The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City by J. Kathleen Cheney Page B

the teachings of the Church. Or perhaps she wanted a dozen children, and he’d given her the wrong answer. Perhaps that was why she might not marry him.
    He reached across the table and took her hand in his own. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
    She shook her head. “No. It would be a kindness to adopt a child from the seminary.”
    And from her tone, he could tell she meant that. He let loose a pent breath. “Thank you for understanding. I feared that you hoped for a dozen children.”
    “I was surprised by your answer, captain. Most men seem to think that fathering children is the only reason to take a wife. I had assumed that, once he knew how I felt, no man would . . .” She shrugged.
    Ever marry her? Rafael shook his head. She must have been thinking of this before today to have had such a concern. “And you simply don’t wish to have a child?”
    Her hand slid from under his and she put it in her lap. Her eyes sought out the tablecloth. “What if . . . what if I should have a child who turns out to be like my father?”
    And that he understood all too well.
    Her father had been seduced by the strength of his gift into thinking he could stand in God’s place, choosing who lived and who died. She must fear that in herself as well. Then again, he’d always dreaded the possibility of having a child who turned out to be as difficult and self-centered as his own father.
    “What if he should turn out like mine?” He shuddered dramatically.
    And she laughed softly at his mock horror, the mood between them lightening. “I do fear that more than anything else,” she said.
    

    Genoveva lay in her narrow bed that night, clutching the musty pillow to her chest. The moon’s light glowed through the thin curtains, illuminating the threadbare rug, the rickety table, and the ancient armoire that crowded her small room.
    Over the last six months she’d taken pride in this place she’d found for herself. It wasn’t much, but it was clean, there were no vermin on this floor, and when she locked the door she was safe, more or less. She’d told herself that she could make her own way. She didn’t need a father to order her life and command her where to go. She didn’t need a husband to do that either. She’d strived to become a modern woman. She didn’t need a man in her life.
    That didn’t mean having one might not be a wonderful thing.
    She enjoyed the time she spent in Rafael Pinheiro’s company. It was strange that they seemed to have so much in common, but every time he said he liked something, it was something she liked, too. Well, except for the football, and she could cultivate a taste for that. And he’d eaten tripe and beans at the restaurant earlier that night. She was not going to develop a taste for that. But otherwise . . .
    She disliked his father, but he didn’t seem to care for Silva’s company either. He’d grown up knowing what sort of man his father was, and had vowed never to be like him.
    A healer couldn’t become pregnant without wanting to. If she was truly a modern woman, she shouldn’t have qualms about taking a lover. But she wasn’t that modern, was she?
    And he’d definitely said the word wife .
    She had tried to act as if that hadn’t mattered, as if he hadn’t said it, and he’d let it pass.
    But what would it be like to be married to him?
    If they were married, they would have two incomes, which would mean less worry about eating and paying rent. And a captain must be paid more than she was. According to his landlady, he had the entire third floor of her house, which meant more space than this tiny room she’d rented.
    If they were married, she wouldn’t have to worry about men like Medeiros bothering her. She would be safe, wouldn’t she?
    She licked her lips, holding her pillow closer. The thought of marrying Alessio Ferreira had frankly terrified her. She’d liked him, but his reputation for sexual exploits hinted that he had a great deal of experience, and wild