“You must be hungry... .” What was the trouble? Had Charlotte eaten something that had spoilt her milk? She did not believe so.
Charlotte grimaced. “One would almost think you understood your father’s suggestion about weaning ...” Finally Charlotte gave up, hoping the little girl wasn’t coming down ill.
The next morning was much the same. Anne nursed fitfully, pulled away, tried again. Charlotte stroked her little tummy. “What is it, dear? What pains you?”
A sharp pain struck Charlotte’s breast. Charlotte cried out and jerked back. Startled, Anne began to wail. Tears welled in Charlotte’s eyes at the stinging pain. As Anne cried, mouth wide, Charlotte saw the white kernel protruding from her pink gums. Her first tooth.
“Well, you needn’t have bitten me. That hurt.”
Anne cried louder yet.
“There, there now. It’s all right. I know you did not mean to.
At least I hope not.”
After that, both of them seemed resigned to wean each other. Charlotte steeled herself for each of the few nursings that followed. Anne must have felt her apprehension, for she too seemed tense and nursed very poorly. Still, nights were the most difficult for Anne, when she rooted against Charlotte, wanting to nurse for comfort, to ease into sleep. Charlotte obliged her. Mornings were most difficult for Charlotte, when she longed for the relief of pressure nursing brought. Gradually she realized, however, that the morning fullness was diminishing. By evening, when Anne grew most fussy, it seemed Charlotte had very little milk to offer her, for Anne pulled away quickly.
Though she had set out to wean Anne, now that the reality of its imminence dawned on Charlotte, a strange panicked sadness stole over her. She knew once she was through, there was no going back. Her unique role in this child’s life would be over. She would be more replaceable than ever. Anne would not need her anymore. How would Charlotte support herself now? True, she had never wanted this vocation, but what would she do?
Her breasts lost some of their fullness, which seemed sad too. She began to feel as empty as they. She would need to take in her gowns.
Knowing each might be her last, she began to cherish every nursing—and concerns for her livelihood were not uppermost in her mind. She would miss this. The warmth and satisfaction of holding this little one close to her body. Anne’s little face relaxed and content, now and then opening her dark eyes to look up at Charlotte as if to greet her or thank her. Her little hand, lying against Charlotte’s breast or stomach. The sweet sting of milk coursing through her, the tug of the curled tongue and rough-ridged mouth. The sounds of drawing, of swallowing, of nourishing. Of life.
Charlotte stroked Anne’s hair, the soft curve of her neck. “Very soon, you will not even remember this time together. But I shall always remember. And I shall miss it. And you ...”
Even as Charlotte’s milk stopped flowing, her tears began, running over to take its place.
Two weeks after Sally’s teatime visit, Charlotte stood before Dr. Taylor’s desk, hands clenched together. “I will be leaving in a week’s time, Dr. Taylor. Does that give you sufficient notice to make other arrangements for Anne’s care?”
“Leaving? But why?”
“I have weaned Anne, as you requested.”
“I only suggested it to afford you a bit of freedom.”
“Well, I am free. You will not have need of me any longer.”
“But we do. Anne is quite dependent on you.”
“I am only the nurse, Dr. Taylor. My post here is finished.”
“Well, that part may be ended. But there are other ... capacities in which you might stay.”
“Such as?”
“Well, however you like. That is ... I know it’s too soon to talk of ... such things, and I haven’t any right to presume on your time, but all I know is that, that ...”
He stopped then, catching his breath and running his hand across his face.
“All you know is, what?” she prompted, trying to be gentle but feeling unaccountably frustrated.
He swallowed, then stuttered, “I want ... I wish ... I would like you to stay.”
She was oddly touched by his stammering, his obvious nervousness. But no, she was foolish to read anything into his manner. His wife was not long in her grave, and he’d clearly loved her. Though the last years of their lives together had been wretched, that did not erase his pain, his mourning. He was not offering anything other than a position, and she’d do well to remember so.
“Do you wish me to be Anne’s governess?” she suggested tentatively.
“Governess? She’s a bit young for that, but...would you want that? I mean, eventually? Of course I would like you to keep caring for her as you do.”
