X. Eight Months
Victor had the habit of waking up periodically during the night, and tonight, even though he'd been sleeping soundly, was no different. He rolled over, half-awake, and put his arm around Victoria. After a moment, he realized there was something wrong. After moving his arm around for a bit, he realized that Victoria wasn't next to him.
"Victoria?" he asked sleepily. As he slowly came to, he noticed that there was a lamp lit. He looked around the room, and his eyes finally came to rest on Victoria, who was sitting in her small armchair near the window in her nightgown, furiously knitting.
"Victoria?" Victor asked again, pulling himself into a sitting position and running a hand over his eyes.
"I need to finish these blankets," Victoria murmured, bent over her work. "I haven't got nearly enough." Victor stared for a moment, then squinted at the clock on the dresser.
"It's two o'clock in the morning," he said, concerned. "How long have you been up?"
"I haven't been to bed yet."
Victor thought back. Usually he was the one who stayed up half the night. But that day had been rather exhausting, what with finishing up the nursery and all. Hauling furniture up a flight of stairs, even with Mr. Reed's help, was no joke. Victor had fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd been between the covers...that must have been around ten or so. He'd just assumed Victoria had come to bed, as well.
But no, there she was, knitting away. Despite what she'd just said about lacking blankets, there was a pile of them on the small table next to the lamp, along with a few baby-sized caps and little booties. Victoria had obviously been at it for quite a while. The wrap that she wore over her nightgown was slipping from her shoulders, and there were faint shadows under her eyes. She must have been a little cold--the fire had long since burned down, and the bedroom was very chilly. Maybe that was why she looked so drawn. Victor was about to mention it when Victoria spoke.
"Do you know what I realized today?" she asked, letting the knitting needles fall into her lap. Clasping her hands over her middle and looking wide-eyed at the floor, she continued, "I realized that I haven't given my hair a good washing in at least three weeks."
It took Victor a moment to try and come up with an answer to that. He hadn't noticed anything amiss about her hair lately. Besides that, he couldn't see what her hair had to do with the fact that she was out of bed and knitting at two in the morning. He looked at her, sitting there looking so forlorn, wondering what he could say to make her feel better.
"I haven't noticed," Victor finally replied honestly. "Your hair looks nice. It always does." But that obviously wasn't the response Victoria was looking for. She lifted her head and looked over at him.
"But that isn't the point at all!" she said, waving her hands about her face the way she always did when she was agitated. This was beginning to get a little weird, in Victor's opinion--perhaps he was dreaming. Usually he could keep up just fine with whatever Victoria was talking about, but at the moment he was at a complete loss. What was she so upset about?
"It's...not?" Victor asked carefully, not wanting to upset her further. In response Victoria shook her head, making the stray strands of hair that had escaped from her braid whip about her face. She was starting to look just a little...well, crazed.
"No, it's not. Oh, Victor," Victoria said, holding her hands against her chest. The forgotten knitting slid from her lap and fell to the floor. Her face was all scrunched up, and her cheeks had gone a bit pinker than usual. Victor was dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open as he stared at her, waiting for her to continue. He had never seen her in a state like this.
"Oh, Victor," she repeated, and took a deep breath. "I can't even keep track of my own hair. How am I going to take care of a baby? How can I be someone's mother if I can't even remember to wash my own hair?" That last came out in the most despondent, pitiful tone that Victor had ever heard.
Victor watched, still staring open-mouthed, as Victoria buried her face in her hands and burst into loud tears. He was just slightly terrified. Victoria never cried. She might get misty-eyed now and then, but dramatic displays like this one were very unlike her. Victor always thought of Victoria's emotions as being sort of like a boiler. And she had a very tight grip on the release valve, with a tendency to keep all of the steam firmly within its proper boundaries. Whenever she was under pressure, she'd lean on the valve a little harder. Surely, explosions now and then were to be expected. But it had never happened before--or if it had, Victoria had made sure to never let him see it.
"Oh, Victoria," he said, throwing the covers aside and getting out of bed. He crossed the room to stand next to her chair. For a moment he stood there, feeling useless. Then Victor reached out and pulled her carefully to him. Gently, he held her head against his middle, running one hand over her hair. Victoria reached up and held his forearm, pressing her face against him, still crying. This was one of those times where Victor was pretty sure he didn't need to say anything--he just needed to stand there, to be present. So for a minute or two he just let Victoria cry, keeping up a rhythm of stroking her hair and rocking gently back and forth.
"I'm not ready," she finally said, her voice muffled as she spoke into his nightshirt. "I cannot do this...I'm simply not ready." Suddenly she tightened her grip on his arm. "I should be ready, I'm supposed to be ready...but Victor...I'm frightened."
"Of what, darling?" Victor asked gently, knowing how much it took for her to admit that she was afraid of something. Victoria had to take a shuddering breath before she answered. When she did, the words came out in a teary rush.
"What if...what if something goes wrong? I don't know what to expect--that frightens me. Suppose...suppose something awful happens? What will I do? What will you do?"
"Nothing's going to go wrong," Victor said firmly, looking down at the top of her head.
"But we don't know that."
That stopped Victor for a moment. No, they didn't know for sure--how could they? What could he say to reassure her?
"No, we don't know for certain," he finally said. "But we can't spend our time worrying about it, can we? You'll be all right." He paused. I, of all people, he thought, have just told someone not to spend their time worrying.
"You'll be all right, Victoria," Victor repeated, trying to make his tone as reassuring as he possibly could. "We'll all be fine." Then, grinning a little, he said, "I mean, you're as sturdy as a French pony, remember?"
The words had their intended effect--Victoria gave a muffled, watery little chuckle. Finally she pulled back, wiping her eyes. Soon enough she had managed to pull herself together a bit, and she looked up at him with a watery smile before glancing away again.
"That was quite the production, wasn't it?" she asked through a wavery laugh. She took a deep breath. "I'm all right now."
"I think you needed that," Victor told her. He brushed some of the wayward strands of hair out of her eyes. "Why not come to bed now?"
Victoria nodded. Gently, Victor took her by the elbows and eased her out of her chair. After seeing her into bed, he put out the lamp. Within moments they were snugly side-by-side, huddled under the covers against the chill. After a while, Victoria gave a sigh, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
"It won't be long now," she whispered.
"No, it won't be," Victor replied, returning the squeeze. With a bit of difficulty, Victoria managed to turn on her side, her back to him. Following her movement, Victor spooned himself against her back, his face in her hair.
"We'll be fine," Victoria said, sounding as though she were reassuring herself more than him.
"We'll be fine," Victor repeated.
Even for all that, it was quite a while before either of them fell asleep.
