Farnham's Freehold

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Karen looked at Barbara’s waistline. “It doesn’t show. Are you sure?”

  “I’ve skipped two periods, I’m pregnant. Or I’m ill, which would be worse. Let’s gather up the laundry and tell them.”

  “Uh, since you don’t look it—and I do; I’ve been careful not to undress around Mother—since you don’t, let’s hold that back and use it as a whammy if things get sticky.”

  “If you like. Karen, why not tell Hugh first? Then let him tell your mother.”

  Karen looked relieved. “You think that’s all right?”

  “Hugh would rather hear it with your mother not around. Now go find him and tell him. I’ll hang the clothes.”

  “All right, I will!”

  “And quit worrying. We’ll have our babies and won’t have any trouble and we’ll raise them together and it’ll be fun. We’ll be happy.”

  Karen’s eyes lit up. “And you’ll have a girl and I’ll have a boy and we’ll marry them and be grandmothers together!”

  “That sounds more like Karen.” Barbara kissed her. “Run tell Hugh.”

  Karen found Hugh bricking up the kiln; she told him that she would like a private talk.

  “All right,” he agreed. “Let me tell Joe to get this fired up. I should inspect the ditch. Come along and talk?”

  He gave her a shovel, carried a rifle. “Now what’s on your mind, baby girl?”

  “Let’s get farther away.” They walked a meandering distance. Hugh stopped, exchanged rifle for shovel, and built up a stretch of wall.

  “Daddy? Perhaps you’ve noticed a shortage of men?”

  “No. Three men and three women. The usual division.”

  “Perhaps I should say ‘eligible bachelors.’”

  “Then say it.”

  “All right, I’ve said it. I need advice. Which is worse? Incest? Or miscegenation? Or should I be an old maid?”

  He placed another shovelful, tamped it. “I would not urge you to be an old maid.”

  “That settles that, I feel the same way. How do you size up those other fates?”

  “Incest,” he answered, “is a bad idea, usually.”

  “Which leaves just one thing.”

  “Wait. I said, ‘Usually.’” He stared at the shovel. “This is not a problem I ever expected—but we are facing many new problems. Brother-and-sister marriages are not uncommon in history. They are not necessarily bad.” He frowned. “But there is Barbara. You might have to accept a polygamous household.”

  “Hold it, Daddy. ‘Incest’ isn’t just brothers.”

  He stared at her. “You’ve managed to startle me, Karen.”

  “Shocked you, you mean.”

  “No. ‘Startled.’ Were you seriously suggesting what you implied?”

  “Daddy,” she said soberly, “it’s one subject I can’t joke about. If I had to choose between you and Duke—as a husband, I mean—I’d take you and no two ways about it.”

  Hugh mopped his forehead. “Karen, such a statement can be honored only by taking it seriously—”

  “I’m serious!”

  “And I so take it. Do I understand that you have eliminated Joseph? Or have you considered him?”

  “Certainly I have.”

  “Well?”

  “How could I avoid it, Daddy? Joe is nice. But he’s just a boy, even though he’s older than I am. If I said, ‘Boo!’ he would jump out of his skin. No.”

  “Does his skin have something to do with your choice?”

  “Daddy, you tempt me to spit in your face. I’m not Mother!”

  “I wanted to be sure. Karen, you know that color does not matter to me. I want to know other things about a man. Is his word good? Does he meet his obligations? Does he do honest work? Is he brave? Will he stand up and be counted? Joe is very much a man by all standards that interest me. I think you are being hasty.”

  He sighed. “If we were in Mountain Springs, I would not urge you to marry any Negro. The pressures are too great; such a marriage is almost always a tragedy. But those barbaric factors do not obtain here. I urge that you give Joe serious thought.”

  “Daddy, don’t you think I have? I may marry Joe. But I wanted you to know that if I had my choice, out of you three I would pick you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank me, hell! I’m a woman and you are the man I would most like to. And a fat lot of good it will do me—and you know why. Mother.”

  “I know.” He suddenly looked weary. “We do not what we wish, but what we can. Karen, I am dreadfully sorry that you do not have a longer list to choose from.”

  “Daddy, if I’ve learned anything from you, it is that it’s a waste of tears to cry over anything that can’t be helped. That’s Mother, not me. And Duke, though not as bad. I’m just like you on this point—You count your points and play accordingly. You don’t moan about how the cards aren’t fair. Dig me, Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t come here to ask you to marry me. Nor even to seduce you though I might as well say, having said so much, that you can have me if you want me. I think you’ve known that for years. I didn’t come here to say that, either. I simply had to get things out of the way before I told you something else. Something where I’ve counted the points and I’m going set and that’s that. Can’t be helped.”

  “What? Perhaps I can help.”

  “Hardly. I’m pregnant, Daddy.”

  He dropped the shovel, took her in both arms. “Oh, wonderful!”

  Presently she said, “Daddy… I can’t shoot a bear with you hugging me.”

  He put her down, grabbed the rifle. “Where?”

  “Nowhere. But you’re always warning us.”

  “Oh. All right, I’ll take over guard duty. Who’s the father, Karen? Duke? or Joe?”

  “Neither. Earlier, at school.”

  “Oh. Still better!”

  “How? Damn it, Daddy, this isn’t going the way it’s supposed to. A girl comes home ruined, her father is supposed to raise hell. All you say is, ‘Just dandy!’ You’ve got me confused.”

  “Sorry. Under other circumstances, I might feel that you had been careless—”

  “Oh, I was! I took a chance, like the nigguh mammy who said, ‘Oh, hunnuhds of times ain’t nuffin happen at all.’ You know.”

  “I’m afraid I do. Under these circumstances I am delighted. I had assumed that you were inexperienced. To learn that, instead, you have gone ahead and given us a child and one whose father is from outside our group—Don’t you see, dear? You have almost doubled the chances of this colony surviving.”

  “I have?”

  “Figure it out, you’re not stupid. Your child’s father—Good stock?”

  “Would I have been doing what I most certainly did if I hadn’t thought pretty well of him, Daddy?”

  “Sorry, dear. It was a stupid question.” He smiled. “I don’t feel like working. Let’s go spread the good news.”

  “All right. But, Daddy—What do we tell Mother?”

  “The truth, and I’ll do the telling. Don’t worry, baby girl. You have that baby and I will take care of all else.”

  “Yes, sir. Daddy, I feel real good now.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I feel so good that I almost forgot something. Did you know that Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume is going to have babies, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You had the same chance to notice that I did.”

  “Well, yes. But it’s pretty frowsy, your noticing that Doc is pregnant—and not noticing that I am.”

  “I thought you had simply been overeating again.”

  “You did, huh? Daddy, sometimes I like you better than other times. But this time I guess I’m going to have to like you anyhow.”

  Hugh decided to eat dinner before stirring up Grace.

  The decision was justified. From her rantings, it appeared that Karen was an ungrateful daughter, a disgrace, a shameless littl
e tramp, and that Hugh was an unnatural father, a failure, and somehow to blame for his daughter’s pregnancy.

  Hugh let her rant until she paused for breath. “Grace. Be quiet.”

  “What? Hubert Farnham, don’t you dare tell me to shut up! How can you sit there, when your own daughter has flagrantly dis—”

  “Shut up or I will shut you up.”

  Duke said, “Pipe down, Mother.”

  “You, too? Oh, that I should ever see the day when—”

  “Mother, keep still for a while. Let’s hear from Dad.”

  Grace simmered, then said, “Joseph! Leave the room.”

  “Joe, sit down,” Hugh ordered.

  “Yes, Joe,” agreed Karen. “Please stay.”

  “Well! If neither of you has the common decency to—”

  “Grace, I am nearer to striking you than I have ever been in all these years. Will you keep quiet and listen?”

  She looked at her son; Duke was carefully looking elsewhere. “Very well, I will listen. Not that it can possibly do any good.”

  “I hope that it will because it is supremely important. Grace, there is no point in heckling Karen. Besides being cruel, it’s ridiculous. Her pregnancy is the best thing that has happened to us.”

  “Hubert Farnham, are you out of your mind?”

  “Please. You are reacting in terms of conventional morality, which is foolish.”

  “Oh? So morals are foolish, are they? You hymn-singing hypocrite!”

  “Morals are not foolish; morals must be our bedrock, always. But whether it was moral for Karen to breed a baby at another time and place, in a society that is no more, is irrelevant; we will not discuss it. The fact is, she did—and it is a blessing to us. Please analyze it. Six of us, four from one family. Genetically that is too small a breeding stock. Yet somehow we must flourish—or saving our own lives is wasted. But now we have a seventh, not here in person. That’s better than we had any reason to hope. I pray that the twins that run in my family will show up in her. It would strengthen the stock.”

  “How can you talk about your own daughter as if you were breeding a cow!”

  “She is my daughter whom I love. But more important—her supreme importance—is that she is a woman and pregnant. I wish that you and Barbara were pregnant, too—by outsiders. We need variety for the next generation.”

  “I will not sit here and be insulted!”

  “I simply said ‘wish.’ In Karen we do have this miracle; we must cherish it. Grace, Karen must be treated with every consideration during her pregnancy. You must take care of her.”

  “Are you insinuating that I wouldn’t? You are the one who cares nothing about her welfare. Your own daughter.”

  “It doesn’t matter that she is my daughter. It would apply if it were Barbara, or you, or another woman. No more heavy work for Karen. That laundry she did today—you’ll do that; you’ve loafed long enough. You’ll pamper her. But most urgent, there will be no more scoldings, no harsh words, no recriminations. You will be sweet and kind and gentle with her. Don’t fail in this, Grace. Or I will punish you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I hope I won’t be forced to.” Hugh faced his son. “Duke. Do I have your backing? Speak up.”

  “What do you mean by ‘punishment,’ Dad?”

  “Whatever we are forced to use. Words. Social sanctions. Physical punishment if we must. Even expulsion from our group if no other choice remained.”

  Duke drummed on the table. “That’s putting it brutally, Dad.”

  “Yes. I want you to think about the extremes.”

  Duke glanced at his sister. “I’ll back you. Mother, you’ve got to behave.”

  She started to whimper. “My own son has turned against me. Oh, I wish I had never been born!”

  “Barbara?”

  “My opinion? I agree with you, Hugh. Karen needs kindness. She mustn’t be scolded.”

  “You keep out of this!”

  Barbara looked at Grace without expression. “I’m sorry but Hugh asked me. Karen asked me to be in it, too. I think you have behaved abominably, Grace. A baby isn’t a calamity.”

  “That’s easy for you to say!”

  “Perhaps. But you’ve been nagging Karen steadily—and really, you mustn’t.”

  Karen said suddenly, “Tell them, Barbara. About yourself.”

  “You want me to?”

  “You’d better. Or now she’ll start on you.”

  “Very well.” Barbara bit her lip. “I said that a baby is not a calamity. I’m pregnant, too—and I’m very happy about it.”

  The silence told Barbara that her purpose of taking the heat off Karen had been achieved. As for herself, she was tranquil for the first time since she had begun to suspect that she was pregnant. She had not shed a tear—oh, no!—but she found that a tension she had not been conscious of was gone.

  “Why, you tramp! No wonder my daughter went wrong, exposed to influences like—”

  “Stop it, Grace!”

  “Yes, Mother,” agreed Duke. “Better keep quiet.”

  “I was just going to say—”

  “You’re not going to say anything, Mother. I mean it.”

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

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

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

  “Certainly.”

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

  “Hugh—”

  “Yes, Barbara?”

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

  He looked thoughtful. “No.”

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

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

  “Right, Dad.”

  “Sure thing, Hugh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You do, dear.”

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

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

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

  “But old Doc hurts.”

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

  “Right away.”

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

  “Ready, Daddy!”

  “Lift with me, Joe.”

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

  “Give you a Miltown.”

  “But Doc hurts.”

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

  “But we have to do something.”

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

  “Uh, I guess so.”

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

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

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

  “Daddy, how about the bottom wardrobe drawer?”

  “Perfect! Pile everything on a bunk. Pad it. Use my hunting jacket. Duke, rig a frame to support a blanket; she’ll want a little cave she’ll feel safe in. You know.”

  “Of course we know,” Karen chided. “Quit jittering, Daddy. This isn’t our first litter.”