22
"I've never had a pet before," Victoria remarked, gently running her fingers along the kitten's small gray back. The kitten's eyes were closed in bliss, its purr vibrating its little sides. "Too dirty. Mother always said animals didn't belong indoors."
"My mother said the same," Victor said. He scratched gently at the kitten's ears. "She never liked my dog. I was lucky Father overruled her when it came to Scraps. He was a good dog."
They were sitting together on the sofa in the parlor after dinner, the kitten sprawled on Victoria's lap. The children were long since asleep. That afternoon Victor had, quite spur of the moment, decided to bring home a kitten he'd found at the cannery. It had been so small and alone. He'd felt terrible for it. Especially since Mr. Visser had been on the warpath against the cats with his water bucket. And he'd so missed having a pet since he'd lost Scraps.
Luckily for him, Victoria had been as delighted with the cat as he was. And the cat had been delighted with her. It had hardly left her lap ever since it had come home. When she'd gone upstairs with the children to bathe them and put them to bed, the kitten had wandered about the downstairs mewing piteously, ignoring Victor's offers of canned whitefish and a cuddle. It had waited until she was back to eat, as though it had needed her support.
Victoria smiled, perhaps remembering, as he was, Scraps' heroic turn in the church on that long ago night. "I'm sure he was. It must have been nice to have a companion. I was always very lonely as a girl. I would have loved a cat. Or a dog."
Victor put an arm around her, pulling her a bit closer. The kitten rolled over luxuriously. When Victoria put her fingertips to its soft belly, it kneaded the air with tiny paws. Victoria's smile was enormous.
"Two babies at once, though," Victor said, thinking of little Anne, only three months old. The baby, like the kitten was shaping up to be, was also nearly always attached to Victoria. "I didn't think of that."
"Oh, but aren't cats wonderfully independent?" Victoria asked, stroking the kitten's chin. "Getting their own food and keeping to themselves?"
"They're meant to be," Victor told her. He eyed the kitten uncertainly, remembering the china plate of fish and the sorry, lonely mewing. "I've never had one."
Suddenly, as though struck by a thought, the kitten's eyes flew open and it hopped to its feet. It reached with a paw to test Victor's leg, as though afraid it wouldn't hold if stepped upon. After accepting a scratch on the underside of its chin, it started climbing Victoria's front, holding onto her dress with tiny claws.
"Oh my!" Victoria cried, half-laughing. She tried to pull the kitten away, but it would not be moved. So she let it climb until it was nestled in her shoulder, its small nose buried in her neck. After a moment the purring started again. Victoria put a hand over the kitten, stroking its soft fur. "This is silly, but I'm so pleased that it likes me."
"Of course it does, you're wonderful with babies," Victor grinned. He wrapped his other arm about Victoria as well, resting his cheek against her hair. She laid her free hand on his chest, cuddling the kitten close with the other.
Victor sighed contentedly, soothed by the kitten's purring and Victoria's warmth in his arms.
23
Despite the baby sleeping reliably through the night now, Victoria still woke like clockwork at three o'clock each night. Tonight was no different. It was late September and already quite chilly, so when she checked on Anne in her cradle she made sure to tuck the baby in more securely. Not a peep nor a rustle. Victoria leaned over and dropped a gentle kiss on the baby's cheek.
Feet already cold, Victoria slipped back into bed beside Victor. He'd not stirred. He was curled up on his side with his back to her. Hoping not to wake him, she edged closer and tucked her knees behind his, sliding her arm around his middle to hold him close. Their height difference meant that her face was roughly between his shoulder blades, but she didn't mind. Victoria nuzzled her face into his back, his worn pajamas soft against her nose. Warm and content, she went so far as to kiss him between his shoulder blades.
Still, he didn't move, but kept breathing deeply and evenly. Victoria held him close and let the sound of his breath lull her back to sleep.
24
Victor and Lydia still made a habit of spending time together in the evenings after he'd returned from work. While Victoria tended the younger girls upstairs, Liddie and Victor went downstairs to his study. Impossible as it was for him to believe, Lydia had just passed her fourth birthday. He remembered very well all of those evenings spent with her in the nursery, when she'd squeal and laugh and pull his hair. The memory made him smile, but it was tinged with melancholy. She was growing up very quickly. He missed the baby that she'd been.
Not that he didn't love the little girl she was now. Oh, Lydia was scarily smart, extraordinarily confident, and remarkably independent. None of these had been inherited from him, he was positive. On the outside, though, her paternity was clear. He'd thought she might grow out of her resemblance to him, but the likeness had only grown as she'd gotten older. Sometimes it was eerie, but mostly it warmed his heart to have his little girl look so much like him.
Tonight Lydia, already in her nightgown and robe and her long dark hair freshly brushed, was sitting on Victor's lap in his armchair beside the study fireplace. They'd been reading together from a new book Lydia had received for her birthday, a profusely illustrated collection of stories and poems from some children's magazine or other. Lydia was so tall now that he could no longer see over the top of her head to read, another change that left him with an odd sense of loss.
Right in the middle of a piece about the boyhood of Dickens, Lydia pushed the book closed and turned to him.
"I want to read grown-up books," she announced. When Victor cocked an eyebrow at her, she amended, "I would like to read a grown-up book, please."
"Much better," Victor told her, tousling her hair to make her smile. Gladly he set the picture book aside, and then looked at the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. When he rubbed his chin in thought, Lydia aped him.
"Let's see, a grown-up book," he said. Liddie slid off of his lap and took his hand.
"Please pick me up to look," Lydia said, minding her manners. Grinning, Victor scooped her up and stood with her before the shelves. He allowed her to run a small hand over the spines as he thought.
He didn't have much that would make for good reading aloud. Victor's side of the shelves were filled mostly with scientific journals, travel accounts, and wildlife guides. Besides, Lydia had already thoroughly investigated those, enjoying the illustrations and feeling of "serious" reading. But Victoria's side might have something.
Together they scanned the shelves. Once out of her mother's house, Victoria had indulged her new freedom to read whatever she liked with a vengeance, and she'd built quite a collection over the past few years. Wells, Hugo, Oliphant, Dickens, Gaskell, Stevenson, Eliot, Gissing…
"This one!" Lydia said, reaching out a hand. Victor hoisted her a bit so that she could pluck a light-blue volume from the shelf. "It's blue, I like it."
"Sherlock Holmes?" Victor asked, glancing at the cover. He glanced at his daughter, thrilled and entranced by the grown-up book. Never having read them, Victor was uncertain of their appropriateness for a four-year-old girl. "You're sure?"
"Oh yes," Lydia nodded once, smartly. "I like this."
Well, Victoria read them, so they must be all right, Victor decided. He sat back down and settled Liddie in his lap again, and then began to read. Very soon they were both completely absorbed, so much that they jumped when Victoria came to collect Liddie for bed.
"We borrowed your book, I hope you don't mind," Victor said after he'd kissed Lydia goodnight and she'd gone upstairs. Victoria glanced at the cover and smiled.
"Not at all," she said. "Liddie's very precocious, isn't she?"
"Very," Victor agreed. He set the book on his desk, ready for tomorrow evening, if Liddie was still interested. He stretched, ran a hand through his hair, and then realized that Victoria was lingering in the doorway, gazing at him fondly.
"What?" he asked, going up to her and leaning against the doorframe. She looked up at him in that way of hers he liked, up from under her eyelashes. He smiled down at her, waiting.
"You're very good to read with Lydia," Victoria told him. She reached for him, wrapping her arms about him and leaning her head to his chest briefly. "I believe it's the high-water mark of her day. She loves you very much."
Victor warmed with pleasure at her words. He put a hand to her waist. "I love her, too," he replied simply.
Together they climbed the stairs toward the nursery to tuck the children in properly. Halfway up Victoria said, "I like your Dr. Watson voice."
Victor felt himself blush. "I didn't realize you were listening," he said, a bit embarrassed. He'd gotten very involved in narrating once he'd realized how much it amused Lydia.
"Only a little," she assured him. "It's a nice voice. Very deep."
This last had the merest hint of flirtatiousness to it. Victor warmed again in an altogether different way. "I'm glad you liked it," he replied, pitching his voice about an octave lower and shifting his cadence just a bit.
Victoria put a hand to her heart and gave him that heavy-lidded look again. "Oh, yes, that's lovely."
They managed just a quick kiss in the hallway before the children started calling for them, but it was enough.