So her heart can soften, which is a lucky thing. And I do enjoy getting my hands dirty in the kitchen and the garden, which may help bring her view of me around.
I should have unpacked and rested, but I gain a sense of company when I confide my doings here. Without Charlotte, I have no other true companion—apart from the sun, which is the most faithful friend of every creature and growing thing. Now it sets, filling the window at the foot of my bed, pouring its glow over these words, bringing a measure of ease to a worried mother’s heart.
*
Henry woke me, calling out in hunger. My heart thumped wildly and my throat narrowed, for I thought his cry was Charlotte’s, and she’d been stolen from my side. I shot up in bed and banged my head on the sloped ceiling—a rough way to come to one’s senses. Out the window the moon was visible, hot and yellow, staring in like a single eyeball.
Henry’s calls were rising in pitch. Clementina had said never to let them disturb her. I pushed the covers back, turned sideways, and planted my feet on the cold planks. Shivering, I lit a candle and scuttled to the second story. I nursed and changed him, startled at his thinness, then laid him back in his crib. From his big feet and hands, I guessed that one day he’d tower over me. I paused to watch his rib cage rise and fall beneath his clothes, marveling at the ease with which he sank into sleep and pleased by the slight improvement in his pallor.
Yet back in my room, I’m ridden with guilt. I give my care to a stranger while Charlotte has been stripped of the love she needs and rightfully owns. She may even be wailing for me, unheeded, at this moment.
Who is this Gerda? I won’t know for thirteen days.
Dear Lord, please give my baby a kind face that peers down at her, a lilting voice that soothes her cries, rich milk that fills her belly….
In the darkness of this slant-roofed room, miles from the one who needs me most, I’m unable to find a reassuring thought.
I recall the counsel Paul gave to the Corinthians: “Be watchful, stand firm in thy faith, be courageous, be strong.”
“And go to sleep while thee can,” my mother whispers inside me.
Charlotte’s dear countenance comes into my mind, first with its features pressed together by the rigors of birth, then growing smoother and more distinct, then showing the glinting eyes and smile she gave at feeling her first breeze….
Fourth Month 19
I’ll be in need of much humility in this household.
Two of Clementina’s friends were coming to tea. In preparation, she had me dress Henry in his best lace shirt, petticoat, and slip, and told me not to swaddle him. When the ladies rang the bell and were announced by Margaret, he was nursing avidly. But his mother had me detach him and carry him down the back stairs while he burrowed against me, seeking darkness.
I joined the women in the foyer, where Clementina kissed her friends—“Letitia! Marie!”
Exclaiming with gladness, they shed their feather-laden hats and light cloaks into Margaret’s arms.
“Let me see the little fellow!” said Letitia. She was the tall and dark-haired one. Her cheekbones were raised high and her mouth was open with pleased anticipation.
“Do let us look,” echoed the shorter and plumper Marie.
Clementina gestured for me to lift him. I did so. Their smiles fell; they must have been startled by his anxious, big-featured face. Then Henry scowled and emitted some half-digested milk that landed on Marie’s silk-covered shoe.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Marie, observing her shoe in dismay.
“Margaret!” Clementina called. She glared at me as if I’d done the spitting up until Margaret ran in. “Clean this for Mrs. Forman.”
Marie handed the shoe to Margaret, doubtful.
“Let’s have some tea,” called Clementina, aiming to restore the festive atmosphere, and the ladies moved into the parlor, with Marie hobbling unevenly behind. They sat at a small round table to one side of the room. I found a settee nearby, where Henry began to root into my chest, leaving wet spots on my gray bodice. I’ve managed to fit into some of my plain clothes, and I’m combining them with the finer pieces Delphinia selected so as to be less of a spectacle.
Not that anyone would notice my clothing in a parlor such as theirs. The walls contain portraits of relatives who look out with fixed expressions, fierce or stern; the wallpaper behind them is riotous with stripes and flowers. Carved lintels adorn the window frames, and wide, ornate moldings follow the ceiling’s perimeter. A mirror half the height of the room reflects the large parlor dome on a stand before it. Inside the clear glass dome, stuffed tropical birds cavort on branches, trapped in false joy.
The women settled into their seats, arranging skirts and bodices. I sensed a pall caused by Henry’s unwell condition, but perhaps I misperceived, for the visitors made no mention of it.
“What a lovely table!” said Letitia. Before them sat the two fruit tarts and the pile of sweet buns that Frau Varschen and I had prepared.
“Scrumptious,” concurred Marie. To my amusement, she blew a kiss at the confections.
Clementina was unimpressed. “Margaret!”
The girl came in flustered, her freckled cheeks pink against the bounteous brown curls peeking from her cap. “If you’ll forgive me, I’ve treated the stain, but the silk—”
“Never mind.” Clementina waved her hand to the side. “We’ll find another pair tomorrow. Serve our tea.”
Margaret’s face was impassive as she poured and served. She must be used to such roughness. But I’m not, and I feared becoming its next target. For Henry had begun to moan, wanting into my clothing. Then he began to cry outright.
“Have you been to the new Frank Harvey play at the Olympic Theater?” Letitia asked Marie, overriding Henry. “The Wages of Sin. It’s splendid! The costumes! And the story, bien s?r, pure heartbreak.” She put one hand over her chest and lifted her tea with the other to take a delicate sip. “A young woman should have married a good man who loved her, but she distrusted him and sank into vice by marrying a cad.”
“I wish I could go,” Marie said. “With my husband sick, I’ve cut back on outings. But there’s nothing like a good production to bring one’s feelings to the fore.” She bit into a tart and gave its shiny fruits an appreciative look as she chewed.
“Have you been, Clementina?” Letitia said.
Clementina brought her attention to the table briefly. “I’m reviewing it for The Herald. I found it trifling. The same story of a foolish woman who steps outside the bounds allowed her, only to be ruined by a man. I’d prefer it if she’d triumphed.”
Inwardly, I couldn’t help but agree.
“Of course,” said Letitia tightly. “It’s the opposite of what you did in marrying Albert. You wanted to marry a cad but ended up with a good, educated man who loves you.”
Clementina stiffened; Marie’s face darkened.
“He wasn’t a cad,” said Clementina, “he was an actor. He loved me.”