A Dutiful Wife

by Sydney Michelle

 

Chapter Seven

 

The daily routine got us through the next couple of days, My little soreness eased and when I had a little upset tummy Friday morning, we both wondered if it were a positive sign. The problem was, that was a little early, so we chalked it up to a late Pepperoni pizza supper.

Saturday morning, Blake had to work, somewhere between finishing up the cites on a case and face time. I didn’t mind so long as she quit for lunch since I had to meet Jan and Thelma to practice our routines. One advantage of Thelma working for Channel 33 is that she has access to practice space. A couple more practices, and we would start taping the efforts to see how we can improve. Right then, we were still struggling.

The receptionist pointed me in the right direction. I was the last to arrive. They hadn’t been there long because Thelma was fiddling with the deck, setting up our accompaniment, Jan kneeling by some folding chairs. Both of them had their hair up in Gibson Girl styles, close to the Geisha styles we would wear to sing. Thelma punched a button and a stage orchestra struck up The Sun and I. She turned around.

"Hi, Jaimie. I was just going to run through my solo. How are you doing?"

"I’m going to have to beg off the dance routine today."

Jan looked over her shoulder. "How come, Jaimie?"

"Dr. Cordray says I should take it easy for a few days."

Jan bounded over to give me a hug. "Oh, Jaimie, I’m so thrilled for you!"

"Could you two clue me in?"

"Dr. Cordray’s our program’s chief researcher. Jaimie’s pregnant."

"Not officially. I haven’t peed in the cup yet."

Thelma wrapped her arms around us both and gave my cheek a peck. "This is so nice! We’re going to be mommies together. Kenzie and I are starting to look at houses. Maybe you two can buy something in the same neighborhood."

Thelma really believed in togetherness, sometimes a little too much for my taste. But she had been really close to her sorority sisters and the worst part about her year as Miss Coed was missing having really close friends around. Still, she was genuinely nice and could take a hint that you needed some space, so having a built in koffee klatch might not be so bad.

"I’m not even sure I am, yet. Pregnant, that is."

"Honey, a woman knows. You just think about it. There’s plenty of time."

"What Jaimie’s trying to say is that it takes a few days for the fetus to attach to us. Dr. Cordary just wants her baby to have the best chance to make a connection without complications."

Thelma frowned. "Should you be out and about, Jaimie? You could always take the disc home and practice there."

"I’m not dying. I just shouldn’t put a lot of strain on my abdomen. I’m afraid belly rolls are out until I get the doctor’s all clear."

"Well, if it’s alright, it wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m just so thrilled you’re going to have a baby! We can take our birthing classes together."

"Not us. We have to have C-sections."

"Oh. Right. Silly me, but you two are just two of my best girl friends ever, so I got carried away."

"That’s alright. That’s one of the things we love about you, Thelma, your enthusiasm." Good ol’ Jan, always ready with a soothing compliment.

"Oh this is so exciting! We have to get a bite together afterwards. But we better get on with it. They have to start setting up a program at ten."

We took positions while Thelma re-cued the disc. This one was easy. All we had to do was look enraptured while Thelma sang her paean of self-praise. Thelma has a really good voice, not operatic, but strong and true, so it wasn’t difficult.

When the last notes faded away, she turned to us for reassurance. "How did I do?"

"You were wonderful. You always are." She made it easy to pay sincere compliments.

"Ah, my faithful audience! Thank you, thank you, thank you. But, no, really? I thought I was a little flat on some of the high notes."

"I thought the tremolo was quite effective. Of course you’re much more experienced than I and we’re behind you." A performer needs lots of encouragement she can believe.

"So I was flat?"

"I didn’t hear that. I think your voice is beautiful." Jan was always to the rescue.

"Maybe some more breathing exercises?"

"That would never hurt. After all, you’ll have to breathe around your baby too."

"True. Maybe that was the problem. I just felt I had to push a little harder."

"I thought you were wonderful." So I repeat. "Really."

Thelma sighed. "There’s still over a month to go." She brightened. "But enough about me. Let’s try our Three Little Maids from School routine."

It was fun, taking mincing steps and pretending to twirl an umbrella. So I was a little old and too experienced to be a giggly virginal school girl, not to mention being mainly Scotch and Irish, but then Gilbert and Sullivan lampooned British society, just playing off the fad Japonaise.

 

"Three little maids from school are we," {twirl, turn}

"Three little maids from school, . . ."

 

Fortunately we didn’t have too long until our performance, or our bellies would belie our maidenhood. But with layers of kimono and the obi sashes, even Thelma should look fine. A couple of times through, even I was getting the words down, and Thelma called a break. Jan walked over to boxes on the folding chairs.

"Look, girls, at what I got. Since we’re doing this for charity, and they’ll be back before Halloween, Fantasy Dress let me have them until the performance for a week’s rental." Jan opened a box and pulled out a gorgeous kimono, apple green with gold print blossoms. "And each one has a color coordinated under blouse and obi. It won’t be the full court seven layer, but it gives the effect."

Of course we had to see all the choices. Besides the green, there was one in deep pink and one in yellow. Thelma, as the focus, got the pink. I took the green and Jan got the yellow. Of course we had to slip on the outer coat, tie the sashes, and run thru the number again.

Dressing up made us all a bit light hearted, feeling the part of young but not exactly naive, if not downright manipulative, schoolgirls. We needed paper umbrellas and geta to completely dress the part, not to mention dangling hair ornaments in elaborately folded hair, but it certainly got us in the mood.

The kimonos went back in the boxes. It was time to run through Jan’s number, Saber Dance. Jan would get to dance lead, we would be support. We would do a mild belly dance wearing Kismet style costumes: scarves and veils, tambour hats and harem pants. Jan and I would wear larger than usual hoops in our noses; Thelma insisted that was carrying realism too far for her. All of us would be showing our bazooms, a special thrill for Jan and me since it would be our first public exposure. Besides assorted pools, that is.

We just needed assurance from Thelma that we wouldn’t look like the hoochie-koochie dance from On the Town. We knew we could pass, dressed, and neither of us was uncomfortable any longer in a swim suit, so long as it wasn’t too skimpy, but this was the ultimate feminine make-believe and we were just a teeny bit nervous that having some extra real parts would give away the game. Why we were so nervous, I’ll never be exactly sure. Jan was already confirmed to be carrying and I was hoping to hear the same soon, and how much more real can you get? It’s just that this was as close as we would ever get to full frontal, and we didn’t want to be embarrassed, or embarrassing. It’s not that we had to be members of the Junior League. Okay, that would please Jan’s Mom immensely, but we did aspire to be ladies of the club, or at least acceptable to them. After all our spousal professions needed social respect, and we would not want our children to be ostracized because their mothers were obnoxiously different. Thelma’s asking us to appear in the Richards Hospital fund raiser seemed like both fun and a chance to contribute and be accepted. It’s just we were having some second thoughts about literally flapping in the breeze.

Not that Jan should have worried. The first of the year, she had taken up belly dancing for exercise, which was why she was the lead. She could ripple and shimmy and flex, and the girdle of her costume was cleverly worked to hide anything that might come loose while showing the very top of her back crack. But she was as beside herself as Thelma was over her singing. Maybe it was just performer jitters.

But the second time we just couldn’t get started, Thelma sat us down. "Look, I don’t know what you two are worried about. You’re both attractive, You’ll have on ballet gaffs to keep things under control, and we’re doing this half shadowed to emphasize silhouettes. No one will suspect you don’t have a slit if you don’t make a big deal out of it."

"Are you sure? Internally my skeletal remains would still say ‘male.’ Maybe I won’t shimmy right."

"Jan, Honey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your shimmy, take my word for it. You dance better than I do. If you wanted to perform professionally, your act would need work, but it’s way more than adequate for a Capital City charity affair. You haven’t seen what passes for "talent’ at these affairs. I have. It ranges all the way from professional to amateur, and that means more enthusiasm than talent. I don’t think we have anybody this year who sings in the cracks, but there are some legislative wives who came from the sticks and never got over not being Miss Watermelon Queen. You can’t hardly tell the wife of the Senate pro tem that her voice, if she ever had one, has lost it’s range. And timbre. And color. She hits her notes, it’s just there aren’t many of them."

"Oh, no, not that bad!"

"Take it from me, we’ll be some of the better acts of the night. And no one is going to think you’re anything other than a very attractive young wife."

"What about me?"

"You want have any problem either, Jaimie. Neither of you are pageant thin, but you didn’t win prizes at the Sadie Hawkins Dance for nothing. And since then, you have both filled out quite nicely. Frankly, sometimes I’m a little envious."

"No!"

"Mine are nothing to be ashamed of, it’s just B-cups work best for pageants, TV, and modeling. But every once in a while, usually when Kenzie is playing around, I wish I had just a little bit more."

"Don’t you dare, Thelma Coombs Reyneaux! Yours are just the nicest shape possible. Don’t you dare put yourself down."

"I won’t if you won’t."

"Won’t what?"

"Put yourself down by being all nervous about not being adequate dancing. Deal?"

"Oh! Deal." Did I say that Thelma was just the sweetest thing and we all love her to death?

After a group hug, Thelma ran us through the routine twice. Me, I stuck with blocking and hand movements, leaving off the shimmies and shoulder shakes until next time. But Jan, she does this back bend that rivals Blake’s, and circles her hands above her face, and has this hip shimmy that won’t quit. When she tilts her hip up, rings her zihls and fans her fingers before her face, the caliph would have left Scherazade and ordered the executioner to behead himself. No wonder at half our parties Drew looks like she needs to catch some z’s.

 

§§§

 

After practice, we gathered up the boxes with our kimonos and heading for the Capitol Coffee Shoppe. We didn’t head to The Back Bench because we didn’t want to eat much and Thelma swore she couldn’t go there without stealing some smooch time with Kenzie and she just didn’t have the time. She was the most newly wed of the three of us and the new still hadn’t worn off her play toy. May it never do so.

We settled in among a flurry of skirts, ordering juice and toast, enough to pay for taking up space. We were all off caffeine for the duration, one of the many little sacrifices mothers make for their children. I admired their hair, they had me turn my head so they could examine what Jolene had done with mine. But naturally the springboard of conversation was my procedure.

Dr, Cordray had come up to assist with Jan’s implant as well. Thelma had to hear all about how it was done and allowed she thought it didn’t sound as nearly as much fun as putting Tab A in Slot B. We agreed that it wasn’t, but the prescription to come in relaxed meant lots of play time beforehand. Jan said she hadn’t noticed any stiffness afterwards, but than she had still been just a little stiff in the joints from winding around Drew.

"Now you have to phone us with the news the moment you know anything definite. Whatever it is." Thelma was insistent.

"Of course."

"After all, we’re a team, buddies, and whatever we do, we do together." Jan and I still gave joint parties.

"I won’t forget to call."

"Whatever now. If it’s good, we want to celebrate with you. If not we’ll commiserate with you."

"Thank you both. You two will make it much easier."

"We’ll all be comparing notes like crazy. I’m trying to talk the station into doing a series on mine, sort of a woman’s health feature."

"Not through labor, I trust." Jan cocked her head.

Thelma laughed. "Oh, no. I’m not that much of an exhibitionist."

Jan and I knew we were carrying daughters. The centrifuge pretty well separates male from female sperm, and the sex had been confirmed in the genetic review. Thelma wouldn’t know for a few months yet. That led to discussions of baby names. Thelma said her baby would have something from the same sex parent, but not the full moniker. Jan and Drew were still discussing it, trying to come up with some combination from their grandmothers or mothers. Jan was partial toward Caroline since her mother’s name was Carol. When I said I had gotten Blake to agree to Mary Elizabeth, Thelma clasped her hands for joy. Her middle name is Elizabeth and she volunteered to be Mary Elizabeth’s godparent on the spot. It was a little awkward since Jan and I had talked about being godparents for each other’s children. I just told her I didn’t want to make any decisions until I knew I was truly carrying.

Thelma told us she had arranged for the station hair stylist to do our Japanese wigs. Fake cherry blossoms, golden chopsticks, and at least one dangling ornament would accent each wig. We would need to drop by one day during the week before month end for five minutes just so she could fit us.

Jan said she’d have the full harem dance costumes two weeks before so we could get use to the flow. She would provide the zihls, the finger cymbals, next week so we could get used to the extra finger weight.

Mainly we talked about great it was to be pregnant, to be the source of life, of how scary it would be to be responsible for that little bundle, to love it, protect it, nurture it, and eventually have it totter off on its own. We agreed we hadn’t thanked our mothers nearly enough, something that shouldn’t wait until next Mother’s Day.

 

Chapter Eight

 

I got back to our apartment before Blake made it home. That wasn’t unusual. Although she did try to be home in time for lunch, I understood the associates needed to get in some office gossip, some mutual self-help in trying to decipher the seniors and partners so they could advance in the firm. They frequently stopped off for a cool one at Barrister’s, and Blake could not afford not to fit in, even though she was married, unlike most of the others.

It gave me time to slip into something more comfortable, Bermuda shorts, a loose blouse, and moccasins, and get out of my girdle and hose. I really should touch up my toes, or maybe Blake would be good enough to tend to his expectant, we hope, mommy’s needs this weekend.

I got lunch started, soup with extra herbs on a low heat, the makings for grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches laid out, Canadian bacon heating in the microwave, the water to make herbal tea on the fire. It would take just a few minutes to have everything ready once my sweetie-pie walked through the door. The break gave me time to use the phone.

"Hello, Mom?"

"Jaimie? It’s nice to hear your voice. Any news?"

"Not yet, it’s too early. After next weekend, we hope."

"Why are you calling, Honey? Anything wrong?"

"No, Mom, I just needed to talk to you."

"That’s nice. I talked to my mom more when I was carrying you too. My having a baby gave us something else in common, made us seem more like equals in my mind."

"I’ll never be your equal, Mom."

"Oh, Honey, I’ve just had more experience. You’re a lovely wife. You’ve kept Blake very happy."

"Thanks, Mom. That’s nice to hear. It really is."

"So why the call?"

"I just wanted to say thank you for raising me, supporting me. And that I love you."

"Why thank you, Jaimie. It’s always nice to hear you’re efforts are appreciated. Uh, you two don’t need some money, do you?"

"Mom! I’m trying to be nice and you’re questioning my motives."

"I’m sorry, Jaimie, I shouldn’t have trod on the moment. It’s just I remember when your father and I were starting out, things were a bit tight, what with getting ready for you. If you should need something, don’t hesitate to ask. Maybe you and Blake could relieve us of some thing in storage when you come for Thanksgiving."

"Do you still have my old crib?"

"That went in a church bazaar years ago. Besides, the safety standards are so different today. But I’ve got your baby quilt packed away."

"That would be nice. Thank you, Mom. I do love you."

"And I love you, too. Call me as soon as you know anything."

"I will. Love you. ‘Bye."

I was just a little teary when I hung up. Nothing serious, just a little sniffly that I couldn’t give and get a big hug from Mom right then. I honked into a paper towel and felt a little flutter in my abdomen. Was I? Surely that was just nerves. I poured up the tea water. Herbal iced tea, raspberry mint would have to do now that I was expecting. Or at least expecting to be expecting.

"Hi, Sugar-Bear. How was practice?"

"Fine, Blakey-Bear. How was work?"

"Same old, same old. Case cites and client questionnaires. Sorry the fellahs held me up."

"I’ll have lunch up in a jiffy."

"No rush. I’ll just nibble on what’s available."

Which turned out to be me. Not that a coman will complain, hands pressed to the front of her hips, tongue making little circles on her neck. "Uhm, nice. But behave, so you can eat before you eat. Gotta keep your strength up, you know."

Blake lifted a curl of my nape, weighing it in her hand. "Your new do is nice. I like the curls. They make me want to run a finger up them and then up you."

I reached back to stroke her head. "That sounds interesting. It’s nice to be appreciated."

Her chin rested on my shoulder, her hands moving up to cup my breasts. "I’m going to be jealous of Mary Elizabeth, getting to feast on these all the time, cutting me off."

I finished putting the sandwiches together, rubbed my hips back against her. "What makes you think you’ll be cut off?"

"Having to reserve your milk for the baby."

"You’ll just have to pick your times. After I put her down and clean myself, there’s no reason we couldn’t play around. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. I’m not giving that up for two years."

"H-hm, ruff." She buried her face again in my neck."

"Be good, Get out some ice and pour up the tea. I’ll be ready in a moment."

"I like how I was getting you ready now."

"Don’t be silly. I’m always ready around you. The last three days has been hard for your wife."

"Alright, but don’t keep your lady and mistress waiting too long."

Grilled cheese doesn’t take long; the soup was already ready. We ate as fast as having one hand encumbered with intertwined fingers allowed. I bent across the table to kiss her cheek. "You go make yourself comfy, and I’ll be in as soon as I take care of the dishes."

A gentle fanny pat puts a smile on a wife’s face. I was humming I Enjoy Being A Girl as I cleared the table, rinsed the plates and glasses and got everything stowed away. I leaned against the sink, trying to decide what I should put on, maybe just a rose between my teeth, except there weren’t any in the house. My pogo stick began to hop at the thought of my beloved waiting for me, knowing that we had the all clear to go back into operation.

I wiped my hands dry, pushed up my hair, and headed for the bedroom. Blake was all stretched out on the bed, cover s tossed back, wearing a long, black negligee. And she was sound asleep. Poor baby. Between work and worrying about me, she had just died. So maybe I should put something on after all.

A little bathroom time gave me a chance to get all clean and smelly. Freshly washed pits, some powder and perfume, my short blue teddy, and a fresh coat of lipstick had me ready to snuggle. She was still out as I climbed on the bed, lying close to her, putting my arm across her, feeling the warmth of her breast, the tautness of her stomach. I reached under her head and drew out two pins, uncoiling her braid, letting it slide over her shoulder. I slipped a leg over hers, slid my hand under her arm, bent over and kissed her throat, my tongue lapping lightly in the hollow.

"Wha’?"

"Sh-h-h. Just lie still." I untied her gown, licking my way down, kissing my way to her right nipple before taking it in and swirling it under my tongue. When it was erect, I did the same for the left. As I kissed the hollow between her breasts, my pussy stick was twitching, longing for its familiar pillow. I didn’t know how long I could hold out but I kissed my way down her belly, spreading her legs and crouching between them. My breasts nestled on her warmth, tender tips rubbing against her thighs and her thatch as I worked back and forth. Fingers stole to the back of my head, squeezing through the sprayed strands, guiding me down, down past her navel on o her pelvic girdle. As my tongue washed over her points, her knees spread and rose around me, making a basket for my body. My tongue traced the top of her bush, growing piquant from her ambrosia. My tongue flicked, probing, teasing at her pelvis and thatch.

"Oh, yes, Sugar-Bear, do it to me."

I worked my arms under her hips, lifting her thighs onto my shoulders. Her crisp black hairs curled beneath my nose, her swollen pink slit glistening beneath. I slipped forward, closing my eyes in a kiss, kissing the sweet lips, my tongue tip snaking inside. It rippled up, down, shot forward to cover her throbbing ruby, then skipped down to snake inside her.

"Yes! Oh, yes! Don’t stop, lover!"

I was hard as a rock but I kept stroking her, her sweet honey starting to wash down. My nose rubbed her clit as my head bucked and probed, preparing her, exciting her, serving her. Her legs drew up, her knees feel open.

"Take me, lover, take me to heaven!"

I pushed up over her, balancing myself with one hand, reaching down to steady myself with the other. Her heels found my buttocks, pushing, insistent, as my head pressed against her hole. My knees pushed, the bulging head pressing against her opening mouth. My hips thrust forward, her feet pulled, and we were one.

"Yes, oh yes, so good, so big, so good."

Her arms caught around me, pulled me to her, our taut, tender nipples brushing fire from one another. My hips began to pump, her ankles locking around them. We rocked, pulled back, plunged in, stoking the fires within, sucking the juices down. Her tongue brushed over my cheek, drilling behind my curl, her lips fastened on my lobe. Her hot breath blew into my ear and I began to quiver and shake.

"Faster, Honey, faster. Oh, good, so good, oh yes! More!. More!"

We pumped, frantic, my tail squeezing, missing the now familiar drill inside. But she squeezed me to her, and I held her tight, and we rocked, and pumped and I felt my pussy stick begin to twitch within her.

"Yes! Yes! Give it to me, give it all to me!"

My hips went on auto-jiggle, sucking and driving my jism through my pipe, sending it gushing up her, splashing off the entrance to her womb, filling her with my essence. I tensed, she froze against me, her hips pumped, sucking all of me as deep into her as she could. She pulsed, and pulsated, and crushed me, and as I strained against her, in her, she ground her belly under me all over again.

I rolled aside, spent, to give her room to breathe. She rolled with me, hand caressing, cradling my cheek. Her mouth covered mine, her tongue swirling inside, her warm breasts pressed to mine. I lay back lost in her embrace until I had to push away to breathe. She lay beside me, our legs entangled

"Wow! Maybe we ought to try this abstinence stuff more often!"

It had been awhile since I had been on top, the pursuer, the aggressor. It felt good to know I could still give her a thrill, make her want me.

"So it was good for you?"

"Scamp! You know it was! You make this lady feel like a harlot, wanting you in me all the time." Her arm slipped around my shoulders and I snuggled up against her.

"I love you, Blake Marie Jones, mistress of my life, dam of my child. I love you, and want to please you all the rest of my life."

Her fingertip stroked my ear rim. "And I love you, Jaimie Alba Jones, master of the bedroom and mother of my child. I love you and will take care of you all the rest of your life."

That’s how it should be. I snuggled up to her, drifting off to sleep in her arms.

 

§§§

 

We walked down a corridor, Blake in a long flowing gown, the bodice covered with sparkles, her hair piled in curls behind a tiara tipped with hanging pearls. I was on her arm, too big for anything but harem pants below my bulging belly, my breasts swollen and heavy with milk. We swept into a room filled with familiar strangers, all turning to look at us. I was exposed, raising an arm to cover my naked breasts, but strangely not embarrassed.

A suited, faceless form approached, a voice booming out. "Blake, you old rascal, who’s the little lady? You’ve been busy, I see.."

"Mr. Draper, this is Jaimie, the mother of my Mary Elizabeth."

"So I can see. When’s the big event?"

"Now."

My belly began to swell and twitch. A masked figure appeared at my side, supporting my back as she floated me back. The chandelier grew brighter, wider, covering the ceiling. The masked face loomed over me. Dr. Cordray’s voice surrounded me.

"You just relax. This won’t hurt a bit."

She placed her hand on my belly, now swollen almost to the ceiling, blocking my view of Blake who had been talking to three suited figures as they took turns slapping her shoulder. She drew a line with her fingertip and my belly opened, red, pulsing, glistening. She reached in a gloved hand and I saw it scoop under a pink form. The hand rose, lifted the pinkness up, turned it. I saw my baby’s sweet face, all scrunched and wrinkled. Another hand appeared, cupped, to press against the bottom. "Thank you for your help, Dr. Laney."

Hands lifted my baby toward me, holding her above my belly as it shrank and closed. "Don’t want to lose her back in there, do we?"

Hands laid her on my chest, her head rising, mouth yawning as she latched onto my breast. Hands supported me, standing me upright before the applauding crowd. Blake’s voice intoned, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mary Elizabeth Jones and her mother, Jaimie. For these are my beloved."

I held Mary Elizabeth in one arm, slipping the other under Blake’s. As she escorted us around the room, my body became covered by a gold sequin gown, all except for one breast that Mary Elizabeth suckled. My hair was piled up, caught behind a pointed tiara, my shoulders bare, my arms covered by sequined gloves, except for my fingers, bare but for my wedding set.

We stood in the middle of the room, proud in the adulation. A voice floated from the crowd.

"She looks like a good breeder. How much you take for her, Blake?"

She turned to look into my eyes. "Her price is above rubies." And she led me away, my head on her shoulder.

 

§§§

 

"Blake, Blake Honey, wake up. Wake up, Blake."

Her eyelids fluttered. She smiled. "What is it, my love?"

"Blake, I’m pregnant."

"That’s what we’re hoping."

"No, Blake, I know I’m pregnant." I snuggled close to her, drawing my leg between hers. "And I’m so happy."

 

Chapter Nine

 

The next morning was Sunday. I made Blake actually get dressed to take us to church. Rev. Goodwife had recommended a sympathetic pastor and we attended semi-regularly. It probably wasn’t as often as we should, but we usually made monthly communion and we paid our pledge to help keep the doors open. The building was from the turn of the century, classic pseudo-English parish stone, built by a congregation that had outgrown its size. The sanctuary was intimate, not one of those modern, cavernous auditoriums that feels like it was built more for Bingo than reflection. Behind the chapel was a multi-story building. It held the church offices, the nursery and classrooms, and most importantly, the church school. Children of members had first preference for attending. That helped keep the church rolls full and not completely gray headed.

Parking would have been a problem except that the church sat two blocks from the neighborhood shopping center The area around was not far from Richards and the Capitol, so it had regained popularity. The center had been revitalized but it had never been enclosed. The addition of a parking garage meant the congregation attending had adequate, if not the absolutely most convenient, parking.

Walking to church beside Blake, me in a dress with a flowing skirt, short white gloves, and a little veiled hat pinned atop my smooth head made me feel so matronly. I mean that in a good way, grown up, at one with and in the world, not as some over-stuffed, under-serviced blouse. I felt like one of the club, committed, and now, I was sure, about to have a child. How much more mature can you get?

Blake presented a much more controlled appearance, dark blue suit dress, white blouse with a gold circle pin holding her cravat. At least she had let me work a little with her hair, intertwining her braids to make a back interest, rather than simply twisting and coiling her pony into a low chignon. Her stockings were pale, her heels modest, just tall enough to stand her slightly above me. She used just enough makeup to show she knew how and not look grim.

Some denominations stand up and sit down so much you hardly know whether you are coming or going. Ours makes it optional, and I prefer sitting quietly, except for hymns when we’re all up. We don’t attend enough to have a "regular" pew, but we can usually find seats somewhere in the middle on the pulpit side. We do attend enough to be on a nodding basis with some of the congregants as we file in, and to have people to talk with in the social hour afterwards.

Lectionaries don’t differ too much across denominations, but Rev. Thistlewaite rarely let the topic dictate his sermon. That week’s was Ruth, how she fulfilled her duty to her mother-in-law and how Boaz had fulfilled his duties as wealthy man and relative. Because both fulfilled duties, they had found happiness within each other, counted in the genealogy even though Ruth was not of Judaic lineage. In marriage. Fulfill your many duties, one to another, and to those who came from it. With a good heart and a willing attitude, duties can become a joy, so long as each partner remembered duties did not run in only one direction. The first duty was, after all, "to love one another."

It seemed appropriate to our situation. My duty as wife to bear children had become my joy. I squeezed Blake’s hand lying between us. She turned and smiled at me.

With a final hymn, Bringing in the Sheaves, the service ended and we filed back to the gym which held the post-service social gathering on Sundays. We were nibbling cookies and drinking punch, making chit-chat with some acquaintances when Rev. Thistlewaite made his rounds. I excused myself from the group to buttonhole him.

"Reverend, I have a question, not exactly about theology, more about church protocol."

"If you would like to join the choir, Mrs. Jones, just show up at seven on Wednesday. They’d be delighted to have you."

"Uh, not that. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good enough. But what I really need to know, Reverend, is how many sets of godparents are acceptable?"

Reverend Thistlewaite’s head cocked just the slightest degree. "One couple is the customary count, but there’s no limit by doctrine of which I’m aware. Have you been asked, or are you thinking of asking?"

"It’s just, well, there are three of us from ESU here, and we are all planning for families and it would be awkward deciding who is who for whom. And if, well . . . You see."

"I think I get the general idea, somewhere in there. You all do realize that being a godparent is not just a social nicety, a sign of friendship? Those who agree undertake to set a moral example, and even assist in their godchild’s religious instruction? Although one does not necessarily have to be of the same denomination, and we have a pretty broad doctrinal latitude here, that can present an obstacle. For all that, if upon reflection, you and your friends wish to mentor each other’s children, why I see no obstacle to multiple sets, so long as they can work out who stands closest to the font."

"Thank you. Reverend. We have plenty of time to consider your advice."

"Is Miz Jones, about to be in the, uh, family way?"

"Oh, no, her job really makes that difficult, especially now."

"You’re planning to adopt. How nice."

"We have hopes of our own."

Rev. Thistlewaite sighed. "I tend to leave the judging business to He who can know both the facts and the state of your hearts. However experience leads me to rather strongly agree sex in violation of the marriage covenant can lead to all sorts of problems and heartaches."

"You needn’t worry about us on that score, Reverend. We’re as faithful as a pair of swans."

"I’m not sure I can see . . . But then if there is some fact . . . That’s why I try to leave judgement to others."

"Before it comes down to it, I’m sure we can set your mind at ease."

"Just so long as you don’t try to claim immaculate conception. That’s rather exclusive territory, you understand."

I couldn’t repress returning a smile. "Not to worry on that score, Reverend. Spontaneous pregnancy is not on the list of options."

Rev. Thistlewaite patted my hand. "Talk to me before you extend any invitations. Meanwhile, do consider the choir. Virtually any level of ability is better than an empty seat." He squeezed my hand and moved on to another set of congregants.

"That was quite a discussion. What was that about?"

"Nothing much. He wanted me to join the choir. It conflicts with my schedule."

"And you?"

"I’m just trying to plan ahead."

We made our departure shortly afterwards and headed over to the center. A French bakery and restaurant was our usual stop for lunch after church. A fair number of congregants made similar stops which was, I suspect, one reason the center did not complain about use of their parking. French Onion soup, some crisp bread, a torte, it was very peaceful. I missed my glass of red wine, but that was another thing I would have to skip for the next few months. Chocolate, on the other hand, was another matter altogether. I would just have settle for tastes rather than diving in head first as I liked to do. After all, it would help keep my mood elevated, so it was medicinal.

Keeping up with a purse had become almost second nature. The good thing was that we only needed one between the two of us. So far I wasn’t lugging everything but the bathroom sink, so I had plenty of room for Blake’s clutch with her ID, cash and credit cards.

The drive home was pretty quiet, almost too quiet. Me, I was focused on trying to determine if there was any physical confirmation of my dream. When we passed a drugstore, I had Blake do a U-turn so I could run in to purchase a pregnancy kit.

When we were strapping back in, Blake glanced at me. "Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit?"

"Probably. I thought maybe tomorrow night. That would be almost a week, enough for a preliminary check."

"Don’t get all depressed on me if it’s negative. It’s probably too early to tell."

"I know. It’s like opening a corner of your Christmas present while it’s under the tree. I know I am, I’m just hoping for a little confirmation."

Blake pulled out of the lot. "And they say women go a little crazy."

"I think it’s the hormonal changes. We mothers are sensitive to those things."

"Thank goodness for IUD’s."

I patted her hand. "One of us a t a time going a little nuts is enough, Dear. I don’t think we could stand both of us being preggie."

"So far you have me half convinced my legal career would go down the drain if this is typical."

"It’ll get better, Dear. Promise."

"I won’t hold you to that because I don’t think you have a foggy idea."

"I’m not saying there won’t be days. But I’ve been reading. I should come out of the clouds in a month or so." About the time I start throwing up.

"Right now I just pray you don’t have a false pregnancy."

Sunday afternoon? It was lazy time together, Sunday comics and papers scattered about the room. We did go for a walk in the park together, expectant mothers need their exercise, you know. And my toes? It wasn’t real hard to talk Blake into freshening my polish. Keeping her from sucking my toes first, well that was a challenge. One I wasn’t up to. Not that I fought it that hard. It was nice being pursued again, of becoming her mewling pet, her little love slave. After all, I have my wifely duties to perform.

 

 

 

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