alls ofdistracted mothers, the welcoming of the newcomers, the bustle and rush of unloading, turning out the horses and mules,fetching feed and water...and yet in the midst of this Babel, he moved as though he were still alone, peaceful and quiet in thesetting sun. He had come home.[next morning]Drugged with fatigue, languid with love, and lulled by the comforts of a soft, clean bed and Jamie's warm body, I slept like thedead.Somewhere toward dawn, I began to dream--pleasant dreams of touch and color, without form. Small hands touched my hair,patted my face; I turned on my side, half-conscious, dreaming of nursing a child in my sleep. Tiny soft fingers kneaded mybreast, and my hand came up to cup the child's head. It bit me.I shrieked, shot bolt upright in bed, and saw a gray form race across the quilt and disappear over the end of the bed. I shriekedagain, louder.Jamie shot sideways out of bed, rolled on the floor and came up standing, shoulders braced and fists half-clenched."What?" he demanded, glaring wildly round in search of marauders. "Who? What?""A rat!" I said, pointing a trembling finger at the spot where the gray shape had vanished into the crevice between bed-foot andwall. "Oh." His shoulders relaxed. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, blinking. "A rat, aye?""A rat in our bed," I said, not disposed to view the event with any degree of calm. "It bit me!" I peered closely at my injuredbreast. No blood; only a couple of tiny puncture-marks that stung slightly. I did hope it wasn't rabid."Dinna fash. I'll deal with it." ...
