SIX OF ONE, HALF A DOZEN OF THE OTHER

By Rob Rosen

Carlie was born on Christams Eve, 1958, on a small farm in the English countryside.  Her parents, superstitious as they were, took this as an omen of good fortune.  Their child, they agreed, would lead a life of ease and happiness.  Of course, this they discussed shortly before her birth.  Afterwards, the topic was never broached again.

Which isn’t to say that they didn’t love their daughter.  Far from it, actually.  How can a parent not love their first-born?  Still, Carlie was not what they were expecting.  Actually, what they were expecting was a boy.  All the signs clearly pointed to it.  Jenny was carrying low and gaining all of her weight out front, constantly craved meats and cheeses and had no morning sickness early on in her pregnancy, and the hair on her legs grew twice as fast as before she got pregnant.  But what really cemented in their minds that they were to have a son was the traditional needle and thread test; passed down from generation to generation and believed by one and all to be a nearly failsafe method of determination.

Weeks before she was to give birth, Jenny lay on their bed as George threaded the needle.  The two held hands and nervously smiled at each other as the needle was hung above her swollen belly.  It immediately started swinging in circles, and not from side to side.

“It’s a boy,” George pronounced, proud as he could be.

“Hallelujah,” Jenny sighed, then patted her stomach and smiled down happily at it.

A son to help them work the farm.  To take care of them in their old age.  And to bring joy and contentment into their lives.  A son that they would call Charlie, after George’s grandfather, Charles.

But a son was not what they were to have.

Soon after Jenny gave birth, the midwife handed George their baby, already cleaned and swaddled in a blanket, and then she apprehensively backed away.

“What’s wrong with him?” George quickly asked, sensing something was amiss.  A worried frown appeared across his face.

“It’s not a him, sir,” the midwife stated.

“A girl?” he asked, and the midwife simply nodded.

“A girl?” Jenny asked from the bed.  “Let me see her.”

Their daughter was beautiful.  Angelic even, they thought.  Though perhaps they were a bit prejudiced.  After all, what parent doesn’t think their child is beautiful?  Jenny and George looked lovingly at her and then to each other before George kissed his wife and whispered, “We’ll call her Carlie then.”  Jenny nodded her approval, and Carlie smiled her very first smile.  A wondrous site to behold.

“But why are you crying?” George asked the midwife.  “She’s clearly healthy, and dare I say, the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.  Are those tears of joy you shed?”

The midwife shook her head back and forth.

“What’s wrong with our baby, George?” Jenny asked, nervously.

“Wrong?  Nothing’s wrong.  Look at this child.  She is perfect in every way.  Not a blemish on her.  Blonde, blue eyed, and healthy as can be.”

But the midwife wailed even louder.

“Let me see her, George,” Jenny demanded, and George set the baby in his wife’s arms.

Truly, Carlie was beautiful.  Jenny looked carefully at her face and saw not a scratch or a mar on it.  Then she opened the blanket and admired her daughter’s chest and arms and hands, holding each one in her own.  How small her fingers were, but perfect nonetheless.  Her mid-region showed no signs that anything was wrong either.  And her legs were chubby and kicking up at her.  But that’s when they noticed it.  Saw what was making the midwife carry on as she was.  Oh, to be sure, Carlie was a glorious looking infant, but with one small irregularity.  For on each tiny, little foot there grew not five, but six little toes.

Jenny quickly covered her child up and looked up expectantly at her husband.

“What does this mean, George?”

George was perplexed.  This was something he’d never encountered before.  Something he had no answer for.  But it had to mean something.  For in their simple lives, everything meant something.  Nothing simply was for no reason at all.  Still, he couldn’t help but look at his daughter and smile lovingly down at her.

“Bigger shoes, I suppose,” he answered his wife, sending the midwife howling out of their bedroom and away from their house.

Had they lived in the city and had a very learned doctor, they might have been informed that this condition was known as polydactylism:  an anatomical abnormality of having more than the usual number of digits on the hands or feet.  A congenital abnormality, usually genetically inherited as an autosomal dominant trait.  Though the science of Genetics was only in its infancy as well.

In humans, it is usual to have five digits (four fingers and one thumb) on each hand, and five digits (toes) on each foot.  Polydactyls have six or more digits on either their hands or feet, or both.  The extra digits vary from small pieces of soft tissue to apparently, in Carlie’s case, complete digits.  In Western societies, they are usually surgically removed during early life; but the nearest surgeon was hundreds of miles away and probably wouldn’t know what to do in this situation anyway.

The condition is reported in about two children in every thousand, although the frequency varies greatly from population to population.  In their small farming village, as far as they knew, Carlie was the first and only.  Not that it mattered.  Had she been the first or the tenth, or even the hundredth, they knew that this little oddity would never be accepted as mere coincidence:  a chance event that meant nothing more than a freckle or gapped teeth, though easier to hide than either.  Luckily, they knew the midwife would say nothing of it for fear of being rejected herself.  After all, what expectant mother would want a midwife who delivered freaks of nature?

“What should we do, George?” his wife asked, once the initial shock wore off and their daughter fell soundly asleep in her arms.

“Do?  What is there to do, wife?  We love her.  Keep her healthy and happy.  And we hide this thing from the rest of the world.  Six, after all, is twice three, like the Trinity.  A blessing.  But sadly, when tripled it is also the sign of the devil.  For us it is a godsend, but for everyone else, well, best not to find out.”  George was a smart man.  The rest of the world might have been living in the twentieth century, but there, in their small, rural community, anything different was considered bad.  Perhaps even evil.

His wife considered what her husband had said and then added, brightly, “And, George, I was born in June, the sixth month.  And you are the sixth of seven children.  Perhaps six is our lucky number.”

“Perhaps, Jenny.  Perhaps.  In any case, six is not five, so let us just keep this to ourselves.  What’s lucky for us may not be considered so by others.”

Jenny nodded her agreement and tenderly stroked her child’s cheek and chin.  To her, any way you looked at it, six was her lucky number, and this child was nothing short of a miracle.  Anyone can have a child with five fingers and toes on each hand and foot.  Carlie was different.  She was special.  And no one was going to tell her otherwise.

Still, in keeping with her husband’s wishes, plus a good deal of common sense, she knew better than to tempt fate, and wisely kept her daughter’s “specialness” to themselves.  Though it wasn’t easy.

Even as an infant, Carlie was a handful.  She was forever kicking off her booties and socks, exposing the one thing her parents sought to keep hidden.  So her parents always kept her at home; very much loved, but unseen by prying eyes.  They were thrilled when she was old enough to finally wear shoes, though it was hard to find ones that were wide enough.  And many a time they found her barefoot in the fields.

“But my shoes are too tight,” she would whine. “Why can’t I keep them off?”

Rather than admit the truth, which they knew would devastate their little girl, they simply said that in the field she might hurt herself and that anywhere else it was impolite to go barefoot.  Both were true, but certainly far from the real reason.  In any case, Carlie tried her hardest to appease her parents.  Of course, children being children, she did not always comply.

This didn’t happen very often, though.  When Carlie wasn’t in school, she was working the fields with her parents or doing chores around the house.  Rarely was their time for play, and never without her parent’s supervision.  But there were those rare instances between school and home that Carlie found herself in places she knew she shouldn’t have been.

One such fateful day occurred when she was on her way home with some of the other children that lived on nearby farms.  It was a hot, summer day and everyone agreed that a quick dip in the local pond would cool them off.  Carlie knew that her parents always expected her home right after school, but she figured they wouldn’t mind if she was just a few minutes late.  After all, she justified, she always got her work done and made excellent grades in school.  Would it really be so bad to play for just a few minutes?  It was awfully hot.

Whatever misgivings she was feeling quickly dissipated as her friend scampered off down the hill towards the cool, refreshing pond.  Shoes and socks were tossed here and there, followed by pants and shirts.  Modesty, what little children possess, was ignored in the face of the oppressive midday sun.  They didn’t play for long, however, knowing that they were all expected home to start their chores.  But they did lounge on the nearby rocks in order to dry off before they got dressed again.  That’s when the family secret was let out of the bag.

“Hey Carlie,” her friend Suzanne shouted.  “How come you got more toes than me?”

“Huh?” Carlie said, peering over at her friend’s feet.  Her parents had never let them see their own feet, feeling that ignorance was bliss; at least until Carlie was old enough to better deal with her deformity.  “Hey, I suppose you’re right.  You don’t have enough toes.”

That caught the attention of everyone in the group; all of whom quickly realized that it wasn’t Suzanne that had too few toes, but Carlie who had too many.  Two too many, to be exact.

“We had a cat once that had six toes,” Richard said, when he saw Carlie’s feet.

“Had a cat?” Carlie gulped, clearly ill at ease with her newfound realization.

“Yep.  Father had her put down.  Said a cat with six toes was bad luck.”

Well, that’s all the other kids had to hear, and they were dressed and out of there in no time flat, leaving Carlie alone on the rocks to ponder her aberration.

“Too many toes?” she said to herself.  “Far as I can tell, six is better than five.  I’d rather have a half dozen cookies than a measly five.  Those kids are just jealous, is all.  Who would want five of something when you could have six?”

Still, the thought nagged at her.  Why was she different than her friends?  Was God punishing her?  And why didn’t her parents ever say anything?  She moped home and immediately started in on her chores.

“You’re a little late today, Carlie.  Did everything go well at school?” her mother asked, while cleaning some dishes.

Carlie stopped what she was doing and looked keenly at her mother before she responded.  “Why do I have six toes on each foot, Mother?”

Jenny dropped the dish she was drying, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Six toes?  Why do you ask?” she practically stuttered her response.

“Because I have six, and all my friends have five.  How many am I supposed to have?”

Jenny wished that George was nearby, but he was still out in the fields.  She had no choice but to answer her child’s question.

“You’re supposed to have how ever many you were born with.  God gave you six perfect, little toes for each of your feet.”  She smiled and cleaned up the mess she had made.  No sense in getting her daughter upset, she thought.

“But everyone else has five.  What if it was the devil that gave me six and not God?”

“Nonsense, Carlie.  You have six and your friends have five because… because… well, because you’re special, that’s all.”

“Special?” Carlie pondered her mother’s justification.  Made sense to her, she figured.  More is better, right?  She returned her mother’s smile with one of her own and nodded her head in agreement.  Then she went back to her chores and put the thought out of her head.

But the thought was in other heads throughout their little community.  The story of the girl with six toes was spreading like wildfire.  Six, to them, was not special.  And it could mean only one thing:  This girl was clearly cursed.  It wasn’t long before all this reached the local preacher, a fire and brimstones kind of man, who had little patience for any and all things he believed were evil.  Pressed by his congregation, he knew what he had to do.

Early that evening, while Carlie and her family were sitting down to dinner, there came a knocking on their door.  The family looked at each other apprehensively.  People simply did not make visits at that hour.  Something was not right.  George stood up and went to answer the door.

“Why, Reverend, what a nice surprise.  What can I do for you this evening?” George said, with forced conviviality.  Though Reverend Stillman was his third cousin on his mother’s side, he had felt no love or even liking for the man.  Religion was one thing, but George never could tolerate extremists of any kind.

The preacher peered inside and saw the family at the dinner table.

“That.  That abomination.  She is not welcome in this community.  God did not make that child.  She must be cast out.”

Carlie and her parents stared in shock at this outburst.

“Now, Reverend, there is nothing wrong with my daughter.  An extra toe is no different than blonde hair instead of brown.  Six instead of five, is all.  The Lord has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, of that I am certain, sir.  The Lord had nothing to do with that… that… creature.  This is the devil’s work!”  And with that he was gone, running as far and fast from their house as he could.

Needless to say, they were all shocked and appalled by what their preacher had spouted at them.  It was George who spoke up first, knowing he had to protect his family at all costs.

“Carlie, Jenny. I know that he is the Reverend.  But that does not mean he is right about all things.  There is nothing evil or wrong in this house or in this family.  Carlie has six toes for a reason, but God has chosen not to show us it just yet.  Have faith family, for all this shall pass.”

But pass it did not.  Far from it.  It stayed; idle and stagnant within their community.  Carlie was shunned at school, and her parents were spurned wherever they went throughout the surrounding countryside.  There was nearly no respite from the ignorance and hate that surrounded them.  None, save one.  And only for poor, little Carlie.

Though her classmates were quick to disassociate themselves from her, there was one person who stood by her side:  Miss Lovejoy, Carlie’s homeroom teacher.  While no theologian, she knew that Carlie’s deformity was no sign from God, or anywhere else, for that matter.  She knew quite well that nature always had and always will produce variety, in any and every form.  And though she knew nothing of the burgeoning field of Genetics, she knew, rightly so, that an extra toe couldn’t possibly be all that uncommon.  In her lifetime she’d met people with third nipples, albinos, and several other people with deformities they were born with.  Why not an extra digit?

Besides, she agreed with Carlie’s explanation that she was just special.  Not because of the toes, however; but simply because she was Carlie.  So, on her pupil’s behalf, she decided to do some investigating.  With no college education of her own, she had to rely on the library at the nearest university, some eighty miles away.  A long distance to travel for a young, country lady like herself, but well worth it, given the situation at hand.

Of course, she wasn’t too surprised that she could find no literature on the matter.  Where does one even begin to search for six-toed causality?  So she visited the science department and met with the Dean.  Thankfully, he knew something on the subject.

The condition, apparently, was not all that uncommon.  As a matter of fact, she was to learn, in small communities where there was significant interbreeding, the probability was greatly increased.

“Since you are from a small farming village, I take it that many of its inhabitants are related in some fashion or another?” he asked her.

“That’s putting it mildly, professor.  Nearly the entire town is somehow related.”

“Ah, then my dear, where there is smoke, there is surely fire.”

She understood his point immediately and thanked him for all his help.  Miss Lovejoy now knew what she had to do.

The annual school picnic was a mere 3 weeks away.  She wouldn’t have to wait long to put her plan into action.  She did, however, have to convince the headmistress that, since it was a particularly hot summer, the event should take place near the pond, so everyone would have an opportunity to cool off.

“A splendid idea,” she was told.  And truly, it was.  For more ways than one.

The entire town always turned out for this get-together.  Pretty much everyone in a 30-mile radius attended.  After all, it was the perfect opportunity to see your neighbors in a relaxed setting.  Few of the farmers that lived in those parts ever took a vacation of any sort, so even one day off was regarded as a blessing.  And a day by the pond was doubly so.

Now all she had to do was convince Carlie’s family to show up.  Ever since that day the Reverend darkened their doorstep, they were considered pariahs, to be ignored by one and all, and rarely left the confines of their farm.  Of course, once she explained her plan, they became willing participants.  Anything they could do to clear their good name was well worth the personal torments they would have to endure.

They weren’t at all surprised that they were completely ignored upon arrival, but what they were surprised to find was how many of their neighbors fit the description that Miss Lovejoy told them to be on the lookout for.  Anyone that wasn’t a relative was ruled out, but that left easily a dozen of the picnickers.  This was going to be harder than they thought.

Until…

“Look,” Carlie whispered to her parents.

They saw right away whom she was staring at.  And, if their suspicions were correct, this would completely return everything back to normal.

“You know what to do, Carlie.  Here’s your lemonade,” Her father said and handed her the cup.

Carlie went skipping through the crowd of people until she neared her target.  Then, as she was told to do, she pretended to trip, spilling her drink at the feet of none other than Reverend Stillman himself.

“You clumsy girl.  Look what you’ve done,” he nearly shouted, causing all those around him to look their way.  “My stockings are soaked.”

Habitually, he reached down to remove the drenched socks without thinking about his actions first.  As they had hoped for, their cousin bore the same deformity as Carlie.

“Why Reverend,” noted Miss Lovejoy, who was sitting nearby, waiting for just such an opening.  “I do believe you have a couple of extra toes.  How very odd.”  She said it loud enough for practically anyone within earshot to hear.  All heads turned and stared downwards.

“Yes, Reverend, just like me!” Carlie shouted, and she jumped and skipped around the man in girlhood glee.  “But what does this mean?”

“Mean?  Nothing.  It means nothing at all.  It’s simply six instead of five.  That’s all,” he shouted, and stormed away from the picnic.  The crowd stared in awe as he hurried off.  Carlie’s parents came over to protect their child, but they needn’t have worried.

Most of the villagers, as predicted, were barefooted.  After all, who wanted grass stains on their stockings?  Plus, you couldn’t dip your feet in the cool pond if you had them on.  It stood to reason that anyone with their feet covered was trying to hide something.  But no more.  One by one, everyone with stockings on removed them to reveal the family trait that had been kept hidden for so very long.

Carlie was the first to start laughing and was soon joined by the entire village.

“See Carlie,” her father whispered in her ear as he rubbed her head.  “You are special after all.  Just look what you’ve done.”

“Yes, Father,” she replied, beaming up at him, “I knew it all along.  And you want to know something else?  Six might not be better than five, but it’s the same thing sometimes. Right?”

“Right you are, Carlie. Right you are.”