Gunnilda has a birthday visit
“Happy birthday!” Bertie crowed as he came through the door with his fistful of flowers.
“Oh, Bertie! What nonsense!”
But Gunnilda thought to herself that he was the one person who might be able to make her smile today.
He didn’t even wait for her to rise, but dropped his flowers on the table and hugged her where she sat and kissed her all over her face.
“What a heathen you are!” she laughed and tried to push him away.
“Is it unchristian to kiss one’s mother?” he asked. “Where is everyone? Did they all leave you here alone on your birthday?”
“Oh, you know your Da. He never knows what day it is. And Wynn took Beddy and Gytha down to market.”
“Well, get your boots on, Ma, and put a ribbon in your hair. We’re going out. I have the whole day.”
“Oh, Bertie…” she sighed.
“What is it, Ma? Say – what is it? You look awfully small today.”
“Oh, pish,” she said weakly. She hoped he would not believe it. She wondered… could she tell him? Her oldest boy? Would he understand?
“Now then!”
Bertie pushed the flowers aside and sat in the chair beside hers.
“You tell me!” he said. “But don’t tell me you’re sad because it’s your birthday. What nonsense! when you’re still as pretty as a girl!”
“You think so?” she laughed.
“I do! And won’t all the girls be jealous when they see me walking out with you on my arm!”
“Oh, pish! That’s your own vanity talking, what thinks the girls will be jealous of anyone who walks out with you!”
“You’re right!” he laughed. “It’s the men who will be jealous when they see you with me. Come on, Ma. You’re my sweetheart today.”
“And who is on the other days, hmm?”
“No one! Who needs a sweetheart when you have such a pretty little mother who lets you kiss her all over her face, which the girls will never do?” He demonstrated the truth of this remark by standing again and kissing her all over her face.
Gunnilda laughed and tried to push him away, but her laughter seemed to echo in the hollows of her chest, and it ached.
“What is it, Ma?” he asked seriously, and he sat and took her face between his hands. They were fine and long, like Alwy’s. “You’re unhappy. Are you feeling old?”
“I will if you keep growing like this!”
“I shall stop, then. But what is it, little girl? Have those bad boys been pulling your braids and calling you names?”
She laughed painfully again. “Oh, Bertie!”
Could she tell him? Could he understand?
“What, Ma?” he asked softly. The look in his eyes decided her. They were dark like hers.
“I don’t feel so old,” she sighed. “Though I suppose thirty once seemed ancient to me.”
“You aren’t old,” he said firmly.
“Sometimes I wish I was,” she muttered.
“What? What nonsense is this?”
“Oh, Bertie!” She reached out and took his hand. It was nearly the size of a man’s hand already, and strong. “You won’t tell anyone? And you won’t ever tell anyone what I said?”
“Of course not, Ma, if you ask me not to. What is it?”
“Well, I guess I will be having another baby soon, and I was thinking I should be telling your Da, and – I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!”
Bertie stared at her.
“He will be so happy, and I can’t bear it!”
“Ma…”
“I’ve borne seven babies, and three are dead, and I wonder what will happen now? Will it be four and four? I can’t bear it!”
She laid hear head in her hands and began to cry.
Bertie sat quietly for a moment. “I don’t understand,” he said.
He didn’t understand!
“I know, Bertie,” she sniffed. “I shouldn’t have said nothing. Only a woman could understand, not a boy like you, even a good, loving boy like you.”
“No – I don’t understand why my Da keeps wanting more babies. I guess you and he have two girls and two boys already, and that’s enough now if you don’t want any more.”
“Bertie – ”
“No! You should tell him to leave you alone!” He pushed back his chair and stood.
“Bertie!”
“I shall if you won’t!”
“Bertie! Don’t you dare!”
“What’s the matter with him? Doesn’t he know it hurts you? Why don’t you tell him? What does he want more kids for?”
“Now, Bertie!”
She rose and came to face him. He was not quite as tall as she yet, but she saw he would be soon.
“Bertie, I think you’re old enough to know it’s not kids he wants.” She heard the bitterness in her voice too late.
He stared at her, trembling with anger, his mouth set in a thin line. In all but the eyes, he looked like what his father might have been if he had been whole. He looked like a jealous man.
“I shall tell him to leave you alone!” he hissed.
“Don’t you dare!”
“How dare he! When it hurts you so!”
“He doesn’t know anything about that, God bless him.”
“Then I shall tell him!”
“He is my husband!”
“And so he may hurt you?”
“Hurt me! Your father is the gentlest man ever born!”
“Then why are you crying now?”
“Because life is hard! But not your father.”
“It isn’t right!”
“Perhaps not, but it is! And always has been, and always will be, since the Fall. ‘In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.’”
His dark eyes seemed so helpless. He was helpless in his fury.
“Oh, Ma!” he cried, and he threw his arms around her. He was like a child again. “Why did you ever marry him?”
He was still smaller than she.
“So I could have you, my boy, my boy,” she soothed.
