.
There was little of that meekness in her now. The Lord Himself guided
her hands, and no misfortune would occur except by the will of God.
—A FEW WEEKS AFTER CHRISTMAS, the University of Cambridge wrote to Dr.
Kerry, rejecting my application. “The competition was very steep,” Dr.
Kerry told me when I visited his office.
I thanked him and stood to go.
“One moment,” he said. “Cambridge instructed me to write if I felt
there were any gross injustices.”
I didn’t understand, so he repeated himself. “I could only help one
student,” he said. “They have offered you a place, if you want it.”
It seemed impossible that I would really be allowed to go. Then I
realized that I would need a passport, and that without a real birth
certificate, I was unlikely to get one. Someone like me did not belong at
Cambridge. It was as if the universe understood this and was trying to
prevent the blasphemy of my going.
I applied in person. The clerk laughed out loud at my Delayed
Certificate of Birth. “Nine years!” she said. “Nine years is not a delay.
Do you have any other documentation?”
“Yes,” I said. “But they have different birth dates. Also, one has a
different name.”
She was still smiling. “Different date and different name? No, that’s
not gonna work. There’s no way you’re gonna get a passport.”
I visited the clerk several more times, becoming more and more
desperate, until, finally, a solution was found. My aunt Debbie visited
the courthouse and swore an affidavit that I was who I said I was. I was
issued a passport.
—IN FEBRUARY, EMILY GAVE BIRTH. The baby weighed one pound, four
ounces.
When Emily had started having contractions at Christmas, Mother