Chapter 2

Nearly fifty years ago, on a day as bleak as this one, Emm had raced into the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Izora, eight months pregnant with their first child, was resting her swollen belly against the pitted, grimy counter. He slowly waved the Toronto Daily Star in front of her pinched face so she could see the headline: “Rich Eccentric’s Will Promises Fortune to Woman Having Most Babies in Ten Years.” Izora turned off the water and listened as he read her the article.

The estate of Charles Vance Millar will pay a grand prize to the woman who gives birth in Toronto to the greatest number of children, as registered under the Vital Statistics Act, in the decade following his death on October 31, 1926. Mr. Millar, who has no heirs, described his will as “necessarily uncommon and capricious” and “proof of my folly in gathering and retaining more than I required in my lifetime.” The prize, now worth $100,000, is to be invested, with the actual award based on its value at the time the winner is declared. In the event of a tie, the prize will be equally divided. Ladies (and the gentlemen who service them), on your marks, get set, the Great Stork Derby has begun.

The rest of the article described how Millar, an oddball real estate investor and barrister, delighted in exposing greed. A favorite prank was to leave dollar bills on the sidewalk and watch passersby furtively pocket them. His will also awarded shares in the Ontario Jockey Club to pillars of the community who railed against gambling, and deeded joint ownership of a house in Jamaica to three fellow lawyers who detested each other, provided they lived in it together.

“Goodness,” Izora laughed. “I can’t tell if Mr. Millar was meaner, crazier, or simply had a weirder sense of humor than average.”

“Whichever, he was certainly richer.” Emm wrapped his arms around his wife, just barely. “Honey, what if we went after the prize and got rich too? With our first due next month, we’ve got a head start.”

The baby kicked, and Izora moved Emm’s hands so he could feel that restlessness too. They smiled at the moving bump in her belly. “I don’t know, Emm. We both want a family, but shouldn’t we take it slower? If we lose, we’ll be stuck with more mouths to feed than we can afford. Or than we want.” Izora had only one brother, whereas Emm had three brothers and two sisters. Izora pictured them having something in between.

“My parents weren’t rich, but we managed. Besides, it was fun growing up in a madhouse with six kids. Always someone to play with. Or fight with. Or drive my folks crazy with.” Emm pressed his hands against his wife’s stomach, but the baby had settled down. He watched Izora stare past the doorway—to two bedrooms and a sitting room—then back to the eat-in kitchen. “Just think about everything we’ll be able to give our children when we win the prize money.”

She frowned. “IF we win. Even supposing we do, where would we raise them all in the meantime?”

“By the time our second child is born, I’ll buy us a place of our own.” Izora often accused Emm of talking big, but it was also one of the things that attracted her to him. He played on that magnetism now. “I was going to wait until we were snuggled in bed to tell you, but I’ll spill the beans early to convince you I can take care of things.” Emm spread a fistful of dollars on the table. “Mr. Withers did the books this afternoon and promoted me to foreman. Toaster sales are up twenty percent and exports could triple next year.”

“Oh, Emm. That’s wonderful.” Izora clapped. The baby wriggled again.

“Now we can start to save money every month.” Emm thrust out his stomach and waddled, anticipating the smile his wife usually bestowed when he imitated her condition.

Instead, Izora eased into a chair and kneaded her lower back. “It sounds exciting, but I’m worried. We could end up jinxing this baby before it’s even born by planning the next one.”

“And the next, and the next!” Emm tried to pull his wife into a standing position so he could dance her around the table. When she resisted, he shimmied across the kitchen by himself. “Where’s the spunky girl I married?” He and Izora grinned at each other. They both knew she’d never been spunky. Determined, yes, but cautious in contrast to his devil-may-care spirit.

“Ask me again in a month, Emm, after we’re sure our first baby is born healthy.”

Emm gave her a thumbs up and turned to the paper’s racing page. “Mr. Millar had a good head for business. Maybe I should invest our savings in the Ontario Jockey Club.”