18 comments/ 103823 views/ 5 favorites Rebecca's Dilemma By: CeeeEsss Three young women looking for a fun night, walked into the only drinking establishment, within a half hour's drive, where they could buy a beer. One faction of residents of the small farming community had repeatedly defeated the other faction's attempts to turn the county from 'dry' to 'wet'. Adjacent to the dry county was another county that also did not allow the sale of alcoholic beverages. However, just to the south of those two dry counties, The Little Brown Jug sat at the rear of a long wide parking lot. It was just barely over the line of those two adjoining counties. The residents of that county, few in number, were not quite so protective of their neighbor's morals. Thus, they allowed the sale and consummation of beer, on the premises. A few steps inside the door of the bar, the blonde with long hair stopped and muttered, "Oh sheee-it," her southern accent drawing out the last word so it wouldn't sound quite so nasty. She tried to turn around as if she wanted to leave, but her companions pushed her forward so they could get inside the dimly lit bar with its large dancehall at the rear. "Dahmn," the brunette added to her friend's comment. Her word also echoed a sweet southern drawl. "What? What?" The question came from the third female. She lacked the heavy southern drawl, making each word sound short and clipped off at the end. "Nevah min'," the blonde lowered her voice. "Let's go git a booth." Four bar stools along the nearest short side of the rectangular bar were empty. Few men cared to sit with their back to the door. A few men, who appeared to be farmers or local workers, none of them dressed in anything better than jeans and work shirts, occupied several of the stools along the long side of the bar. Most wore some type of work boots, none showing a recent shine. Those who had removed their gimme caps sported white foreheads, as was often seen indoors on men who worked primarily outside all day long. They were relaxed, bending slightly forward with their forearms resting on the edge of the bar. Farthest from the door, along the other short side of the bar, were four more barstools. Only one seat was occupied. A young man, dressed a little better than the other patrons, sat nursing his second beer of the evening. The young man had turned on the seat of his stool to lean against the nearby wall, rather than face the well of the bar, where the bartender was quietly motioning to each man along the long side asking if they were ready for another beer. This young man appeared relaxed, placing one leg across the seat of the next barstool, his well polished boot hung off the other side of the seat. The toe of his boot was slowly moving as if he was tapping his foot in time with the soulful song playing on the jukebox. The young women chose one of several empty booths and settled on the hard wooden seats, waiting for the barmaid to take their order. They looked around for a moment, gauging their prospects for a little fun and checking out any men who might interest them or who might like to dance or show a girl a good time. Informing the young woman who lacked a southern accent, the blonde said, "Tha only choice you git, Elaine, is beer on tap or in a bottle. An' ya have ta ask fer a glass." Her words were hard, as if she was disgusted or perhaps she was disappointed the dance floor was empty, although it was still early with an hour or two to go before full dark. "Don't talk like that, Sue Ann, it's just that most don't wont a glass," the brunette chided her blonde friend's derogatory comment. "I'm jist tellin' her, Louise. Don't jump down my throat." Sue Ann's words were a little harsh, compared to the ones she might have used before they walked into The Little Brown Jug. "Well, don't be like that. Jist 'cause those men caint settle their differences, don't mean you and me has got to make some fer ourselves." Likewise, Louise's words were harsher than she had used only minutes before. Elaine's head turned from Sue Ann to Louise surprised at the vehemence from both women. "What happened to make you two mad at each other?" Louise waved her hand at the men along the bar, "Oh its jist them men. Neither one'll give in, which means Rebecca caint neither." "It wudden her fault!" Sue Ann exclaimed. Louise looked at her friend and slapped her hand on the table as the barmaid placed frosted mugs and bottles of beer in front of all three. "I didn't say it was. I'm jist sayin' she won't budge if they don't." Even the sound of Louise's palm hitting the table did not cause a single man at the bar to take his attention from the young man leaning against the wall. Nor did the young man's attention waver from a particular man seated on the long side of the bar. Before the evening was over, the three young women would no longer use the mugs, they would drink their beer directly from the bottle as the men at the bar were doing. Before they could lift their bottles to fill their frosty mugs, however, their attention was drawn to the men at the bar. The young man with the polished boots did not move his head or his leg, nor did he lift his bottle for a swallow of beer before or after he spoke. "Jake, is she coming home tonight?" "I don't think so, Clay." Only by seeing one of the men on the long side of the bar shaking his head, could Elaine determine who had spoken. Other than the movement of his head, the man's posture did not change. "That's my baby she's carrying!" Clay declared. His voice was just a little louder than necessary, but he wanted everyone to hear what he said. "She ain't sure it is, Clay." Jake's response was similarly loud enough for every man along the bar to hear. Clay dropped his leg off the adjacent bar stool, stood, and glared at the man who had responded to his declaration. He walked around the corner of the bar, passed by the men who sat with their forearms resting on the edge of the bar. He paused for a moment behind the largest of the four men and patted him on the back and spoke quietly, "Tell her I love her, Jake. Just tell her that. I need my wife to come home." The man to whom Clay had spoken did not turn to acknowledge the younger man. Instead, he nodded his head and picked up his beer, drained it and very gently placed the empty bottle on top of the wooden bar, while the young man walked toward the door. As the door banged closed behind Clay, Jake stood, stretched, and placed his hands on the back of the two men who had sat beside him, "I'll see you fellas in a day or two." Both men nodded, gave wordless grunts of acceptance of their friend's comment, and the big man turned to walk toward the front door. However, Jake stopped behind another man farther down the bar and clamped his hand on the man's shoulder. He squeezed gently, "Don't be late for supper, Joel. Mom don't need to be up late waitin' fer you to show up." When the door once again banged shut, it was as if a pall had lifted from the room, the jukebox began playing a foot-stomping song that sounded several decibels louder than the one just ended. Most of the men at the bar leaned against the backs of their seats and looked around to see who had walked into the bar, to whom they could now give their attention. A couple from the booth behind the three young women walked to the dance floor and began to dance. Two couples from tables on the far side of the large room rose from their seats and joined the first couple. The waitress called out an order to the bartender. The front door opened to admit two more couples, all four of them laughing at something said as they walked inside, or a private joke. They carried with them, the expectation they were going to enjoy themselves. The fun of a Saturday night at The Little Brown Jug had just begun. Elaine looked around at the changed atmosphere inside the building and watched both of the other women with whom she shared the booth. Their shoulders straightened and smiles began to spread across their faces. To Elaine it appeared everyone was awakening from a deep depressive trance. "Can you tell me what that was all about?" Elaine looked at Sue Ann and then Louise, neither of whom was giving their attention to Elaine. "Later, darlin'," Sue Ann responded as she patted Elaine's hand then offered her other hand to the man who stood in front of their table. "I'm gonna go dance with Charlie." Music from the jukebox grew louder as the bar and dancehall filled with young and old dancers. Rarely was a stranger seen in The Little Brown Jug. Hard working farm families met friends, talked about the weather, bragged about their fields of growing crops, and bottles of beer soothed parched throats. When a couple slipped out the side door for a few minutes of fresh air, no one remarked when they returned, not even if the man had a smudge of lipstick on his mouth. After all, farming communities are far removed from larger cities where entertainment opportunities were varied. It was many hours later when Elaine heard the first few details of the story that caused Clay Hogan and Jake Westerman to exchange words. It was a complicated story. Many of the details were argued about, but everyone had an opinion. It was a story about Rebecca Westerman Hogan and the pregnancy her doctor had just confirmed. * * * * * * "Oh gawd," Sue Ann moaned as she walked into the living room taking careful steps across the room until she reached the short bar which separated the living room from the kitchen. She twisted the seat of the vacant tall stool and flopped down, but closed her eyes and moaned. "I know, me too." Louise commiserated with her friend. "I thought you might go home with Charlie." Sue Ann shook her head, winced at the pain it caused, and answered, "Naw, he was too drunk. I don't fancy his kind of fun when he drinks." Their attention shifted from their hangover misery to a groan from the living room at their backs. Sue Ann turned to look at the back of the couch as one slender arm appeared giving a half-hearted wave. Sue Ann didn't bother to speak to the young woman who slowly sat up from her bed on the couch and pushed herself up to stand for a moment. Elaine appeared to be just as miserable as the other two young women were. Sue Ann's head swiveled back to Louise. "Is that coffee?" "Yeah, it's almost done." Louise gingerly left her stool and walked around the end of the bar. She opened cabinets to remove cups and sugar, and the refrigerator door looking for the cream, carrying everything to the small kitchen table. By the time Elaine returned from the bathroom, Louise was pouring coffee into three cups. The three young women mentioned something to eat but none of them had the energy to do anything other than sit and enjoy the coffee, waiting for their bodies to recover from the prior evening of drinking too many beers and expending a lot of energy dancing. "Okay," Elaine said, took a deep breath and asked, "Now tell me about those two men at the bar." Sue Ann began the explanation. "Clay Hogan won't believe Rebecca, that's his wife, was unfaithful." Louise explained, "The big guy, Jake Westerman, says Rebecca, that's his sister, says she don't know if she did it or not." The way the two life-long friends made their opening remarks told Elaine there was disagreement between them and that they had taken sides. She listened as the discussion grew into an intense argument or settled into a simple recitation of details. Although it was almost a subject of daily discussion between some people, few knew if there had been any result of the latest meeting between a husband and an over-protective brother. * * * Clay Hogan appeared in the small community as representative of a seed and chemical company that sold their specialty products to farmers and ranchers. Fresh out of college, with a degree in farm and ranch management, he had been assigned a specific area of the state. He drew a rough circle around his sales area then pinpointed the center of the circle as his base of operations. For the first two weeks, Clay lived and worked out of one of the six rooms at the only motel in town. He learned the owner of the combination bakery and doughnut shop had a small furnished apartment above the shop that she was willing to rent. The apartment was really only two rooms and a bathroom. One room was barely large enough to walk around in when the Murphy bed was lowered but the room was bare when the bed was folded and raised in place. The other room contained a red plastic covered couch, a small refrigerator with a hot plate on top and a sink with a badly dripping faucet. The small table would remain upright if the side with the missing leg was wedged into the corner of the room. A rope tied around the legs of the only chair kept it from falling apart. Clay spent his time calling on the local farmers, selling his products, and making himself known in the community. A few months later, one farmer offered him the use of a small house, a few miles from town, where his deceased mother had lived. He even suggested he would waive the first two months rent because the yard was severely overgrown and the house needed cleaning plus a few minor repairs. After that, the farmer agreed to allow Clay to pay for paint and some plumbing repairs instead of rent. By the time Clay had lived in the house for about six months, the community had cautiously accepted him as one of them, partly because the house once again looked like someone lived in it and cared for it. Like the other young people of the community, Clay spent some of his Saturday nights at The Little Brown Jug, just over the county line. If any of the 'fun time' girls saw more of him than the time they spent dancing with him, they did not admit it. Clay did not share what he did the one day a week he traveled to his company offices to turn in and arrange for delivery of his orders. Nor did he give many details about his review of new products, or the discussions with the agronomists at the state agricultural experimental station. However, he shared his knowledge and expertise with the farmers he called on and treated as friends, more than customers. Clay was a quiet man. He attended the local community church, and although he was friendly, he was private about his personal life. If he tipped his hat or held a door open for a farmer's wife, he wasn't doing anything more gallant than the farmer or a neighbor would have done. When the farmer's wives thanked Clay, they did so by name. They had seen him many times, fed him a meal when he spent time with their husband, and nodded at him when they passed him on the sidewalk. More than a year after Clay arrived, as he was becoming accepted as a 'local', he asked Rebecca Westerman for a date. Actually, he asked her father for permission to ask her for a date. He had seen her enough times at her parent's farm to like the young girl. She smiled at him. Although he was five years older than the recent high school graduate was, Rebecca's parents were impressed with the young man's assurance that he understood she was still a very young girl, just barely eighteen years old. For many months, the majority of their simple dates were spent on the front porch of her family's farmhouse. They sat in the swing, often visiting with her father or one of her three older brothers who sat in one of the nearby rocking chairs. On the evenings when none of her family members joined them on the front porch, Clay and Rebecca's date grew more physical than verbal. Those were the evenings when Clay left a little earlier than usual after Rebecca walked him to his pickup. The minutes she spent in his arms as he leaned her against the front fender left both of them panting with sexual arousal. His vehicle barely hid them from anyone in the house who might have walked into the front parlor and looked out one of the windows. Amelia Westerman was not aware the reason her daughter wore a skirt was to give Clay easy access to what was hidden beneath her skirt. The woman thought Rebecca was merely dressing a little nicer than her usual jeans because her boyfriend was coming to visit for a few hours. Nor was the woman aware of the number of times her daughter opened the front of Clay's jeans to discover he wasn't wearing underwear. It allowed the young girl to stroke his hard cock until she leaned over and pulled it into her mouth as he groaned with his release. The first night Clay lifted Rebecca to sit on the hood of his truck she separated her legs and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His fingers trailed up and down the insides of her thighs, slowly getting closer to something he usually felt through or under her clothing. When his fingers reached the vee between her legs, he discovered she wasn't wearing panties. "Rebecca your brothers are going to kill me." "They're watching TV, Clay. I'm so wet, I need it." Clay leaned forward, his lips nipping along the inside of her thigh, savoring her heat as his mouth searched for the source of the sweetness he sampled on her skin. At the first touch of his mouth on her sexual core, he groaned. He had tasted her essence on his fingers but this was his first time to actually get his mouth close enough for the taste he craved. Rebecca whispered, "You like that baby?" Rather than lift his head to respond, Clay's head went up and down in an affirmative response to her question. Rebecca giggled, "I shaved it just for you." Clay feasted on her luscious wetness, pushed his fingers into her warmth, and held her still when she wiggled from the stimulation. In minutes she was panting and whispering, "Oh, oh, oh I'm gonna, uhmm-mm." She muted her final sounds as she bit down on the knuckle of her forefinger. As her tremors subsided, she was demanding, "Pull me down Clay. Can I put you inside me?" He was happy to oblige. He opened the top of his jeans, pulled them off his hips, and slid her straight down onto his throbbing cock. She jerked and gasped at the invasion and then shook. Clay groaned. He had not known and he could not withdraw. The heat and wetness inside her felt too wonderful to the sensitive head of his cock. Rebecca kissed him, as he moved his cock in and out of her wet heat. She sucked on his neck. She finally latched onto his fat earlobe, flicking it with her tongue, which always sent chills down his spine. When he could finally open his eyes and think straight, he managed to lower Rebecca to stand on her trembling legs. The next thought was a thunderous "Oh shit." The ever present condom he always carried in his hip pocket was still there, in his pocket. "Rebecca, I'm sorry. Damn, damn, I didn't use a condom. Please, please, tell me you're on the pill." "Not yet, Clay. I'm taking the first pill in a little over a week, right after my period." To say that Clay's nerves were on edge for the next few days was an understatement. The evening he visited, he barely kissed her and left her as early as he dared. He was a nervous wreck until Rebecca assured him she was not pregnant. That week's trip to his company's office was the shortest he could ever recall making or his thoughts were so jumbled and busy he didn't pay attention to the time on the highway. The next Sunday he joined her family for a meal after church then spent some time with her father looking at Hiram Westerman's newest farm implement. When Clay and Hiram returned from the barn, Clay asked Rebecca to take a walk with him. By the time they returned Rebecca was wearing Clay's ring. Several weeks later they were married in the parlor of the Westerman farm house with so many friends and family around half of them were standing while the minister read the wedding vows from his thin black book. Clay and Rebecca spent two nights in the nearest large town that had a decent hotel but they rarely left their room. They returned to the rent house that Clay had changed from a dusty rough looking house to a home that might have been pretty enough to photograph for a postcard. He ceased taking sandwiches for lunch and no longer accepted a farmer's invitation to a home cooked meal. He had those meals, plus a wife who was learning to be sexually adventurous waiting for him at home. Some days he failed to make his afternoon rounds of farms in his sales area, but his sales didn't decrease, he just made better use of his time. He was often asked about his pretty new wife, or when they planned to start a family. Rebecca's Dilemma Resolved "Hello darling'," Clay held the telephone receiver to his ear as he imitated Conway Twitty's voice singing the first two words of a song to which he and Rebecca frequently danced. "Hi Clay," Rebecca tried valiantly to infuse some humor into her voice. "Are you learning a lot?" "I plan on doing that tomorrow." "I miss you." Rebecca squeezed her mother's hand while she talked to her husband. "I miss you more." "Mom's here, she wants me to go spend a couple of nights at the house." "Hey that's a good idea. Just lock up our house and go." "I think I will. I can cook for Daddy and my brothers for a few days and Mom and I can gossip." "Okay, I'll call you there tomorrow night." "Sure, but go out with your buddies, too." "Oh, I plan on doing that. But none of us are interested in too much time away from the books. I understand we're getting a couple of new manuals that we have to read before the class ends." Clay and Rebecca finished their conversation about the time Rebecca felt her knees growing weak. * * * * For the first few days at her mother's house, Rebecca would sit and stare into space begging her brain to release memories of every moment of the previous Saturday night. She talked to her mother as she tried to put together a picture of every minute of the evening after Clay left for his class. She made telephone calls, carefully pulling information from her friends about what they heard and saw, adding each tiny piece of information to the movie running inside her head. No one saw anything unusual. No one heard Terry or Rebecca say anything other than what friends might say to one another. The other young females he danced with did not hear him say anything about being attracted to Rebecca, other than he thought she was pretty. He had made no effort to hide his wedding ring. By the end of the first week, she knew her efforts were futile. She had tried so hard to remember what it felt like to kiss Terry Napes but truthfully, she couldn't even recall the color of his eyes behind his thick glasses. The movie inside her head was fine until after she and Terry drove into the driveway of her home. At that point, her movie began to loose focus. She could not adjust the view, there were gaps in the film, and minutes or hours were missing. The times Clay talked to her, he thought she sounded a little tired, but she was also helping her mother do some extra work around the old farm house. Besides, he was tired, too. Sitting all day, cramming new details inside his head, and staying up late to review the information in the new manuals, kept his attention directed elsewhere. Almost every night of the second week, Rebecca cried herself to sleep. When she talked to Clay, he commiserated with her about her stuffy nose and said he hoped her head cold was getting better. Three days before Clay was due to drive home, Rebecca grew more nervous. The day before he was due home, Rebecca was inconsolable. "It's no use, Mom. I'm never late." "Just give it a few more days, honey." "It won't do any good. Can Jake go to my house and leave a note for Clay?" "Rebecca Westerman ... ah ... Rebecca Hogan, you need to be there when you husband gets home." "I can't Mom. I just can't do it." Saturday, Rebecca paced the long hall down the middle of the house, from the front door to the back door. She stopped pacing long enough for a minor chore, to fix a big lunch for the men, and then returned to her pacing. About the time she expected Clay to arrive, she went outside to sit on the front porch. However, when she saw his car driving down the road, she ran into the house and couldn't come outside to talk to him. Anticipating a violent reaction from Clay, Jake and his next younger brother, Hank, were walking out the front door when Clay got out of his car. He stood and looked around for a few moments then walked toward the front porch to shake hands with his two brothers. Rebecca stood at her upstairs bedroom window and listened to the men's mumbles, but couldn't distinguish the words used. She heard a primal roar from Clay then saw Jake and Hank holding him, backing him away from the house, as he struggled and yelled her name. Jake made promises he wasn't sure he could keep and Hank backed him up. Clay loudly demanded Jake move aside so he could go inside and speak to his wife. Just as loudly as the other man spoke, Jake told Clay that his wife did not want to speak to him. Eventually, the two much larger men convinced Clay that Rebecca just needed a little more time. Clay needed to go home and give Rebecca the time she needed to settle down. As soon as she was calmer, Jake would call Clay. As soon as she was ready to go home, Jake would see Clay was informed. Clay called The Westerman home several times that night, but everyone who answered the telephone informed him that Rebecca did not wish to speak to him. Near the end of each call, Clay sent a message to his wife that he loved her. The next morning Clay went to church, but Rebecca didn't. After the worship service, Clay spent a little time with the minister, both men agreeing that they need not have done so. Clay loved his wife and felt no shame in doing so. He spoke to Amelia Westerman and learned neither she nor Rebecca had reason to believe his wife had been raped. Even if that was the case, he loved his wife and he wanted her to come home. Amelia wasn't aware she slipped up when she told Clay the reason Rebecca wouldn't go home was because she thought she was pregnant and feared it might not be Clay's baby. Clay smiled. For the first time in two days, he knew he could win. Rebecca was pregnant and he KNEW it was his baby. All Rebecca needed was a little time to get over her fear, realize he loved her, and forget she had gotten drunk. He knew she hadn't had sex with Terry Napes. As soon as she realized it, she would come home. He knew she had never had sex with any man but him. She had been a virgin the night he pulled her off the hood of his truck onto his rock hard cock and she knew it too. Except for the hours he worked, for more than two whole weeks before he left for his two week class, they had spent most of it in bed, loving each other, having sex, or recovering. If Rebecca was pregnant, it was his child. Before the day was over, the story was making its way from mouth to mouth. Sisters argued with sisters. Friends disagreed with friends then agreed to set their argument aside until Clay and Rebecca could work out their differences. Citizens and farmer's wives tut tutted about the gossip then spread what they heard to anyone who would listen. * * * * Thus began the meetings between Jake Westerman and Clay Hogan. Every three or four days, Clay would see Jake's truck parked in front of The Little Brown Jug, or Jake would stop if he saw Clay's truck with the seed and chemical logo on the driver's door, at the bar. Clay called the Westerman farm every morning, usually talking to his mother, Amelia Westerman, asking her to pass along the message that he loved his wife. He called the Westerman home every evening, usually talking to Hiram, or one of his sons, asking about his wife's day and reminding her father that he wanted his wife to come home. Rebecca stood across the room listening to her mother, father, or one of her brothers talking to Clay. She would shake when he called, so nervous he might give her some kind of ultimatum she couldn't meet. A few times, she went into the kitchen to pick up the other telephone, just so she could hear his voice. But she didn't do that very often, she feared she might say something and burst into tears. She had shed enough of those already. During the meetings at The Little Brown Jug, the men would exchange a few words. Jake described what Rebecca was doing or how she felt. Clay asked if Rebecca was having any problems with the pregnancy. Rarely one of the other Westerman brothers would be at the bar, returning from an errand in town, going to visit a neighbor, or they had a date with the daughter of another farmer. Anytime Clay drove through the small town, he looked for one of the Westerman vehicles. If he spotted one, he usually drove around the block, but he didn't try to force Rebecca to talk to him. She needed to come home because she wanted to, not because he forced her. Jake's first description of Rebecca's morning sickness left Clay groaning, knowing he should be with her to offer his support. Jake assured him it wasn't an every day event, just an occasional upset tummy that righted it's self quickly. Amelia Westerman was very familiar with pregnancy and reassured Rebecca there wasn't anything wrong, it was just a natural part of her body adjusting to the changes it was going through. The other patrons of The Little Brown Jug listened to the conversations. They took the stories home with them, and the whole county became absorbed with Rebecca's dilemma. Opinions flourished and differed. Older women thought Rebecca was being foolish. Older men thought Clay should go get his wife, take her home with him, and tell her to fix his supper. Young wives understood her fear of pregnancy and knew she would settle down if given enough time. Young unmarried women looked at Clay and smiled. They hoped to find a man as gentle as he was. Young unmarried men stood open mouth in surprise when their girlfriends remarked, "Clay Hogan wouldn't do that." It was unusual for one of the conversations between Jake and Clay to occur on a Saturday. However, Jake had called Clay offering to report on Rebecca's appointment with her doctor the previous day. The three young women, looking for a fun time had arrived at the end of that conversation. With the pregnancy absolutely confirmed, Clay decided he was going to apply a little persuasion to resolve his wife's absence from their marriage bed and from their home. When he left The Little Brown Jug he drove straight to the Westerman farm and parked in the same spot he had parked the evenings he had courted Rebecca. He didn't bother to go to the front door. He stood in the front yard and raised his voice as he looked up at the bedroom windows above. It was not yet full dark, but there was a light on in the middle room. "Rebecca Hogan, I want to talk to you." Clay looked at the front door and saw Amelia Westerman smiling as she turned on the front porch light before she turned and walked back down the hall. "Rebecca, I love you." Once again, his voice was loud enough to be heard all the way through the house to the back door. Clay noticed Hiram Westerman walking from the barn to the back door. The older man waved at Clay and continued toward the house. "Rebecca, I'm not leaving 'til I talk to you." Jake Westerman drove by the man standing in the front yard of the farm house and waved as he continued down the road, intending to leave his truck parked in the barn. "Rebecca, I need to talk to my wife." Clay thought he saw a shadow move across the middle window upstairs, but wasn't sure. It happened too fast to be certain. "Come on, Sweetheart. Come out to the porch and talk to me." Going for broke, Clay took a deep breath, let it out, and then sucked in another deep breath. "Wife, I talked to Jerry Napes this morning." Ah ha, he knew he had her now. The curtain moved at the window he was watching. "Ya know. You scared that poor man half to death." Wonderful the curtain fell back into place. He had one more teaser, but he really wanted to save it until he could say it to her face. "Ah, Jerry thinks he was a little confused." Finally, the front door began to open. For Clay, it was a long agonizing wait as the door moved slowly until his beautiful wife walked out to the front porch. He took one step forward but the fear on her face cause him to pause in place. "I have a photograph you need to see." Clay no longer needed to yell, but he wanted the people inside the house to hear him, too. It had taken Clay two weeks to convince his supervisor to find Jerry Napes. It was almost another two weeks before Jerry Napes agreed to come to the company offices for a short talk. Then it took several days for the envelope to arrive. Clay took the large rolled up envelope from his back pocket and took a step forward. Rebecca didn't move so he kept walking toward her. Before he took the step up to the front porch, he removed the photo from the envelope and held it out, offering it to Rebecca. Curious to see what Clay thought was so important Rebecca took the rolled photo and opened it. She twisted a little to let the light shine on the stiff paper in her hand. When she could see the entire photo, she gasped and looked at Clay. "This is ... Clay, I know I didn't ... who is this?" "That's Betsy Napes, Jerry's wife." "That ... that's his wife?" "Yep, she looks just like you, doesn't she? He didn't have his glasses on when he woke up, did he?" Rebecca shook her head. "I found them on that little table beside the couch." "He's blind as a bat without his glasses. Sometime in the middle of the night he went to the bathroom. He said he thinks he took a piss in the bathtub. It was dark and he couldn't find his way back to the couch." "You mean, I didn't ... he didn't ... we didn't ..." "Nope, he said when he woke up he thought you were Betsy. When you screamed and yelled at him, he knew he wasn't in his bedroom. He almost drove his car into the ditch trying to get away. He's so nearsighted he always keeps spare glasses handy. When he got away from the screaming woman who was not his wife, he found his spare glasses in the glove box and got his ass out of town before her big brothers came after him." From little more than arms length Rebecca leapt into Clay's arms and put her legs around his waist. He staggered backward a few steps, but he held onto his wife. "Home, Clay, home, home, home." Rebecca chanted. * * * * Resting his cheek on his wife's naked belly, Clay asked, "Can I hear his heartbeat yet?" "Her heartbeat," Rebecca countered. "I don't care. If you get your daughter this time, the next one can be a boy for me. But when can I hear a heartbeat?" "The doctor gave me some things to read and pictures for you." Clay was on his knees moving up to kiss Rebecca. He put his hands on her cheeks to look deeply into her eyes, "You know I love you, don't you?" "Yes," she nodded her head as much as his hold on her would allow, "And I love you." He placed one hand on her tummy and did not take his eyes from hers, "We need a lot of years together to give this little one a good life. Please don't ever be afraid to talk to me 'cause I need to talk to you, too." Rebecca put her hand on his, "This baby is going to be the happiest child that ever lived. She's always going to know that she has two parents that love her as much as they love each other." "He, him." * * * * Terry Napes brought his wife Betsy and their twin daughters to meet Clay and Rebecca. He blushed and apologized while Betsy laughed and talked about their wedding day. Terry had thought he could manage the wedding ceremony without his glasses because they always caused a glare in photographs. As they stood before the minister, he dropped the wedding ring and it rolled down the steps and into the sanctuary. Betsy did not hear and Terry would not say what her father whispered in his ear when the man put the ring back in Terry's hand. Amelia Westerman took care of the two small girls that Saturday night while the two couples went to The Little Brown Jug. The women giggled with delight when everyone looked from Rebecca to Betsy, remarked about the resemblance, and marveled that they were not related. Rebecca put her hair behind her ears and showed her dangling earlobes, and then Betsy did the same showing hers were attached to her head, offering it as the surest way to tell them apart. Laughter grew when Betsy pulled her husband to her side and showed he had attached earlobes similar to hers. Moments later one of the women was pulling Clay to stand beside his wife to see his fat dangling earlobes. For the rest of the evening, people compared and laughed about the different types of earlobes that abounded throughout the dancehall. Rebecca blossomed with her pregnancy. She glowed. Her breasts grew larger and her belly grew round. She waddled and Clay learned to rub her aching back. He listened to his unborn son's heartbeat and Rebecca rubbed her unborn daughter's back. The baby moved and twisted, stretched legs and grew. The morning Rebecca's water broke, Clay drove her to the hospital. The Sheriff didn't stop Clay as he broke the speed limit in town when Clay was so occupied with Rebecca's groan from the next labor pain. He wasn't watching the speedometer. At the hospital, Clay paced the hall every time a nurse or the doctor asked him to leave Rebecca's room for another examination. Before too long, he was joined in his pacing by three prospective uncles plus two soon-to-be grandparents. The other grandparents were on their way, but it was a long drive. By late afternoon, Clay was standing beside his wife, holding his son. Rebecca lifted her hand and with her forefinger she gently traced the curl of her son's ear and lifted the tiny earlobe. "Look Clay, he has your ears." Clay grinned and kissed the baby's forehead, "See, I told you this is my child." THE END Rebecca's Dilemma Rebecca grew quite addicted to the Saturday night dances at The Little Brown Jug, despite the need to drive for almost half an hour to reach the county line. No longer watched by a protective mother and father, or guarded by three over protective brothers, she was finally free to enjoy a little fun. Regardless of how tired he was or how hard he had worked all week, she usually managed to drag Clay to the dance. He danced with her, reluctantly allowed her to dance with other men, and occasionally danced with the wives, or girlfriends, of those other men, while keeping his eye on his friendly, though shy, young wife. During the first year of their marriage, when Clay had to attend his annual week of training, Rebecca went with him. She was absolutely bored with nothing to do all day long while Clay was sitting in a classroom and studying at night. Similarly, the second year of their marriage, Rebecca went with him for the winter training and was smart enough to take a book she could read while he was otherwise occupied. The third year, a year when the training session would take two weeks, Rebecca stayed home. Two months earlier, she had stopped taking birth control pills. Anticipating her pregnancy, she was beginning a project of redecorating the smallest bedroom to make a nursery for the baby they wanted. To cover Clay's absence for the two weeks of training, his employer sent a new trainee to visit the farms in what the seed and chemical company considered a model sales territory. Not only had Clay's sales volume increased each year, the company occasionally received letters from farmers complimenting Clay's knowledge and attention to their needs. The salesman, Terry Napes, arrived Thursday and was invited to have supper with Clay and Rebecca as soon as he was settled into his motel room. Giving attention to her ovulation calendar, as they had done every day for more than a week, Rebecca and Clay had sex as soon as he got home for the day. They were still laughing about barely getting dressed when Terry knocked on their front door. Later, while Terry and Clay stood on the front porch and talked for a few minutes, Rebecca cleaned the kitchen. As soon as Clay walked back into the house, Rebecca was pulling him into the bedroom. She woke him in the middle of the night and wouldn't let him leave their bed the next morning until he had filled her with his sperm laden ejaculate. It was no different when Clay rushed home for Friday's lunch. He tried to tell her he was too exhausted that night, but her talented mouth soon had him very interested in any activity that would make her pregnant. Before he left for his Saturday afternoon drive to the University where he would attend two weeks of class, Rebecca took a shower and put on the sheer light blue short night gown she had worn on their wedding night. She gave Clay a novice's version of a bump and grind striptease dance that had him ready to go again. Clay left her lying on the bed where she was still snuggled under a warm quilt, kissed her, and told her he loved her. He took his suitcase to his truck and began his four hundred mile drive, expecting to spend all day Sunday with his fellow classmates comparing notes on their best sales techniques. Near sundown, Terry Napes knocked on the front door of the pretty little white house with blue trim. "Hello, pretty lady. What's there to do in this little hick town on a cold Saturday night?" "We hicks usually go dancin'." "Well, put on yore dancin' shoes and let's go cut a rug, baby." "I don't know Terry. I'm not really comfortable doing that with Clay gone." "I'll protect your virtue pretty lady. I just need to know where to find the fun places." Rebecca took a deep breath, thought about it for a few moments, then finally unlatched the screen door and held it open to let Terry walk into the house. "Okay. Come on in out of the cold and let me get ready." Although Rebecca had not planned to do anything special while Clay was gone, except work on the nursery, she enjoyed the evening at The Little Brown Jug. Many of the local farmers and others who lived in her small community knew Clay was out of town, but they were pleasant and welcoming to Terry Napes. They were aware they would likely see him sometime in the next couple of weeks while he substituted for Clay and learned the challenges the local farmers faced. Two of Rebecca's brothers, Jake and Hank, were in the bar and dancehall when she and Terry arrived. She introduced Terry to her brothers, both of whom looked Terry over with a practiced eye, disliking the way the young man kept his arm around their sister, but they considered him a likable man. They also noticed she stepped away from his side and pushed his arm down so he would release his possessive hold on her. If she danced more often with Terry, than she would have done with Clay, no one remarked on it, or said anything to her brothers. After all, Terry was a good dancer, at least good enough that a few of the bolder women asked him to dance if Rebecca was already on the dance floor. Without Clay around to provide any restraint, Rebecca cautiously enjoyed her freedom. The Little Brown Jug's custom of selling ice, cups, and various mixers for the dancers who preferred a bring-your-own-bottle type of alcoholic drink was almost as lucrative as the sale of beer. Terry's preference for BYOB allowed him to mix drinks stronger than Rebecca understood. She enjoyed the taste of the mixer above the slightly bitter taste of beer and may have imbibed more than she realized. By the time the bar was announcing "last call" for beer and the dancers were looking for the final waltz, Rebecca and Jerry were supporting each other as they pulled on their winter coats and left the bar. Negotiating a couple of narrow county roads had both of them laughing without restraint. "Oh God, Terry, you can't drive to the motel. Its fifteen miles and the Sheriff supports half the county budget with driving under the influence tickets." "I'm seepin' in ma car." "Nope, you cain't. You'll get too cold. I got a couch and a spare quilt." "'k but I gotta piss." * * * * It was a dreary morning when Rebecca awoke as she groaned and stretched her feet down to the end of the cold foot of the bed where they bumped against something closer and softer than the raised wooden footboard of the bed. "Huh?" A groan from the naked man lying across the foot of the bed had Rebecca jerking upright, pulling the covers up to cover her naked breasts then falling back down with another groan caused by the pounding inside her head. Rebecca kept her eyes closed as she put her hands between her legs to feel a sticky wetness. Rebecca screamed and kicked the man who rolled over as his long slender morning hard on waved in the air and fell onto his stomach. "Get up, Terry," Rebecca screamed, thrashing her feet. "Get the hell off my bed." Still half asleep, Terry Napes stood and stumbled a couple of steps, his penis swaying from side to side, "Morning, babe. You sure are a sweet fuck. Do I get some this morning?" "Get out. Get out. Get out." Rebecca's screams startled Terry and then frightened him. He turned and stumbled into the wall, straightened, and finally made it through the door. Moments later Rebecca heard his car start and gravel pinging against his car as he backed out of the narrow driveway. His tires left skin marks on the poorly paved county road as he stomped on the accelerator in front of the pretty little house. Less than an hour later, two burly men were trying to walk through Rebecca's front door at the same time. She was dressed, but not pretty. She had been sobbing, crying, and screaming, since she made the telephone call to her brothers, threatening them she would do something drastic if they called Clay. Although the Sheriff was allowed to look in all six of the motel rooms, Terry Napes and the majority of his possessions were gone. When Rebecca's mother appeared, she pushed both of her sons outside and told them they were not to leave until she had spoken to her daughter. Then she helped her daughter undress. There was not a single mark on Rebecca's body to indicate she had struggled or been subdued. The whole Westerman family missed that Sunday morning's worship service.