Chapter 12

Eventually "Mother Margaret," as her circle of church friends had dubbed her, got control of her emotions. She had gotten that nickname for a number of reasons. She was a stalwart member of the Presbyterian Church, and her sense of morals was both well developed and iron clad. She wasn't loathe to expound on them when she saw others who needed spiritual guidance. Since we all need spiritual guidance all the time ... well you get the drift. Plus there was the fact that, after having the requisite three children, she had a fourth ... and then a fifth ... and then still more, making it obvious that the Miller's engaged in the Catholic practice of birth control - and poorly at that!

What those women would see the next time they met with Mother Margaret was a changed woman. She had been broken. She had felt the real and honest guilt of a sinner, who admits she is a sinner, and knows, deep in her heart, there is nothing she can ever do to repair that sin. But she had also received grace in the forgiving embrace of the man she had judged, judged before she had ever met him, judged in violation of the scriptures she so often quoted. And it was that undeserved grace that had finally penetrated into her soul, lighting up the darkness she hadn't even known was there. After fifty years of stumbling blindly, she finally understood the true meaning of her faith.

Because she could do nothing else, she accepted what she perceived of as Bob's forgiveness, and started loving him, instead of hating him.

Then she got embarrassed at her outburst. She averted her eyes. Old habits are, after all, hard to break.

"Come in, come in," she said, in sudden hostess mode. She remembered she hadn't hugged her daughter yet, and felt bad again. But she was too exhausted emotionally to go through the guilt, so she just hugged Julia and said "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom," said Julia, who was a little nonplussed. She had expected her mother to be emotional, but not this emotional.

Margaret pushed away and reverted to her role as hostess. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? How was your trip?"

"We're fine," said Julia, taking the lead. She had expected to have to fight for Bob, and was ready to do so. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Margaret automatically. "I'm just a silly old woman sometimes."

"You're not old," said Julia, also automatically. Then, with shock, her eyes registered the sprinkling of silver strands mixed in with her mother's normal dark brown hair.

"And you're only silly once in a while, so far," said Hank, who realized, more than any of the others, that something important had happened. His attempt at levity was a test, to see how much things had suddenly changed.

Margaret looked at her husband, and saw the tentative, hopeful smile there. She felt a rush of gratitude towards him for putting up with her all these years.

"I'm working on it," she said.

He smiled. "When you figure it out, let me know. I could use some advice myself."

The rest of their stay at the Miller home place was mostly stress free with two exceptions.

The first was the first night they stayed in Julia's old room, which still had some of her childhood possessions in it. It hadn't exactly remained just as she had left it, but it hadn't exactly been turned into anything else either. Margaret had, before her transformation, been unwilling to prepare a nest for the newlyweds to fornicate in, as she had thought of it then. While her religious doctrine was already being re-evaluated, it would take years to bring into line with what she now understood about forgiveness and grace. When she lied, saying she hadn't had time to prepare the room, Julia brushed it aside and said "Don't worry about it. We can spruce it up ourselves. You took care of me for years. I'm all grown up now."

Lest she begin bawling again, Margaret said she'd start on lunch. Hank followed her into the kitchen.

So the first night they climbed into Julia's childhood bed, both Bob and Julia were excited. Bob was excited because he was climbing into Julia's childhood bed, where she had slept for years ... before she was a sexual being. It was almost like he was getting to have her as a virgin ... sort of. Men think about things in mysterious ways sometimes. Julia, on the other hand, was excited because she hadn't had to fight for Bob at all. Lunch had been perfectly calm and normal, even though it turned into a four hour event as she and Bob brought them up to date on the events that had conspired to bring the two of them together.

Her mother had cried again, several times, in fact, but each time it was easily dealt with by using the corner of a napkin to dab at her eyes. Her father had asked some penetrating questions about the quality of care Bob had received, but no more than that.

Then there had been a tour of the town, where she saw that the only thing that had changed was that there was a new convenience store that also had 31 flavors of ice cream.

And now she was in bed with her husband, something she had thought she'd have to insist on with her mother. Instead, her mother had simply asked "Do you two need anything else? I'm exhausted and need some sleep."

What made it awkward for Julia was when Bob's hands began to roam over her body.

"Are you really going to wear that nightgown all night?" he whispered. Julia had slept nude ever since Bob moved into her house."

"We can't do anything tonight," she hissed.

"Why not? We're married."

"They'll hear us!" she scolded, pushing his hand away from her breast. "They're right next door!"

"At least kiss me," he complained.

She did.

It was her undoing, because she loved his kisses, and they invariably inflamed her.

Somehow she found herself naked, astride him, his penis deep in her pregnant, though still flat belly. He had said it would be quiet this way, but she suddenly heard the springs of the old bed creaking alarmingly as she bounced, so close to an orgasm that she just couldn't stop.

And then it was there, and she fell forward as he humped frantically up into her with rabbit strokes that released his flood of hot semen.

"Oh my word," moaned Margaret, as she pulled her pillow over her embarrassed face.

"You used to sound like that," said Hank, smiling. His penis was as hard as it had been in years.

"Not like that," she moaned.

"Better than that," he said, reaching for her.

Margaret, though, had more self-control than her daughter.

Hank eventually got up, went to the bathroom, and masturbated. He was used to it. His wife's sex drive had faded after the children all left. His had not. But masturbation was quick and easy, compared to trying to get Maggie in the mood, so he usually handled things that way.

The second moment of stress came on their last night there. Julia, after perceiving no hint of judgment, embarrassment or other sign that their lovemaking had been heard the night before, decided Bob was right. So, on the second night, when he made the bedsprings sing, she didn't worry about it. Nor the third night.

Meanwhile what Margaret was hearing through the wall did what Hank wasn't willing to take the time and energy to do. That is, it reawakened in Margaret the dim memory of how good sex felt. She lay there, next to the man who had fathered eight children on her. It was troubling to think about that because she had borne those children because it was her job to do so. The enjoyment of getting pregnant was somehow dirty, and she had suppressed all that at the time. She hadn't arrived at the conclusion intentionally, or by conscious thought, even, but when it became obvious that her childbearing years were over, her sex drive had declined.

Now, though, after being reminded of how good it had felt, and having questioned so many things in the last few days that, before now had just been "truth," the lust she had pushed so firmly into a locked box burst out. As she heard her daughter being "serviced" she rolled toward Hank. He was reading a trashy paperback book. He did so most nights before he turned off the light and went to sleep.

"I love you." she said.

"I know that," he said, distractedly.

"No, I mean I really love you!" she said.

Then she did something she hadn't done for more than a decade. She reached to feel his penis through his pajamas. The spark of lust that had burst from within her flared into a minor sun when her hand encountered a penis that was ready to perform what she was beginning to think of as "its intended purpose."

Julia, having ridden Bob again, collapsed forward, to lie upon him. She loved this position, because she was in full frontal contact with him. His penis, though softening, was still in her. Their baby, as she thought of it, was sandwiched between them. A sound penetrated her consciousness and she lifted her head.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" asked Bob, who was drowsy and happy.

"I heard something." she said. She sat up.

What was clearly a moan came through the wall.

"That's mom!" she said in an urgent whisper.

"Maybe," said Bob, alert now.

Another choking moan, louder now emanated from the wallpaper above their heads.

"Something's wrong!" said Julia. She drew her legs up in preparation for getting off of him. Bob reached for her hips and gripped them.

"Wait a minute," he said, lifting his head.

"Something is wrong!" she insisted, trying to get off of him.

"Quiet!" he hissed.

His voice sounded so suddenly serious that she did as ordered, and froze.

"Hear it?" he whispered.

"She's in pain!" Julia said, tensing again.

"Not that ... the other," he said. "Listen!"

Julia realized there was something else. She cocked her head. The realization of what the rhythmic sound meant flooded into her like she had been deluged by ice water.

"Oh no!" she moaned.

"They're doing it," he laughed.

"No they're not!" she insisted, knowing she was wrong.

"Cool," he said.

"How can you say that?" she moaned. She put her hands over her ears.

Julia walked into the kitchen the next morning, having practiced not showing any hint of judgment, embarrassment or other sign that she had overheard her parents making love the night before.

"Morning," she said, her voice carefully cultivated to be morning-cheerful.

"Good morning, darling," said her mother, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she tended a frying pan. "You know where everything is. You want bacon and eggs this morning?"

"Sure," said Julia, trying to see something ... anything ... that would betray what her mother had been doing just hours ago. There was nothing. It was impossible to tell.

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