Harry Turtledove - Tilting the Balance

Then Barbara asked him something that sounded as if it came out of the blue: “Remember our wedding night?”

“Huh? I’m not likely to forget it.” As Sam remembered, a broad smile spread over his face.

Barbara didn’t smile back. “Remember what we didn’t do on our wedding night?” she persisted.

“There wasn’t a whole lot we didn’t do on our wedding night. We-” Yeager stopped when he took a close look at Barbara’s half-worried, half-smiling expression. A light went on inside his head. Slowly, he said, “We didn’t use a rubber.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I thought it would be safe enough, and even if it wasn’t-” Her smile grew broader, but still had a twist in it. “My time of the month should have started a week ago. It didn’t, and I’ve always been very steady. So I think I’m expecting a baby, Sam.”

Had it been a normal marriage in a normal time, he would have shouted, That’s wonderful! The time was anything but normal, the marriage very new. Yeager knew Barbara hadn’t wanted to get pregnant. He set down his rifle, took her in his arms. They clung to each other for a couple of minutes. “It’ll work out,” he said at last. “One way or another, we’ll take care of it, and it’ll be okay.”

“I’m scared,” she said. “Not many doctors, or equipment, and us in the middle of the war-”

“Denver’s supposed to be better off than most places,” he said. “It’ll be all right, honey.” Please, God make it all right, he thought, something that would have been closer to a real prayer if God had given any signs lately of listening. After another few seconds, he went on, “I hope it’s a girl.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because she’d probably look just like you.”

Her eyes widened. She stood up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. “You’re sweet, Sam. It wasn’t what I expected, but-” She kicked at the dirty snow and at the mud that showed through it. “What can you do?”

For a career minor leaguer, What can you do? was an article of faith that ranked right alongside the commandments Moses had brought down from the mountain. Actually, Yeager knew there was something you could do if you wanted to. But finding an abortionist wouldn’t be easy, and the procedure was liable to be more dangerous than having the baby. If Barbara brought it up, he’d think about it then. Otherwise, he’d keep his mouth shut.

She said, “We’ll just do the best we can, that’s all. Right?”

“Sure, honey,” Sam said. “Like I said, we’ll manage. The idea kind of grows on me, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do.” Barbara nodded. “I didn’t want this to happen, but now that it has… I’m scared, as I said, but I’m excited, too. Something of ours, to go on after we’re gone-that’s something special, and something wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Yeager saw himself tying a little girl’s shoes, or maybe playing catch with a boy and teaching him to hit well enough to get all the way to the top in pro ball. What the father might have done, the son would. He would, anyhow, if the Lizards were beaten and there ever was pro ball again. Sam should have been in spring training, getting ready for yet another season on the road, hoping to move up as better players got drafted, still with a ghostly chance at a big-league slot and glory. As it was…

Someone shouted, “Back to the wagons, everybody. They’re going to billet us at the college on the south edge of town.”

Yeager hadn’t thought Fort Collins big enough to boast a college. “You never can tell,” he muttered, which would have been a good handle for the whole past year. Hand in hand, he and Barbara walked back toward Ullhass and Ristin. “Careful getting up there,” he warned as she scrambled in.

She made a face at him. “For God’s sake, Sam, I’m not made out of cut glass. If you start treating me as if I were going to fall to pieces any minute now, we’ll have trouble.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve never had to worry about anybody expecting before.”

The wagon driver’s head whipped around. “You gonna have a baby? That’s great. Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” she said. As the wagon rattled forward, she shook her head wryly. Yeager knew she wasn’t as delighted as she might have been. He wasn’t, either. He couldn’t imagine a worse time to try to raise a kid. But all they could do now was give it their best shot.

Sure enough, the Colorado State College of Agriculture and the Mechanic Arts sat on the southern border of Fort Collins. Its red and gray brick buildings clustered along an oval drive that ran through the heart of the campus. The cafeteria wasn’t far from the south end of the drive. Women in surprisingly clean white dished out fried chicken and biscuits. That was good, but the burnt-grain brew they called coffee tried to bite off Yeager’s tongue.

“Where do we sleep tonight?” he asked as he walked out of the cafeteria.

“Girls’ dormitory,” a soldier answered, pointing northward. Grinning, he went on, “Jeez, I dreamed for years of getting into one o’ those, but it just ain’t the same this way.”

The only rooms in the dorm with doors that locked from the outside were the rest moms. Fortunately, it had three, so Sam didn’t feel guilty, about commandeering one for the Lizard prisoners to use during the night. He and Barbara had a two-coed room for themselves. Looking at the steel-framed cots, he said, “I think I’d sooner have been quartered with some nice, friendly people back in town.”

“It’ll be all right for one night,” she said. “It’s easier for them to keep track of us if we’re together here instead of scattered around Fort Collins.”

“I suppose so,” he said, unenthusiastic still. But then, as he set his rifle down, be exclaimed, “I’m going to be a father! How about that?”

“How about that?” Barbara echoed.

Only one candle lit the room. Her face was hard to read. Electricity had taken the mystery out of night, turned it bright and certain as day. Now mystery was back, with a vengeance. Yeager studied the shifting shadows. “We’ll do the best we can, that’s all,” he said, as he had when she first gave him the news.

“I know,” she answered. “What else can we do? And,” she added, “If anyone can take care of me and help me take care of a baby, I know it’s you, Sam. I do love you. You know that.”

“Yeah. I love you, too, hon.”

She sat down on one of the cots, smiled over at him. “How shall we celebrate the news?”

“No booze around. No firecrackers… I guess we’ll just have to make our own fireworks. How does that sound?”

“It sounds good to me.” Barbara took off her shoes, then stood up for a moment so she could slide out of her slacks and panties. When she sat down again, she made a face and bounced back to her feet. “That wool blanket scratches. Wait a second; let me turn down the sheet.”

Some happy time later, Sam asked, “Do you want me to put on a rubber, in case you’re wrong?”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’m regular as clockwork; even getting sick doesn’t throw me off. And I haven’t been sick. The only thing that could make me this late is a bun in the oven. And since there’s one in there, we don’t need to worry about keeping the oven door closed.”

“Okay.” Sam poised himself over her. She tilted her hips up to ease his way, locked her legs and arms around him. Afterwards, he rubbed at his back; she’d clawed him pretty hard. “Maybe you should get knocked up more often,” he said.

Barbara snorted and poked him in the ribs, which almost made him fall off the narrow cot. Then she leaned over and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “I love you. You’re crazy.”