"You'd better. Or now she'll start on you."
"Very well." Barbara bit her lip. "I said that a baby is not a calamity. I'm pregnant, too-and I'm very happy about it."
The silence told Barbara that her purpose of taking the heat off Karen had been achieved. As for herself, she was tranquil for the first time since she had begun to suspect that she was pregnant. She had not shed a tear-oh, no!-but she found that a tension she had not been conscious of was gone.
"Why, you tramp! No wonder my daughter went wrong, exposed to influences like-"
"Stop it, Grace!"
"Yes, Mother," agreed Duke. "Better keep quiet."
"I was just going to say-"
"You're not going to say anything, Mother. I mean it."
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?
"Daddy, how about the bottom wardrobe drawer?"
"Perfect! Pile everything on a bunk. Pad it. Use my hunting jacket. Duke, rig a frame to support a blanket; she'll want a little cave she'll feel safe in. You know."
"Of course we know," Karen chided. "Quit jittering, Daddy. This isn't our first litter."
"Sorry, baby. We are about to have a kitten. See that, Joe?" Fur rippled from the cat's middle down toward the tail, then did so again.
Karen hurriedly threw everything out of the lowest wardrobe drawer, placed it against the wall and put the hunting jacket in it, rushed back. "Did I miss it?"
"No," Hugh assured her. "But right now!"
Doe stopped panting to give one wail and was delivered of a kitten in two quick convulsions.
"Why, it's wrapped in cellophane," Barbara said wonderingly.
"Didn't you know?" asked Karen. "Daddy, it's gray! Doe, where have you been? Though maybe I shouldn't bring that up."
Neither Hugh nor Dr. Livingstone answered. The mother cat started vigorously licking her offspring, broke the covering, and tiny ratlike arms and legs waved helplessly. A squeak so thin and high as to be almost inaudible announced its opinion of the world. Doe bit the cord and went on licking, cleaning off blood and mucus and purring loudly at the same time. The baby didn't like it and again vented almost silent protest.
"Boss," demanded Joe, "what's wrong with it? It's so skinny and little."
"Its a fine kitten. It's a pretty baby, Doe. He's a bachelor, he doesn't know." Hugh spoke cooingly and rubbed the eat between her ears. He went on in normal tones, "And the worst ease of bar sinister I ever saw-smooth-haired, tiger-striped, and gray."
Doe looked up reprovingly, gave a shudder and delivered the afterbirth, began chewing the bloody mass. Barbara gulped and rushed to the door, fumbled at a bolt. Karen went after her, opened it and steadied her while she threw up.
"Duke!" Hugh snapped. "Bear guard!"
Duke followed them, stuck his head out. Karen said, "Go 'way! We're safe. Bright moonlight."
"Well... leave the door open." He withdrew.
Karen said, "I thought you weren't having morning sickness?"
"I'm not. Oh!" Retching again hit her. "It was what Doe did."
"Oh, that. Cats always do that. Let me wipe your mouth, dear."
"It's awful."
"It's normal. Good for them. Hormones, or something; you can ask Hugh. All right now?"