“Maureen, since we can’t do it, the next best thing is talking about it.”
“Me, too, Theodore. I wish I were covered with chigger bites and my soul filled with the peace I know you could give me. Since I can’t give myself to you the way I had hoped, I want you to know me as deeply as words can bring us together . . as deeply as I wish you were in my body this very instant. Does my frankness shock you?”
“No. But it might get you raped right on this bench!”
“Please, not so much enthusiasm, dear one; people can see us—we’re talking about the weather. Tell me, is your thing hard?”
“Does it show?”
“No, but if it is, think about blizzards and icebergs—Brian says that helps—because our pony rider needs to be lifted down.”
They played both games for prizes; then Mrs. Smith decided that she could risk the Fun House if she clutched her skirts as if crossing a muddy street. Woodie enjoyed it, especially the Hall of Mirrors and the Crystal Maze. Maureen avoided air blasts by watching girls ahead of them, then either walked on one side or held her skirts firmly.
Woodie tired himself out, so Lazarus picked him up and he seemed to fall asleep as his head touched Lazarus’ shoulder. They started to leave, which took them over the farewell air blast. Mrs. Smith was ahead and Lazarus assumed that she had it spotted from the way she swerved—then she turned as if to speak to him, and stood over it. Her skirts went flying high.
She did not squeal; she simply pushed them down a split second too late. Once they were outside she said, “Well, sir?”
“Same color. But curly, I think.”
“Quite. As curly as my other hair is straight. As you already knew.”
“And you did it on purpose.”
“Certainly. Woodrow is asleep and you had his head turned away. Perhaps some stranger got an eyeful, but I think not. If someone did, what can he do? Write a letter to my husband? Pooh. There was no one in there who knows us; I kept my eyes open. And grabbed the chance.”
“Maureen, you continue to amaze and delight me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And you have beautiful limbs.”
“ ‘Legs,’ Theodore. Brian says so, too, but I’m no expert on women’s legs. But when he tells me so, he always says ‘legs.’ ‘Limbs’ is for public speech. So he says.”
“The more I know about the Captain, the more I like him. You have gorgeous legs. And green garters.”
“Of course they’re green. When I was a little girl, I wore green hair ribbons. I’m too old for hair ribbons, but if there is the teeniest possibility that my curls will be seen, I wear green garters. I have many pairs; Brian gives them to me. Some with naughty mottoes on them.”
“Are there mottoes on these?”
“ ‘Little pitchers,’ Theodore. Let’s get Woodrow settled down in the back seat.”
It seemed to Lazarus that “little pitchers” could not be listening; the child was limp as a rag doll. Nor did he wake when he was bedded down; he curled into fetal position, and his mother put the robe over him.
Lazarus handed her into the car, cranked it and joined her. “Straight home?”
She said thoughtfully, “There is plenty of gasoline; Brian Junior filled the tank this afternoon. I don’t think Woodrow will wake.”
“I know there’s enough gasoline; I checked when I went out to meet Mr. Johnson’s captain. Shall I find that walnut tree?”
“Oh, dear! Please don’t tempt me. Woodrow might wake up and could climb over the back and get out, as easily as he climbed in and hid. He’s not old enough to understand what we would be doing; nevertheless, I think his misunderstanding of it could upset him just as much. No, Theodore. What I neant is this: It’s not late, it’s just late for a little boy. While he sleeps we can ride around and talk for, oh, an hour. If you wish.”
“We’ll do that.” He got rolling and added, “Maureen, although I want to take you back to that walnut tree, I. think it’s best that we don’t. Best for you, I mean.”
“But, darling! Why? Don’t you think I want you?”
“I do think you want me. And God knows I want you. But despite your brave talk, I don’t think you’ve ever done that. You would want to confess to your husband . . and if you did, it would make you both unhappy—and I don’t want to make Captain Smith unhappy either; he’s a good sort. Or maybe you could keep it to yourself—but it would prey on your mind. Because, while you love me—a little—you love him a great deal more and I am sure of that. So it’s best. Isn’t that so?”
Mrs. Smith was silent a long moment. Then she said, “Theodore, take me straight to that walnut tree.”
“No.”
“Why not, dear? I must show you that I do love you and that I am not afraid to let you have me.”
“Maureen, you would do it; you have the courage to do anything. But you would be tense and worried, afraid that Woodie would wake up. And you do love Brian. All the sweetly intimate things you’ve told me kept saying that.”
“But don’t you think my heart is big enough for both of you?”
“I’m certain it is. You love ten people that I know of; I’m sure you can squeeze in one more. But I love you and do not want you to do anything that would make a wall between you and your husband. Or hurt you both through your trying to tear down that wall by confessing. Beloved, I want your love even more than I want your dear, sweet body.”
Again she was silent before speaking: “Theodore, I must tell you things about my husband and me. Private things.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I should and I must—and I shall. But—Please, will you touch me while I talk? Don’t say anything, just touch me closely and intimately and nakedly . . while I strip myself naked with words. Please?”
Lazarus put his free hand on her thigh. She pulled up her skirts, opened her thighs, pushed his hand more firmly to her. Then she covered his hand with her skirt, and spoke in an even, steady voice:
“Theodore beloved, I love Brian and Brian loves me and he knows exactly what I am. I could keep a secret forever to keep from hurting him, and he would do the same for me. I must tell you what he said to me before he went away to Plattsburg —and I must use ‘bedroom words,’ Theodore; polite words don’t have the force it must have.
“The night before he left we were in bed and had just had each other, me still wrapped around him like a curling iron and him still deep inside me. ‘Swivel Hips,’ he said—a pet name he calls me in bed—‘I didn’t sell the Reo to tie you down. If you want to drive, buy a Ford; it’s easier to learn on.’ I told him I didn’t want to drive; I would wait until he came home. He answered, ‘All right, Hot Bottom’—and that’s a pet name, too, and Brian means it most lovingly—‘All right, Hot Bottom, but buy one if you wish; you may need a car while I’m gone.
“ ‘But a car is a minor matter. Your father will be here and that’s good—but don’t let him boss you. He’ll try, he can’t help it, it’s his nature. But you are as strong-willed as he is; stand up to him, he’ll respect you for it.
“ ‘Now to more important matters, Pretty Tits’—and I like that name, too, Theodore, even though they’re not and don’t stop me to say they are—‘Pretty Tits, I may not have gotten you pregnant; you don’t usually catch again this soon. If not, once I’m back from Plattsburg, we’ll keep on trying’—and we did, Theodore, and I caught, as I told you.
“Brian went on, ‘We both know we’re going to get into this war or I wouldn’t be going to Plattsburg. It may last a long time—that ”million men springing to arms overnight” is hogwash. When we do, I’ll be gone again, and you’ll be loneiy —and we both know what a firecracker you are. I’m not telling you to jump the fence again’—I said ‘again,’ Theodore!—’but if you do, I expect you to do it on purpose, eyes open . . and not to regret it afterwards. I have enormous respect for your taste and judgment; I know you won’t cause a scandal or upset the children.’ ”
She paused, the
n went on: “Brian knows me, Theodore—I really am a firecracker, and I’ve never understood why some women don’t like it. My own mother—Nine children and she told me on my wedding day that it was something women had to put up with for the privilege of having babies.”
Mrs. Smith snorted. “ ‘Put up with!’ Theodore, I was not a virgin when Brian first had me. Nor had I let him think so; I told him the truth the day I met him . . and two minutes after he took my bloomers off he knew it through having me. Theodore, I broke my maidenhead three years before I met Brian—on purpose; I’ve never been a flirt—and told, not my mother, but my father, because I trusted him; we’ve always been close. Father didn’t scold me, didn’t even tell me not to do it again. He said he knew that I would do it again but hoped that I would take his advice and let him keep me out of trouble—and I have and it did.
“But that first time, when I came to him, scared and ready to cry—it had hurt, Theodore, and wasn’t the thrill I had expected—that time Father just sighed and locked the door and had me get on his surgery table and examined me and assured me that I hadn’t been damaged—and I felt much better!—and told me that I was as healthy a woman as he had ever examined and would have babies with no trouble—and that made me feel smug—and Father was right; I have babies easily and don’t yell—or not much. Not the way Mother used to.
“After that, Father examined me from time to time. Doctors don’t ordinarily treat their female relatives, not for female things. But Father was the only doctor I dared tell. So Father helped me with my problems and got me all over any shyness about being looked at there or anywhere. Not that I was ever too shy; he told me that sort of modesty was dadratted nonsense—when Mother was telling me the exact opposite. I believed him, didn’t believe her.
“But I was telling you what Brian said to me in bed that night. Brian added, ‘I want you to promise one thing, Pussycat. If you find that you haven’t kept your legs crossed, will you keep it to yourself until this war is over? I will do the same if I have something to confess—and I might! Let’s not worry each other more than we have to until the Kaiser is taken care of. Then when I come home, I’ll take you to the Ozarks—leave the children home with someone; just us two—and you won’t see anything but the ceiling while we get caught up, and also catch up on anything we need to talk about. Is it a bargain, my darling?’
“I promised, Theodore. I didn’t promise not to jump the fence; he wouldn’t let me promise that. I promised to be careful—and to save any confessing until the war was won. I wanted to promise that much because . . he . . might not . . come back!”
Her voice had been steady up to the last. Then it broke, and he realized that she was crying. He started to remove his hand and to pull over to the side of the road. Mrs. Smith grabbed his hand, pushed it more firmly back between her thighs, and said, “No, no, do touch me and don’t stop the car! Or I might rape you. I don’t know why it makes me so passionate when I let myself remember that Brian might not come back from the war. But it does. I’ve been that way ever since the day we declared war . . and always have to look serene and calm and unworried. For the children. For Brian. I haven’t let Brian see me cry, Theodore. You have just now—I suddenly could not help it. But I would rather you told Brian that I tried to seduce you than have you tell him that I cried through fear that he might not come back!
“And now I’ll stop it.” Mrs. Smith took a kerchief from her purse, wiped her eyes, blew her nose. “Don’t take me home yet; the children must not see me with my eyes red.”
Lazarus decided to break cover. “I love you, Maureen.”
“I love you, Theodore. In spite of my tears, you have made me happy. By letting me unburden myself—and I should not have; you are going to war, too. I feel almost married to you now, by telling you things I haven’t been able to talk about with anyone else. If you had put me on the grass and had me —it would have been sweet and just what I planned. But this is even closer. And sweeter. A woman can open her body to a man without opening her mind. I had two babies by Brian before I learned to open my mind to him the way I have to you tonight.”
“Perhaps our minds are much alike, Maureen. Your father thinks we are cousins.”
“No, he doesn’t, darling; he thinks you’re my half brother.”
“Did he say that?”
“And I think so, too. By things Father did not say, dear Theodore. By how broken up he was when he misunderstood you about your intention to enlist. By the way he insisted that we must claim a service star for you. I feel sure he is right . . and I want to believe it. Yes, that makes what I tried to do to you dreadfully sinful in some people’s eyes. Incest. I did not care a whit. Since I’m pregnant, it could not possibly cause harm to a baby . . and that’s the only thing that could make incest wrong.”
(How to tell her? How much to tell her? But I must make her believe me. ) “Your church would call it sinful.”
“I don’t give a fig for the church! Theodore, I’m not devout; I’m a freethinker, like Father. Church is a good atmosphere for children—and gives me a proper appearance as a respectable wife and mother—that’s all! ‘Sin’ would not stop me; I don’t believe in sin the way the church means it. Sex isn’t sin, sex is never sin. What would stop me would be a chance of getting pregnant by someone other than Brian—but I am pregnant. That you are my half brother didn’t cause me a moment’s fret; it just made me more anxious to tell you a warrior’s good-bye.”
“Maureen, I’m not your half brother.”
“Are you sure? Even if you’re not, you are still my warrior —I was as proud as Father when you volunteered.”
“I’m your warrior, be sure of that. But I need to know something. This man Nancy may marry—Is he a Howard?”
“What did you say?”
“Is he on the approved list of the Ira Howard Foundation?”
He heard her catch her breath. “Where did you hear of the Foundation?”
“ ‘Life is short—’ ”
“ ‘But the years are long,’ ” she answered.
“ ‘Not ”While the Evil Days Come Not.“ ’ ”
“Goodness! I—I think I’m going to cry again!”
“Stop it. What is the young man’s name?”
“Jonathan Weatheral.”
“—of the Weatheral-Sperling line. Yes, I remember. Maureen, I am not ‘Ted Bronson’ I am Lazarus Long of the Johnson Family. Your family. I am descended from you.”
For several moments she seemed not to breathe. Then she said softly, “I think I am losing my mind.”
“No, my gallant love, you have as strong and sane a mind as I have ever met. Let me explain because I must tell you something and you must believe me. Have you read a novel by Mr. Herbert George Wells called The Time Machine?”
“Why, yes. Father has a copy.”
“That’s me, Maureen. Captain Lazarus Long, Time Traveler.”
“But that book—I thought it was just a . . a—”
“Just a story. It is. But it won’t stay that way. Oh, not quite the way Mr. Wells visualized it. But that’s what I am, a visitor from a future time. I didn’t intend to let anyone suspect this; that’s why I claimed to be a foundling. Not only is it hard to prove, but any attempt would interfere with my purpose . . which is simply to visit this time and observe it. Might even get me locked up as crazy. So I’ve been careful to keep my mask on, as careful as—well, as you are. In talking to those Simpsons. In not letting your children see you cry. You and I do it the same way. Audacity . . plus never telling lies we can be caught in.”
“Theodore, I think you believe this.”
“Meaning that I sound sincere but must be crazy.”
“No, no, dear, I- Yes, that’s what I meant. I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry; it does sound crazy. But I’m not afraid that you will have me sent to St. Joe; I’m as safe with you as you are with me. But I must find some way to convince you that I am telling the truth . . because I am about to tel
l you something you must believe. Or I have dropped my mask to no point.”
He stopped to think. How to prove it? Some prediction? It would have to be very short range to serve the only purpose he had in breaking cover. But he hadn’t briefed himself on this year; he hadn’t intended to arrive until 1919 and knew so little about the years before 1919 that he had even mixed up the date that the United States got into this war. Lazarus, damn your sloppy ways, the next time you make a time trip you’re going to memorize everything about the era that Athene can give you—and a wide margin on both sides!
Woodie’s memories were no help; Lazarus did not even recall having been taken to Electric Park by a sergeant in uniform. Self-centered brat! Electric Park he remembered; Woodie Smith had gone there many times. But no visit stood out in his mind.
“Maureen, maybe you can think of some way I can prove to you that I’m from the future—something that will convince you. But this is why I had to tell you: Brian-your husband, my ancestor—will come back unharmed. He’s going to go through battles. Shells will fall around him, shots will whistle past his ears—but none will touch him.”
Mrs. Smith gasped. Then she said slowly, “Theodore . . how do you know?”
“Because you two are my ancestors. I couldn’t memorize the Foundation’s records on all the Howards of today but I did study the files on my own ancestors, ones I might have a chance to meet. You. Brian. Brian’s parents in Cincinnati. And I figured out that Brian must have met you because he had attended Rolla, then found you on a Missouri list of eligibles—not the Ohio list—that the Foundation gave him. That’s certainly something I didn’t learn from you or Brian or Ira, and your children probably don’t know it. Well, perhaps Nancy does; she’s filled out her own questionnaire. Hasn’t she?”
“Why, yes, months ago. Then it is true, Theodore. Or should I call you ‘Lazarus’?”
“Call me anything you like, darling. But I still haven’t proved anything. Just that I have had access to the Foundation’s files-which might have been last year, not in the future. We’re still looking for proof. Mmm . . I know a proof for a few months from now—but I must make you believe me tonight. So you will have no more tears on your pillow. And I don’t know how.”
Time Enough for Love Page 67