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From: Souvie <souvie@netdot.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Rain" (MF, preg)
Date: Wed, 20 Sep 2000 17:10:03 -0400
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====
Permission is granted to repost, given that my name and copyright
information are left intact. Comments or questions are encouraged and can
be directed to: souvie@netdot.com More of my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Souvie/www
====
Special thanks go to: Virago for being
the spark that inspired this particular story, Dr Spin for offering
editorial comments, and John for giving his time to dot my "i's" and cross
my "t's." <g>
====
"Summer Rain" (MF, preg) by Souvie
"Margaret Anne Wilder!"
I sighed. Any time my full name was used, it was not a good sign. I
looked up to find Hank standing in the kitchen doorway. "Yes, dear?"
"Don't you 'yes, dear' me. You want to explain this?" He was waving a
piece of paper.
"If you'll tell me what 'this' is?" I used the hem of my apron to wipe
the sweat from my forehead.
"It's a three hundred and twenty-two dollar and forty cent phone bill,
that's what it is. You want to mind telling me why you called a 900 number
-- seventeen times?"
"Oh, that." I turned back to chopping up carrots. "I was talking to
Mary Lou."
I could hear his teeth grinding and knew his patience was wearing thin.
"Who is Mary Lou?" he asked in an unusually low voice.
"She's my psychic."
"Your psychic?"
"Uh huh." I turned and waved the knife as I spoke, for emphasis. "See,
I figure if anyone can tell me when this heat spell is gonna end, it would
be a psychic." I smiled, certain that he'd see my logic.
He stood there for the longest time, just staring at me and working his
jaw, but no words came out. "You're not to call this number again,
understand? With the baby on the way, we just can't afford it."
"Okay, dear." I blew him a kiss and turned back to the vegetables. I
was making soup for supper, and all it needed now was the carrots and
celery. "Besides, she didn't know when it would rain anyway."
I felt his arms slide around my waist and his hands lovingly caress my
rounded waist. "Maggie Anne, what am I going to do with you?"
"Love me," I answered, grinning. I tilted my head up for his kiss.
His lips were warm and soft against mine. "That's what's responsible
for your condition in the first place," he joked. "I loved you the right
way."
He reached out and grabbed a piece of carrot, popping it into his mouth
and taking several more.
"Hey! Get out of here before you eat all my vegetables," I scolded.
A smack on my rear was his retort.
==
"Margaret Anne!"
I was in the nursery, folding tiny clothing that I'd received at my baby
shower the day before. When I was done, I would put them in the blue and
white dresser that my brother had given us. Although it took a bit of
struggling, I got up from the rocker and walked down the hall to the top of
the stairs. "What's wrong, Hank?"
"Why is there a hundred and fifty dollar charge on the Visa for a
'Madame Twinkey'?"
"Oh, because she's this gypsy woman who just opened a shop on First
Street -- you know, right there by the bakery. She advertised that she
could read palms and give predictions, and I just wanted to know when it
was going to rain." I started to walk back to the nursery.
"Maggie, you've got to stop this . . . whatever it is. We can't afford
it, and no one's gonna be able to tell you when it'll rain. Maybe the
weather bureau, but not like you're wanting." He'd walked up the stairs and
stood there on the top step, looking at me.
"I know this heat is about to do you in. This is the third week that
the temperatures have been over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and our poor air
conditioner is on its last leg. I can get some portable fans from the
hardware store if -- "
I shook my head. "That's okay, honey. We need to be saving our money,
that's what you said a few minutes ago. I'll just hang the clothes out on
the line to dry and keep my cooking to a minimum. That should help,
shouldn't it?"
He smiled, that crooked off-center smile that made me fall in love with
him to begin with. "That'll do just fine." He headed back down the stairs,
and I went to finish in the nursery.
==
"Margaret Anne!"
I jumped. I had been napping on the couch, but not any more. I tried
to reach a sitting position. With my due date only one week away, I was
not the most graceful of creatures.
Hank rushed forward to help me up, waving his hand to clear the air in
front of him. "Where on God's green earth is all this smoke coming from?"
"Oh, it's from the incense I'm burning." I rubbed my eyes. It was a bit
smoky in the room. Perhaps I'd lit too many sticks. I chewed on my bottom
lip.
"Why are you burning incense?" He held up a hand quickly. "No, let me
guess -- it's to help it rain, right?"
"Pretty much. I read in this magazine that certain types of incense can
. . ." My voice trailed off at the mirth in his eyes. "You're laughing at
me." Tears welled up in my eyes, and I started to bawl. Those pregnancy
books never said my emotions would flip-flop *this* much.
Hank took me in his strong arms, helped me up, and led me out onto the
front porch. He guided me into the porch swing and wiped my tears with the
end of his shirt. "It's okay, sweetie," he said. "No harm done." He
smiled, letting me know he wasn't mad. "I'm going to go back in and clear
the house out. You just stay here and rest, okay?"
I nodded, the tears still perilously close to the surface.
==
"Margaret Anne, for the love of God!"
I twirled and Hank was standing on the back porch, his mouth hanging
open so wide I thought he'd suck up a fly. I guess I did look kind of
strange to him. But damn it, he wasn't supposed to be back from Phil's
house for at least another hour.
He stalked up to me and stared.
"What's wrong, Hank? Never seen your wife dance naked in the
moonlight?" I teased him by dancing away, lost to the music in my head.
"You're pregnant!"
"You're just now noticing?" I tried to look shocked, but I don't think I
succeeded.
"Doc Johnson said you could deliver at any time. I don't think he'd
appreciate you going into labor in the middle of the tomato patch."
"I'm not going to dance in the garden, just here in this cleared space,
silly." I was humming "Bop," an old Dan Seals tune.
"What if the neighbors see you, for pete's sake?" he hissed. "Come on
in the house."
"If old Mr. Jenkins sees me, he'll probably wonder why his wrinkled
prune of a wife never did something like this while she still had the body
to do it with," I retorted. "I don't want to go in the house. If you had
let me talk with that Indian shaman like I'd wanted to, he could have done
the rain dance for me. Instead, I had to look it up on the Internet and
get out here myself." There, that should end the discussion, I thought.
"If you don't march your fanny into the house this instant, I'm going to
throw you over my shoulder and carry you inside, baby or no baby!"
I was more stubborn than he'd ever thought of being, and we both knew
it. I kept on dancing, this time singing the words outloud and moving just
as much as my beach-ball-belly state would allow. I switched to the old
Rod Stewart tune, "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy." I smiled
and undulated my hips, the blonde hair on my head and matching thatch
between my legs gleaming in the moonlight. I grinned seductively and
motioned for Hank to join me. I might have been nine months along, but I
still had my sex drive.
He just shook his head at me and tried not to smile. "You know what?
You're so damn sexy right now you make my heart skip beats."
I started dancing closer when a pain ripped through my abdomen, doubling
me over and causing me to gasp for breath. Hank was at my side in seconds.
"Maggie, honey, what's wrong?" He brushed my hair back from my forehead.
"Baby . . . I think it's coming," I managed to gasp out before another
pain hit me. This time I felt a gush of water flood the ground around my
feet and knew my water had broken. "Call . . . call Doc Johnson."
"I'm not leaving you," he said. He raised his head and hollered at the
top of his lungs. He lowered me to the ground and took off his shirt,
covering me with it as best as he could. He hollered again, and I saw a
light go on at the Jenkins's place. Hugh stepped out on the porch, shotgun
in hand.
"That you, Hank?" he called out.
"Maggie's gone into labor. Call Doc Johnson for me, please."
The old man nodded his head and ducked back inside. If he thought it
strange that we were outside after midnight and I was in a state of
undress, he never said a word.
"Hank," I looked up into his eyes, "I'm scared."
He squeezed my hand tighter. "It's okay, baby. You're gonna be just
fine."
A thunderous boom sounded overhead. We both turned our eyes skyward as
a bright flash of lightning split the ebony sky. Another crack of thunder
sounded.
I gritted my teeth through another contraction and then smiled shakily.
"I did it. I made it rain."
The drops started coming down, fat and slow at first, then with more
speed. Hank managed to get me to the porch before another contraction hit.
I wouldn't let him carry me inside; I wanted to watch nature's dance. For
some reason, I found it calming.
Our daughter was born exactly sixty-two minutes later, only ten minutes
after Doc Johnson arrived. We named her Summer Rain. It was my idea, and
I think Hank was just too grateful we were both okay to protest too much.
He sat by my side, staring down at the tiny life we'd created together.
The rain came down in gentle waves around us.
"Maggie, what am I going to do with you?" he said, stroking my cheek
with a finger. His eyes shone with love and tears and something new and
undefined.
"Love me," I answered with a smile.
THE END copyright 2000 by Souvie
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