CHAPTER ELEVEN

“‘Baby baby bunting, your father’s gone a hunting,’” Kate Tibbett sang softly to the twins, whom she was carrying in the crook of each arm. Both babies were teething and her nerves were worn ragged. She had hardly soothed James and got him to sleep when Jacob would wake up, screaming, and within minutes she had both of them crying again. Her arms ached from the weight of carrying them, walking around the tiny bedroom, into the front sitting room and back, round and round. She wished she could have even one hour free, when she could fall into the sweetness of sleep. But there wasn’t anybody to take over. Her family were far off and wouldn’t be sympathetic anyway. You made your bed, now you have to lie in it would be her mother’s sour words. But Ralph had pursued her so ardently, he had swept away the misgivings she’d had about surrendering to his passion before they were married. You should have known, he’d said angrily when she told him she believed herself to be with child. But she hadn’t known anything, and had brought such shame to her mother and father, she doubted they would ever forgive her.

When they had first moved here, Ralph had been attentive and loving, but as soon as she became clumsy and heavy with the pregnancy he had spent more and more time away from their lodgings. He’d taken work in an office, he told her, general odds-body, he said, but his allowance wasn’t generous and she felt the want more keenly than she could admit even to herself. There were many nights when she cried herself asleep after waiting until the early hours of the morning for him to come home. Since the birth of the twins, his absences were even more prolonged. He said he’d had to take a second job to supplement his wages and was working as a night porter at the Dominion Brewery on Queen Street.

Don’t worry, little Kate. I can get catnaps throughout the night and nobody will know.

The extra work didn’t seem to tire him out, and on one of the few evenings he was at home, she thought he looked as prosperous as he’d ever been. His worsted suit was of excellent quality, but when she timorously remarked on it, he told her it was a charitable castoff from his employer. His voice was full of reproach. You don’t know how it eats at a man’s pride to be forced to accept charity, he’d said and she burst into tears, stung once again by the feeling that she was to blame.

She halted. Both babies had fallen asleep. Now the trick was to ease them into the cradle without disturbing either one. She bent over and slipped Jacob crosswise onto his end of the mattress. He made little smacking noises with his lips but didn’t wake. Carefully, she placed James at the opposite end. They hadn’t expected two infants and couldn’t afford a second cradle so Ralph had sawed off a piece of wood and made a divider. She kept meaning to cover it with soft cloth but she hadn’t yet found the time to do so. Besides, the twins were growing fast and would soon be too big for this arrangement. Looking down at them, she felt a rush of tenderness, something she sometimes feared she would never experience again. She covered them with the quilt that her oldest sister had grudgingly passed on to her. It was irretrievably stained from previous use, but it was soft and warm and she was glad of it.

She stepped back from the cradle. Rain was pelting against the window and it was so dull and cheerless in the room, she’d had to light a candle. She watched it for a moment, dancing and juttering in the draft from the door, then walked to the window and looked into the grey street. Snow would be better than this, at least after it had stopped falling, the sun would shine and the fresh white snow would glisten beneath a blue sky. She leaned her head against the windowpane and yawned as if she would crack her jaw. She was thankful that at least the room was warm. The brewery workers were allowed to take home buckets of slack from the coal furnaces, and even though the stuff was so dusty it seemed to give off more smoke than heat, it was better than nothing. Also, every time Ralph came home with a bucket, she was relieved she could believe him about his job.

She went back to the bed. Both babies were fast asleep. She lay down, covered herself with a blanket, and closed her eyes. Just a little nap while she could.

She must have dozed off because suddenly she was awake, the babies still sleeping quietly beside her. What had awakened her was the sound of a loud, angry voice overhead. Kate groaned. Fisher had come home and, as was usually the case, he was full of liquor. Sometimes, she knew he ranted at nothing, the bed, the weather, the bedbugs. Mostly though, he yelled at the children. She’d heard Ben go off to school this morning so his father must be shouting at Agnes. She thought about the man who’d come the day before, the one she assumed was a truant officer. In their brief meeting, she’d had the impression he was kind. If the babies hadn’t been crying she would like to have lingered, talked to him. From the upstairs, she heard a crash and a bellow from Fisher, then a girl’s voice, loud with fear, a shriek. He must have hit her. Light footsteps followed by the man’s heavy tread. Another shriek, then weeping. Fisher’s voice continued for a little longer, then there was silence.

She heard the sound of quick footsteps on the stairs and there was a timid tap, tap on her door. She didn’t move. There was another tap, then the steps moved away and she heard the front door open.

She pulled the blanket up so that it covered her ears. There was nothing she could do. She had her own troubles to deal with.