If Justin had suddenly metamorphosed into Jenner, I don't think I could have
been much more astonished. For several seconds I sat there gaping; then,
finally, I swallowed and said, "How--how did it happen?"

Justin grinned bleakly. "If after four kids, I need to tell you that,
Jonathan--" he began; but I cut him off impatiently.

"No, no," I said. "That's not what I mean." I swallowed
again. "What I mean is, I didn't think the two of you were quite that
close yet."

"Neither did I," Justin said tiredly. He shrugged. "What can
I say? The weather was clear that evening; we went outside to look at the
stars..."

I nodded knowingly. He didn't have to elaborate on that, at least;
stargazing usually had that effect on Elizabeth and me too. As a matter of
fact, it was to warm, starry, peaceful evenings that both Timothy and Cynthia
owed their existence.

"It started to get a little chilly," Justin went on. "We came
back inside, here, and I lit the stove. We sat down together on the sofa, right
about where you are now...and the next thing I knew it was morning, and we were
in there." He pointed to the door that led to his bedroom. "Though
the majority of our clothing was still out here."

"I think I get the picture," I said dryly. I really couldn't blame
either of them. In Justin's case...well, to the best of my knowledge--though I
hadn't really researched the matter thoroughly--he had no prior experience in
that area. And although physically he was still young, by the calendar (as
Elizabeth had observed) he had done without a very long time indeed. It was
hardly surprising that when an opportunity finally came along, self-control
went out the window, so to speak. In Judith's case I had no data; but I was
certain at least that she had been a willing participant. And, as they say,
once is all it takes.

"Is she absolutely certain?" I asked.

"Well--no," he admitted. "She hasn't been to see Ages yet, if
that's what you mean. But she says that she can tell." He grinned again.
"I've decided to take her word for that."

"Probably wise," I observed. "How long ago was this?"

"A little more than a week. She didn't tell me until night before last,
though. Apparently she wasn't sure until then." He chuckled bitterly.
"That cast rather a pall over our evening, as you might imagine."

I suppose I ought to briefly explain here. While the NIMH treatment did not
in fact render us sterile, it didn't leave our reproductive systems entirely
untouched. I've already mentioned the tendency toward single births--Judith and
Eileen being the single exception so far. The other change was a somewhat
longer gestation period. For normal rats and mice the average is about three
weeks. For our females it was closer to a month. Compared to the humans' nine
months, of course, that additional time is an eyeblink; but even so, our
children were born larger, stronger and better-developed than those of normal
rats or mice. So much larger, in fact, that the females of our Original 22--in
which I must also include my wife--experienced very difficult births. The
females of the second and subsequent generations seemed somewhat better
adapted--fortunately for them.

"So," I said quietly, "what are you going to do?"

"I wish I knew," he said, gazing at me with a helpless, haunted
expression. "I really wish I knew. Of course this wasn't planned. Not by
either of us. When we started seeing each other we agreed it was just for fun,
just for companionship. Neither one of us has the time for anything more serious."
He quirked a tiny smile. "I think we both rather enjoyed the fact that we
were making people point, and whisper, and speculate. But that's all it was
supposed to be."

He rose again, and crossed the room to stare out the window. A minute later
he went on, without turning, "After that night...things changed. Of course
they did. We tried to pretend they hadn't; we didn't talk about what happened.
We dismissed it as a fluke, an accident. Although...well, I don't know about
Judith, but that night got me to thinking. The fact is, Jonathan, I really did
want something more than just companionship or a few laughs. I look at you and
Elizabeth, Arthur and Alice, Henry and Margaret, and now Philip and Eileen. I
see how happy you all are, and how lucky; and I think to myself, if I'd been
quicker, or braver, after we escaped from NIMH and the Original 22 started
pairing off, it might be me who's that happy too."

"Well," I said, "I don't know if that's really your fault.
With the larger number of males..."

"Pointless even to worry about that now," he said. "I've
known for a long time that if I had any hope, it was going to be with one of
the second generation." He shook his head. "It's hard for me to
believe, sometimes," he went on. "I was there when she and her sister
were born." He looked back at me. "So were you. We helped Ages
deliver them...and there I was ten days ago, sharing my bed with someone I once
helped diaper. It almost feels like robbing the cradle..."

"You can blame Dr. Schultz for that one, if there's any blame needed,"
I said.

"True, but it feels strange nonetheless. I guess my point is this,
Jonathan. Even before Judith gave me the news a couple nights ago, I was toying
with the idea of trying to move my relationship with her up a notch or
two--beyond just hanging around. I'd been thinking about it a lot. I'd just
about come to the conclusion that I don't have time--but somewhere in the back
of my mind I was wondering if that might just be an excuse. I had to wonder if
I was just afraid to mention the subject to her." He shook his head.
"But I never, not in a million years, believed that it would be forced on
me as it has."

"It seems to me that there's only one solution," I said. "And
I don't need to tell you what that is. From what I've been hearing, I think
that you really do care for her. Trust me, Justin: no one in this community is
going to think the less of you--not if you do the right thing."

"I agree with you," he said. "Believe me, I do. I've been
wondering if this might be a sign from above, telling me that it's time for me
to alter my priorities. But that's not the problem. The problem is Judith
herself."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that so far at least, she doesn't want me to 'do the
right thing,' as you put it."

"Oh," is all I could think of to say.

"Of course I have no right, legal or moral, to force her," he went
on. "And trying to browbeat someone like Judith is worse than useless. All
I can do is hope she'll change her mind. But right now at least, the lines of
communication are somewhat...broken."

Justin my friend, I thought in despair, how do you get yourself
into these situations? I arrive in this valley to find that you were nearly
crushed to death; and now this. What are we going to do with you? "If
there's any way I can help...," I began.

He smiled. "Thank you," he said. "For the moment I don't
think there is. But...there might come a time when I'll have to rely on you even
more than I do now."

I shrugged. "I just got through telling you that you can," I said.
"And not only me: everyone in the community." I paused. "You
might be right about this being a sign, Justin. Someone might be telling you
that there's more to life than paperwork and public appearances."

He smiled wanly. "Perhaps so." He crossed the room again and stood
before me, his hands resting on the back of his chair. "Right now, though,
I think it might be a good idea if we both got back to work."

What he really meant, of course, was that he wanted to be alone. And I
couldn't blame him. Immediately I hopped down off the sofa. "Agreed,"
I said. Though exactly how I was supposed to go calmly back to counting canned
goods after that discussion, I had no idea.

"...And Jonathan?" he said, as I was about to leave.

"Yes?"

"I...can rely on you to keep this to yourself, can't I?"

I smiled. "Of course you can," I said. I've sometimes wished,
though, that I'd thought a little more before speaking that promise; because it
took me less than a day to break it.

Elizabeth and I had lunch alone that day, just the two of us at our private
family table; which was quite unusual, and might have been a rather nice change
of pace, if I hadn't had so much on my mind. I was hungry enough--climbing up
and down ladders is tiring work--and I did ample justice to my soup and
sandwich; but my thoughts were elsewhere. I was barely able to pay even half,
let alone full, attention to Elizabeth when she tried to tell me how her
morning had gone. And that can be dangerous.

Somehow or other--God knows how--I had not only managed to get back to work,
but to keep my mind focused on the job at hand as well. Perhaps I was
anticipating the time when Justin would need to rely on me so much more. At any
rate, I had managed to get more than halfway done with my inventory, and I
might have worked straight through lunch, if the increased number of kitchen
workers hurrying in and out of the warehouse hadn't alerted me. And now,
finally, sitting at the table in the crowded, noisy hall, I could give my
thoughts free reign.

As had been the case that morning, it was my older children who were
uppermost in my mind. I knew Alice, and I knew that she would certainly not
force them to work the day through without sustenance; right now, no doubt,
they were having their lunch too. Perhaps in the school's own cafeteria with
their little sister; or perhaps Alice had arranged for something to be brought
in to them. By now as well, I imagined, they were probably halfway through with
their tests. I had not questioned Alice so closely as to discover the order in
which she would be throwing the sections at them, so I didn't know what they
had completed and what they had not. I had a picture of Timothy marking off the
answers on the math section almost as fast as he could write, but then tearing
his fur out over history or English. I had quite the opposite picture for
Teresa. And finally, I imagined Martin stolidly, implacably making his way
though each section, one at a time. Their entire future was pinned to those
tests; so much so, in fact, that it had not really been discussed, what would
happen if they should somehow not pass. Not that I believed it would happen;
they were, after all, my kids.

But thoughts about them inevitably brought my mind full circle, right back
to thoughts of Justin. On the whole, parenthood is a joy; that is what I would have
told him, if he'd been in the mood to listen. But it is never easy. He
would have it easier than I'd had, because there were so many others in the
community to fall back on for assistance and advice. If he or Judith got sick,
for example, there were always grandparents. If Elizabeth or I got sick, on the
other hand, during our old lives--and it did happen--we had no choice
but to keep functioning, somehow. We'd had no such ready resource as a kitchen
that handed out three meals a day without fail.

And Justin would have something which I had deprived myself of: the
opportunity to watch his child grow from infancy to adulthood, and to
experience every day of that journey, without interruption. Some of those days
would be painful, exasperating, infuriating...but the end result would be
wonderful. That, at very least, I knew.

All of this, though, presupposed one thing: that Justin would actually be a
part of his child's life. He wanted to be, I knew, if Judith would let him. But
it was going to require a major rearranging of his priorities. And hers too,
for that matter.

I was thus sunk in thought, mechanically shoveling down the corn chowder,
when Elizabeth suddenly reached across and touched my arm.
"Jonathan," she whispered, "look at that!"

I glanced in the direction of her nod. A few minutes earlier, so it seemed,
Judith had entered the dining hall. She had already been served, and she stood
now at the drink counter, helping herself to a mug of tea. To an unpracticed
eye she might simply have looked as if she was in a bad mood--but knowing what
I knew then, I could detect the nuances: in fact what she was, was tired,
depressed and worried. Her whiskers and her tail both drooped. I tried to
detect any sign of her delicate condition; but her bulky work tunic made that
impossible.

But it was not merely her to whom Elizabeth had pointed. On the other side
of the room Justin had also entered. Evidently he had decided to follow my
advice and get some nourishment. He looked disheartened and exhausted too; with
very little enthusiasm he picked up a tray and stepped toward the line, just as
Judith turned to take her own tray across to a table. For an instant they were
face to face, with no more than a foot separating them. Their eyes locked...and
then they both looked away. Judith took a table by herself in the far corner;
and Justin, emerging from the line a minute later, moved toward the opposite
corner.

"That's it," Elizabeth said firmly. "That's all I can stand.
After lunch I am going to have a very serious talk with Judith. I don't know
what's going on, but I mean to find out."

"I--" I began, but I clamped my teeth shut on whatever it was I
might have said. What could I say, really? Justin had sworn me to
silence, and I was doing my best to respect that. How could I dissuade
Elizabeth from talking to Judith, without revealing what I knew? I had no idea.
I knew my wife: she was like a dog with a bone. If I admitted that I'd been
talking to Justin she'd never rest until I'd told her exactly what had been
discussed, preferably word-for-word. No: in this case silence truly was golden.
And it might even be interesting to learn what Judith's spin on events was.

"Yes?" Elizabeth prompted, quirking an eye at me.

"I--hope you find out what's bothering her," I finished lamely. It
was a statement that at very least had the virtue of being the truth, if not
the whole truth.

Timothy was practicing the guitar--with his eyes closed.

It was about two hours before dinnertime when I arrived home, my job finally
completed. My clipboard was full of figures and my head was full of thoughts.
Of the two, hopefully, the figures were the more organized.

I heard the quiet chords through the door even before I entered, and so I
knew what to expect; but even so I was a little surprised. Timothy was perched
on a stool in the clear space in front of the unlit fireplace, his shiny,
dark-inlaid instrument cradled in his lap. His fingers were moving slowly over
the strings, and I immediately recognized the melody: Lennon and McCartney's
"Yesterday." None of that was particularly odd. What was, was the
fact that he sat there with his eyes tight shut, and his glasses removed; they
lay some distance away on the small coffee table. Across the room Cynthia lay
stretched out on the larger sofa, one of her mother's hand-crocheted afghans
pulled over her legs and a book propped up in her lap.

Timothy heard the door, and he opened one eye, just a slit, for a second or
so before closing it again. "Hi, Dad," he said, not missing a note.
"I hope you don't mind--?"

"No," I assured him. "Not at all." I crossed the room,
pausing to kiss Cynthia on the forehead, and deposited my clipboard on the
desk. In fact I never minded hearing Timothy play. He had taken to his
instrument like a natural; Julian called him the most promising student he'd
ever had. Timothy wasn't ready for his first public performance--not quite--but
that day was definitely coming. "Son," I asked curiously,
"Why--uh--why?"

"It's an exercise," he explained. "Julian wants me to be able
to feel my fingering without having to look." He grinned. "Plus, I've
got an eyestrain headache like you wouldn't believe."

I winced in sympathy as I sat down at the desk. "Would you like me to
get you an aspirin?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks, Dad. I already borrowed a couple from
Teresa. It's getting better."

"Good," I said. I looked around. Speaking of Teresa...
"Where's your brother and sister?"

"Martin's in the gym working out the kinks in his back," Timothy
said.

"And Teresa had an appointment with Mr. Ages," Cynthia put in.
"For her leg."

"That's right, I remember," I said. "And your mother?"

Cynthia shook her head. "She's not home from work yet."

Or something, I thought darkly, remembering her lunch-time vow. Not
necessarily work. "So, Timothy," I said, as casually as I could,
"how do you think you did?"

This time he did miss a note or two, but recovered quickly. "I think,"
he said, "I did okay. I mean, I know I didn't miss even one on the math section--"

Across the room Cynthia muttered something, no doubt sarcastic; but Timothy
ignored her. "But the rest," he said. He shook his head. "I
don't know." Finally he opened his eyes and peered across at me, his gaze
a little unfocused without his glasses. "I mean, why do we have to
know the dates of Civil War battles? Isn't that the humans' problem?"

"In a way, I suppose it is," I said. "But we haven't got very
much history yet ourselves, and we can't leave the teachers with nothing to
teach, can we?"

Timothy snorted in derision. "Yeah, right, Dad."

"Seriously, though," I said. "We study the humans--and their
history--because we're surrounded by them. It's their world, and
someday--hopefully not soon, but someday--we're going to be in contact with them
again. Never kid yourselves about that."

Timothy paused in his playing, and shuddered. "I hope you're right
about 'not soon,' Dad."

None of my children had ever been touched by humans, let alone imprisoned or
tormented by them; it was my earnest desire to keep it that way, if I could.
Elizabeth had been, albeit briefly; she could at least understand the
nightmares that still sometimes plagued me. Now that I could actually describe
them to her. "Me too, Tim," I told him, as I rummaged through drawers
in search of paper and ruler. "Believe me."

"Dad," Cynthia said suddenly, "have you told Mom about my
plans yet?"

I glanced quickly at Timothy; but he was unconcernedly checking his tuning.
Then I remembered that he already knew about his sister's ambitions. "Er,
no, sweetie, I haven't," I said. "I'm afraid I've had a few other
things to think about since yesterday."

"I just wondered," she said. "I kept expecting her to mention
it, and I was surprised when she didn't. Papa," she said in concern,
lowering her eyes, "do you think...well, do you think Mom will
approve?"

"I honestly can't think of any reason why she shouldn't," I said.
"I suspect she'll have the same concern I did--about how Ages will treat
you. But other than that, I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

"Will she think...well, will she think that I'm...capable?" Cynthia
asked quietly.

"Of course she will," Timothy and I said at once, with equal
forcefulness. "Just as your brother and I both do, it seems," I added
with a grin.

"I don't think Teresa believes I'm smart enough," Cynthia said
sadly. "Not that I've actually asked her, but..."

"I think you might be misjudging your sister," I said. "But
if that is what she really thinks, then she's wrong, and you'll prove it to
her."

She smiled. "Thanks, Papa," she said.

All was quiet for a few minutes. Cynthia returned to her book, and Timothy
to his practice, segueing directly from the Beatles to Bach. I found a fresh
pad of paper and a ruler, and set to work on my spreadsheet. Times like those
were among my favorite; actually any time spent in the company of my
children was among my favorite. Although...well, let's just say that since my
return it was the younger two with whom I communicated best. But that was
getting better too.

For a few minutes, as I said, everything was peaceful; long enough for me to
inscribe my columns and rows, and begin to fill in the products and quantities.
But at that point the quiet was...well, not shattered exactly, but certainly
disturbed, as the door opened and Elizabeth entered. My wife had her small
briefcase clutched tight under her arm, and an expression of some distress on
her face. She appeared not to notice Timothy or Cynthia. She flung her case
onto the smaller sofa, and then, without preamble, she said, "Jonathan,
I've just been talking to Judith. You'll never believe--"

I sighed. So much for silence. "Let me guess," I said
blandly. "She thinks she's pregnant."

Behind me the music ended suddenly in a discordant jangle, and the book fell
from Cynthia's hands and tumbled to the floor.

"Yes," Elizabeth said in astonishment. "How did you
know?"

I smiled grimly. "I was speaking to Justin earlier," I told her.
"He asked me not to tell anyone. Evidently Judith didn't make the
same request of you."

"Actually she did," Elizabeth said, embarrassed, as she dropped
into a chair. "I just couldn't..."

"Keep news like that to yourself?" I finished dryly. "I know.
Believe me, I know."

She made a face. "Well, you know it won't stay secret for
long--" she began.

"Not after the bulge in her overalls starts to show, certainly," I
observed.

"--And that's not the problem anyway," she went on. "We have
to figure out what we're going to do about this."

I gazed at her curiously. "What we're going to do? I quoted.
"Excuse me, my darling, but aren't you the one who was telling me, just
two nights ago, that Justin's love life is none of our business?"

"Well, yes," she admitted. "But that was different. Jonathan,
she doesn't think she wants to marry Justin--"

"So I've heard," I said sadly. "But she is within her rights
there, no matter we might think."

"--And," Elizabeth went on, her voice sinking to a horrified
whisper, "she isn't even sure whether she wants to have the baby."

She had my full and undivided attention instantly, as well as Timothy's and
Cynthia's. Most especially Cynthia's. "What?" I asked.

"You heard me," Elizabeth replied grimly. "I'd never even
imagined such a thing until she told me about it." She grimaced and shook
her head. "Has anything like that ever happened in this community
before?"

I thought back. "No," I said. "Not that I'm aware of. There
were one or two miscarriages in the early days, before we were settled, but
never anything...deliberate."

"So now you know what I mean," Elizabeth said. "We've got to
stop her!"

"I'm...not sure we can," I said slowly. "To the best of my
knowledge it isn't illegal. I helped write a good part of our constitution and
our law, and I can't recall anything to do with...that...one way or the
other." I rubbed my nose. "She'd have to go to Mr. Ages,
though," I said speculatively. "And I very much doubt whether he'd
agree to do it."

"Will somebody please tell me what we're talking about?" Timothy
said plaintively.

"I'll explain later," Cynthia told him briskly. "You won't
like it."

"Is she absolutely determined?" I asked Elizabeth.

"No," she said. "That's one thing anyway. In fact I think
that idea frightens her as much as the idea of having the baby." She
glanced away. "I'm afraid I pestered her a bit," she confessed.
"But I did make her promise to talk to me before she does anything."

"To you?" I asked.

"To me," Elizabeth repeated sadly. "I told you already, I'm
not a threat to her. Poor girl, she can't even bring herself to talk to her own
sister..."

"Her own sister," I repeated, more than halfway to myself.
"You know, that gives me a very good idea..."

Eileen was alone in the apartment that she shared with her recently-acquired
husband, when I knocked on the door early that evening. I should not have been
there; in fact I had sneaked out of my apartment while Elizabeth was otherwise
occupied. Whether my dear wife would forgive me for what I was about to do, I
wasn't sure. That Justin and Judith would not, if they ever found out,
seemed all but certain. And yet here I was.

When you're in the midst of a very bad situation, I've found, with no idea
when or even if it will ever end, you tend to grab on to whatever little bits
and pieces of pleasure you can find, in much the same way a drowning person
clutches a log. Such was definitely the case during the NIMH expedition. For
nine months my companions and I had lived as fugitives, spies and (let's face
it) thieves. Pleasures of any kind had been few and far between; even eating
and sleeping had ceased to give me any joy or refreshment. But there was one
thing I had definitely taken pleasure in, and that was watching the growing
romance between Philip and Eileen.

An unlikely relationship, I might once have said (and in fact some people
still did.) Philip was big, brave to the point of suicidal, and--while
certainly a long way from stupid--did tend to act first and think later. Eileen
was brainy, careful and not a little sarcastic. Not much in common; but somehow
that expedition had managed to bring them together. A few times the stresses of
our mission had threatened to ruin the budding romance; but beyond all reason
or logic, it managed to survive. It was one of the happiest days of my life
(well, one of the top dozen, anyway) when I stood beside Philip as best man. He
was happy too--even if his bride did have a broken arm.

I heard the call of "come in!" from inside, and I did, reaching up
to nearly eye-level (as I'd become used to by then) for the doorknob.

Hacker was alone, as I said; she was sitting near the fireplace, in which a
mass of oak logs was burning briskly. As I saw her I couldn't quite suppress a
smile. When she joined the expedition she'd been tough as nails, determined to
prove that there was nothing those males could do that she couldn't; she'd even
adopted their tunic-and-shirt Guard uniform, as more practical than a skirt.
How different was the figure I saw now: sitting at ease in a rocking chair with
her feet up on an ottoman, covered to the waist with an afghan, and with a pot
of tea on a small table beside her. Hard to believe she was the same person I'd
crawled through hell with.

As she saw me she smiled. "Jonathan!" she said. "Come in!
Please forgive me if I don't get up."

I entered and closed the door behind me. I saw immediately that there was
another reason why she didn't want to rise, beyond the obvious fact that it
would have been a struggle: she had a thick sheaf of papers spread out across
her lap. "My children's tests?" I guessed.

"Some of them, yes," she said. She waved to a nearby armchair, one
which I knew belonged to Philip. "Please, sit down," she said.
"Alice is grading the rest," she finished, as I hauled myself into
the chair.

Even though it wasn't why I was there, I couldn't resist. "How--uh--how
do they look so far?"

"Very good," Eileen said with a smile. "It appears that I
managed to pound history and civics into Timothy's skull after all. I'll have
to compare notes with Alice, but I think I can say with some certainty that
they're in--they're officially adults."

I smiled in relief. "That's the best news I've had all day," I
told her. "Thanks."

"De nada," she said. She sighed. "Now," she went
on, "if we can manage to help Cynthia do as well on her finals, she'll be
able to land that job working for Ages."

I started to agree; and then I did a double-take. "Wait a minute,"
I objected. "Cynthia told me she hadn't mentioned that to you!"

"She hasn't," Eileen said. She flashed a dazzling smile. "But
I have my ways. Now," she said briskly, "what can I do for you?"

I shook myself. "We have to talk, Hacker," I said. I looked
around; but we were indeed alone. "If that's all right."

"Okay by me," she said. "And the Captain of the Guard isn't
here. He's teaching his self-defense class tonight."

I smiled wryly. "I know," I said. Shortly after his return to the
community, Philip had managed to acquire the job he had been destined for all
along, when Thomas, the former (and somewhat miscast) captain, resigned in his
favor. It had been a good arrangement all around: Philip was a born leader, and
Thomas (who was now his first lieutenant) a born subordinate. And Philip had
thrown himself into the job head-first, as was usual for him. His weekly
self-defense classes were a part of that, and they were popular too: even my
younger son had joined--but only after Elizabeth was assured that he wouldn't
get hurt. "Timothy and Robert are both in the class," I finished.

"Ah, Robert," Eileen said, nodding. "I hear he's started to
date my little sister Kim. Too early to tell if it's anything serious, of
course."

I made a face. "That I know also," I said. "Anyway, Hacker,
it isn't my kids I want to discuss, or Robert, or Philip. It's Judith."

Instantly she put aside her stack of papers, and her eyes narrowed.
"What about her?" she asked.

And so I told her. In fact I spilled my guts, as they used to say: not only
the bare facts of the case as I knew them, but also all of Elizabeth's theories
and speculations regarding Judith as well. I suppose I ought to have felt
terribly guilty for doing so--I was, after all, betraying the confidences of
two people as well as breaking a promise--but strangely, I did not. In fact I
felt a definite sense of accomplishment. It was undeniable that Judith's
personal life was not my business, nor Elizabeth's either; but it most
certainly was Eileen's. It was to her, after all, not my wife, whom
Judith should have been going for advice and comfort.

By the time I finished, Hacker was shaking her head sadly. "How someone
so smart--and she is almost as intelligent as I am--could act so
stupidly, is beyond me." She paused. "Thank you, Jonathan," she
went on quietly. "I don't imagine it was easy for you to tell me all
that."

"As a matter of fact," I said with a smile, "it wasn't. What--uh--what
are you going to do now, if I may ask?"

"I wish I knew," she said, just as Justin had a few hours earlier.
She hesitated, raking her lower lip with her teeth as she thought. Then she
continued, "Obviously Judith and I are going to have to have a very long
talk. And if it turns out that she really is pregnant--"

"'If'?" I quoted indignantly.

"If," she repeated firmly. "Please forgive me, Jonathan, but
all I've heard here is rumors." She held up her hand to forestall my
protests. "I don't doubt that you're accurately reporting what you and
Elizabeth were told. But mistakes do happen." She rubbed her
abdomen. "I thought I was, at least four times before it really happened.
In my case it was wishful thinking; in hers it might be fear, or guilt. That
remains to be seen." She grinned. "If necessary I'll drag her bodily
to Ages to find out for sure. But if it turns out that she really is,
well..." She shook her head again. "We'll have to deal with that when
and if it happens. Jonathan," she said suddenly, "I imagine you know
Justin better than anyone else in this valley. Do you think he really does love
her?"

"I...think he does," I said. I shrugged. "What can I say? It's
his first time, as far as I know. Which isn't to say that first times can't
work out. You and I both know that. But Justin always has tended toward the
over-enthusiastic, so it's hard to tell for certain. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm wondering if the best way to solve this situation might be
for the two of them to face the music, get married, and give the poor kid a
mother and a father."

I smiled. "Well, you know me, Hacker. Of course I agree with you."

"But not," she went on, "if that would just end up being a
recipe for making three people miserable." Once again she shook her head.
"What a mess!" she concluded.

There was not much I could add to that; a mess it was indeed.
"Hacker," I said, "when you talk to Judith, you
won't--uh--mention who it was who told you, will you?"

She grinned. "Of course not," she assured me. "Expose one of
my closest friends and his wife to my sister's wrath? Perish the thought! No;
I'll make her think it was my own amazing powers of perception."

I smiled in relief. "Thanks, Hacker." Actually I didn't much fear
for myself: if Judith found it necessary to turn her legendary temper on me, so
be it; I could handle that. But Elizabeth seemed to have established a definite
rapport with our community botanist, and I certainly didn't want my actions to
mess that up.

"You're welcome," Eileen said. She paused, and frowned. "If I
didn't know better," she said, "I'd swear she's doing this
deliberately." She patted her stomach again. "Competitive to the end,
that's my sister."

Late that night, lying in bed with my wife, I made a full and complete
confession...and then I waited in silence for a tongue-lashing that entirely
failed to happen.

"Oh, I knew where you went," Elizabeth said, to my surprise.
"That wasn't particularly hard to guess."

"And?" I asked.

"And...," she said. She sighed. "I hate to say it, but I really
think you might have done the right thing. As much as I do care about Judith, I
can't take the place of her family. And if she needs to be forced into talking
to them, well..."

"My thoughts exactly." I paused. "Well," I said, pulling
the blankets up around my chin, "I think we've done all we can, for the
moment."

"For the moment, yes," she agreed, settling into my arms.
"But I doubt very much that we've heard the end of it."

"True enough," I said. "True enough."

For a few moments all was silence; but just when I thought she had fallen
asleep she stirred and said, "Jonathan? What are we going to do about
Teresa?"