Babies seemed to know no schedule, something that made a mess of her methodical routine. In her role as a mother she had almost no time alone. She wondered how on earth the mothers of the world got anything done with all the interruptions.
A fact that was driven home to her again less than five minutes later.
Annabelle began to cry. She could hear her. She waded over to the side of the pool where a pea-sized sliver of soap sat abandoned on the rocks.
The baby was crying “Mama!”
She tried to make lather from the almost nonexistent sliver of soap.
Annabelle cried out over and over.
Margaret scrubbed her body harder, telling herself that Lydia was with her and she’d be fine. She washed her hair and dove under the water. But even underwater she could still hear Annabelle’s wailing.
She climbed out and dried off, then put on another flannel nightdress that was about a foot too short in the hem and sleeves and an inch too tight in the chest.
“Ducky,” she muttered, shoving up the sleeves to her elbow as she rounded the rocks. The baby was screaming and kicking to get Lydia to let her go. She took one look at Margaret and cried, “Mama!”
Lydia’s face paled.
“Ma-manaanah!”
Margaret reached for Annabelle. “I’ll take her.”
Lydia looked down at her sister, who was sobbing and twisting and crying so hard she was hiccupping. The girl handed her to Margaret as if she were being forced to give away her heart. Lydia turned and stiffly walked away.
“Lydia, please wait!” Margaret bounced the sobbing baby on her hip.
The girl kept walking.
“I’m sorry... I...”
Lydia disappeared around some rocks at the other side of the clearing.
Margaret stared at the spot where Lydia disappeared, feeling a complete failure. She asked herself how an intelligent and educated woman could make such a mess of everything.
She looked down at Annabelle. The baby was sound asleep in her arms.
And at that moment Margaret, an intelligent and educated woman, realized something else. She had absolutely no talent for instant motherhood.
* * *
Muddy awoketo someoneknocking on his bottle. He wiped the sleep from his tired eyes and stared up at the stopper. If he were given three wishes, one of them would be for a door.
He swung his feet off the divan, his bells tingling. He stood and stretched.
“Muddy?” came a loud whisper. “Are you awake?” Muddy cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Yes, master!”
The stopper popped open, and a big, blue eyeball stared down at him. “You coming out now?”
“Yes, master, just as soon as you move your eye.” “Oh.” The eyeball blinked and moved back.
“How’s that?”
Muddy’s feet left the carpet, and a second later he passed through the opening of the bottle. The smoke dissipated, and he saw that Theodore was back to squinting into the bottle.
He looked up. “Whatcha got in there?” Then he looked back inside.
“Would you like to see?”
