Bill gave me an easy hug. Easy for him. Not for me. His touch sent a strange tingle through me. I must have felt stiffer than an old corpse. He guided me through the door and straight into the kitchen, where Elizabeth stood, a clean red apron over her empire-line blouse. I was relieved to see her actually looking pregnant, even though she was carrying small, just a little mound in the front. The rest of her was normal size, perhaps even less than normal, but she’d always been slim. Her hair had been cut to chin length, and it was teased into a shiny, deep red bob that lifted at least three inches at the crown.

“Floss!” She took off her apron and hugged me. “I’m so happy you’re here. I wanted to have you over sooner, but … well, never mind, you’re here. Allow me introduce you to Michael. Michael: Floss; Floss: Michael.” She flicked her wrist back and forth between us. “Michael lives on a neighboring farm—cattle—with his father and brother, and was desperate for a home-cooked meal so I insisted he join us. Single and eligible.”

She lowered her voice and sang the last part, but she didn’t lower her voice enough. Michael turned away, politely busying himself looking at photographs on the mantel, but his cheeks were pink, and he was clearly holding back a smile.

“Can I get you a drink, Floss?” Bill was in a jolly mood, and Elizabeth also appeared happy, high on the intoxication of matchmaking. It was hard not to get caught up in it. She ushered us to the “dining room,” a small, windowless area that adjoined the kitchen and centered on a circular table. The house was tiny. Just a kitchen, an eating area, and another closed door, which must have been the bedroom. The bathroom, from what I could ascertain, was outside. A hard slog, I imagined, for a pregnant woman who could be up several times through the night. Odd that I hadn’t heard her complain about it. Then again, I hadn’t heard much from her at all these past few months.

“So, Floss,” Michael said as we sat adjacent to each other at the table.”Bill tells me you’re a midwife? A noble career. I’d imagine it’s very fulfilling.”

My eyebrows rose. I expected that a single, eligible farmer would have found midwifery a necessary but unremarkable career choice. The fact that he was interested made him rise several notches in my book. “It is,” I said. “Very fulfilling. I delivered my fiftieth baby yesterday, as a matter of fact.”

“Your fiftieth?” He gave me a little clap. “Well, I can’t boast those kinds of numbers, but I’ve delivered the odd calf. Though I don’t imagine it’s quite the same.”

I laughed. “There’d be some similarities, I suppose. But I can’t say I’ve ever delivered a calf.”

“I’ll be sure to invite you along next time.”

“I’ll be sure to accept.”

We smiled at each other. His stance—leaning forward, elbows on the table—betrayed his genuine interest. I only wished I could return it. His smile more than made up for his peculiarly shaped head.

“I see you two are getting along?” Bill said, sliding into the seat to my right.

“Just talking about our common interests,” Michael said.

“Midwifery,” I said. “Elizabeth used to be a midwife too,” I told Michael, “before she was married.”

“Is that right, Elizabeth?” Michael called out to Elizabeth in the kitchen. “You must miss it.”

Elizabeth entered the room with a roast chicken on a large brown chopping board. “I do. I was just about qualified when I gave it up. Some of the best times of my life.”

Bill, who sat between Elizabeth and me, raised his head. Elizabeth’s face changed. It was curious. She returned to the kitchen, and a moment later she was back with the vegetables. “Anyway, I’m glad it’s all behind me now,” she said. Her tone was aiming for bright, but not quite getting there. “Married life is wonderful. I certainly couldn’t do both.” She held the knife out to Bill. “Would you like to carve, darling?”

“It seems like an awful lot of effort to go to if you quit before you’re even qualified,” Michael said. “Do you plan to keep practicing after you’re married, Floss?”

“I hadn’t thought,” I answered honestly. “I suppose I would.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth’s voice was tight. “And how would you do that? Abandon your husband at all hours of the day and night, cycling all over town, going into strange houses like a woman of the night. And what about children? What would you do with them? Strap them to the back of the bike? It’s just not feasible, Floss.”

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “A man could cook his own dinner from time to time, surely? And going into strange houses doesn’t make you a woman of the night if you’re there to deliver a—”

“Elizabeth makes a good point, though,” I said quickly. Something about the way she spoke made me nervous. Woman of the night? They weren’t her words. And the stillness that had come over Bill—it worried me. “It’s not always practical.”

“No, it’s not,” Bill said. He moved to the head of the table, in front of the chicken. With a large knife, he sliced the bird in long, expert cuts. “I could hardly have Elizabeth cycling into town while she’s pregnant.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Of course not.”

For a few minutes, we ate in silence punctuated only by the occasional scrape of cutlery. The mood had taken a funny turn and I wasn’t entirely sure why. So what if I planned to work after I had children? I didn’t have any children, and I was fairly certain my prospects of having them were slim at best. Even if Elizabeth and Bill didn’t know that, were they really so insecure about their own choices that everyone needed to agree with them?

At least Elizabeth was eating. It reassured me. She was so thin, and at this stage of pregnancy, women needed calories. She ate like she was expecting twins—triplets!—though I wasn’t about to point that out.

“This is delicious, Elizabeth,” I said, hoping to inject some life back into the party. “The chicken is perfect.”

“You’re a lucky man, Bill,” Michael agreed, “a wife that can cook like this.”

Bill was looking at Elizabeth. “Slow down, darling. Are you eating for two, or two hundred? You’ll give yourself indigestion.”

Elizabeth’s smile snapped into place, frozen, if not for a slight quiver.

“Must be a boy,” he continued. “That’s my guess. What do you think, Floss?”

I frowned. Elizabeth’s cheeks were pink. Was he trying to humiliate her?

“The gender doesn’t have bearing on the amount of calories the mother needs to consume.” I sat a little straighter in my chair. “Elizabeth needs to eat plenty at this stage of her pregnancy.”

As usual, Bill held my gaze, but this time, it unnerved me. Perhaps I was a little sharp, but I considered it necessary. Silence fell upon the table yet again. Elizabeth wouldn’t meet my eye, or Bill’s. It was as though she were contemplating something very important. Finally, she married her knife and fork and rested them on her plate.

After dinner, I helped Elizabeth bring the dishes into the kitchen. While I filled the sink, she stood beside me. Right beside me. I got the feeling she was leaning on me. Physically (practically) but more so, emotionally. I was happy to prop her up. I had a strange feeling she needed it.

“So how is the pregnancy going?” I asked. I wanted to segue into Bill somehow but wasn’t sure of the best way.

“Oh yes, fine.”

“No issues?”

“None at all.” She stepped ever-so-slightly away from me, scrubbing the same plate four times, front and back. “My blood pressure is fine, my weight and measurements are fine—”

“Actually, you look thin,” I countered. “Apart from the stomach, you look like you’ve lost weight.”

“Morning sickness. Can barely keep a thing down.”

I felt my eyebrows gather. Morning sickness was rare this late in pregnancy, and besides, she seemed fine and well. “Any kicking?”

“Yes. It’s kicking right now.”