45
Catherine, nose in her book, made an aggrieved sort of noise. Victoria was on the parlor sofa with her own novel. The baby was sound asleep in her cradle at Victoria's feet. Every now and then she would set the cradle gently rocking with one foot to keep little Mary lulled into slumber.
Victoria glanced over at Catherine, all snug in a pile of blankets and pillows in the window seat. Judging by the small scattering of paper, Catherine had smuggled a few leftover Christmas sweets into her little nest to go along with her book. Outside the window the sky was a pewter gray, heavy with unfallen snow.
"Can you imagine," Catherine remarked with a shake of her head, "being forced to marry some man you don't want to marry? Isn't that just awful? The most dreadful thing?"
A chill shivered all down Victoria's back. She did not enjoy thinking of such things.
"Mm," was all she said in response, and had to clear her throat.
"In this story there's some old rich man and he wants to marry a girl and her parents make her," Catherine said with disgust. "For the money. It's so sad! And she really wants to marry a boy who loves her back. But she can't. Her parents are so terrible. Oh, I hope there's a happy ending, that she ends up with the boy somehow."
Victoria wanted to tell her she was sure that all would come out right, but somehow could not make the words form. Her mind had traveled elsewhere. Years in the past. And yet just like yesterday. Her first wedding.
Victoria resolutely did not think about her brief first marriage. But there were moments when the memories crept in anyway. In the middle of the night, especially. Sometimes she suffered bad dreams, from which she woke in a sweat still certain she could feel a horrible weight upon her or a blade to her throat. When she'd read a novel with a plot such as the one Catherine was describing, she would set it aside. She couldn't bear the memories such tales stirred up in her. Suddenly she was overcome by the urge to sob. She bit it back, literally, her bottom lip between her teeth. It did not help matters that her emotions had not completely recovered after having the baby. Everything was heightened. Her entire body on high alert. She hadn't any of her usual defenses against painful thoughts.
Catherine did not seem to notice her mother's turmoil. She hoisted her book for emphasis as she went on, "I know your marriage was arranged, but you and Father were already in love, so it wasn't quite the same. You wanted to marry anyway. Nobody made you. Right? Mother?"
Victoria didn't have the breath to answer. Her throat felt tight. She stared at the pages of her own book without seeing them, her cheeks warm and cold in waves.
Catherine was only seven. She did not know the whole story. None of the children did. All they knew was that Victor and Victoria's meeting had been arranged, they had fallen in love at once upon being introduced, and were married soon after. That was all they needed to know. At least for now, when they were so little.
No little girl needed to hear about the reality. Of what could happen, if Victoria was not watchful. Of what Victoria was determined would never happen to any of her girls. Forced marriages. Marriage for convenience or status or duty instead of for love. Marriage to a stranger. A complete stranger. A dangerous stranger. Victoria felt the ghost of a grasping, painful hand on her upper arm. Felt a pressure, cold and sharp, against her throat.
"Mother?" Catherine said again, concerned this time. Mary, un-rocked, began to snuffle.
Victoria blinked fast and took a deep breath. To cover what she was sure was her stricken expression she reached down to soothe the baby and set the cradle swaying gently again. With great difficulty she smiled at Catherine.
"Yes, your father and I were very lucky," she said. It was the truth.
"Mother, are you all right?" Catherine asked, sitting up. Her blanket fell away along with a few more sweet wrappers. Her sweet round face was full of worry, her heavy-lashed eyes searching Victoria's face.
"I've...I've come over a little faint," Victoria told her. Again, the truth. "Darling, would you mind the baby, just for a moment? Rock her gently, remember."
"Oh, yes!" Catherine replied, delighted to be so trusted. Unlike her sisters she was enamored of the baby and loved to play little mother. She hopped down from the window seat and knelt by the cradle. Victoria thanked her and stepped quickly out into the hall.
Unsure of what to do but knowing she needed a moment, Victoria stood at the foot of the stairs, hands clutching the newel post. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, deeply.
Her first marriage had been a decade ago. She was alive. She was still here. She was happy. She had all she'd ever wanted. Left weak by how powerful and visceral her emotions had been, she sank down to sit on the bottom stair.
"I've got more paste downstairs, I'll be right back," came Victor's voice from the nursery above. Then she heard his footsteps, and then he was behind her on the stairs.
"Oh," he said, understandably surprised to find her sitting there. Victoria lifted her head to look at him, having almost to lean backwards. He was extra tall standing beside her on the staircase.
"Hello," said Victor, smiling at her. That smile immediately thawed the icy spot in her chest. "We're working on their scrapbooks, and ran out of paste. I might fetch a magazine or two while I'm down as well, Anne's…"
He trailed off. Victoria watched him noticing her expression, her stance, her eyes. His own eyes grew as worried as Catherine's had been a moment ago. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Victoria stood, her limbs stronger and her head clearer now. Calmer, now, that Victor was beside her. Overcome, but in a different, sweeter, safer way than before, she wrapped her arms about him and buried her face in his chest. Soon enough she felt his arms go around her, keeping her warm and close. She pressed her nose into his coat and breathed him in.
She was here. She was loved. They were together. Happily ever after.
"Nothing is wrong," she replied into his coat, not bothering to raise her head.
"Oh," said Victor, bemused. "If you say so."
They stood embracing on the step, Victoria listening to Victor's heart, holding him close, feeling his chin against the top of her head and his hands on her back.
The sound of fussing came from the parlor. Catherine made gentle shushing sounds, but to no avail. From upstairs Lydia called, "Father, could you please bring two pots of paste, and the big scissors?"
Victoria pulled away reluctantly and looked into Victor's face. That face. Those eyes. Again she wanted to cry. Instead she stepped up a couple of stairs so that she was at face level with Victor. Tenderly she held his face in her hands, just as he'd done to her so many years ago. And many times since. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, closing her eyes to savor the sweet feelings washing through her. All too soon she reluctantly pulled away.
"Thank you," she said. She kissed him once more, on the cheek this time, and then released him. "I must let you fetch your paste."
Victor was giving her a confused sort of look, studying her closely, but then he grinned again. "You're welcome," he told her. "I'll let you see to the baby."
Off down the hall he went, looking back at her just once. Victoria managed a smile. A real one. With one more deep breath, she felt cleansed and comforted.
Back in the parlor, she thanked Catherine and plucked Mary out of the cradle. She settled the baby securely on one shoulder, and then pulled Catherine close in a one-armed hug.
"You are a dear, sweet girl," she told her, stroking her hair. "So good with the baby, and such a help to me."
"Thank you," Catherine said, pleased and proud, a blush in her cheeks.
"Would you like to help me tend the baby?" Victoria asked, "or would you prefer to read your book?"
Catherine glanced at her abandoned reading nest, thinking. Then she looked back up at Victoria with the pure sunshine that she always seemed to radiate.
"I'll help with the baby," she replied. "My book was making me sad. I'd rather be happy."
Victoria smiled down at her in complete agreement and understanding. Together they went upstairs, leaving the unhappy story forgotten.