After a moment, she broke the silence. “I . . . I don’t mean to pry, Adam, but is something troubling you?”
Adam seemed to consider her question, as if he were debating what to say. After a moment, he said, quite abruptly, “You sure you want to hear this, Annie?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course.”
“You’ve known Delia for a long time.” His glance lingered on her hair, her throat. “Did you know . . .” He pulled on his cigarette and blew out a stream of blue smoke. “Did you know she’s been taking something all this time—something to keep herself from . . . from having a baby?”
His voice was taut and his words, slightly slurred, hit Annie like a fist. Her breath felt as if it were trapped in her throat. His gaze was holding her now with such intensity that she couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away, couldn’t even drop her eyes. She was sure he wouldn’t have asked her that question if he hadn’t had too much to drink. He would probably regret it in the morning—if he remembered it. Likely he wouldn’t.
She might have parried him, but she didn’t. Perhaps it was that he was sitting in Douglas’ chair, wearing Douglas’ shirt, holding Douglas’ cup. Perhaps it was the electrical storm outside, the flicker of the lamp over the table, casting a circle of warm, sheltering light over the two of them. Whatever it was, she felt a new and startling intimacy, and it emboldened her to answer in a way she would not, could not have otherwise.
Meeting his eyes, she said, “I know that she doesn’t want a baby.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. This was dangerous, risky. And yet, there was a kind of wild pleasure in it that made her heart race, her breath come short.
He gave her a long, questioning look. “She told you that?”
She nodded. She could hear the pain in his voice, and the anger. And understood.
He tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. “Did she say why?”
She pressed her lips together. Delia’s reason—that babies ruin a woman’s figure—was too trivial to repeat. “I thought . . . perhaps she had a hard time with Caroline.”
“A hard time with Caroline? I remember it differently.” Adam’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I wouldn’t mind so much if she hadn’t been lying to me all these years. I wanted another child and I thought she agreed.” Annie thought he sounded disgusted. “But now I find out that she’s been getting something from Mrs. Crow. To keep herself from getting pregnant.”
Annie shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t surprised to hear that Delia was using something. Many women did. But she was surprised to hear that Adam was just learning about it. And even more surprised that he was telling her. He must be deeply troubled.
“Do you know what she’s getting from Mrs. Crow?” she asked, trying to lighten the conversation. She chuckled wryly. “Not that I have any use for it, of course. As a widow.”
For the first time, he smiled, and his voice lost some of its tension. “Well, you’ve been married, so maybe you had a use, then. Wild carrot seeds. ‘Chew and swallow with water’ was written on the envelope. ‘To prevent conception.’” He drew on his cigarette. “Is this something women . . . do?”
Annie nodded. This hadn’t been her problem, but she had listened when her mother and aunts and cousins talked. It was often hard to get a man to be careful—that is, to pull out—so if you didn’t want a baby, you had to take whatever precautions you could. Wild carrot seeds were only one alternative. There were parsley, gingerroot, tansy, pennyroyal leaves. And if you didn’t have those to hand, there were plenty of patent medicines that promised to help if you had missed your monthly. Some of them—like Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound or Madam LeRoy’s Regulative Pills—were usually available at Mr. Carter’s pharmacy. You had to be careful, of course, which went without saying, didn’t it? Some of the patent medicines might not be strong enough to be effective. Some of the plants were so strong that they could be dangerous. Women shared the information they needed to keep themselves safe.
He was watching her. She felt her heart flutter. “Yes,” she said, after a moment. “Women do use them. After—” She took a breath. “Afterward.”
“Ah,” he said. “As a contraceptive.”
She nodded, thinking that she had never heard that word spoken aloud. And then, impulsively and quite honestly, she said, “I can’t believe that you and I are talking about this, Adam.” She was surprised that her voice sounded so light.
“Why?” He frowned. “Do I frighten you?”
“No, not you. It’s just . . . woman-talk, I suppose.” She had been about to say that it was husband-wife talk. She had shared her efforts to conceive with Douglas, who had listened and understood. But perhaps Delia simply didn’t feel easy about talking to Adam about such things. Or—Annie thought this more likely—she was deliberately concealing what she was doing. She didn’t want him to know.
Adam gave her a thoughtful look, and the lines around his mouth softened. “Does it bother you? I’m sorry, Annie. Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“No, it doesn’t bother me.” She looked away, hesitating. “I was the one who asked. I mean, I . . .” She twisted her fingers together, then unclasped them.
He chuckled low in his throat. “You know, I used to envy Doug.” He put out a hand as if he were reaching for hers, then pulled it back and looked away. But he didn’t stop the words.
“I envied his good fortune in having a wife who supported him all the way, in whatever he wanted to do. And I don’t think I ever heard you criticize him. You were always so . . . so loving.” His tone became regretful. “Not like Delia. My wife has never loved me the way you loved Doug. He was one lucky sonovagun.”
Annie cleared her throat. Adam wasn’t acting
