Day 4: This Perfect Moment in Time

A low, insistent wail drifted from the direction of the cradle. Mary stifled a groan and sat up in bed, taking care not to rouse her husband.

Her caution was unnecessary. John pushed himself up as she was slipping out from underneath the bedclothes. “Go back to sleep, love,” she murmured, trundling tiredly to the cradle.

He yawned. “As long as he’s determined to be noisy, he’ll keep me awake,” he assured her.

She shook her head and bent down, lifting up the baby and wearily settling into the rocking chair to nurse him. However, Arthur did not seem to appreciate the feeding, and his cries became more pronounced. “John?” Mary said a trifle worriedly.

“He may be a bit colicky,” John told her, slipping out of bed and shrugging on his dressing gown. “But it also may be nothing but restlessness. Let me have him.”

She raised the baby up to John’s waiting arms, and he hefted Arthur effortlessly to a more comfortable hold. “Now, now, my little man, you mustn’t trouble your mother so. No, you mustn’t.”

Arthur continued to wail.

“I shall take him downstairs,” John decided. “Get some sleep, Mary.”

She wanted nothing more than to comply, but she knew she had to ask, “Are you certain?”

“Quite. Go on, back to bed.”

She smiled wearily. “Yes, Doctor.” She obediently climbed back into bed and gazed at him expectantly.

He smiled back at her, looking as tired as she felt. “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, John...” Her farewell ended in a yawn, and she was back asleep nearly before he had left the room.

When she reawakened, it was still dark out, but her body’s sense of time told her that it was time to rise. She turned on the gas, checked the little clock on the bedside table, and saw that it was five to seven. Throwing her dressing gown around her, she padded out of the bedroom and downstairs, halting at the door to the sitting room.

John sat in the rocker before a smouldering fire, asleep, hugging a peacefully sleeping Arthur to him. The baby’s rosebud lips were slightly parted as his head rested upon his father’s left shoulder. Mary winced a little at the thought of how much that shoulder would pain John once he woke up, but following that reaction, she wished fervently that she could have a photograph of this perfect moment in time. She hung in the doorway, studying the poignant tableau before her and committing every detail to memory, dimly lit though it was.

She noiselessly glided in and stretched herself out upon the settee, waiting for her family to awaken.