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SUMMER daughter was born exactly sixty two minutes


Permission is granted to repost, given that my name
and copyright information are left intact. Comments or
questions are encouraged and can be directed to: More of my stories can be found at:
Special thanks go to:
Virago for being the spark that inspired this particular
story, Dr Spin for offering editorial comments, and John
for giving his time to dot my "i's" and cross my "t's." <g>
Due to the fact that this story recently won first
place in a writing contest at the university I attend, I
decided to repost, for those who missed it the first time
around. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did
writing it. - Souvie, April 28, 2001

"Summer Rain" (MF, preg) by Souvie

"Margaret Anne Wilder!"

I sighed. Any time my full name was used, it was not a
good sign. I looked up to find Hank standing in the
kitchen doorway. "Yes, dear?"

"Don't you 'yes, dear' me. You want to explain this?" He
was waving a piece of paper.

"If you'll tell me what 'this' is?" I used the hem of my
apron to wipe the sweat from my forehead.

"It's a three hundred and twenty-two dollar and forty cent
phone bill, that's what it is. You want to mind telling me
why you called a 900 number -- seventeen times?"

"Oh, that." I turned back to chopping up carrots. "I was
talking to Mary Lou."

I could hear his teeth grinding and knew his patience was
wearing thin. "Who is Mary Lou?" he asked in an unusually
low voice.

"She's my psychic."

"Your psychic?"

"Uh huh." I turned and waved the knife as I spoke, for
emphasis. "See, I figure if anyone can tell me when this
heat spell is gonna end, it would be a psychic." I smiled,
certain that he'd see my logic.

He stood there for the longest time, just staring at me
and working his jaw, but no words came out. "You're not to
call this number again, understand? With the baby on the
way, we just can't afford it."

"Okay, dear." I blew him a kiss and turned back to the
vegetables. I was making soup for supper, and all it
needed now was the carrots and celery. "Besides, she
didn't know when it would rain anyway."

I felt his arms slide around my waist and his hands
lovingly caress my rounded waist. "Maggie Anne, what am I
going to do with you?"

"Love me," I answered, grinning. I tilted my head up for
his kiss.

His lips were warm and soft against mine. "That's what's
responsible for your condition in the first place," he
joked. "I loved you the right way."

He reached out and grabbed a piece of carrot, popping it
into his mouth and taking several more.

"Hey! Get out of here before you eat all my vegetables,"
I scolded.

A smack on my rear was his retort.


"Margaret Anne!"

I was in the nursery, folding tiny clothing that I'd
received at my baby shower the day before. When I was
done, I would put them in the blue and white dresser that
my brother had given us. Although it took a bit of
struggling, I got up from the rocker and walked down the
hall to the top of the stairs. "What's wrong, Hank?"

"Why is there a hundred and fifty dollar charge on the
Visa for a 'Madame Twinkey'?"

"Oh, because she's this gypsy woman who just opened a shop
on First Street -- you know, right there by the bakery.
She advertised that she could read palms and give
predictions, and I just wanted to know when it was going to
rain." I started to walk back to the nursery.

"Maggie, you've got to stop this . . . whatever it is.
We can't afford it, and no one's gonna be able to tell you
when it'll rain. Maybe the weather bureau, but not like
you're wanting." He'd walked up the stairs and stood there
on the top step, looking at me.

"I know this heat is about to do you in. This is the
third week that the temperatures have been over 100 degrees
Fahrenheit, and our poor air conditioner is on its last
leg. I can get some portable fans from the hardware store
if -- "

I shook my head. "That's okay, honey. We need to be
saving our money, that's what you said a few minutes ago.
I'll just hang the clothes out on the line to dry and keep
my cooking to a minimum. That should help, shouldn't it?"

He smiled, that crooked off-center smile that made me fall
in love with him to begin with. "That'll do just fine." He
headed back down the stairs, and I went to finish in the


"Margaret Anne!"

I jumped. I had been napping on the couch, but not any
more. I tried to reach a sitting position. With my due
date only one week away, I was not the most graceful of

Hank rushed forward to help me up, waving his hand to
clear the air in front of him. "Where on God's green earth
is all this smoke coming from?"

"Oh, it's from the incense I'm burning." I rubbed my eyes.
It was a bit smoky in the room. Perhaps I'd lit too many
sticks. I chewed on my bottom lip.

"Why are you burning incense?" He held up a hand quickly.
"No, let me guess -- it's to help it rain, right?"

"Pretty much. I read in this magazine that certain types
of incense can. . ." My voice trailed off at the mirth in
his eyes. "You're laughing at me." Tears welled up in my
eyes, and I started to bawl. Those pregnancy books never
said my emotions would flip-flop *this* much.

Hank took me in his strong arms, helped me up, and led me
out onto the front porch. He guided me into the porch
swing and wiped my tears with the end of his shirt. "It's
okay, sweetie," he said. "No harm done." He smiled,
letting me know he wasn't mad. "I'm going to go back in
and clear the house out. You just stay here and rest,

I nodded, the tears still perilously close to the surface.


"Margaret Anne, for the love of God!"

I twirled and Hank was standing on the back porch, his
mouth hanging open so wide I thought he'd suck up a fly. I
guess I did look kind of strange to him. But damn it, he
wasn't supposed to be back from Phil's house for at least
another hour.

He stalked up to me and stared.

"What's wrong, Hank? Never seen your wife dance naked in
the moonlight?" I teased him by dancing away, lost to the
music in my head.

"You're pregnant!"

"You're just now noticing?" I tried to look shocked, but I
don't think I succeeded.

"Doc Johnson said you could deliver at any time. I don't
think he'd appreciate you going into labor in the middle of
the tomato patch."

"I'm not going to dance in the garden, just here in this
cleared space, silly." I was humming "Bop," an old Dan
Seals tune.

"What if the neighbors see you, for pete's sake?" he
hissed. "Come on in the house."

"If old Mr. Jenkins sees me, he'll probably wonder why his
wrinkled prune of a wife never did something like this
while she still had the body to do it with," I retorted.
"I don't want to go in the house. If you had let me talk
with that Indian shaman like I'd wanted to, he could have
done the rain dance for me. Instead, I had to look it up
on the Internet and get out here myself." There, that
should end the discussion, I thought.

"If you don't march your fanny into the house this
instant, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and carry
you inside, baby or no baby!"

I was more stubborn than he'd ever thought of being, and
we both knew it. I kept on dancing, this time singing the
words outloud and moving just as much as my beach-ball-
belly state would allow. I switched to the old Rod Stewart
tune, "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy." I
smiled and undulated my hips, the blonde hair on my head
and matching thatch between my legs gleaming in the
moonlight. I grinned seductively and motioned for Hank to
join me. I might have been nine months along, but I still
had my sex drive.

He just shook his head at me and tried not to smile. "You
know what? You're so damn sexy right now you make my heart
skip beats."

I started dancing closer when a pain ripped through my
abdomen, doubling me over and causing me to gasp for
breath. Hank was at my side in seconds.

"Maggie, honey, what's wrong?" He brushed my hair back
from my forehead.

"Baby . . . I think it's coming," I managed to gasp out
before another pain hit me. This time I felt a gush of
water flood the ground around my feet and knew my water had
broken. "Call . . . call Doc Johnson."

"I'm not leaving you," he said. He raised his head and
hollered at the top of his lungs. He lowered me to the
ground and took off his shirt, covering me with it as best
as he could. He hollered again, and I saw a light go on at
the Jenkins's place. Hugh stepped out on the porch,
shotgun in hand.

"That you, Hank?" he called out.

"Maggie's gone into labor. Call Doc Johnson for me,

The old man nodded his head and ducked back inside. If he
thought it strange that we were outside after midnight and
I was in a state of undress, he never said a word.

"Hank," I looked up into his eyes, "I'm scared."

He squeezed my hand tighter. "It's okay, baby. You're
gonna be just fine."

A thunderous boom sounded overhead. We both turned our
eyes skyward as a bright flash of lightning split the ebony
sky. Another crack of thunder sounded.

I gritted my teeth through another contraction and then
smiled shakily. "I did it. I made it rain."

The drops started coming down, fat and slow at first, then
with more speed. Hank managed to get me to the porch
before another contraction hit. I wouldn't let him carry me
inside; I wanted to watch nature's dance. For some reason,
I found it calming.

Our daughter was born exactly sixty-two minutes later,
only ten minutes after Doc Johnson arrived. We named her
Summer Rain. It was my idea, and I think Hank was just too
grateful we were both okay to protest too much. He sat by
my side, staring down at the tiny life we'd created
together. The rain came down in gentle waves around us.

"Maggie, what am I going to do with you?" he said,
stroking my cheek with a finger. His eyes shone with love
and tears and something new and undefined.

"Love me," I answered with a smile.

copyright 2000, 2001 by Souvie


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