mother-in law, and for that I’m grateful.”
Oh, Mother Anne, I miss you now! Surely, surely someday we’ll meet again. And when we do, I’ll tell you about my first mother-in-law, because Master Kendall was so old, he didn’t come with one either. You’ll be amazed! And I certainly never needed your advice more than now, in this very delicate situation I’ve found myself in.
T HE NIGHTS THAT FOLLOWED were hard, hard. I’d turn restlessly in bed, sitting up suddenly in a cold sweat, worrying about the Cold Thing, and listening to the breathing all around me. The circles grew underneath my eyes, but I never told anyone why—that I was worried by Cold Things, by ghosts that swirled and boded no good, especially if that foolish Weeping Lady ever managed to catch up with the changes in the house and find out that her little boy wasn’t a priest after all, and it was partly my fault.
Sometimes, if there was a moon, I’d get up and tiptoe across the rushes, around the sleeping dogs, and go to stare out the window at the stars, I was so torn with hidden fears and secret anguish. They were so cold and sparkling, all set up there on the dome of the sky. How did God ever manage to stick them up there, so they could move about without falling down? I’d put my elbows on the windowsill, even though I was half frozen, and watch the clouds scudding across the moon until my numbing feet sent me back under the covers. Gregory’s lucky. He can sleep through anything. Then I’d hear his soft breathing in the dark, and feel the warmth of his body, and my heart would melt inside me, in spite of everything—because of everything. Who knows?
My greatest fear was of the Cold Thing, however. I feared—no, I knew—that one day it would come between us. It would come in the night, and reveal its beastly, unnatural self. It would shake its huge, shaggy head and seize me in its slavering jaws. Or maybe it was a devil, and in the morning, they’d be able to find nothing but a faint stain on the sheets, where I’d lain, and smell a whiff of brimstone. Oh, it was coming to get me, all right. I could feel it near. It was just biding its time.
A little longer, please. Leave me a little longer, Cold Thing. Let me have him just a few more nights. I know what you’re waiting for, Cold Thing. You’re counting my sins, and when you’ve got the last one, which is wanting him too much, then you’ll take it all away. Oh, yes—it was at night that the thought of the Cold Thing frightened me. When the sun is up, I can manage anything—even the formidable task of placating a Weeping Lady. But night makes even common things eerie. The shadows of the clothing on the perches look like monsters’ faces, and the sound of rustling insects like ghosts’ footsteps.
So now, whenever I heard a rustle in the night, my eyes would fly open with fear, and sleep would vanish until I recognized the sound of mice scampering in the rushes, the whuff, whuff of a dog having dreams, or even the sound of someone using the chamber pot. But then, late one night, I woke to a rustling sound that did not turn itself into something ordinary. It sounded like the feet of a large animal, most probably a hound of hell, or some other awful monster, shuffling slowly toward the bed to fetch me at last. Gregory was rolled into a ball, the pillow over his head, sound asleep but grinding his teeth with worry. He’d never tell me what the worry was, but I knew anyway. He’d lost his life’s calling, and being married isn’t a calling, and coming into money isn’t a calling either. And farthest of all from a calling is having to come home and be shouted at instead of being free and a scholar, and in search of God. So I didn’t wake him up. I just got up my courage to pull aside the bed curtains and peep out. Maybe all they’d find in the morning would be some greenish slime in one slipper, but that’s the way it was going to be.
It was terrible, the thing, as it
Oh, Mother Anne, I miss you now! Surely, surely someday we’ll meet again. And when we do, I’ll tell you about my first mother-in-law, because Master Kendall was so old, he didn’t come with one either. You’ll be amazed! And I certainly never needed your advice more than now, in this very delicate situation I’ve found myself in.
T HE NIGHTS THAT FOLLOWED were hard, hard. I’d turn restlessly in bed, sitting up suddenly in a cold sweat, worrying about the Cold Thing, and listening to the breathing all around me. The circles grew underneath my eyes, but I never told anyone why—that I was worried by Cold Things, by ghosts that swirled and boded no good, especially if that foolish Weeping Lady ever managed to catch up with the changes in the house and find out that her little boy wasn’t a priest after all, and it was partly my fault.
Sometimes, if there was a moon, I’d get up and tiptoe across the rushes, around the sleeping dogs, and go to stare out the window at the stars, I was so torn with hidden fears and secret anguish. They were so cold and sparkling, all set up there on the dome of the sky. How did God ever manage to stick them up there, so they could move about without falling down? I’d put my elbows on the windowsill, even though I was half frozen, and watch the clouds scudding across the moon until my numbing feet sent me back under the covers. Gregory’s lucky. He can sleep through anything. Then I’d hear his soft breathing in the dark, and feel the warmth of his body, and my heart would melt inside me, in spite of everything—because of everything. Who knows?
My greatest fear was of the Cold Thing, however. I feared—no, I knew—that one day it would come between us. It would come in the night, and reveal its beastly, unnatural self. It would shake its huge, shaggy head and seize me in its slavering jaws. Or maybe it was a devil, and in the morning, they’d be able to find nothing but a faint stain on the sheets, where I’d lain, and smell a whiff of brimstone. Oh, it was coming to get me, all right. I could feel it near. It was just biding its time.
A little longer, please. Leave me a little longer, Cold Thing. Let me have him just a few more nights. I know what you’re waiting for, Cold Thing. You’re counting my sins, and when you’ve got the last one, which is wanting him too much, then you’ll take it all away. Oh, yes—it was at night that the thought of the Cold Thing frightened me. When the sun is up, I can manage anything—even the formidable task of placating a Weeping Lady. But night makes even common things eerie. The shadows of the clothing on the perches look like monsters’ faces, and the sound of rustling insects like ghosts’ footsteps.
So now, whenever I heard a rustle in the night, my eyes would fly open with fear, and sleep would vanish until I recognized the sound of mice scampering in the rushes, the whuff, whuff of a dog having dreams, or even the sound of someone using the chamber pot. But then, late one night, I woke to a rustling sound that did not turn itself into something ordinary. It sounded like the feet of a large animal, most probably a hound of hell, or some other awful monster, shuffling slowly toward the bed to fetch me at last. Gregory was rolled into a ball, the pillow over his head, sound asleep but grinding his teeth with worry. He’d never tell me what the worry was, but I knew anyway. He’d lost his life’s calling, and being married isn’t a calling, and coming into money isn’t a calling either. And farthest of all from a calling is having to come home and be shouted at instead of being free and a scholar, and in search of God. So I didn’t wake him up. I just got up my courage to pull aside the bed curtains and peep out. Maybe all they’d find in the morning would be some greenish slime in one slipper, but that’s the way it was going to be.
It was terrible, the thing, as it
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