Here is a piece of micro-fiction from late 2006.
This is a story of the old west, set in New Mexico.
Barren Thoughts
by Michael Sutch
"I won't go," she said, with that air of finality that he recognized as unequivocal.
Nevertheless, he had to try. It was too important to let go.
"Darling," he began.
"Don't try to sweet talk me, it won't work, Jeremiah."
Her head was tilted back, her long, uncombed brown hair falling back behind her rigid shoulders. Her smooth white chin was thrust defiantly forward and her eyebrows arched in challenge over her deep green eyes. Those eyes were her best feature, dark and expressive, as changeable as quicksilver, all alone they made her a striking looking woman. It was her eyes he had fallen in love with, once, long ago.
"All right, Loretta, all I ask is that you listen to me fairly."
"When have I ever failed to listen to your pitiful maunderings?"
He ignored this thrust as he ignored so much from her. Responding to it would only bring worse. "We must take the stage to Santa Fe. Both of us. They won't let us adopt the boy unless we can show we would be a good family, a good mother and father."
"I would be a good mother!" she said, her voice like iron grating on iron. "Are you saying I wouldn't?"
"Of course not. But they must make that judgement for themselves and to do that they want to see us together."
For a moment she stared at him, then she turned away abruptly. When she spoke her voice was low, though still metallic. "It's my fault."
He froze, for this was a path he did not want to travel. She rarely came back from this thought for days. Vainly he searched for something to say that would keep her with him. The only thing he could think of, he was afraid to say. But now he had no choice.
"No," he said softly. "It may be my fault." It was something he had never said before. He had thought it, but never said it, had always let her assume the blame.
"What?" Her voice had a tremor in it he hadn't heard in years.
"Loretta, love, it could be my fault, you know. There's no way to tell."
She turned back to him, eyes bright with green fire. Before she could speak he placed a finger on her lips.
"It doesn't matter," he said, "which...But someday when we are old, we will need a son to help with the ranch, a son to leave our life's work to. Right now, this seems the only way."
"I don't want someone else's baby, Jeremiah." Her arms rose against him, and her voice as well. "I want my own baby. Just...my own."
"I know." He pulled her to him and was surprised when she didn't resist. He felt her hot tears streaking his dusty forearms. "The doctor, there in Santa Fe, said sometimes, in a case like ours, after a baby is adopted, the couple conceives. Like it opens a gate."
She pushed back to look at him in surprise. Her eyes were glittering emeralds. "Truly?"
"It's what he said."
Her face was still turned toward his, but those eyes he loved were now unfocused. She was somewhere else.
He held his breath.
"Then I'll go," she said.
(c) 2006 by Michael Sutch
