Shadow in the North

Chapter Fifty-Two - Turning, Turning

In the low light of that frosty morning, Mr Thornton lifted his son from Isabel's arms, and set him in his crib, as Isabel straightened her nightgown, after having nursed little Johnny. It was a co-operative routine they had quickly fallen into; Johnny being very small, and requiring regular nourishment. Mr Thornton would take his grizzling son into his strong arms, kiss his head softly, and place him to his wife's bosom. Then he would lie back and watch the beauty that was wife nursing son, before taking the infant, and settling him back to his crib. And for all his heart ached, and a pressure dwelt heavy within his breast - now cloying up his throat as though to strangle him - Mr Thornton was gladdened by that happy, domestic scene, and felt his eyes soften; his heart beat with tender sentiment.

Indeed, he felt his eyes lift at the corners; his lips part in wonder, as he looked upon the suckling babe. And because he felt the changes in his own countenance - so very noticeable, because his resting expression, was - during that long and bitter night - so drenched in agony, and etched with deep lines of sorrow - he noticed in his wife, that although she nursed their son, she took no pleasure in it.

The room was now quite cosy with a roaring fire, which he kept well banked, so as to keep the chill from little Johnny, who was not very fat, and needed warmth. It was only the great heat of the room, which brought the merest hint of pink to Isabel's cheeks. Her aching heart was not eased - not even momentarily - by holding little Johnny in her arms, or placing him at her bosom. Mr Thornton saw it quite plainly, and he despaired of it. He could not understand his wife, and after eight long hours, he fairly wished to shake her, and demand some explanation. But innately, he knew that he could not force from her, the expression of emotion that he wished to see, and so he bided his time, and watched on without comment.

What he did not know, was that Isabel fairly despised nursing poor little Johnny. When she did not hold him, her heart was numb, and she could tolerate the pain of losing her daughter. But once her son was placed in her arms; once she felt his warmth, his weight, his wriggling body, or smelt his potent scent, she felt such a lash of grief, as to make her despair that she could not bring herself to wish her son close by. With each time that she nursed him - as Mr Thornton watched quietly, as though soothed by the comely vision - she would bite her tongue to hold back a bitter cry of, "Oh! it is not fair!", for her arms were far too empty; the weight they bore, too slight. Where there ought to have been two babes, she now had only one. And poor Johnny! It was not his fault - Isabel knew it well - but it pained her to look at him, for all he did was remind her of her daughter, until she felt she would be glad to see him taken from the room, as her husband had seen fit to do the night before.

'Isabel,' said Mr Thornton; his voice tentative and uncertain. 'Mother asked if you would care to eat something.'

'Mother?' asked she, turning to face him in confusion.

'Yes, Izzy; Mother his here.' Isabel cast her eyes about the room, before resting them upon his mother.

'Oh, I did not see you; did not hear you. Tea; I could take tea, but I don't think I could eat at all.' Mrs Thornton pursed her lips in displeasure, for her daughter needed to eat if she wished to nurse the babe. And how could she not have seen her enter the room! Not have heard her speak! She turned to look at her son in question, and he gave her such a hopeless, pleading look, that she quickly rung for Jane, and ordered refreshments to the room, before settling herself a chair; determined to watch the new mother closely, and see what might be done.

'Do you have pain, Isabel?' asked Mrs Thornton.

'It is nothing,' came her dismissive reply. Now she licked her lips, and looked pointedly at Mrs Thornton. 'You might hold him, if you like.' And so grandmother took grandson, and held him to her bosom, with such an attitude of warm affection, as to wring from Mr Thornton, his first genuine smile.