Work Text:
“I do believe I have picked the last of the plums,” John Thornton said, as he placed the full basket on the table.
“And eaten a number as well, I suspect,” Margaret Thornton replied with a smile.
John looked at his deep purple stained fingers somewhat ruefully. “Some of them were rather ripe, I would agree. But that was how they came from the tree, my dear. I have not been eating them.”
“In which case, how do you account for the purple shading round your lips? And no, you cannot remove it, simply by licking them. I had been thinking of making a plum tart for supper, but I don’t suppose you will want to eat any more plums now.”
“My dear, I will never refuse a slice of your delicious plum tart.”
Margaret laughed. “I’m pleased to hear it. And it is probably as well, for we shall be eating these plums well into the winter. Tomorrow I shall begin bottling some, after which I shall be making plum jam and plum chutney for the rest of the week.”
She sat down suddenly, and John looked at her with some consternation. “Are you not well, my dearest?” he asked.
“Just a little tired. Nothing else.”
“I hope you will soon be better again, with all this fruit to prepare. For I have remembered, I was going to tell you the pears will soon be ready to pick as well. But if it is too much for you, we will find someone to help. Are you sure there is nothing the matter?”
Margaret smiled. “It is just… I am with child.”
John leapt up. “That’s marvellous news. Forget the pears! You must do nothing!”
“And then how will we eat? We cannot expect Eliza to do all the work. No, I shall continue as I had planned, and if I need to sit down a little more often then so be it. Now, would you still like plum tart for supper?”
John smiled. “I would, my most precious and beautiful wife.”