Let's Make a Deal Pt. 19- Epilogue 03

"For that matter, I have no idea how you pulled off that finale. I was there, so I know you didn't practice it or discuss anything like that. And yes, it was kind of the same thing you did starting off. But unless you talked about it sometime between dances, how on earth did you ever get both of the rhythm guys to do it with you? You just wouldn't believe how effective it was out on the floor! I'm sure you're going to get asked back again, just on the strength of that one dance. They'd probably agree really fast if you asked for double the money—not that you would! I know you—if they asked you to come for gas money, or even just for fun, you'd do it and be glad to."

Scott wanted to put in a few comments, but he could tell that she wasn't done, so he kept quiet. Martha did go on, a little less forcefully. "You heard what I said to Jim and Darla, and I talked to Duane too. And when, what's her name, Jenny, came and asked me if it was OK to give me your check because you were busy, well she was so excited she made clear they'll want to do this again, so I talked to her, too. Oh! I really think she was excited from the dance, and the music, not from the contribution you effectively made to their solvency. They couldn't have been sure in advance they'd get that many dancers, but the difference in attendance between a year ago and last night was way more than what they paid you. And whenever they do ask you back, you won't take advantage of knowing that, and I love you for that, too. Anyway, I reminded them all that I probably won't be wanting to travel or even dance much before too long, and then we'll have a newborn to think about, so they know they have to check with us before making definite plans, and it won't be soon. We can probably get the guys to come to us first, I'd say, and if we can work out a little extra money for travel expenses you're right, we should be able to convince people it's worth doing, and to do enough extra publicity to draw a crowd comparable to last night's. Don't you think so?"

Scott just agreed with her. She just sat for a couple of minutes as he drove, and then said, "Scott, I need to call the paper and find out who was responsible for that story we saw last month. I'm betting that their paper will have quite a story on the dance, saying all kinds of nice things about you and the band both, and if not we can find someone to write something for us. A bunch of people who were there would be happy to be quoted, you know. If we can get it into our paper, that will help. You all really did do an outstanding job, whether you realize it or not."

They talked on for a while about it, and then about other things. Finally, Martha said, "I know you don't want to be tied down to a band. You want to play when you feel like it and your schedule permits, with different sets of people, without having to schedule regular ongoing rehearsals. And to dance more of the time than you'd feel you could if you were really in the band. And the money would be nice, but we don't need it, not the way some of these people do. Of course, some of them need it because they live a more luxurious life than they can afford on their day jobs, and you're always content with what you can afford. And I love you for all that, too. But you really, really ought to let slip how much you got paid for sitting in last night. And if you suggested more of the kinds of things you did yesterday, not to mention introducing things these guys already were doing to a few of the tunes, you might kind of light a fire in them the way you did last night and last year. You're good enough that you should be leading your own band. I know, all the things I said before are true. And I value being free to do other things on a Saturday without feeling that I'm making you let a bunch of other people down. Not to mention having a good night's sleep before church! And you'd never pull together your own band partly because you'd hate having to take on the business end of it. But I'm going to quietly agitate for more money for you, and it will help if you do it too—and especially if you can use the, um, notoriety? no, that's not what I mean, but the knowledge of what you did to the attendance last night, if you can build enough reputation to make you part of the publicity when you are going to play with a group."

Scott said, "I really hate to put myself forward that way, you know that. But bringing in more dancers, especially some people who wouldn't normally try a contradance—as opposed to those who would just be dancing elsewhere, or some other time—that would be a really good thing. I'm willing to try, but you know you're going to be fighting my instincts, so it won't be easy."

Martha laid her head back and closed her eyes. After a minute or two, she said, "Scott, would you sing to me? Whatever you'd like to sing? It seems like a long time since you've done that."

So he thought a moment, and came up with a song he was pretty sure she'd never heard—certainly not from him. He told her, "This goes better with the guitar, but I think you'll like it." He began singing.

"As I sat down one morning,

Twas in a small cafe . . . "

She laughed at the end of the second stanza, and at the next stanza as well:

" . . . If you'd pour some whiskey on it,

He'd eat a bale of hay."

She didn't laugh at the next one, though, and he glanced over at her. He guessed she was asleep, though he couldn't really be sure. He finished the song and said, "Well? Did you like what you heard?" and when she didn't answer, he figured she was definitely asleep.

So he went ahead and sang the next song he'd been thinking of, "Three-Legged Man." He realized how right Martha had been. He hadn't sung to her too much of late, and they had hardly sung together at all. He shifted into a different type of song, singing "When peace like a river attendeth my way . . . ," and then further back, to hymns by Wesley and by Watts, to one attributed to John Calvin, to "All People That On Earth Do Dwell."

By that time he was getting off the highway. Another couple of miles and they were home. Martha didn't stir. He was concerned, given her medical history, but he also realized that they had had a very busy weekend with not enough sleep. He left her sitting there, still buckled in, and unloaded the car and took their things inside. He even unpacked their suitcases enough to get their dirty clothes into the laundry hamper, and his clean clothes put away and hers laid out on the bed.

He went back outside into the garage, and opened the passenger door of his car. He unbuckled her seat belt and got it to retract, then kissed her cheek and said, "Martha, we're home." When she still didn't stir, he put his arm behind her back and the other under her knees, and lifted her enough to slide her out of the seat. As he straightened up, with some difficulty—Martha wasn't all that light, and the position was bad for him—she woke with a start and a cry. She began struggling a bit and flailing her arms and legs. He said, "Martha!" rather sharply, and it seemed that she suddenly realized where she was. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck—causing him to adjust her position, from almost reclining to almost sitting—and said, "Scott? What happened?" and then, "I guess I must have fallen asleep."

She loosened up her grip on his neck, and then said, "There's no need to carry me in, Scott. You can tell me in a minute why you were doing it in the first place, but I can walk." So he let her feet down, ready to catch her if she fell or even tottered. She turned to him and kissed him, and then they went inside.

He told her to sit down at the table, and he got some soup out of the freezer and started it thawing in the microwave. He got bread and some sandwich fixings and made them each a sandwich, and then poured milk for her and water for himself. When the soup was thawed and warmed, he got it into bowls and sat down. He prayed, and then he described what had happened, as they started eating.

He finished by saying, "I really don't think it was the kind of problem you used to have. I think you were just a lot more tired than we realized. Not enough sleep, and we're going to have to start watching that. It looks as though pregnancy is taking more from you than we'd realized."

They discussed it for a few minutes more, but didn't really get anywhere. Scott told her, "You go ahead and get ready for bed, and get in and try to go to sleep. I'll join you in just a few minutes, when I get cleaned up in here."

"Scott, will you let me sit in your lap first?" He said, "Of course, if you like," but inwardly he cringed a bit. She often just sat in his lap, without saying anything beforehand, to kiss or cuddle. When she asked first, it almost always meant she had something to confess and ask forgiveness for—or, sometimes, something to confront him with or that she feared might hurt his feelings. He thought she hadn't spotted that pattern.

She told him, "Scott, I broke my promises to you, last night and Friday night too."

He said, "Martha, what on earth are you talking about?"

"You wanted sex, and I said no. I promised you whatever you wanted in that, whenever you wanted, as I'm sure you remember. And then, in front of a whole lot of people, I promised to obey you. And now I said no to you."

She had expressed concern about disturbing Jim and Darla if they made love on Friday night. And the same on Saturday night, except that she'd also pled fatigue and the shortness of the night before they had to get up for church. That part had seemed to him appropriate, and in fact if he hadn't been so very keyed up himself from the evening he probably wouldn't have wanted anything but sleep himself. And when she fell asleep in the car, it showed how very exhausted she was. She had never done anything like that before. Her first concern, though, had felt like an excuse to him.

Scott said, "Saturday night, you were probably right, and in the morning I might have regretted even the time for a quickie. I admit that your other reason left me feeling rejected and neglected. But you're forgetting a few things, aren't you? The deal was over long ago, for one thing. And there was some stuff I promised you, too, about cherishing, and about loving you as Christ loves the church. Remember?"

Martha was starting to cry. "Scott, you were the one who pointed out to me that in context that means first and foremost concern for my sanctification. And yes, that it doesn't stop there, but that is the most important thing. And my promise of sex when and how you want it wasn't just part of the deal that ended. I meant it to go on, and I still do. Just like you would never feel free to tie me up and beat me, just because the deal is over. You gave me the right to question whether that was a good time for sex, and all that—you insisted on that!—but I promised you the final decision, to accept what you said. And now I insisted on my own way. For that matter, letting me go on being selfish is definitely not good for my sanctification! I was wrong, and I can't make it up to you. Will you please forgive me?"

He kissed her. "Of course. But I do need to make allowances for how much being pregnant is taking out of you, and affecting your feelings."

"That probably was part of it, though, well, I think it may work the other way round. I've heard from other women that it did for them. But you were right and I was wrong. I trust you to be understanding when we get too close to my due date, and especially after delivery, and I promise I won't hesitate to tell you if it's really uncomfortable. But for now, if I obey you and try to go to sleep, will you promise to wake me up when you come to bed? And to insist on my taking care of you, if I try to put you off again?"

"I could get this stuff in the fridge now, and leave everything else, and get up for it when we're done, instead."

"Oh, Scott, please don't. Really! I'll want you there with me afterward."

He looked her in the eyes. "Martha, I understand what you said about your promises. In talking about mine, you didn't address what I said about honoring and cherishing. If you're not feeling up to sex, and I don't mean right now but any time, you make sure you let me know. If I insist, OK, you may be obedient. But don't you try to keep me from taking care of you, too. I expect your obedience in that, too."

Given what she had said, he rather hurried through cleaning up, and through getting himself ready for bed. Waking her up wasn't necessary. After they had kissed some, she said, "Not now, but sometime soon, let me hear the rest of that song. And please sing to me more. I'll try not to fall asleep next time!"

Martha wasn't yet to the point where they would need to adjust positions for sex, but Scott could see it coming. He didn't think that was the problem, but in any case she didn't come. When he offered to try oral sex, she kissed him and said, "Scott, you're wonderful. Not this time, but maybe sometime soon."

He added to her, "I'd love you just as much in any case, but really, I've been thankful since the beginning that you don't find it necessary to make a lot of noise during sex, even when it's really good for you." After a moment, he went on, "You know, I've always wondered how much of that is deliberate, when women do scream and carry on. Chris didn't, well, you know that probably wasn't a good sample, but you also know you and Lynda are both reasonably quiet about it, and it's not because it's not good. But once, Chris and I had neighbors down the hall who, well, the whole building knew they were having sex, at least if she was coming or near it. But as quiet as you are, Jim and Darla wouldn't have minded, even if they'd heard it, and I doubt they would have."

"I know you're right. I don't know why the thought of it bothered me so much. Oh, Scott, you know I want children, your children, as many as we can manage. But I'm not enjoying pregnancy very much. Or, no, that's not right. I'm not enjoying a lot of the emotional side effects, and I'm already feeling awkward physically. Please, please be patient with me."

He kissed her. "I'll do my best. You've always flattered me about how patient I am, and I'll try to live up to it." He thought a moment. "We need to talk a little more about what we were saying earlier, but right now we both need to get to sleep. We shouldn't let it hang, though. I'll try to bring it up tomorrow."

They talked affectionately just a minute or two longer, and then settled down for the night. Before Scott fell asleep, he reflected that if Martha was going to be so exhausted, he needed to get her to bed earlier on a regular basis. He might enjoy the extra rest himself, too.

The next morning, Scott woke up a few minutes before the alarm. He got up, and after going to the bathroom and getting dressed he started fixing breakfast. The alarm went off in the bedroom. By this time, it was a clock radio set to the classical station he preferred, and set fairly quiet. He was encouraged when it shut off after perhaps a minute, and Martha appeared looking sleepy but not groggy.

When they sat down to eat, they held hands to pray. At the end, Scott didn't let go. He looked at her. "Martha, dearest, I do have something to say. I think if you understand it, you won't have any problem with it, but if you find yourself feeling hurt, please stop me and tell me so we can try to clear it up. OK?"

He let go of her hand and picked up his fork. They began eating. As he ate, he went on between bites, "Do you remember my small conversation with Lynda the night we got engaged, that made her afraid I was going to ask her instead?"

"In general, certainly. I hope you're going to tell me what details are important, and I may have forgotten some."

"Yes. I may have some things wrong, too. But basically she told me it was obvious that I should marry you, that you and I were better suited than she and I, in every way. And I told her there was one way in which that probably wasn't true. Does that all ring a bell, so far?"

She nodded, her mouth full, but after a moment she said, "You were talking about sex, right?"

"Not precisely. Not in terms of activity, but of desire. I said that, by everything you both had told me, you normally had a lower level of sexual desire, or maybe interest, than she did. And than I do. I don't think I explicitly brought in my relationship with Chris at that point, but that was very much in my mind.

"And then I started to say that despite that, she was right that you clearly were the woman for me. And she thought I was about to say the opposite, that in view of that I should marry her, despite all the other factors, and she almost panicked. The panic, of course, was because she desperately wished she could marry me, and she loved us both too much to let that happen, and she was afraid that if I seriously said she was the one, I would break down her good sense. Does that fit with what you remember?"

"You're so often able to quote things near word for word that you almost worry me, paraphrasing that roughly. But yes, that's close."

"OK. Remember all the things I've ever told you about problems in my relationship with Chris, in this area. Part of the problem definitely was that our levels of desire were so mismatched. But a lot of it was, well, a couple of things flowing from that.

"First, I didn't understand, for a long, long time, what the situation was. I thought she wanted me pretty much the same way I wanted her, that foreplay aroused her and gave her pleasure the way it did me, and that she felt about the same about the intercourse as I did, or as I would have. I mean, if we'd gone to all that time and effort, and I got that close but somehow I couldn't come, I would have been desperately frustrated, and I really didn't believe her when she said it had been enjoyable and she was fine with the results.

"Second, she felt that I was being selfish in trying to insist on sex when she was tired, or not feeling well, or just plain not very interested, and she resented it. And I felt that she was being selfish when I was so aroused that it kept me awake for hours, just because she didn't happen to feel like sex right then, and I resented it. We hurt each other badly over that, a lot of times.

"So. With many years' hindsight, I was pretty sure that times would come when I'd be really aroused and you wouldn't want sex. Probably fairly often, eventually. Even if you weren't just normally below average in sexual interest, you're getting older, and that will work against it. Of course, I'm older yet, and that generally will slow me down some even now, and probably a lot more before too many more years pass.

"And besides, you've said you really do feel bound by what you promised a couple of years ago, to do whatever I ask in this area. I think that is likely to help you to say yes without resentment."

By this time they were both done eating, but they continued sitting there at the table. On the one hand, neither needed to punch a clock or anything. On the other hand, they tried to be on time—meaning around an hour before opening and at least half an hour before other employees arrived—but they could still go on a bit longer. Of course, this was Monday, and they had left early on Friday, surely leaving tasks unfinished.

Scott went on, "Anyway, I didn't tell Lynda that I had always wanted and loved you more than I wanted and loved her. Even if I had thought sex was going to be much more of a problem than I did, and do, you're the woman of my dreams, and I would have chosen you, and I would again, without reservation. That was true long before we went through all those questionnaires, helpful as they were. Of course, part of it was that I was responding to things the questionnaires just brought out and made us discuss. And your personality was part of what made you so attractive to me, even before you brought Lynda in. Adding sex helped me really fall in love with you, but I was already partway there without realizing it.