Perhaps these revelations and determinations did not come all at once, in one noisy, dusty conversation over a roadside pay phone, but in repetitious, relentless snippets; her abrupt withdrawal from his life did him so little credit that he repressed the details. By late summer Alissa was visibly pregnant. Why hide it?—that was clothing designers’ new thought on this perennial fashion issue. Her snug and unconcealing jerseys and loose-waisted miniskirts and even, at Heron Pond, adjustable bikini curved around a new center. Her plumpness was freshened. With dimpled smiles she received the pleased notice of their friends. Pregnancies among them were thinning out. Owen was horrified by the paternal ambiguity of this growing fetus, yet the tiny complicating creature, whom he would have gladly killed if he could, was ever more securely wrapped in Alissa’s body, and in social acknowledgment of its being. A village is a hatchery, cherishing its smallest members. A fresh birth votes for the status quo, validating the present and assuring the future.