Page 132 of Long Live the King

She turned and went back for her pillow and drew near, tossed it on the bed, climbed up and over me to sleep against my back.

She had forgotten her book and flashlight so she climbed back over me, went to get them, returned, climbing back over me, and tossed and turned getting comfortable. She opened her book and turned on the light, illuminating her side of the bed.

I teased, “Comfortable?”

She missed my joke. “Yes, are you comfortable, Mammy?”

“Yes.”

I was watching Archie when he turned his head and looked at me. “I can’t stop it, Mammy, it is going and going.”

“The chant?”

He nodded, his face screwed up, a tear spilled out. “They’re saying ‘The King is Dead!’ That’s Da, isn’t it Da?”

Isla sat up. “It’s not Da, Da is not dead.”

“I know that, Isla, that’s not what I mean.” He huffed.

I brushed his hair off his forehead. “I’m sorry, little man, I’m not sure how to set your mind at ease. Isla is right, though, that is not Da, he’s not dead. Nothing is going to happen to him?—”

“How do you know?”

I thought for a moment. “Because he has done really dangerous, death-defying things in his life, and this is just a small thing, I can’t believe he would come to harm doing this small thing. Also, he’s doing it to help his brother, how unfair would it be if something happened to him when he was trying to help? Those are two reasons why I think nothing will happen.And I know they’re not perfect reasons, but if you remind yourself of them they will set your mind at ease, I think.”

He nodded.

Isla sat up again. “Archie, want to use my flashlight to look in the book?”

He sat up, his wee shoulders rounded over the book in his lap. He carefully turned to the page and Isla climbed on me, her knobby knee pressing into my side as she peered down in the directed flashlight beam at the page. She whispered, “Is it there?”

“No. Nothing.”

I said, “This is good news. I for one hope he doesn’t send us a note asking us to help, but if he does, we will know what to do, right?”

Archie said, “We’ll go get him.”

“Yes. Now I think it’s time to go to sleep. Think you can?”

“I’ll try.”

I leaned up on my elbow and took the book from his lap, closed it, put it under his pillow, and smoothed it down. He curled on his side. I lay back down. Isla turned off her flashlight and put it and her book under her pillow.

Jack called. “Ma-ma!”

I called back, “Jack, coming!”

I climbed from the bed, pitter-pattered into the other room, and lifted him from his bed, cooing, “Did Jackie wake up? Mama is sleeping, want to come sleep in bed with Mama?”

He tucked his head to my shoulder and I climbed us into bed. He squeezed in between me and Archie. I lay down.

And exhaled.

Archie sniffled.

I asked, “You want to twirl my hair?”

He nodded. And looped his fingers in my hair, like he used to when he was really wee, and he began to twirl a lock, a sniffle that sounded suspiciously like crying, until he finally fell asleep.

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