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Farnham’s Freehold By Robert A. Heinlein

Mrs. Farnham subsided. Hugh went on: “Barbara, I hope you are not fibbing. Trying to protect Karen.”

Barbara looked at him and could read no expression. “I am not fibbing, Hugh. I am between two and three months pregnant.”

“Well, the rejoicing is now doubled. We will have to relieve you of heavy work, too. Duke, can you take on some farming?”

“Certainly.”

“Joe can do some, too. Mmm- I must push ahead with the kitchen and bathroom. You’ll both need such comforts long before either baby is born. Joe, that bearproof extra room can’t be put off now; nursery space will be essential and we men will have to move out. I think-”

“Hugh-”

“Yes, Barbara?”

“Don’t worry tonight. I can garden, I’m not as far along as Karen and I’ve had no morning sickness. I’ll let you know when I need help.”

He looked thoughtful. “No.”

“Oh, heaven! I like gardening. Pioneer mothers always worked when pregnant. They stopped when the pains came.”

“And it killed them, too. Barbara, we can’t spare either of you. We’ll treat you as the precious jewels you are.” He looked around. “Right?”

“Right, Dad.”

“Sure thing, Hugh!”

Mrs Farnham stood up. “Really, this conversation is making me ill.”

“Good night, Grace. No farming for you, Barbara.”

“But I like my farm. I’ll quit in time.”

“You can supervise. Don’t let me catch you using a spading fork. Nor weeding. You might shake something loose. You’re a gentleman farmer now.”

“Does it say in your books how much work a pregnant woman may do?”

“I’ll read up on it. But we’ll err on the conservative side. Some doctors keep patients in bed for months to avoid losing a baby.”

“Daddy, you don’t expect us to stay in bed!”

“Probably not, Karen. But we will be very careful.” He added, “Barbara is right; it can’t all be settled tonight. Bridge, anyone? Or has there been too much excitement?”

“Hell, no!” Karen answered. “I can use pampering but bridge is one thing that can’t cause a miscarriage. I think.”

“No,” agreed her father. “But the way you bid might cause heart failure in someone else.”

“Pooh. Who wants to bid like a computer? Live dangerously, I always say.”

“You do, dear.”

They got no further than dealing. Dr. Livingstone, who had been sleeping in the “bathroom,” at that moment came into the main room, walking stiff-legged and almost dragging hindquarters. “Joseph,” the cat announced, “I am going to have these babies right now1~’

The cat’s anguished wailing, its hobbled gait, made its meaning clear as words. Joe was out of his chair at once. “Doe! What’s the matter, Doe?”

He started to pick the cat up. That was not what Dr. Livingstone needed; it wailed louder and struggled. Hugh said, “Joe. Let it be.”

“But old Doe hurts.”

“So let’s take care of the matter. Duke, we’ll use electric lights and the camp lamp. Snuff the candles. Karen, blankets on the table and a clean sheet.”

“Right away.”

Hugh knelt by the cat. “Easy, Doe. It hurts, doesn’t it? Never mind, it won’t be long. We’re here, we’re here.” He smoothed the fur along the spine, then gently felt the abdomen. “Contraction. Hurry up, Karen.”

“Ready, Daddy!”

“Lift with me, Joe.”

They placed the cat on the table. Joe said, “What do we do now?”

“Give you a Miltown.”

“But Doe hurts.”

“Surely she does. We can’t do anything about it. She’s having a bad time. It’s her first litter and she’s frightened, and she’s older than she should be, for a first. Not good.”

“But we have to do something.”

“You can help by quieting down; you’re communicating your fear to her. Joe, if there were anything I could do, I would. But there isn’t much we can do but stand by and let her know that she is not alone. Keep her from being frightened. Do you want that tranquilizer?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

“Get it, Duke. Don’t leave, Joe; Doe trusts you.”

“Hubert, if you are going to stay up all night over a cat again, I’ll need a sleeping pill. You can’t expect a person to sleep with all this fuss.”

“A Seconal for your mother, Duke. Can anybody think of anything we can use as a kitten bed?” Hugh Farnham searched his memory. Every box, every scrap of lumber, had been used and re-used and re-re-used in endless make-do building. Build a nest of bricks? Not sooner than daylight and this poor animal needed a safe and comforting spot tonight. Take apart some shelves?

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Categories: Heinlein, Robert
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