Maria's Question

"Now down you go, Matty, and see if you're a big enough boy to play with Miss. Pershing," instructed his mother.

"Down!" he cried joyfully.

"He's not old enough," declared Miss. Pershing, wrinkling her nose. "I'm too big for him."

"Oh?" asked Maria.
"Babies are smelly and loud and suck their thumbs," she explained.
"I think I saw you sucking your thumb in church last week, Miss. Pershing. But you're not a baby, are you?"

"No! I'm a girl--a big one. I hate babies."
"I see. Where's your mama today?"

"I dunno. She's feeling sick again, I think."
"Sick again?"
"I think she's in her room. But Mina probably went to get her after she let you in, because that's what she's supposed to do when company comes. Except sometimes my father says--"
"Sorry, Maria. I was getting dressed."
"How are you? Your little Brit here says you're feeling sick..."
"Oh, well," said Grace, bringing her voice to a modest whisper. "I havn't exactly explained this to her yet, but it's just the usual."
"Oh! Grace! Again? Already? But Percival isn't a year old yet!"

"Don't begin." Grace laughed. "He'll be a year old next month, anyway. Not that I'm looking forward to another round of the--'customary ills', as Harold says. Why don't you have the next one, huh?"

But she seemed to have struck something with the last part, for Maria looked away.

"I don't think so," Maria said quietly.
"Why? Maria...?"
"We haven't--not for a while--I don't know..." Maria did not seem to know what to say, but that only meant that Grace would not know what to think, so she told Brittany to go tell Mina that Jemmy had torn the hem of his gown again. It was a poor excuse, but Brittany didn't seem to need any to leave "the baby's" company.
Maria looked at her hands carefully for a moment, and then she spoke. "I--I think it's my fault."

"What do you mean?"
"He just--one night he just started--lecturing me. He told me that I had forgotten my wedding vows and--that I didn't care about him anymore."

"And do you?" asked Grace.

The moment the words came out of her mouth, she realized that she had said something neither of them would ever forget. They often spoke about their husbands, who, besides being the two most prominent men in town excepting Sir Arnold ant the Earl himself, were both stern, stuborn, and often overly critical. They spent hours comparing these atributes of the men they had married, and when they returned home they found them easier to bear. But they had never dared to ask one another whether they were really happy.
"I thought I cared for him enough. I made sure there was a dinner and I helped him at the church and played the music and I took care of Matty and I--well, I had Matty. And I never was shrewish or argued with him. But all he had to say was that--I wasn't affectionate."

Suddenly Grace remembered her churching, eight months ago. "What about when you came over and called him 'dear' and took his arm at my churching? That was affection. He liked that, I remember. Tell him about that."
"I--what?" Maria asked. After a moment's recollection she smiled gently. "Oh, Grace. I was only trying to prevent another fight between our husbands. You know how they can be--both always sure they are right..."
"Always..." agreed Grace.
"Let's not talk about it anymore. If he forgives me for it--and I think he will--then I'll just start being more affectionate."

"What if he doesn't?"
"I don't know," whispered Maria. "What would you do?"
They were quite silent, and then--this was an odd part--for a moment it seemed as if Maria was about to say sometimg more. But then she was distracted by preventing Matthew from playing with the fire poker.
All Grace knew was that she was relieved to find, despite their husband's similarities, that she was fairly certain Harold would never say such a thing to her. He was unstintingly certain she adored him, and though it annoyed her to no end most of the time once she realized the alternative she was positively grateful. She was fortunate. She would never have to know the answer to Maria's question.