In spite of my own mother’s troubles carrying a healthy baby to birth, Adelaide appeared to thrive from the start. She had a placid, steady disposition and was much calmer than I had been as a babe, my father declared. “Perhaps that’s the Close in her,” Papa said, and the remark pulled smiles to both Eddie’s and my lips. I was thrilled to have Adelaide in our life—we both were. Holding her wrapped up tight in her soft, beribboned blankets so that only her little moon of a face peeked out, I would sing to her and tell her about the fun we would have together. I could not wait to travel with her, to teach her about the world and art and dancing.
Another welcome addition to the household came in the nurse I brought on, Miss Virginia Pearson. Miss Pearson was a natural touch. A middle-aged woman from Georgia, with a gentle drawl and an easy round smile, Miss Pearson never grew agitated by the baby’s cries. She pushed Adelaide around the gardens in the pram or held her happily in the nursery rocking chair for hours, whereas I often found those long stretches of forced idleness to be wearying and tedious. Miss Pearson had never married, having lost her sweetheart to illness when she was younger, so she’d never had babies of her own, and thus “Pearcie,” as I came to know her, poured all her love into my baby. With Pearcie’s expert management of the nursery and loving care of the baby, Adelaide grew round and I made a happy adjustment to my new maternal role.
* * *
—
I sat outside on a pleasant spring day, looking out over the rolling green of our golf course. Our grand old trees were newly in leaf, offering just the right amount of dappled, cooling shade. Fresh-budded flowers spread bright color across the grounds, and I was taking my leisure on a cushioned chaise, enjoying the sound of our creek as it mingled with the lilt of birdsong. The window to the nursery was ajar, and I could hear Adelaide cooing and laughing happily with Pearcie after her nap.
Ed was out—riding, I believed—but I expected him home shortly. He’d fallen in love with Adelaide as quickly as I had. Whenever he was home he made visits to the nursery, eager for updates from the nanny and always trying his best to pull smiles from our daughter’s round cheeks. “C.W. thinks she’s got the Close temperament, but fortunately she got all her looks from her mother,” I’d hear my husband say every time he introduced a friend to our daughter. On that day in early spring, I was excited for Eddie to return to The Boulders and hear my good news: though it had been less than a year since the arrival of our first baby, I was already expecting again.
But Eddie needed to come home before I could share this good news with him. As the hours passed, the sun dipped behind the tree line. The mild air turned chilly, and I retreated into the house as Adelaide had her evening feeding. Finally, just before our own dinnertime, Eddie returned.
When he leaned down to give me a quick kiss in greeting, he smelled of sweat-dampened tweed and something else—liquor. My stomach clenched, but I did my best to keep a pleasant, level tone as I asked, “How was your ride?”
“Fine,” he said, loosening his collar. “I need to change.”
“For supper?”
“No need to worry about me for supper, dear.” He walked briskly through the room, his tall riding boots tracking a path of spring mud along our floor. “I’m planning on heading over to the club.”
I shifted in my seat. “Eddie, I’d really like it if you’d stay and join me for supper.”
“Oh? Why is that?” He paused and I could tell he was surprised by the insistence in my request; I’d stopped asking him, familiar as I’d become with his absences.
“I have news,” I answered.
“Is Adelaide all right?”
“She’s wonderful.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Then…what is it?”
I smiled, my good news doing much to mollify my frustration as I said, “Adelaide is going to be a sister.”
Ed looked down toward my flat belly, stunned. Thinking, no doubt, exactly what I’d thought when I’d noticed that my monthly courses, which had only just returned to normal, were absent once more. “How did that happen?” he asked.
I flashed him a wry smile, fairly certain that he did not need a biology lesson.
He ran his fingers through his tousled blond hair. “What I mean is…how, so soon?”
“It is soon.” I nodded. “And yet, I think it’s a straightforward formula. If you plant the seed, there’s a chance the flower can grow.”