Carolyn Pierce enjoyed singing. Singing in the choir was a contribution to the church, but one she enjoyed. Sometimes, one cost of that contribution was that it separated her from Bill for every service. Just occasionally, one of the benefits to her was that it separated her from Bill. This, though, was not one of those Sundays. They had banished the word "Watergate" from any family discussion and never turned on the news when both were home. Between that and their shared happiness at her pregnancy, they had achieved peace.

When she came up from the choir-robe room to the October coffee hour, she searched the room for Bill. He'd already seen her and was carrying two plates towards a table at which they'd sit. One of his toddler favorites ran up to him, was lifted high and set down, and ran off somewhere else. He had her chair out and her plate in front of it by the time she got there. He seated her and sat himself.

Richard and Judy were at the table with their kids. Bill called the kids Marilyn and Pete in separate sentences early in the conversation. He knew that she wasn't as conscious of kids and their names as he was -- even high-school kids, whom these seemed to be. They called her "Mrs. Pierce." Even so, she suspected that she was closer to the kids' ages than to their parents.

When Grace announced the fall rummage sale, Carolyn thought of the stuff she'd never wear again. This was a good time to get rid of it, and a worthy place. The covers for the old twin bed, too. Belatedly, she saw that the announcement had caused some distress at her table. Marilyn was scowling.

"I tried to tell them, dear," her mother said.

"If only they'd asked."

"What's wrong?" Bill asked. Good question.

"That Wednesday is MYF meeting night -- right here. They're going to set up the rummage sale -- right here." Yeah, Grace had mentioned a new set-up time. "If they'd asked we could have moved our date. It would have been something we contributed, after all. Instead, they waited until after our last meeting to announce that they were taking over. MYF can't even offer, 'cause we don't meet before that night."

"Well, dear," Judy said, "I only heard about it last night, myself. I pointed out that there was a conflict, and Grace said that she was sure that the MYF would be glad to cooperate."

"If she'd asked, we would have." her daughter said. "But now I have to call everybody and tell them. Tell them what? I'm not entitled to change the date or location without a vote." This month, this table wasn't going to be the friendly interchange that coffee hour was supposed to be. She could tell.

"I should get some things together for the sale," she told Bill on the trip home. "Two pairs of jeans, for starters."

"Would you mind waiting 'til the next one?" That was an odd request.

"Bill, I'm never going to fit into those jeans again, let alone next spring." Bill enjoyed her pregnancy, and was reasonably considerate of the limits it imposed right now. Sometimes, he didn't see the limits it was imposing on their future. To be honest, she, too, found herself making occasional assumptions about the future which didn't include a kid.

"Yeah, but I don't want to cooperate in any way with pushing kids around. That sucks." That was Bill. Teens weren't as important in his world-view as babies were, but he thought they deserved priority over adults.

"Well, I'm sure they didn't mean anything. They just didn't think." And that night be Bill's objection. He felt you should think about kids. Well, in some moral sense, he was right -- we're all God's children. And, practically, that feeling had given her some leverage with him. She was not only carrying a kid, she was carrying his kid. She could go along with this.

"Fine. Can you hold on to the things for one more season? We still have a large apartment." That was another bit that would change in the future. They had a nice large apartment for a couple, one which afforded her a private office. It wouldn't be that large an apartment for three.

"Sure."

Which was fine. Non-participation in evil -- even the evil of one church group taking precedence over the one Bill preferred -- was a moral tenet. And, in this situation, it was simple inaction.

But, after dinner, Bill went further. He showed her a letter to Grace saying that he wouldn't help set up until the MYF meeting was over. With it was a cover letter to other men asking them to make the same commitment. Of course, Bill had never participated in set up. She doubted whether the others would have, either. Grace had, it is true, asked for men to volunteer to arrange tables, and the husbands of the UMW activists were fairly old.

"One thing I know. You don't fight the UMW." She'd been at Aldersgate for only a few years, but she'd been raised in Methodist Churches.

"What are they going to do to me? Keep me off the finance committee?" Bill had a point. He had no interest in being anything in the church but an attendee.

"You don't fight the UMW." That was her last word, even so.

In the event, set-up was moved back to Thursday. Bill who'd practically promised to take part, changed into work clothes, rushed through his meal, and drove her to choir practice that night.

"Remember," she said as she got out of the car, "I've left our bag of contributions in the back seat.

"I'll get them. No sense of taking rummage in there before the tables are set up." There were a boy and a girl, Judy's Marilyn, already there when she went through to the sanctuary and choir loft.

"Congratulate Bill for me -- at home." Gladys whispered to her when she came in minutes later. She was active in UMW, the second-youngest member in the younger circle. She'd complained to Carolyn once about what that showed of the weakness of the UMW chapter. Any influence she hoped to have depended on discretion in what she said.

Coming down from the rehearsal, they saw that the tables were all set up. Carolyn had wanted Bill from before the first kiss. She had never needed him. She was an independent woman with a career and an education which was finally nearing completion. What she realized when she saw Bill talking with a teen-age girl is that she now needed him. She was pregnant and didn't want to be an unwed mother. The thought quickly followed a pang of jealousy.

Approaching more closely, she saw that the jealousy was misplaced. Bill was talking to two teenagers, and they were looking everywhere but at each other. She turned her misplaced feeling into a joke.

"Hah. Should have known, let you alone for a few minutes, and I find you talking with a pretty girl."

"I think Dan's lurking in the car, Gladys." Bill said while he thought of his answer to her. "Andy's here too, dear. I'm not just talking to Marilyn." He was keeping up his rule of mentioning kids' names in ways that didn't sound -- except to her -- as though he thought she didn't remember them. And, while she remembered Marilyn after her near-breakdown at the last coffee hour, she couldn't have guessed Andy's name in a million years.

"Of course. Marilyn wouldn't have stuck around if there weren't somebody interesting to talk to." That got no response from Bill, and something near a blush from Marilyn. They all got up, got their coats on, and went out the door.

"Marilyn," Bill said. "Sometime when your education is over and you're out in the business world, you're likely to have a boss who tells you that his wife doesn't understand him. Don't give him the least sympathy. My wife understands me, and it's pure hell." That was funny, not least because a henpecked Bill was a ridiculous idea.

"I'll have to ask you guys to sit in back," he said when they got to the car. This was her first notice that they were giving the kids rides. "Sorry."

"I'm so grateful," Marilyn said when they had got going. "It's nice to have one adult in the church who doesn't think of us as a bunch of kids." Which was funny, since she should know what Bill thought about kids.

"You got the wrong person for that, Marilyn," she said. "Bill's objection was that they were pushing kids around. If they'd have shoved the kindergarten class of the Sunday School aside, he'd have dropped a stink bomb on the next UMW meeting." But she was a nice girl. Andy was probably a nice guy, and they deserved a little time together without Bill hovering over them.

"I'm just as glad that we're driving you back," she said. "What's your address again?" Marilyn gave it. "I know that nothing bad ever happens in the neighborhood, but there can be a first time. Andy, would you mind walking her to her door when we get there?" Marilyn, clearly not the sharpest knife in the rack, started to protest. "I know. Just to keep an old woman from worrying."

Bill, whatever her previously-stated opinions about his social sensitivity, got her intent. When the kids were safely out of the car and on their way to Marilyn's front door -- not dense enough to walk briskly, he turned to her. "Vapors about her going home alone? Why didn't you invite them to the apartment, lock them in your office, and not let them out 'til they pass out their clothes?" He was exaggerating.

"Bill, you have no romance in your soul. They're not at a stage to get their clothes off -- except with the boy's eyes, which have accomplished that already. They are two nice kids who need a few minutes more in each others' company. Shh! He's coming back." When Andy had got into the back again, she asked his address. He apologized for their having practically driven past it. He hadn't been naive enough, however, to mention that at the time.

"That's fine." she told him. "Ladies first is the rule."

"She was nice," said Andy. "Much nicer than she is at meetings."

"Well," she pointed out, "she needs to run those meetings. She can't give you her full attention, not even half her attention. You go to the same school, don't you?" They did. "Try talking with her at school. Can't hurt."

"I will." He got out. Somehow, the car had stopped. "Thanks. Thanks to both of you." Bill squeezed her knee before starting the car.

She wondered, climbing the stairs to their apartment, how much her interest in playing cupid was encouraging a couple of cute kids -- and how much was building one more wall between Marilyn and Bill. Well, she might need him more than she had, but -- despite her shape -- he didn't seem to want her any less. And a little ego-boost, a well-earned ego-boost, wouldn't hurt.

"Well, you took on the UMW, and you won," she said when they were inside.

"Great victory -- a coven of old bats."

"Hey! Gladys is active, and I'll be officially joining when they start asking."

"But Gladys and you weren't behind this,"he said. "A few old bats were. C'mere." And she was glad to come there. Bill's tongue explored her mouth. He followed the sexy kiss with a fond one on her belly. He even, once they were in their room, began to strip her. She'd read all the complaints about men considering women to be sex objects; as she grew less sexy, she was happier about Bill treating her as one. Sure, the most kissed section of her body as the stripping went on was her new belly, but that was fine, too.

Once they were in bed, Bill began his kisses again on her mouth. He went from there directly to her belly.

"You seem extra eager tonight," she asked. "Were you inspired by the love birds?" Or, just maybe, the victorious warrior wanted to score one more coup. Any reason was fine. Truth to tell, she wanted him tonight, too.

"Hmmm." Which wasn't an answer, even by Bill's standards. On the other hand, he started to kiss the insides of her thighs, which took her mind off her question.

He kissed and licked a path towards where the thighs joined. He went to her so directly, she expected him to concentrate on her clit immediately. He surprised her, though. He licked her lower lips for a while without ever reaching her clit. Then he licked it lightly and went back to the lips. She was very close, was almost ready to demand that he get to the main show when he did. And when he kissed her clit, he hummed around it and against it. With that odd sensation, that completely new arousal, she flew further than she had ever gone before.

She came back to find him kissing and licking her thighs again. She sank into the bed and into that bath of sensuality. When he got back to her lower lips, she got close again. But his teasing was even worse than before. He licked her lips, stroked her thighs, never touched her clit.

"Please, Bill." That got her one lick where she needed it, and she got closer. Then he went back to her lips. "Please." She was begging, and he must have understood that. He licked and kissed her clit until she flew again.

When she recovered, he went back to his lovely, arousing, but now insufficient mouth work. No more begging! She grabbed his shoulders insistently. When he resisted even so, she said what she'd meant -- what he'd damned-well known she'd meant.

"Please, I need you." At this, he finally moved up her body. He poised, his head raised above her, but his loins almost locked with hers. Then, staring into her eyes, he finished the connection. He entered her; he spread her; he filled her.

As he moved slowly but forcefully within her, her hips rose to meet him. She locked her legs around his and pushed against them to meet him more closely on his thrusts. She was close, getting closer, but his gaze was locked on her and his pace never varied. After one agonizing instant, she flew.

He thrust harder and rolled them to her right. Then he was pulsing deep within her. They hugged each other as their breaths slowed. His care to lie on her leg rather than on her belly was probably -- according to Dr. Gabel -- unnecessary. It did, however, demonstrate care, and it was more comfortable.

"Love you," he said as he began to move off. He turned away to turn off the bedside lamp. She waited for him to get into position before she moved off the wet spot and into his hug.

"Love you, too." And, despite all their conflicts, it was real love.