The first gray light of morning had not yet stroked the high stone turrets. The bedroom, which faced west, was darkened even more by heavy draperies, which hung motionless. Neither beam nor breeze had stirred her from her gentle slumber, but Myrnie Grayeson was instantly and intensely alert. A twisted bird, she lay in the immense nest that was her carved teak bed. Fully awake, she smiled and contemplated her success.
“Today I will wear the crown!”
Her thin frame twitched with pleasure. She turned toward the pillow next to hers, experiencing her habitual moment of surprise when she realized her husband's form was not beside her. Slowly, painfully, her misshapen arm reached out and rested on his undisturbed pillow. In her mind, she spoke to him.
Most beloved husband, I feel our hearts communicating across the vast expanse that separates us. Perhaps you have already set aside your duties, knowing that today—yes, I sense it will be today—you will be a father, and I will wear the crown of motherhood!
Today, I too can love this broken frame as you, dearest Godfrey, have loved it lo these many years. Today, I too can cherish this formerly useless vessel, for I am about to become as productive as any wife through eons of ages. I am suffused with joy, dear husband!
As if the activity of her thoughts might stir the sleeping occupants of her womb, she lifted the comforter and peered at her mounded belly. Her focused gaze was interrupted by a subtle tightening of the muscles around her distended naval. This was the alarm that brought her from her slumbers! The maternal timepiece, mysterious in its machinations, was tolling the hour of her delivery!
The spasm faded. Had she really felt the first pangs of labor, or could this be a wave of imagination prompted by her desire to birth these predicted twins? This was no time to permit flights of fancy. Surely she could trust the wings of motherhood, even though hers were as yet untried. Resolutely she quieted her thoughts, focusing instead on the plump Adelia.
Years ago, in a short-lived frenzy of hope, the matronly woman had been hired to be midwife and nanny. She had stayed on even after that first pregnancy ended so sadly and prematurely. The caring, experienced Adelia had commented only yesterday that the babies’ stirrings had lessened.
“If you will trust yourself to my counsel, Mrs. Grayeson, I predict a week at most. Your wee babies are resting now and preparing themselves for an immense adventure.”
Thus reassured, Myrnie Grayeson settled herself deeper into her downy bower. As the spring sun warmed the uppermost spires of her turreted room, she slept.
A radiant Myrnie sat propped against piles of pillows in the comfort of an outdoor chaise. Hope, her secretary, confidante, and dearest friend, sat nearby. A portable desktop, balanced on Hope’s lap, held quills, ink, and parchment. At Myrnie’s eager dictations, the young woman’s hand produced, in elegant and flawless penmanship, an intimate letter to Godfrey.
“Dearest love, both husband and FATHER!!!
“Imagine my joy as I present you with this word-picture of your sons—yes, SONS—two beautiful, cherubic, and very healthy sons! I weep with gratitude when I see their straight, strong limbs. Sometime soon you will see them for yourself. This missive is satisfying my motherly obsessions to assure you of their strength and beauty.
“Hope is gracious enough to rise above the jealousy I feel at not being able to write these words to you myself. If, as I expect, you will smother this letter with kisses, please whisper my name.
“Your first-born, Charles Martin, entered with a flourish and a wail. He continues to evidence those same characteristics. He nurses aggressively, is quick to let me know the state of his well-being, and is not easily quieted once he is displeased. He is so strong! I cannot hold him when he is upset, but our dear Adelia, always on guard, promptly retrieves and comforts him.
“John Paul waited an inordinate amount of time to leave the comfort of my womb. He prolonged the length and intensity of my labor, but then he snuggled so sweetly into my embrace, I forgave him all.
“As always, your ever-faithful uncle, Michael, serves you well. He lovingly and willingly provides every material comfort for us. He brought in two additional girls for the nursery and hired more laundry help, making it possible for Adelia to maintain a sweet serenity in our quarters. We would be at our wits’ end without his ever-present attentions.
“But I must tell you more about your sons: Charles Martin has the blackest hair imaginable—so curly—like the mainspring of your pocket watch, which is no more tightly wound than the baby curls on Charles Martin’s head. His eyes will, I think, be very dark like mine; they are already framed with a long fringe of lashes that reaches nearly to his brows. I have no doubt his skin will react quickly to sunlight. (He will have to wear hats and suitable cover or he will look like one of the field hands—bronzed and darkly tanned.) He is such a beautiful baby! I believe our friends and neighbors come to view him as much as to visit me. Their effusive compliments make my heart swell with pride. He is so perfect in countenance and form, it is hard to maintain my composure.
“How can I describe our blond son, John Paul? Already he is a precious miniature of you. His perfect baby head is encased in golden fluff, which will someday, like yours, have the rich color of haystacks, yellow and brown. His eyes will also be like yours—dark blue and flecked with black. Oh how I miss your eyes! What torture this separation is to me! Do you ever hear my voice in the night? All the comforts here on this manicured estate would be but a lovely memory if I could fly away to be with you.