On one of Arthur's visits when Isaac was a couple months old, Arthur and Eliza were awoken by his crying in the middle of the night from the next room. Lying on his belly, Arthur immediately groaned and grumbled, covering his head with the pillow. Next to him he felt Eliza get out of bed and heard her breathe, but it didn't sound like a sigh.
After a few minutes he got up and went to see how they were getting on. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her shush their son against her shoulder, quickly appeasing him with her lovely melodic humming and rhythmic pats, and he began to drift back to sleep.
Arthur looked at her in the moonlight: golden hair about her shoulders and unkempt, dressed in nothing but one of his button-downs but still drowning in it, the cloth ending at the tops of her thighs. She was so young, and for a moment he felt a pang of guilt for robbing her of her youth. But even so, where she was now seemed to suit her, and she seemed contented.
When she placed Isaac back in his crib he whispered, "Hey."
Eliza looked over to see Arthur standing in his long johns with his hand out.
"Come here," he whispered with a tilt of his head.
"What's this?" she put her hand in his.
He grinned. "Well, just 'cause I don't know how to dance don't mean you shouldn't be danced with." He watched her eyes light up with a smile as he brought her by the hand to him. "You ever see those ragtime players?" he said, beginning to dip and toss her like a boat.
"Oof, ow," she said when he stepped on her foot. She looked up at him with an raggedy smile. "We can go slow, Arthur."
He nodded. "All right." Keeping one of her hands in his, he brought the other to the small of her back, and the two swayed back and forth.
He began humming a slow romance tune she didn't recognize with his low, gravelly voice, and a comfortable grin took up residence on her face. She felt herself relax in his arms as their bellies brushed together. After a few minutes like that she heard him whisper.
"Can I tell you somethin'?" he said.
"Hm?"
"That experiment you cooked tonight was a real bust."
She let a rumbling laugh come through her nose.
"Couldn't stomach it. I mean, usually you're a wonderful cook, but that? It was awful. Just terrible."
She chuckled and let her forehead fall to his chest. She looked up at him with a smile. "I'll do ya one in return, Mr. Honesty Hour."
"Oh yeah?"
"You should leave the singing to the professionals." She couldn't keep herself from mumbling a giggle when she saw his expression.
"Oh-ho! That so?" he chuckled. "Like you?"
She nodded. "Isaac sure seems to think so."
"Well, you got me there."
She grinned and pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling his warmth through the soft fabric of his worn long johns and running her arms around his middle.
.
The next evening when they heard Isaac cry again in the middle of the night, Eliza moved to get up, but Arthur rested a hand on her arm. "I got him."
Dazed, she watched as he got up and left the room. After a few minutes she had to assure herself that she'd seen correct. She got up and went to Isaac's room to find Arthur patting him gently against his shoulder, just as she'd done the night before.
Arthur looked down and took in the smell of his son—a light, warm smell that no one else in his world had. He gently rested a hand to his tiny back and felt him breathe softly against his chest—in and out, in and out. He listened to him smack his lips and tongue as he slept, slumping his cheek against his shoulder. He was so fragile and helpless—needing someone there to help him do everything, even sleep. The thought gently brushed his mind that every human came into the world this way, vulnerable and dependent, in need of protection and patience—from the meek and mild to the gruff and bold—even himself. Maybe it's to teach us something about compassion, he thought.
When he saw her at the threshold he whispered, "It occurred to me the other night that…lovin' someone good and proper is hard work. You're the one up and down at all hours, and doin' every other thing. Didn't seem right for me not to help out when I can, when I'm here."
Eliza smiled and let her head rest against the doorjamb as she watched him pat and hush their son with sweet nothings.
She loved him. God, she loved him. She couldn't help herself. There were times he was so easy to love.
