Maud makes a request

Sigefrith sat before the fire in his wife’s bedroom, with one foot on the rocker of the cradle as he soothed Emma to sleep. Maud sat beside him with her tinkling prayer beads and her whispered prayers, soothing him nearly to sleep himself. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe himself happy.

But mostly he was exhausted. He had scarcely slept for the past six days, and when he had, it had been with the baby close by. Even asleep he could not stop listening to the sound of her breathing, and to that horrifying barking cough. Nor would Maud let him rest, but would wake him anxiously every so often to ask him whether Emma’s coughing had not worsened, and finally to beg him to take her outside again. An hour outside in the cool, damp air was the only thing that seemed to help her breathe more easily, as paradoxical as it seemed.

Moreover, he hadn’t had a drop of wine since the night Maud had awoken him in his narrow bed – he had been furious with himself that he had had to go reeking with wine to his baby daughter that night. He had been sober enough from the instant he had heard the panicked wheezing from across the room, but he had not forgiven himself for going to that innocent girl in such a condition. He would not again.

But the past days had been difficult. He had been as gentle as he knew how with Maud and the baby, but he did not envy the grooms and the servants he had faced recently. Nor had he realized how much he had come to rely on the wine merely to bear his physical body. Without it, he had headaches and sudden sweats, he couldn’t eat, and sometimes even his heart frightened him–

But mostly he was tired.

“Maud,” he said, “I believe I – ”

She raised a hand to hush him.

Sigefrith sighed and waited for her to finish her prayer. “Maud,” he began again when she looked up at him, “I believe I shall go to bed.”

“I don’t mind,” she shrugged, taking up the next bead on her string. “I had a nap this afternoon.”

“No, Maud. I mean I am going back to my own bed. To sleep. And I believe you should get some slee – ”

“No!” she gasped, her eyes wide.

“She’s fine now. Look at her. She’s breathing quietly, she has no fever, she – ”

“No! Don’t go! You mustn’t.”

“Why not? Maud, I’m exhausted. I’ve scarcely slept since she fell ill. You know that. You, not much more. We both need to – ”

“No. Please,” she said softly, and he was surprised to see her lower lip tremble as it used to when she feared to ask him something. Lately she had grown far too imperious with him to use such wiles – or to show such weakness.

“Are you frightened still?” he asked gently.

She nodded, her eyes as wide and wet as a child’s.

“You needn’t be. She will sleep well tonight. She only has a little cough, such as any child might have without his mama losing sleep over it.”

She shrugged and fiddled with her beads.

“You don’t think I would go away and leave you alone with her if I believed she were still in danger, do you?”

She shook her head and looked down at her hands, but she asked him in a child’s tiny voice, “Won’t you please stay here?”

He stared at her. He knew he would do as she asked; he would spend another night in this chair. But he did wish she could see it wasn’t necessary. And he wished she could see how he needed sleep.

But then, as he looked at her, he realized that she did too. “I shall stay if you will try to sleep,” he said. “And I hope that tomorrow night you will return the favor.”

“You might sleep tonight, too,” she said in a voice so small it would have been easier to understand a whisper.

Indeed, Sigefrith wondered whether he had heard correctly. “Too?” he asked.

She nodded, staring at her lap. “Sleep here,” she said, and her voice truly was a whisper now. Sigefrith saw that she had entwined her hands so tightly in her string of beads that her fingers had begun to turn purple.

“With you?” he asked. It was not a delicate question, but he didn’t want to risk a misunderstanding. And he was so tired.

She nodded again. “But only – ” She took a deep breath before blurting out, “But only if you won’t come to bed drunk any more.”

Sigefrith was too stunned to reply. It would seem that she did not mean for this one night only.

“No!” she gasped. “No conditions. Forget what I said.” Her hands too trembled.

Sigefrith didn’t know what to make of this. It was true that since she had awoken him that night a week before, she hadn’t been herself. She hadn’t sneered at him once, and it seemed to him that on more than one occasion, when he was holding Emma, that she had touched him of her own accord.

But then, why did it seem so difficult for her to ask him to stay? Was it her pride? Or merely delicacy?

“Will you?” she asked.

“Of course! I simply… was surprised…” he said weakly.

She nodded, relieved, and began unwinding the string of beads from around her fingers.

“I shan’t come to bed drunk any more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured.

“Of course it does. I don’t blame you for… for anything.”

She shrugged and wrapped the long string around her hand.

Dare he touch her? He hesitated. “Well,” he said, rising suddenly from his chair. “Perhaps we should go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“I should like to finish my prayers,” she said, holding up her beads.

“But I shall be asleep by that time.”

“Good night, then,” she said, and she bent her head, one of the beads between her fingers, waiting.

“Good night.”

“Gloria Patri,” she whispered at once, “et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto…”