You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
~Kahlil Gibran, On Children

Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children, and no theories.
~John Wilmot

XXX

November 1926

The next several weeks following their fight were like a second honeymoon for Mr. and Mrs. Hearst. Although they both had much busier schedules as the school year progressed, they stole as much time as they possibly could together and spent the vast majority of it not talking. Jim increased his already frequent visits to the library and whisked Jane into dim corners so often that even Miss Marian started to look askance at them, though it was always with an indulgent smile rather than a disapproving frown.

Not wishing to impose too deeply on the leniency she was being afforded as a still relatively newlywed, Jane took care to remain as punctual and diligent as ever in her work, but she did not try to smother the dreamy smile that constantly graced her expression. Why should she have to hide the full measure of her joy? After so many years of lonely spinsterhood, she couldn't help reveling in the sheer delight of being a well-loved woman, and it did not matter to her if a few spiteful old crows deemed her conduct indecorous.

Fortunately, the overwhelming majority of the River City-ziens thought it was utterly charming that the assistant librarian and history teacher were so happily wed, and looked just as tolerably upon their blithe demeanor as Miss Marian did, so the besotted pair went about their business largely unbothered. These daily rendezvous had the effect of whetting their appetites so keenly that once they got home and could do as they wished, they made love as many as two, three, and even four times a night before collapsing in happy exhaustion. And their ardor was no longer solely confined to the bedroom. Not only was the sofa becoming a familiar trysting spot, there was hardly a room in their house where Jim hadn't made some kind of love to Jane – kissing her long and deep in the kitchen (which led to more than a few ruined dinners when it was her turn to cook), tracing his fingers and then his mouth between her thighs on the divan in the library, wrapping her in a towel and pulling her to the tiled floor after they'd indulged in a warm bath together.

Jane not only allowed her husband to steal as many heated moments as he wanted, she enthusiastically stole them back – cupping his backside and drawing him close to her as he kissed her in the kitchen, undoing his trousers and unabashedly reciprocating after he'd finished pleasuring her on the divan, and marking his neck with love-bites as they writhed together on the washroom floor. She also discovered that she could be surprisingly creative in her explorations of the carnal – when she concocted the notion of donning the alluring Egyptian harem costume she'd purchased on their honeymoon tour and painting her eyes with kohl, Jim was driven almost feral in his eagerness to demonstrate his appreciation for her ingenuity.

Afterward, as they lay gasping in each other's arms, Jim kissed her kohl-smeared cheeks and whispered, "Every single day, I fall in love with you all over again."

Jane beamed coquettishly at her husband. "Miss Marian says a husband and wife should always fall in love with each other all over again from time to time – it keeps things exciting."

"Oh?" he said impishly. "And what other strategies about 'keeping things exciting' in a marriage have you learned?"

Her beam turned into an inviting grin. "Well, you'll just have to worm those strategies out of me if you want to find out."

Jim gave her a smoldering look that made her both shiver and burn. "Challenge accepted."

Jane giggled at first, but when he lowered his head to her neck and gave her a love-bite that made her cry out and press her hips against his, the two of them lost the thread of their flirtation in their avid haste to have each other.

Admittedly, Jane had recently confided to the librarian that she was concerned they might be getting just a little too carried away by their own passion. But to her relief, Miss Marian had simply laughed and divulged that a loving marriage between a well-matched pair was full of these delightful resurgences of ardor, and as long as the two of them managed to refrain from being too demonstrative in front of Mrs. Shinn or any of her ladies, she should enjoy this renaissance to its fullest for as long as it lasted.

And so Jane was determined to do just that. Because it was wonderful to be in love like this.

XXX

December 1926, part one

In the middle of the month, Jane started to notice that she didn't quite feel like her usual chipper self. It wasn't any single complaint that hit her suddenly, but a great deal of little ailments that were gradually starting to aggregate as the days and weeks passed. For one, the assistant librarian observed that her appetite had somehow both diminished and grown more acute – she was hungrier than usual, but the aroma of all but the blandest food put her off eating. Her nose swelled up so much that she couldn't breathe if she lay flat, though she did not have a sore throat, cough, or any of the other hallmarks of a cold. She was also constantly fatigued, no matter how much sleep she got at night – and she was getting plenty of it, now she had taken to going to bed earlier than usual. She was exceedingly grateful that her travel journal had been finished by Thanksgiving and was now with Fred Gallup and the publisher for final distribution, as she no longer had the mental acuity to string two sentences together, let alone a whole book!

Jane was not so naïve as to discount the possibility of pregnancy, but she considered it highly unlikely, as she continued to bleed each month, though noticeably less than usual, and at unpredictable intervals. And to her further bafflement, some days she felt perfectly fine – more than that, she was struck with the rapacious urge to make love to her husband with the same passionate gusto as they had trysted all throughout autumn. So whatever was plaguing her, it was an odd and capricious condition indeed!

The assistant librarian considered paying Dr. Pyne a visit, but she wasn't sure how to describe her malaise, as the nature of her symptoms seemed too broad and incongruent to pinpoint a specific condition that would warrant such intervention. However, she did notice that Jim was starting to gaze at her with an unsettling amount of concern as they approached the holidays, though he seemed loath to broach the matter, lest he spoil their bliss. Remembering that he had already lived through the gradual decline and demise of one beloved wife, Jane prudently decided to have a conversation with the lady whom she could always confide in about such dicey matters. So on a frosty Friday the week before Christmas Eve, she paid a visit to the library.

As ever, Miss Marian greeted her with a sunny smile. "Good afternoon, Jane! And what brings you here on your day off?"

The assistant librarian launched right into her purpose for dropping by: "I need to talk to you in private."

The wonderful thing about Miss Marian was how swiftly she understood things. As they were fortuitously alone in the building, the librarian posted the closure sign, locked the front doors, and brought Jane to sit at a table where they would not be observed through the wide windows by any passerby.

"What's the matter?" Miss Marian asked gently.

Jane swallowed. "I think something might be wrong with me. But I'm not sure what. I don't know if it's enough to consult Dr. Pyne, as I wouldn't want to be considered a hypochondriac."

Miss Marian's expression remained level, but there was a gleam in her eye as she persisted, "Tell me what symptoms you've been experiencing."

So Jane described every single malady that had been plaguing her for the past few weeks. And as she did, Miss Marian's pursed lips started to curve in a small but unmistakable smile. Once the assistant librarian was finished detailing her litany of woes, her mentor made the following pronouncement:

"From everything you've said, it's highly likely that you are with child."

Jane gaped at her. "I'm… pregnant?"

Miss Marian's brow quirked at her. "Is this not happy news?"

"It's wonderful news!" Jane exclaimed, though she was still far too stunned to believe it. "But I never expected it to happen to me. Jim said that Louisa Grace never had so much as a whisper of pregnancy in all the years they were married." She grew strangely teary. "What if Jim thinks I've been unfaithful?"

Miss Marian gave a ladylike snort. "Don't be such a goose, Jane! Of course he'll know he's the father – he wouldn't doubt your fidelity for a minute. And neither would anyone else. We all see the way you two look at each other."

Jane blushed. "We've been terribly improper, haven't we?"

"Now, Jane," Miss Marian said, placing her firm and reassuring hands over the assistant librarian's trembling ones, "there is nothing improper about being in love."

Jane burst into tears.

"Oh, dear!" Miss Marian soothed, pulling her into a warm and sisterly hug.

Mortified by her unusual lack of composure, Jane pulled out a handkerchief and futilely attempted to mop up the tears that insisted on continuously streaming down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she said brokenly, "I don't know what's come over me… "

"You're pregnant," Miss Marian said with an understanding smile. "A woman's emotions tend to go haywire when she's carrying a child. It's nothing to be ashamed of – it's a perfectly normal and natural reaction."

"It is?" Jane sobbed. "It's so humiliating!"

Miss Marian laughed, but gently. "It won't be like this forever, Jane. You'll go through many feelings as the baby grows inside of you – some of them humiliating, some of them painful" – her face suddenly lit up as if she was recalling some dear, sweet memory – "and some of them wonderful."

Jane's tears started to ebb at such comforting reassurance, but she was still too anxious to be completely thrilled by her present state of being. "Suppose Jim has reconciled to the notion of our being barren and no longer wants children? I couldn't bear it if he was disappointed!"

"If Jim is the man I think he is, he's going to be overjoyed," Miss Marian said staunchly. "Before you tell him, would you like me to help you estimate the date of conception? It may ease your mind to know it."

Jane nodded eagerly. And so Miss Marian prompted her to recall the date of her last menses and then count forward from there in the privacy of her own mind. When Jane arrived at the probable incident, she blushed even more furiously – it was the evening of their fight and the resulting sofa tryst! But she was thankfully relieved of one foolish fear: "Well, Jim certainly couldn't doubt my fidelity, as I wasn't out of his sight for a moment that night."

Miss Marian smiled at that, but sobered quickly when Jane revealed yet another concern: "You don't suppose we might have harmed the baby with our subsequent 'activities,' do you?" She blushed a third time – would she never cease feeling so mortified? "We've been anything but circumspect since that night!"

The librarian shook her head. "I can tell you from experience that there is no harm in it. In fact," she said delicately, "you may find that you have increased cravings for your husband's embrace, especially once your nausea subsides completely. Dr. Pyne will not disapprove, as long as you practice moderation and there aren't any other difficulties with your pregnancy that would require you to refrain. Speaking of which – you mentioned you haven't been to see the doctor yet?"

Now it was Jane's turn to shake her head.

"Well, then," Miss Marian said decisively as she stood up and helped the flummoxed assistant librarian to her feet, "we should go right away."

Jane gratefully let her dear sister-friend take the lead in this endeavor, as she was still far too muddled by the stunning shift in the entire trajectory of her life to think coherently. She was going to be a mother!

Fortunately, her visit with Dr. Pyne allayed any remaining apprehensions about her unexpected state of being. Indeed, the doctor confirmed that she was most likely two months along, she was perfectly healthy for a woman in her condition, and all of her symptoms – even the strange bouts of bleeding – were common ones. After this pronouncement, Jane felt nothing but the sweetest euphoria. She was going to be a mother!

After the doctor finished his examination, Miss Marian took the assistant librarian right over to her mother's house. Jane couldn't help laughing in sheer delight when Mrs. Paroo proceeded to shout with joy to the saints in heaven, coo over her in a motherly fashion, and feed her the most enervating and delicious soup she'd eaten in weeks.

As Jane allowed the matron and the librarian to see to her comfort, she privately wondered how she had avoided falling pregnant immediately after her marriage to Jim, since they were clearly more fertile than expected. Perhaps it was because there were several – thankfully brief – periods during their honeymoon tour when they did not have sufficient privacy in which to make love. Added to that, she was struck with the most inconvenient case of honeymoon cystitis shortly after their return home, which made it far too painful to engage in such intimate coupling. Fortunately, Dr. Pyne's skillful doctoring had eased her malaise, and Miss Marian had advised her on the most effective hygienic and dietary practices for the prevention of such vexing nuisances in the future. It was incredibly useful women's knowledge that the librarian had received from her mother, ancient knowledge that had been passed down from woman to woman through the generations, and Jane was doubly grateful that she was a beneficiary of this valuable lore. This was guidance she never expected to receive, having been raised by a prim aunt who couldn't overcome her Puritanical reticence to so much as disclose what menarche was in a timely enough fashion for Jane to avoid the terror that she was somehow hemorrhaging to death.

So when both Miss Marian and Mrs. Paroo strongly recommended that she tell Jim about her condition straightaway that very night, Jane wisely heeded their advice.

XXX

December 1926, part two

In her usual blunt and forthright fashion, Jane told her husband the wonderful news as soon as he walked in the front door.

To her delight, Jim's response was eloquently wordless: he reached out, crushed her to him, and kissed her passionately. As the delicious soup and tender care she received that afternoon had reinvigorated her, Jane wholeheartedly enjoyed this embrace until he suddenly slackened his grip.

"Please forgive me, dearest of Janes," he gasped. "I shouldn't have been so rough. I hope I haven't hurt you – or the baby!"

"You haven't, dearest of Jims, and I'm not going to break," she laughed. "Miss Marian, Mrs. Paroo, and Dr. Pyne told me so."

Still, he continued to hold her gingerly, as if she were made of spun glass. "I had wondered if your recent fatigue and changes in appetite indicated you were with child, but I could hardly bring myself to hope… how far along are you?"

"About two months," she replied. "The baby should be born in mid-July."

Jane smiled gleefully as she saw the history teacher do the math in his head, and she relished the way he goggled at her with unfettered joy as he stammered, "You mean – that night on the sofa?"

"Yes," she confirmed, feeling as pleased and proud as Bastet always looked whenever she managed to pry her way into a drawer or cabinet that had been closed tightly against her.

Jim's mouth covered hers again. Though his embrace was far gentler than she would have preferred, she did not press the matter, as she couldn't help sharing his apprehensions as to her delicacy, regardless of Miss Marian's reassurances.

Still, she had to do something to sate this wanting, which had grown almost unbearably acute. "Jim," she breathed when the two of them finally parted, "Dr. Pyne told me that we do have to be somewhat careful, but we needn't deny ourselves completely."

"What do you want to do?" he asked, staring at her with a longing that was almost desperate in its intensity.

Despite the confidence she'd developed in initiating the proceedings between them since their wedding night, even Jane would have been embarrassed by her own boldness if she hadn't been in such a keenly aroused state. But pregnancy really did heighten one's emotions – and some of them were wonderful, indeed. "I want you to take me to the couch and bury your head in my lap until I scream."

Jim lost no time in leading her to the parlor and carrying out her directive on the very sofa where he had so passionately brought about her present condition two months before.

XXX

January 1927

During one of their Sunday dinners at the Hill house, Harold pulled Jim aside for a chat.

"How are you doing with all this?" the music professor asked earnestly.

Jim gazed fondly at his sweet wife, who was deep in conversation with Miss Marian on the parlor bay window seat. Though he could easily perceive the slight rounding of Jane's stomach when she was fully unclothed – he had spent many a heated night kissing and caressing this captivating roundness – she was not yet showing when she was fully dressed, so her state was still only known to their closest friends. But her hand strayed often to rest on her stomach, and the sight of her cradling the place where their child was growing never failed to enchant him.

Realizing that he had let the silence drag on just a little too long, the history teacher tore his gaze away from his beloved and met his friend's understanding eyes with a smile. "I'm elated – and terrified."

Harold nodded as if he'd suspected as much. "It was like that for me, too – especially the first time when I didn't have a clue what to expect. So I'll tell you something I wish a good friend could have told me at the time: women aren't nearly as fragile as they look."

Recalling the heightened intensity of fervor in Jane's embrace of late, Jim nodded in agreement. "So I've observed. But it's still reassuring to hear this from a man who loves his wife just as dearly as I love mine."

Harold grinned and clapped him amiably on the shoulder.

XXX

February 1927

Both the history teacher and assistant librarian spent most of this dreary winter month reading every single book about pregnancy and childbirth they could get their hands on. While this new knowledge seemed to soothe Jane and help her prepare for the physical ordeal that was to come, it only increased Jim's trepidation even further. Now that he knew not just what was supposed to happen but also everything that could possibly go wrong in the course of bringing a child into the world, it was extremely hard not to worry about the occurrence of any number of catastrophes that were so clinically – and coldly, to his peevish chagrin – enumerated on the printed page.

Of course, Jim valiantly concealed his apprehensions, lest he cause irreparable harm to his wife or child. As Dr. Pyne had cautioned him, he must do everything in his power to avoid upsetting Jane at this crucial time. So he did his best to be unfailingly attentive, patient, and solicitous of his wife's well-being. If these books had caused her any distress whatsoever, he would have insisted that she cease reading them. But who would have guessed that he was the one who should have taken more care with his scholarly perusals?

Sometimes there is such a thing as being too well-informed, he ruefully reflected as he kissed and caressed his wife's stomach, which was growing charmingly apple-like as the days and weeks passed.

XXX

March 1927

"It is said that those whom the gods destroy, they first make happy," Jim mused to Harold during yet another Sunday dinner.

They had retired to the music room as the ladies took their ease in the parlor. So for once, the history teacher didn't have to hold his tongue about the full measure of his disquiet. The most recent cause of his distress was that yesterday, Jane had experienced the most alarming nosebleed that erupted spontaneously and took a full fifteen minutes to subside. Although she was unperturbed by this happenstance – apparently, Miss Marian had told her such bizarre and unsettling phenomena were not uncommon occurrences – Jim was so rattled that he had insisted on consulting with Dr. Pyne, who likewise reassured him that his wife's pregnancy was progressing normally.

Yet despite his relief at this confident pronouncement of a trusted medical authority, Jim just couldn't shake the terrible sense of dread that his life had become too perfect. He was not only deeply in love with his wife, he was going to be a father! But after his childless marriage with Gracie, followed by her prolonged and painful passing at such an untimely age, he would never again be able to fully trust in the benevolence of the universe. Still, he was hoping it would help ease his mind to talk to the man who had become both his best friend and confidante since he'd first started courting Jane.

Indeed, Harold demonstrated his keen understanding of exactly what was gnawing at Jim: "It's not easy, is it? Loving a woman so profoundly that the idea of losing her becomes unbearable."

"I've already done it once before," Jim said bleakly. "I don't know if I have it in me to endure that kind of loss a second time."

"I don't think I could survive the loss of Marian, either," the music professor agreed.

A long and heavy silence descended as each man gloomily pondered his own thoughts.

Harold was the first to shake himself out of his stupor. "I'm sorry. I ought to be cheering you up, not making you feel even worse! Did Dr. Pyne's advice do you any better, at least? He always assured me that the odds of complication are very low in a healthy woman in this day and age, though I couldn't completely believe him during either of Marian's pregnancies – at least, not until she'd delivered our children and all was said and done just as he predicted."

Jim couldn't help chuckling. "Dr. Pyne has assured me that while my wife's frame is a tad petite, her hips and pelvis are of a perfectly satisfactory size to handle the rigors of childbirth." He snorted. "I would have appreciated this reassurance just a little bit better if he hadn't spoken of my wife like she was a sturdily built blue-ribbon heifer!"

Harold burst into laughter as well. "Do you know, I got a very similar spiel from him after Marian delivered the twins – the man has worked so long among farmers that he forgets we don't all take comparisons of our wives to livestock as a compliment! I've never told my wife what he said about her hips, and I don't recommend you inform Jane, either." He sobered and exhaled sharply. "I've often thought that being in love really is the most exquisite and excruciating of tortures a man could endure in his life. But I still wouldn't trade it for all the lonely freedom in the world."

Oddly enough, Jim found himself comforted by his friend's words in a way that no book or doctor had been able to provide. Perhaps it was Harold's honest and unvarnished acknowledgment that while he could promise nothing about the outcome of Jane's labor despite his own previous experience as an anxious father-to-be, he could truly sympathize with the history teacher's plight without resorting to empty and insincere platitudes. Or perhaps it was the ringing conviction with which Harold declared he would rather have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. It was a conviction that Jim strongly agreed with – if he had not, he could never have taken the risk of pursuing, courting, and marrying Jane in the first place.

"I wouldn't trade it, either," the history teacher averred. "Even if whatever fortune, fate, or deity that governs the universe sees fit to take Jane from me, it can't take the memories of every wonderful moment we shared together. I'd much rather know exactly what it is I've lost, than mourn what could have been because I was too much of a coward to take that chance. Even if I were to play it safe and avoid all attachment, tomorrow is never a guarantee for any of us."

Harold grinned and nodded. "So make sure to enjoy all the pleasures and excitements of today with her, for as long as you possibly can."

XXX

April 1927

As Jane's due date crept ever closer, she experienced the intense need to set her home to rights before she started to feel too much like an overstuffed partridge. Miss Marian had said that the best three months of pregnancy were the middle ones, and so far she was finding this to be true. So while she could still move around fairly easily, she set the considerable force of her energy and will to reorganizing each and every room in the house. Now that they had finally hired a housekeeper to handle the cooking – a lovely young woman who was diligent and industrious, but never imposing – the assistant librarian could focus entirely on this task, and she was deeply grateful for the reprieve from a chore she loathed.

With all the upheaval that resulted from this course of action, Bastet and Diogenes followed their mistress's doings with great interest, nosing about each and every item she meticulously examined, cleaned, and either rehomed or had removed from the premises. Jane was much more indulgent of her charges' curiosity than she might have been otherwise, as she was so relieved that they were going to be able to keep their beloved cats even after becoming parents. Jane had always wanted to have cats of her own, but every boarding house she had ever lived in hadn't allowed pets of any kind – before marrying Jim, the closest she got to achieving this dream was cooing over Philip, the scraggly ginger kitten that Professor Hill had discovered in an empty tuba case shortly after the music emporium's founding and subsequently adopted. Under Marian's and Jane's tender nursing, the mangy creature had proceeded to grow into a stout tomcat that enjoyed a long and pampered life as the boys' band's unofficial mascot, fathering scores of kittens until his eventual passing two years ago.

However, while Jim loved their precious felines just as much as she did, he had expressed reservations that they might be detrimental to the health of a newborn. Thankfully, Dr. Pyne had reassured the assistant librarian and history teacher that as long as their cats were well-fed and kept out of the nursery, they would present very little danger to the safety of their child.

As Jane went through several curios and personal effects stored in their bedroom, she came across two brass rings in her husband's dresser. Surmising that these were from Jim's previous marriage, she couldn't resist trying on the smaller ring of the two. She was amused to discover that her hand was apparently larger than Louisa Grace's, as she was unable to slide the ring down her finger completely. Or perhaps she was simply too swollen from pregnancy to do so!

At that inopportune moment, Jim entered their bedroom, causing Jane to jump and drop the ring, which went rolling across the floor. As if to tattle on her, it came to a halt against the side of her husband's shoe.

Fortunately, Jim wasn't angry or even annoyed by her intrusion. Bending down to pick up the fallen ring, he marveled, "I'd wondered where that went to. Thank you for finding it, Jane."

"The rings were in your dresser," she said, still feeling guilty for her snooping despite his lack of crossness. "I didn't see an engagement ring, though."

"Gracie never had one," Jim replied. "When we were young, brass was all I could afford, and she insisted on foregoing an engagement ring out of consideration for my lack of finances. When I eventually made a decent-enough living to compensate for this lack and offered to buy her both a diamond solitaire and a gold wedding ring, she preferred to keep her brass one." He smiled fondly. "Like you, she was a modest lady with simple tastes. I did insist on buying her a few nice pieces of jewelry, but gave them to her nieces before I moved to Iowa – I thought they should remain in her family." He gave her a hesitant look. "I hope you don't mind that I kept these tokens for myself."

Jane crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. "Of course not! I still have the page from the volume of Jane Eyre that William gave me." Now it was her turn to feel uncertain. "It may not be appropriate of me to have such an illicit memento now that I'm married, but I just couldn't bring myself to throw it away."

Jim took his hands in hers and kissed them sweetly. "You have just as much of a right to your sentimental trinkets as I do mine. We should place them in in a special wooden box together."

Jane brightened. "What a wonderful idea! And someday we can tell our child the stories of the ones we loved before we met each other."

He smiled, but his tone was pensive as he said, "And how much of our past should we reveal to our offspring? We've both done things that we would prefer to forget."

Jane knew he was remembering his dependency on Veronal with just as much shame as she recalled her near-affair with a married man. But knowing that they had both fallen into these traps due to ignorance rather than wickedness, she said, "Do you remember the gorgeous antique cameo necklace that I showed you shortly after our wedding? There's a reason I rarely wear it. My mother left it to me in her will, but my aunt insisted on saving it for my marriage, even after she had completely given up hope that such a momentous occasion would ever occur. She stubbornly clung to my mother's heirloom until death finally forced her to relinquish it to me. So as much satisfaction as I enjoy in finally having everything my parents left me that's rightfully mine, I just can't think of this lovely piece of jewelry as my mother's, because I only ever remember seeing my aunt wear it."

"I had wondered if she spoiled that precious gift for you," Jim muttered.

Jane smiled at his pique on her behalf before continuing, "The reason I tell you this is not to condemn my aunt, but to point out that while she meant well, she only ended up making things worse. And she made the same kind of misjudgment when she refused to tell me the secrets of a woman's body, or how things really were between men and women. Unfortunately, her miscalculation unwittingly left me even more vulnerable to seduction and ruin than I would have been if I had the knowledge that was denied to me." She swallowed. "They won't be easy conversations, but we owe it to our child to be honest about the facts of life, as well to own up to the mistakes we've made and how we've strived to overcome them. We simply cannot afford to make the same error with our child as my aunt and uncle made with me – particularly if we have a daughter! She must be fully aware of all the potential pitfalls of love, knowledge of which will hopefully keep her from developing feelings for a man who is not available to be with her in an honest and decent way."

Jane knew that she had done a thorough job in convincing her husband of the validity of her position, as he only had one observation to make after she'd finished her spirited explanation: "And if we have a son?"

"He will need to know these things, as well," Jane insisted. "In particular, he must be aware of the importance of choosing a wife based on compatible character and tastes, and not be blinded by a woman's beauty or his own lust."

Jim looked admiringly at her. "You are going to make the most wonderful mother, dearest of Janes."

"And you will be a wonderful father," Jane returned, throwing her arms around him.

Their embrace started out as sweetly chaste in nature, even as Jim's mouth parted from hers to trail its way tenderly down the line of her neck. However, Jane had learned over the past few months that while her husband remained circumspect in his caresses out of care for her health, he was more than content to follow her lead in the bedroom. So she pressed herself suggestively against him – at least, as much as she possibly could in her present rotund state.

Thankfully, it was enough of a hint. Their bed being only a few feet away, Jim whisked her right over to it, and they made love for the rest of the afternoon.

XXX

May 1927

To Jane's surprise, she discovered that unlike many other pregnant women, she had more food aversions than she did cravings for anything in particular. These revulsions didn't particularly bother her – at least, not until strawberries started to come into season and she abruptly discovered that she couldn't even tolerate the smell of them. It made her extremely sad – to the point of tears, blast her condition! – that she could no longer enjoy a food she once loved so dearly. But to her vexation, she simply could not abide strawberries, whether crushed in a malted, flavoring a phosphate, or the unadulterated berries themselves.

"How maddening," Miss Marian said with deep sympathy. "I just couldn't get enough strawberry phosphates, particularly when I was carrying the twins!"

Mrs. Paroo intoned, "It's sure to mean that the baby won't take to strawberries. I couldn't stomach olives with Marian or pickles with Winthrop, and the two of them still refuse to eat these foods!"

"After our baby is born, I'll buy you the biggest strawberry malted you can drink," Jim promised her.

Jane had to swallow her bile at such a nauseating thought. But she truly appreciated her husband's thoughtfulness, and rewarded him quite warmly for it as soon as her malady passed.

XXX

June 1927

When it came to the subject of choosing a name for their progeny, Mr. and Mrs. Hearst debated this matter as gravely and as vigorously as they did any other topic.

Jane wanted a name that honored the dear parents she had never known and the good friends who presently loved and cared for them like family. Whereas Jim detested the idea of anything too commonplace or prosaic – he wanted no Annes, Hatties, Catherines, Elizabeths, or the like.

At first, Jane found his penchant for uncommon epithets amusing. Lately, they had been reading the Epic of Gilgamesh together, so she tartly asked, "In that case, how do you feel about Ninsun Ishtar for a girl and Enkidu Utnapashtim for a boy?"

Jim laughed. "That would be a bit too esoteric," he conceded. "But I do want a name that's both distinguished and symbolic. It shouldn't lend itself easily to abbreviation, either – I will tolerate no mawkish nicknames!"

"But you and I both have very common names," she countered. "And you dreamed of me calling you by your nickname from the very first day we properly met, if memory serves!"

"That's precisely why I refuse to saddle any child of mine with the same awful fate," the history teacher said with a grimace. "I never told you this before now, but 'James Robert' swiftly became 'Jim-Bob' shortly after I was born, and I had to suffer this infuriating indignity throughout my entire childhood. Outside of my parents, who were amenable to changing their habits once I was old enough to fully articulate my opinion of this horrid appellation, I couldn't get anyone else in Gloriosa to shorten my name to Jim until I first met Gracie, who kindly honored my request right from the start. Fortunately, nearly everyone else fell into line once we grew up and got married, but I imagine a few of the old-timers are probably still reminiscing about 'little Jim-Bob' to this very day!"

While Jane could appreciate her husband's frustration, she was starting to get genuinely upset, to the point where tears were forming in her eyes. "You say you detest names that are too common – do you not like my name?"

Jim's exasperated look immediately softened. "I love your name, dearest of Janes. It suits you perfectly. I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings. I just want a name that bestows the grace and refinement that mine unfortunately lacked."

Jane took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Don't mind me, dearest of Jims – I'm fine. I believe that in our own way, we're arguing for the same thing. Just as long as you aren't planning to campaign for something ghastly or overwrought, like Aristotle or Socrates or Benjamin Franklin or Thomas Jefferson. Such distinguished names are far too lofty to saddle a sweet little infant with, and the poor thing could never live up to such high standards – not even with 'excelsior' as a motto!"

"Of course not," he assured her. "But nor do I want to name our little one Harold or Marian – for one, there would be too much confusion at our Sunday dinners. I can understand naming a child after a deceased family member, but naming a child after a living relative sets up just as much of a legacy for a child to potentially fail to meet. After all, as you know, Harold's original birth name was passed down through several generations, and he lost no time in discarding it when he reached the age of majority because it was too much of a millstone around his neck."

Jane bit her lip, pondering. "If we have a daughter, would you consider Sophia Marian? Sophia was my mother's name, and Marian is like a sister to me, and I would dearly love to honor them both."

To her relief, Jim not only refrained from roundly vetoing the idea, his eyes lit up in delight. "Now Sophia is exactly the kind of name I would consider! It not only suggests the poise and elegance I was hoping to bestow, it's also derived from the Greek word for wisdom and skill. How fitting for the daughter of two academics, and how clever of you to think of it!" He sighed. "But you'll have to forgive me, dearest, as I don't think Marian fits quite right with it."

Despite his disavowal of Marian even as a middle name, Jane felt immensely cheered by this small victory. They had finally hit upon a first name for a daughter that they both agreed was perfect! But they still had to figure out a middle name, and then there were the boys' names to consider. "Why is this so difficult?" she burst in frustration.

Jim wrapped his arms around her. "Naming a child properly is much harder than naming a cat. Perhaps it would be best if we tabled this conversation for the time being. We still have a month left to decide."

Though she had gotten too large to comfortably make love, even in the more unorthodox positions they'd experimented with as her girth increased, the assistant librarian was by now well-versed in other erotic delights a husband and his expecting wife could still enjoy together. Deciding that she'd much rather spend the next several hours not talking, Jane claimed her husband's mouth in a persuasive kiss. "Well, at least we've made some progress," she laughed as he escorted her up to their bedroom.

XXX

July 17, 1927

Jane gave birth to a daughter five minutes after one o'clock in the afternoon at Madison Hospital. Since men were not permitted to be with their laboring wives and she wanted the presence of someone who loved her, Miss Marian remained by her side to provide both support and comfort as the doctor and nurses coaxed her along to delivery. When the assistant librarian and the baby had been made presentable and Jim was finally allowed to see them both, he came bearing just the right name for their girl:

"Why don't we call her Sophia Minerva? Minerva would be in honor of both the Roman goddess of wisdom and my favorite Aunt Minnie."

"It's perfect," Jane breathed as she continued to marvel at the stunning little miracle they had made together. Sophia Minerva's miniature features were so delicate and darling that the new mother could only stare at her daughter in wordless wonder. She had arrived into the world with a loud cry that Dr. Pyne assured her was both strong and healthy, but after being nursed – the assistant librarian was once again tremendously grateful to have Miss Marian's expert guidance in this matter – the baby was now curled up and snoozing contentedly in her mother's arms.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed and wound a careful arm around his wife's shoulders. "Sophia Minerva," he cooed in wonder, stroking the baby's tiny fingers and toes with his free hand. "Dearest little Sophie."

Normally, Jane would have teased her befuddled husband for the immoderate haste in which he'd discarded his staunch anti-nickname principles, but as she was similarly entranced by her daughter's sheer adorableness, she just couldn't find it in herself to be so picayune. Besides, it was the perfect nickname for their beautiful little baby.

And so the enamored parents called their daughter Sophie from that moment on.

XXX

Philip the ginger cat was borrowed from Emery Saks' charming fic, The Ginger Lothario.