16
"Oh, just look at you," Victoria breathed. "You lovely little thing."
This baby really was lovely, in a different way than Liddie had been. She was as plump and rosy as Lydia had been thin and pale. She had a few tiny wisps of extremely fair hair. And her birth, while not easy, had certainly taken less time than Lydia's. Only half the day. She'd made herself known just after lunch the day before and Dr. Van Ekel had delivered her mid-evening.
It was a mild day for December. Bright noon sun shone through the bedroom windows. Victoria and the baby, both fresh and clean and fed, were alone at last to rest a bit. Victoria was reclining against a mountain of pillows in bed. The baby was sleeping in her arms, all swaddled up and topped with a knit cap.
"Just look at these cheeks," she whispered, running the back of her finger down the baby's face. Another little girl. It was strange and superstitious, but somehow Victoria had been sure she was going to have a boy. Not that it really mattered. Except for the name.
Liddie's name had been talked over endlessly. As the first child, everything about Lydia had been discussed endlessly. This time around, especially with a toddler about, Victoria had had a few moments where she'd practically forgotten she was expecting altogether. Since she'd been expecting a Charles or a George, she did not have a name at the front of her mind for this lovely new baby.
"You're not an Olive, I don't think," said Victoria. That name had been Victor's only suggestion. Goodness knew where it had come from. "Olivia, perhaps? Amelia?"
There was a knock at the door. The baby fidgeted and scowled at the noise, but did not open her eyes. Victor and Lydia stood in the doorway.
"May we come in?" he asked. He had a restraining finger hooked into the collar of Lydia's dress, as was his habit. Victoria's, too. Short of a leash it was the only way to get Liddie to stay where one wanted her.
"Of course you may!" said Victoria. She'd not seen Liddie since lunchtime the day before. "I'm so happy to see you, Liddie. Come, come here."
Lydia had been walking with confidence for months—she'd only turned one in October. Now, after Victor set her loose, she trotted happily to the bed, reaching out for her mother. Victor followed close behind, meeting Victoria's gaze with a warm, happy look. He'd met his new daughter very late last night, just after she'd arrived. He'd been more confident this time around as well, and had even held her a bit-something he'd been far too nervous to do with brand-new Lydia.
"Ma," said Liddie, and Victoria's heart swelled. She held out one arm, and Lydia scrambled up onto the bed with a small boost from her father. Victoria pulled her in close, her other arm cradling the newborn. Liddie's hair smelled of damp winter air, and her cheeks were cool. Victor perched on the edge of the bed next to Liddie, and there they all were, all four of them, for the first time. She smiled at Victor over Liddie's head, and he ran his palm over her hair affectionately.
"Look, Lydia," said Victoria. She tilted her arm so that the baby was more visible. "This is your sister. Catherine." The name, one Victoria had always been fond of, had simply popped out of her mouth. Now that it was said, that was that. This was Catherine. It seemed to fit.
But Lydia was playing with the coverlet, lifting it to her face, giggling, setting it down again, and then repeating the process. Victor, though, glanced at her.
"If you don't mind," Victoria added, and he shook his head with a smile.
"Not at all," he said. "I like it. Lydia, meet Catherine."
Liddie lowered the coverlet and looked at Catherine briefly, head cocked slightly to the side. She looked up at Victor.
"Steam?" she asked. "Icy steam?"
There was a brief pause while Victor blinked, confused. Victoria glanced between them. Icy steam? she wondered vaguely, too tired to think. She leaned back on her pillows, cradling Catherine close.
"Oh!" Victor said at last. "The stream. The ice on the stream. We went for a walk this morning," he explained to Victoria. "She liked watching the bits of ice floating on the stream."
"Steam," Liddie repeated. "Peas." And with that she scrambled backward over Victor's lap and slid down to the floor.
"Wouldn't you like to say hello to your sister?" Victoria asked, but Lydia had already taken Victor's hand and turned to go.
"Icy steam," she said over her shoulder, too keen to wait. Victor offered an apologetic look and a quick kiss on the cheek before he was tugged away.
"Sorry," he said. "We'll see you later. Or I will, at least. Have a good sleep, Catherine."
"Steam!" cried Liddie, annoyed.
"Yes, yes, coming, coming, Lydia."
They were gone. Victoria and Catherine were alone again. That hadn't gone quite the way Victoria had imagined it. When Lydia was born, she and Victor had sat enamored of her for ages, hardly sleeping, hardly distracted by anything else. This time would be different, she was realizing. Oh, she hoped she had enough for two daughters.
"Of course I do. I must," she assured herself, and the baby, aloud. "Lovely little Catherine."
17
The clock on the parlor mantel struck three. Victoria glanced up, then put aside the needlework she'd been picking at. Victor was at the piano. He was wearing an old blue gansey sweater that had been his father's, as he often did of a cool, rainy Sunday. She liked it on him. The fit suited him nicely.
"I'd best go wake the children," she said. He nodded, concentrating on the piece he was playing. It was soft and low and had an aching sort of feel to it, whatever it was. Fitting, somehow, for early September.
Victoria stopped to listen. When was the last time she'd actually listened, closely and attentively, while he played? She stayed at his shoulder, looking at his profile, swept up by the music. She could have been eighteen again, meeting him for the first time. Emotion swelled up in her chest, making her warm and leaving her with the oddest desire to cry.
When the piece was done, he turned to look at her. Victoria took his face in her hands and kissed him.
A deep, soulful kiss. The one she'd been giving him in her imagination the first time she laid eyes on him. Certainly not a kiss for the parlor at three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. Victor stiffened with surprise at first, but quickly relaxed and put his hands to her waist.
Letting her hands stray up into his hair, she leaned against him heavily, before easing herself onto his lap. They held each other so close she fancied she could feel the cables of his sweater through her shirtwaist. Still the kiss went on, even when she accidentally bumped her hip into the piano and played a soft chord.
At last, Victoria broke the kiss. She twined her arms around his neck. The clock ticking was the only sound in the room aside from their breathing.
"Oh...well...my...thank you," he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
"My pleasure," she replied. With reluctance, and one more quick peck on the lips, she got up. Victor let his hand linger on her hip until she was out of reach.
She stood at the pocket doors leading to the entry. She listened to the comfortable silence. Catherine always mewled when she woke up, and Lydia sang songs to herself. Both were always perfectly audible from the parlor. They must still be deeply asleep.
Behind her Victor cleared his throat and closed the keyboard cover. The sofa creaked as he sat down. She fiddled with the door handle, taking another listen.
They need their rest, Victoria decided. I so dislike disturbing them. And she slid the doors shut.
"Weren't you going to wake the children?" Victor asked from the sofa.
"I think they will be all right for a few more minutes," she told him, and settled herself onto his lap.