"Jerry? Did you ever consider being something else? I mean, not going into the family business."

I have my head in Scribe's lap, my cheek pressed against the slight swell of her belly. A more pronounced curve is there. It's faint, but it's there. Lally said it may be another two months before I can feel the baby move, but I'm going to be ready for it. "Hell, honey, I don't know. Never really was any question of what I was gonna do."

"I know, but you didn't ever dream about doing anything? You're intelligent, Jerry, and you learn things quickly. You could pretty much do what you wanted."

I consider. Had I thought about other lines of work? Yeah, I had. I'd thought about architecture. I designed this cabin back when I was seventeen. I used to imagine designing other buildings, different kinds: homes, stores, offices. Making them so that they blended into the land around them instead of sticking out like a frog in a punch bowl.

"I thought about drafting. Maybe design. Architecture."

She's nodding, thoughtfully. "Yes, you'd be good at that. I've seen the sketches of the addition you want to make to the cabin. It looks professional."

I want to add a room on, for the baby, so me and Scribe will be able to have a little privacy when the little one starts to get old enough to notice things. I figured out a way to add it on without making the structure lopsided.

"You finished high school, didn/t you?"

"Yes."

"So they'd have your transcripts."

What is the woman going on about? I don't want to think about school. I told her how much I hated it. Actually, it wasn't the school itself that I hated. I liked the learning. And some of the teachers were all right, the ones who didn't look at me and just see a hillbilly. It was just that the whole environment was so alien to me. I'd never been away from home much before, and there I was, not getting to see my family except once or twice on weekends, and holidays. It just about tore my insides out.

"I reckon they would. They don't throw such things away these days."

"Jerry, you could still do it. In fact, it might be easier for you now than it would have then. You're more mature. You can see things on a wider scale than you would have been able to fresh out of high school. It's easier for a man to stand at the beginning and see the end of something than it is for a boy."

"Maybe." I can hardly believe I'm saying that. What am I thinking of? Me? Go to college? Oh, I could do it. I know I'm smart enough. I have the money. But... leave the mountain? Leave the family?

"Jerry, we could do it. I'd help."

We?

All the other times this subject has crept into the forefront of my thoughts, it's always been me. How would I do it, alone? But if I wasn't alone... I imagine what it would be like.

Scribe poking me awake in the morning (Don't grumble at me, you bear. You shouldn't have scheduled a seven o'clock class if you didn't want to get up.). Sitting in a cafeteria, studying while I eat a lunch she packed for me. Going home (and it would be somewhere that had never been home before, but it would be home, because she would be there). More study while she moves around in the background. Not seeing her, but knowing she is there, comforted by the sounds she makes. Her reaching over my shoulder to close a book, or take a pen from my hand (Enough study for now, Jerry. Come to bed.).

I can imagine all those things, so clear. I can see myself doing it. I can see myself being happy.

Jerry Bellewood, citizen? I don't know.

Maybe for her. I nuzzle her belly, and she runs her hands through my hair, touch so gentle. Her, and the baby. I consider.

Yes, I think it would be enough. Especially if I could see the rest of them now and then, like other families do. Holidays, vacations.

Ron had said he was thinking about retiring after this last job. He doesn't like going off and leaving Lally for any period of time, and he thinks that maybe, without the stress of worrying about him, she might be able to conceive. It could happen. The doctors haven't really found anything wrong with either one of them.

If Ron retires, well, then I will, too. One man can't do what we do effectively, and I don't trust James enough to partner with him. Hell no.

Still, there's no need to decide right now. There's time. Weeks. Months.

As much as I worry sometime about the outside world, I know that there's a lot of things my child would miss, not being a part of it. I can see myself watching a little boy play on a little league team, or a little girl twirling in a dance recital. Holding a little hand through a musuem or zoo, listening to small laughter. Seeing others look with admiration at such an obviously superior child.

I have to smile at myself. I guess the same thoughts must occur to all men who are going to be a daddy for the first time.

"Baby, if we did... I'm not saying we will, but if we did go out into the world, we couldn't go to your people. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes. I understand. There's no way I could ever explain you without them suspecting what really happened. But I could get word to them somehow that I was all right. I wouldn't have to see them, as long as I knew that they knew I was all right. And maybe someday... You haven't killed anyone, Jerry. The statute of limitations runs out of things, eventually."

"Not for a long, long time, baby, and you never can tell if they won't try to dig up something fresh to charge you with, just out of spite. Let's not talk about this anymore right now, huh, darlin'? It gets you tensed up, and that isn't good for you or the baby. Nothing has to be decided right now."

I sit up and stretch. "Wood's gettin' kind of low. I'd best go get us another armload before it gets too dark." I put on my jacket and trudge out to the wood pile that's back behind the cabin. I notice how low it's getting, and decide to bring a load instead from the other pile thats a hundred yards or so back into the woods.

There's a doe stepping quiet just beyond it when I arrive, and I stop and watch it for a bit. The doe's belly looks heavy. Probably carrying a fawn. She'll give birth in the spring. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able find the little deer and show it to Scribe. She'd like that.

I carry the wood back to the cabin, leaving part of it in back. When I come in the house, there's a scrabbling off to the side, in the kitchen area. There's something furtive about that sound and movement that I don't like, and I quickly shut the door, to see what's going on.

James, coat open, is standing back by the refrigerator, hands tucked under his arms. His normally foxy features seem even more pale and sharp than usual. A few feet away, Scribe is leaning back against the counter. On the cutting board behind her is a half chopped onion. She must have decided to start supper while I was gone.

But I don't like how she's holding that paring knife. It isn't in the sort of easy grip you would use to chop vegetables. She's holding it so tight that her knuckles are white, and she's holding it down around hip level.

Both of them are quiet, but I'd swear I can hear an electric buzz humming in the air. I can feel my mind starting to fill with black suspicion. I say quietly, "Scribe?"

She turns stiffly and starts chopping onions furiously. "Justine sent over some booties she knitted, Jerry. Aren't they pretty?" There is a pair of soft, yellow knitted baby booties sitting on the counter beside her.

James is watching me closely. "Just couldn't wait for you two to come over to see them, so she got me to bring them. Didn't know you two were getting ready for supper. I'll just be going back now."

He comes to the door. I don't move, staring at him, and he has to turn sideways to slide through the little gap I left. I shut the door, and go put the wood on the hearth. Then I go to my woman.

"Scribe?" I touch her shoulder. God, she's tense. "Darlin', is there somethin' you want to tell me?"

Her head drops, just a fraction. Some of the tightness goes out of her body. "No, Jerry. I'm all right. Just hormones, I guess. I don't particularly like James, even at the best of times." She wipes at her face. "Darn onions." I frown, but I don't feel like I can push her right now. She'll tell me if it's anything bad.

I go to hang up my jacket, near the door, and something catches my eye. I reach out and touch the doorknob, and my finger comes away smeared red. I sniff it. Blood. I check my own hands quickly, wondering if I'd caught a splinter without realizing it, but the skin is smooth and unbroken. It's not my blood, and the only other person who touched that knob was James.