Author’s Notes:
This is another 1st for me in the vein of writing challenges. I’ve A) used more than 3 characters, B) Written it in a much different setting and lastly C) Written it in something OTHER than modern times. Yay me. Haha.
I wrote this without really knowing what theme to put it under…but after much consideration I’m going to call it #26. What do you think?
I hope you guys like it and enjoy!

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Marital Relations

“Well, it’s certain.” The old man said getting off of his knees. “Your wife is with child.” He slid the primitive contraption into his bag, unplugging it from his ears. “I don’t think she’s too far along but there’s no denying there’s a child in there.”

Francisco sat back in the old wicker chair by the window as he observed his wife Anastasia on her back, propped up on her elbows and a sea of pillows behind her on their marital bed. The layers of her dress and petticoats were hiked up around her waist for the doctor to listen to her flat stomach in search of their child. Any other time he was sure that it was considered a violation of moral standards for another man’s wife to have a strangers head between her thighs. But this was for a much nobler reason. He was going to be a father.

He stared at the stomach he had lovingly kissed and inhabited many nights before in that same bed in wonder. How could there be a child in there? Her delicately caramel stomach was as flat as ever. It was no wonder, he thought, with all of the purging she had been doing lately.

“Are you sure there’s a child in there?”

“Sir, with all due respect, this has been my profession for quite sometime. I know the signs of a child.” He ran one of his bony hands over his white beard. “After all, I helped delver you.”

With a stand, Francisco narrowed the flinty steel eyes he had inherited from his mother. “Yes and you’d do good form never to bring it up again.” Francisco escorted the old man, well into the winter of his life toward the door left ajar on his way. They had not been expecting him to stay long at all.

They stopped abruptly at the frame of the door. “Any tell of the sex?” Francisco asked quietly, well out of the ear-shot of his wife.

“My heavens, no! That doesn’t come until much, much later. When there is a protruding belly, then we can tell.”

“Very well.” Francisco held the door open further for the elder man. He watched him shuffle under his muscular arm. “We won’t be needing you until then.

“Make sure that you…”

“Fine, fine old man.” He shut the door, leaving the old man to his own defenses. If he’d survived this long God knew he could find himself off of his property.

When Francisco came back into his quarters his wife was on her feet, smoothing the multiple layers of her dress down to the maple floors below.

“That wasn’t very nice.” She scolded him.

He came to his wife’s side in two easy strides. Francisco frowned. “It wasn’t meant to be.” His arms moved their way around his wife’s slender waist.

“I’m expecting.” She let out a sigh lined with relief.

In a much gentler manner than he had treated their guest, he brought his hand to her buttermilk skin. It was flushed warm with embarrassment, which was to be expected after what had taken place. Unlike the other women of the town, his wife didn’t make a habit of spreading her legs for just any man. In fact, he was proud to say he had been the only one.

Francisco felt a swelling in his chest as he gazed at his wife’s calm expression. Her bright eyes peeked up at him under curled lashes, brimming with joy. “I hope it’s a boy.”

“Even if its not, it’s our child.”

She knew the bold-faced nature of his lie even before the statement had left his lips completely. They needed a son. Their future depended on it. His father’s inheritance depended on them producing a male heir, his legacy depended on it. If a daughter came, the chances were higher of more daughters in the future. And, if there were no sons, her husband’s name stopped there.

“Francisco…”

He placed a firm finger on her supple lips. “I won’t hear it. Any child from you will do.” He pushed one of his wife’s curls back into place easily.

They took a seat on the plush goose comforter on their large bed. Anastasia noticed her husband’s eyes far away from their current situation, their home, this day, this reality. His empty stare was fixed somewhere outside of their open window that danced with moist late-spring air blowing forward their thin satin curtains. Below, their fields of lush green agaves stretched until their eyes strained to make out the youngest ones planted only a year ago. She brought her small hand to his chest, rubbing idly at the spot over his heart. She knew when in thought her husband would take off, for hours at a time, only to return tired and silent.

Francisco felt his wife’s lips press to the corner of his solemn mouth like cinnamon; sweet and remotely spicy. They were enough to bring him back to the current time.

“What are you thinking?”

He took a stand. “Nothing important.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, smiling. “I’m going to go tend to a few things. If that old man’s to be trusted, then I want you to get some rest. I’ll send someone in here to see your needs are met.”

Anastasia watched her husband leave the room with the elegant, strong stride she had come to identify as his after only four months of marriage. In the short time he had been a good man to her. There were no vices, no debts, no beatings or infidelities on his part. The fact alone made Anastasia’s conscious flutter.

One of the men who were privileged enough to serve her husband walked into their bedroom with a tray. He stared at her boldly, in a manner unlike his kind.

“Your husband asked that I bring you tea.” He muttered, setting down the tray on a table opposite the bed.

“I see that.” Anastasia replied.

Their silence was awkward and thick. The heat slid in from the opened window, wrapping its fingers around their throats. It was hard to swallow.

“He happened to mention that you were with life…”

“I am.” Anastasia seemed to gain an air of superiority about her with the statement.

Jorge continued to gaze openly at her. In another life he would have never expected her to be married so young, let alone have a child on the way. Somewhere under the debris of scattered memories he still recollected about the girl she had been. Long before the marriage of convenience.

“Are you happy?”

She glared at him, her clear toffee orbs filling with ire. Paying it no attention, Jorge took a hold of her hand without restraint. She was not the lady of the house; he was not her husband’s worker.

“I’d hope so. You’ve come a long way.”

Her features darkened instantly as the sentence that left his lips sank in. She narrowed her eyes sharply. “Stop it.”

Jorge was driven by the slight glimpse of vulnerability he caught in her eyes. He had then seen the panic, as she knew her expression had betrayed her. Anastasia had scrambled for her decency, but it was too late; far too late.

“Yes, I’m sure your husband would love to know you came from a family of field workers. That you’ve dirtied yourself as worse as the lot of us. Yes. That his privileged bride was only so because the master and his family took pity on you and—”

Rapidly, Anastasia yanked her hand from his and sent it flying across his cheek that was streaked with dirt. It lapped at her fingertips. “Shut your mouth.” Her voice was low and steady. “I won’t allow you to come here merely to mock me!”

“Oh, I didn’t. Of that I can assure you, my lady.” He was rubbing the furiously red slash across his left cheek. Then, he grinned. “I came for answers.”

“Answers?” She cocked her eyebrow upward. “What type of answers?”

The grin he was sporting widened; his familiarity with her sickened Anastasia. Before he could answer, she cut in sharply.

“I should have Francisco gut you like the swine you are.”

“Please. Do you. And I will make sure to tell him everything I know just before he plunges the knife into my belly.”

Anastasia regained her composure then. Her face blanched, going deathly somber.

“Is the door locked?” She inquired under the light shuttering of the wind.

“I did so on my way in.”

Anastasia swallowed her pride. She accepted her fate, steadying her shaking hands for Jorge’s payment. If it allowed her another day of a seemingly peaceful marriage, the price was marginal.