The creak of the front door pulled her away from her reflection. Schuler had returned from lunch. Having filled herself on a large breakfast of biscuit, egg, and bacon, Patience had skipped the meal. She missed none of it.

“The Claibornes send their regards, Patience,” said Schuler from the entrance.

Patience peeked out from their room, shuffling down the hall to greet him. “I hope they are well.”

Her husband chuckled. “You could have seen for yourself.” He hung his coat upon a rack leading into the parlor.

“Oh, I would hate to impose and force Clara to prepare another setting,” said Patience. She scratched her arm as her feet led her to the sofa.

Schuler settled into the armchair. “There was plenty of stew and potatoes for third helpings!”

Patience simpered. “Perhaps next occasion. Are Whit and Clara well?”

“Just fine! They may be suffering from the anticipation, but I’ve never seen them so excited.”

She stretched her grin a bit more. Clara Claiborne was heavily pregnant, and she thought it best to give the woman as much space as possible. The baby was only a few layers of flesh away from the outside world. That was close enough to be intimidating.

Infants were foreign creatures to Patience, never had she even touched a baby. They were present around town, but she regarded them with no more interest than she would a fancy hat. Some women had them, they engendered admirers, and they looked presentable at times. However, unlike a hat, they would often make a ruckus, yowling louder than a cat in heat. Patience would always acutely veer away from fussing infants. She doubted she had any maternal inclination.

And without any predilection for motherhood, Patience found little in common with those expecting. When pregnant, the infant came to the forefront of all conversation, and any other interests seemed to drop from the mind. At least that was her observation years ago when her schoolteacher was expecting and she spied her around Keaton.

“I daresay you’re afraid of her,” Anax said from atop Schuler.

“Not her per se, being around her,” admitted Patience with a sigh.

“How’s that?” asked her husband.

“I’ve not been around many expectant mothers … “ She leaned into the plush at her back. Her fingers fiddled with the needle that still remained in the sofa arm. “And if she were to ask of our plans for a family? I wouldn’t know what to say! I already heard the comments during our wedding reception about the prospects of children …”

“That’s true. Clara did mention she would be terribly excited if you become pregnant soon,” said Anax.

Patience groaned and grasped her ribs. “I don’t know if I can bear visiting her until her child is weaned …”

“Politely ignore it,” Schuler said. “Take her words like water off a duck’s back.”

“You’ve known Whit for years. He can excuse your deflections and elusion. I must be well-mannered until I reach a higher level of familiarity with your friends.”

“Oh, Patience,” clucked Schuler. He rose from his seat and stepped to his wife. He leaned over, wrapping his arms around her neck, gently resting his chin and Anax’s jaws on her crown. 

“Am I even a good wife when I fear such things?” Among other things, Patience thought. Her eyes shifted to the fireplace. “When I hesitate to be around your friends?”

“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to answer to anything if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

Patience balked. Staring up at her husband, her throat cinched. This was all too much to think about this afternoon. At least she had the perfect distraction. Fending off the latent tears stabbing her lower eyelids, Patience cleared her throat. 

“You received a letter from Albert!”

Schuler pulled back, his eyes wide and bright. “You don’t say!”

Patience rose to fetch the letter for him, happy to have steered the conversation toward something lighter.

“The Claibornes are nice people, but I don’t understand their great elation,” Anax commented as Schuler reseated himself.

The man chuckled. “Different folks are impassioned by different things.”

“So it would seem.”