Seed on the Wind

The moving was simple; two trips did it, with a big brown suitcase he bought for her and one of his own. The first morning he kissed her goodbye and departed for the office, leaving her confronted by a whole day to be disposed of by choice instead of necessity, she sat at the oblong table on which they had eaten their first dinner nearly three months before, sipping coffee which didn’t want to go down and feeling doubtful and ill at ease. She had done it, that was all right, but it wasn’t so simple as you might think. She couldn’t expect long to conceal the fact that every morning she was sick, and Steve would naturally want to know what the trouble was and she would have to tell him something. Almost anything would probably serve, with him; and for that matter why shouldn’t she tell him the truth? She didn’t want to, that was all, she didn’t like the idea. Well, she could say, you’re going to be a father; but that sounded ridiculous; there was something outlandish about it. Or she could say, I’m going to have a baby; but why should she? It was none of his business.

As it turned out she used neither of those phrases; the communication was made impromptu one evening late in December, a day or two after Christmas. Throughout dinner, which she had cooked at the apartment, he seemed nervous and preoccupied, talking but little; and finally, swallowing his last mouthful of salad, he unburdened his mind. He began by glancing across at her and saying with an extravagant effort to be casual:

“Has anyone been here asking about me?”

What is it now, she thought. She replied, “No, who would be asking about you?”

“Oh — I just wondered.” He emptied his wine glass. “You’re sure no one has been here?”

“No. Unless they came while I was out.”

“Sure. Of course. I suppose if you weren’t home they might ask the janitor.” He flushed, and then the flush went away and he frowned. “See here, Lo, I hope you won’t mind. I told them I was married — I put myself down that way. The draft board, you know. After all, what’s the difference, I’m supporting you just the same, I can’t see that it makes any difference. It’s wrong to make a man go to war that feels about it the way I do. The trouble is I don’t know whether they investigate these things or not, but there have been rumors lately, I’ve been worried — I thought I’d better tell you because if they come around asking questions and you didn’t know about it naturally you wouldn’t know what to say and then I would be in for it. I don’t know how much they go into it — just age and a few things like that I suppose — I’m thirty-one, thirty-one last May — and they’d ask if you were my wife and if you just said yes that would be all there’d be to it.”

“Well, that’s easy,” Lora said.

“You’re sure you won’t mind?”

“Lord, no, why should I? I don’t know anything about the war and I don’t care anything.”

“That’s just the way I feel.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. “You’re fine, Lo. Fine all the way through. I never had more respect for you than I have this minute. Anyway, as I said before, I’m supporting you and providing for you, what’s the difference whether we’re married or not?”

“Yes, you’re supporting two of us.”

“Oh, well, as for that, that hardly counts, I’d have to support myself in any event—”

“Two others, I mean. Two besides yourself. I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?” he exclaimed in astonishment.

Heaven help me, thought Lora, I’ll bet he doesn’t know what it means. “I’m pregnant,” she repeated, carefully getting out all the consonants and raising her voice a little. It is hard to pronounce, she thought.

“But how — I don’t see — good god it isn’t possible.” From the expression on his face it might have been thought she had told him she had a shameful disease. He looked pale, incredulous, permanently stupefied. “You must be mistaken — how do you know — really you must be mistaken...”

Lora shook her head. “I know all right.”

“But I don’t see — I thought it was necessary—” He was speechless. Then, “It’s my damn ignorance, that’s what it is!” he exploded furiously. “Good god, what a mess! I don’t even know what to do. I suppose you do — you ought to know — it takes a doctor of course — that’s the only way out I suppose, I don’t know — it certainly is a fine mess, it certainly is—”

“I don’t think it’s such a mess,” Lora said scornfully.

“Oh, you don’t? You don’t, eh? Do you happen to know that abortion is a crime? Well, it is. I’ve heard the fellows talk about it — my god, I never thought I’d be tangled up in it. It’s a crime, don’t you know that? Women die of it too. It’s dangerous any way you look at it; it’s sickening.”

“I won’t die of it.”

“You might as well as the next one.”

“Well, I won’t. I’m not going to have an abortion, I’m going to have a baby.”