Temporary Secretary

Part 82

16 December 1981

8:30am Wednesday

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It must have been an old way of life, the way you lived.

You awoke with the light of day, though in winter that meant well after eight.

The nights weren't as difficult as in the city. Especially with Paul helping you. If the baby needed to latch, you'd pull out your breast and drift back off as it fed.

You were up before him. He got a slower rise.

The baby had seemed to fall into a routine, wanting a morning feed. You would sit up, fully waking yourself.

Though there was a nursery, she would be with you during the nights so the fire could keep you all warm.

You would do the cooking. That was routine. Paul chopped the wood, heating the house. There was a fireplace in the bedroom and living area. It was an old house, but that also meant it was well insulated, keeping the warmth in.

The appliances were modern, and the kitchen was sufficient. You had heated running water, modern plugs, a washer hookup, that was enough for you.

You would put the baby in the sling, and head down to make breakfast.

Paul would want his tea. You put bread in the toaster, beginning to make some eggs for the two of you. It wasn't too elaborate, but you worked with what you had.

You had brought some things to stock up on, but if there was something you needed, Paul could drive to the market in the nearby town. Though, for milk and eggs, the nearest neighbor was closer, and a better price.

Maybe you'd learn how to make bread. Might as well, while you were here. You did bake bread before one for school, a home ec course, though didn't remember much of it.

Paul wouldn't sleep in too much longer than you. Sometimes you would leave the baby with him, and he'd come down with her. He looked sweet in the morning, not shaved, hair haven't combed, sleep in his eyes.

"I'll get a fire going." He'd say.

It doesn't seem you got a lot done during the day, yet it wasn't boring. More of a quiet, peaceful way of living.

There was an older radio in the living room, but the service varied depending on the weather. You wouldn't be surprised if it'd been in the cottage since he'd acquired it. There was a LP player in the living room.

"I'm not saving this for Christmas." He had said, not long after your arrival. "Here you are. It'll get us into the spirit."

He pulled it from a slim paper bag. It wasn't wrapped, but clear from the shape that it was an album.

You smiled to yourself.

"Beach Boys Christmas Album, 1964." You said. "Good choice, Paul."

It did get you into the festive spirit. Paul had also cut a tree. Impressive of him, doing it on his own. You always got lost in such a pretty thing he was, forgetting his strength.

You decorated it with lights, tinsel, baubles, and candy canes.

"Got them shipped out here." He said. "There's no Christmas without a tree, and no tree without the baubles."

He unwrapped a candy cane, sucking the end into a point, looking you in the eye.

Rosemary was still little, though unless you were imagining things, she seemed to get more alert in small increments by the day. That in itself was jarring, that she was growing, that she'd keep growing, before you'd even had a chance to realise. She'd only just come out, yet six weeks had gone by like that.