Seed on the Wind

Lora did not reply. He looked at her, squirmed around in his seat a little, and went on:

“Look here, it’s my fault, and I’m sorry. I knew you didn’t know anything and I should have been more careful. It’s a damn nuisance, and I’m sorry. This is life, isn’t it lovely? Isn’t it sweet the way they’ve got it fixed up? I said it was my fault — well, it isn’t. That’s a lot of bunk. What if you want a baby — how do I know you don’t? Maybe you do. All right, try and get it and see what happens. What if you don’t want one, and precautions, just once, fail? Just as bad — worse even. It’s one of the major jests.”

“Yes,” said Lora. “Of course that doesn’t help—”

He pulled a card out of his pocket, wrote a name and address on it, and handed it to her.

“That man will do it, he’s comparatively unobjectionable,” he said. “Mention my name if you want to, he knows me. And don’t be frightened, there’s nothing to it if it’s done right. It is said that this particular light of the medical profession cleans up forty thousand a year at this chore; he handles most of the university trade.”

Later that evening, at the room after dinner, Lora told him that she intended to have a baby. She returned the card to him, and he tore it up and threw it in the wastebasket. She wanted him to know, she said; not that it would make any difference in anything, but he was going away and probably she would never see him again and she wanted him to know. When she had said that she saw him bend forward a little, peering at her, with the characteristic stoop to his broad shoulders.

“And you not yet twenty,” he said. “Good god, it’s criminal.”

“It’s all right,” she said. She added, “I’ll be twenty before it’s born.”

He threw up his hands. “And I was about to get sympathetic. You are what is called in superstitious circles a brave little woman, meaning that the cells of a certain portion of your post-Rolandic area are below normal in sensitivity.” He grinned, a twisted grin that distorted his whole face. “By that prosaic fact you escape all the acute and subtle tortures. You’ve no idea what you’re missing. Lucky girl.”

“You’re being smart,” said Lora, “and I don’t want you that way this last night. Don’t.”

“There’s tomorrow.”

“That will be goodbye. It won’t count. I don’t want to think of tomorrow.”

When she got to the office, the next morning she told Miss Goff that she would not be able to be there the following day. It would be her first absence in the six months since she had started to work. Miss Goff made some remark about the annoyance and inconvenience of unexpected absences, whereupon Lora replied that it would perhaps be just as well to make this one permanent. At this Miss Goff took alarm; oh, no, she said, she hadn’t meant to offend, Mr. Graham would be terribly put out if Lora should leave, he thought very highly of her...

So the next morning Lora lay luxuriously in bed till nine. From seven-thirty on she was wide awake, but there at any rate she was, with Pete asleep beside her. At nine she arose and dressed and proceeded to prepare the farewell breakfast, all of Pete’s favorite dishes: a melange of grapefruit and fresh pineapple, Irish bacon, an omelet with anchovies and fresh tomatoes, fried potatoes, preserved watermelon rind, and strong coffee with thick cream. It took longer than she had calculated, nearly an hour, and at the end she hurried a little, for his train was to leave at noon. Pete ate in his shirt sleeves, without a necktie; Lora, already fully clothed, bobbed up and down continually taking this away and bringing that. After breakfast she helped him finish packing; and then after putting on her hat and taking a last look in the closet and under the bed to be sure he wasn’t leaving anything, offered him her parting gift.

Pete looked at the offering in her hand, then at her face, and shook his head.

“I don’t need it,” he said, “I’ve got enough.”

“Please, I have plenty,” she said. “I want you to.”

But he refused. “I don’t know much about the Canadian army,” he said, “but I imagine one gets fed. I’m not being sacrificial, I’ve simply got enough, mostly from you of course. You need it more than I do. How much have you got there?”

“It’s a hundred dollars.”

“A goodly sum.” He grinned. “Remember when I said that before? Sure you do. — All right, I’m off. What’s the idea of the hat?”

“I’m seeing you off to the war.”

His hands went up. “Good god, no! I couldn’t stand it. You on the platform with your handkerchief, and me leaning out of the car window and waving. I beg you not.”

She was seized with panic. What, this was the very last minute then!

“I won’t do that,” she said. “I won’t get out of the taxi. Just let me ride down to the station with you. I won’t get out.”