Page 4 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
I decided not to bring up the fact that Mother hadalsoborne a child out of wedlock—me—a fact she conveniently overlooked while passing judgment on just about everyone else of her acquaintance.
“And there were good reasons she didn’t marry Prince Alexander until last year,” I said. “It’s a very interesting story, as a matter of fact. You’d know all about it if you actually met the neighbors and got to know them.”
“I have no interest in associating with a woman of loose morals, and I don’t want you around her either—or that randy prince. I forbid you to spend any time in that den of iniquity.”
“Mother…”
I prayed for patience and wisdom. If I handled this wrong, I’d find myself on complete lockdown or even homeless. Mother was not above threatening to throw me out if I didn’t fall into step with her wishes.
“It’s part of my job,” I reasoned. “The party is a school event, and the last one I’ll be associated with before I move into the monastery. Sister Patrice said I should do my job to the best of my abilities. The party’s only two weeks away, and the school and Mrs. Wessex are counting on me. I gave mywordI’d help.”
After a pause, I added, “Breaking it now would be a sin.”
I held my breath, hoping that last point would clench it. Mother was terrified of anything that even held a whiff of sin, and she was more conscious of her daughter’s spiritual status than even her own—which was saying something.
Looking around the dining room at yet another display of crosses, religious paintings, and statuary, I reflected that if the sheer number of religious artifacts one possessed could guarantee entrance into Heaven, my mother would be at the front of the line for sure.
“Well… I suppose you must keep your promise,” Mother said. “But you will not stay long. You’ll go directly there and come directly home. And after that party is over, you’ll spend the rest of the month in prayerful reflection, so you’ll be ready for your postulancy.”
“Yes, Mother.”
I left the room before my mother could change her mind, carrying my plate and glass to the sink and washing them quickly before leaving the house. As I hurried down the sidewalk to my neighbor’s drive, I felt lighter with every step away from my own home. Lighter and freer.
The sound of children laughing and playing in a nearby yard compounded my good mood. By the time I reached the Wessexes’ front door, I felt almost giddy.
Was it pathetic to be this excited about being away from home at night?
Though I’d only be helping to plan a children’s party, I would be in the company of other young women instead of reading quietly in the formal parlor with Mother until bedtime. It was honestly the social highlight of my year.
Cinda answered the doorbell herself, greeting me with a wide smile and a brief hug, which caused her hugely pregnant belly to collide with my hipbone.
“Sorry about that,” Cinda said and patted her stomach. “This thing needs its own zip code. I’m positively palatial at this point.”
She stepped back, inviting me into the elegant marble foyer. “Come in. I’m so glad you were able to make it. Not as glad as AJ is of course.”
The Wessexes’ five-year-old son AJ was one of my students. I’d helped in his class last year as well—he had a late summer birthday, and his parents had elected to have him spend another year in preschool rather than put him into kindergarten at only a few days past the age of five.
Though I never picked favorites, I’d always been incredibly fond of the sweet, intelligent boy.
“He talks about you alot,” Cinda explained. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “I think he’s a little bit in love with you.”
I laughed. “Well, if that’s true, he’d be the first.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Cinda said warmly. “Let’s go to the kitchen. My friend Kristal made her famous seven-layer dip, and her sister-in-law Bonnie brought some super-yummy desserts prepared by her French chef, Monsieur Laplume.”
“And I cooked worms and dirt for you!”
The exuberant announcement preceded the arrival of AJ, who ran into the foyer and slid across its shiny floor in his sock feet, dark curls flying.
“Be careful, buddy,” Cinda warned, but her voice held more amusement than sternness.
“You did?” I dropped to my knees, accepting the hug AJ offered. It warmed my heart that my little student remembered the dessert we’d made at school last year on “slime day.”
“Slime day was my favoritest day of the whole year,” AJ informed me.
“I’m so glad.”
“You’re going to miss me when I’m in kindergarten next year,” he announced with confidence. “But we’re having a baby, and when he’s big enough for preschool you can teach him to make slime, andI’llteach him to make worms and dirt.”
