Time Enough for Love

  He caressed her warm, smooth skin; she eased her thighs and invited more. “I guess it is funny,” he admitted. “Two full-grown adults outflanked by a six-year-old.”

  “Only five, Theodore. Not six until November.” She squeezed his hand between plump thighs, then relaxed. “How well I remember. Biggest baby I’ve had, eight pounds . . and more trouble than all the rest put together, and always a scamp and always my favorite and I try never to let it show—and you must not tell on me—that Woodrow is my favorite, I mean; I’m not afraid of your telling anything else. I know my reputation is safe with you.”

  “It is.”

  “I knew it or would never have plotted to take you out there. But ‘reputation’ is all it is; you now know what a hussy I am under my mask. But I cultivate a good reputation most carefully . . for my children. For my husband.”

  “You said ‘plotted.’ ”

  “Weren’t you sure of it? I knew at once, when I learned how short your time is, that I had exactly one chance to get you alone and make you realize that I want you to come back with your shield, not on it. There is only one way for a woman to tell a warrior that. So I enlisted Father’s help to get you away from my swarm of children.” She chuckled again. “But the worst scamp I have ruined my carefully plotted plans. For he has, dear one—I don’t dare risk it at home. I’ll always regret that we didn’t succeed . . and I hope you will, too.”

  “Oh, I will, I do! You put Mr. Johnson up to suggesting this ride? Won’t he suspect?”

  “I’m sure he does. And disapproves. Of me, Theodore—not of you. But my reputation is as safe in his hands as in yours. Want to hear a sidesplitting joke? One that will make us laugh so hard that we’ll forget how frustrated we are.”

  “I’ll laugh if you do.”

  “Did you wonder how I knew the perfect place? Because I have been there before, Theodore, for the same purpose. But that’s not the joke; this is: That rascal in the back seat was conceived there—on the very spot I was going to have you place me.”

  Lazarus thought a split second, then guffawed. “You’re sure?”

  “Utterly certain, sir. Ten feet from where you stopped. By that biggest black-walnut tree. I planned to have you place me on the same spot. I’m sentimental, Theodore; I wanted you to have me right where I conceived my favorite child. And the little imp stopped me! After I had become quite excited thinking about doing it with you on the very spot.”

  Lazarus thought a long moment—decided that he did want to know. “Who was he, Maureen?”

  “What? Oh! I suppose I invited that so I shan’t resent it. Theodore, I’m scarlet but not that scarlet. My husband, dear —all my children are his, no possibility of error. You have seen Brian only as an officer—but in private my husband is quite playful. So much so that I never wear bloomers when I go joyriding with him.

  “It was February eighteenth, a Sunday, one I’ll never forget. I kept a hired girl then; Nancy was too young to leave with the younger ones, and Brian was on the road, traveling, and wanted me to be ready for anything when he was in town, and he had just bought his first automobile.

  “That Sunday was one of those false-spring days, and Brian decided to take me joyriding. Just me. He had established a firm rule that some occasions were for all our family, some were just for Mama and Papa—a good policy in a large family, we think. So we got to that lovely picnic spot, pretty even in winter, and the ground was dry. We sat and lallygagged, and he had his hand where yours is—and he told me to take my clothes off.”

  “In February?”

  “I didn’t protest. It was at least sixty and no wind—but I would in much colder weather if my husband asked me to. So I did—all but shoes and stockings, and I looked like one of those French postcards you men buy in cigar stores. I didn’t feel cold, I felt grand—I like to feel naughty, and Brian encourages me to, in private. He put down the back seat cushion —on that spot—and put a blanket on it. And had me. And that’s when I got Woodrow. It had to be then because Brian was home just one day and that was the only time. Quite unusual, we usually squeeze in more loving, we enjoy it so.” She chuckled. “When we were sure, Brian teased me about the iceman and the milkman and the postman—or was it the grocery boy? I teased right back that it could have been any of them—but the woodman got there first . . in the woods. Right here, dear one; I won’t be but a moment.”

  They all went in, as Woodie woke up (if he had slept; Lazarus had dark doubts—then reviewed it in his mind and decided that Maureen had been careful both in voice and phrasing). Lazarus bought the little boy an ice-cream cone to keep him quiet and sat him at the fountain, then moved to the other end and listened to her telephone call; he wanted to know what lies he must back up.

  “Carol? Mama, dear. Have you counted our zoo lately? . . Stop worrying; the scamp hid in the back seat, and we didn’t know it until we were almost to Electric Park. . . . . . Yes, dear, Electric Park and I’m feeling very gay. I’m going to keep Woodrow with us and not let the imp spoil our fun . . . Earlier than I want to; Woodrow will be sleepy too soon to suit Mama; I want to ride every ride and win at least a Kewpie doll at the booths . . . Yes, as long as Marie is in bed on time. Make fudge for the boys—no, not fudge; we must watch the sugar ration. Make popcorn, and tell them I’m sorry they were worried. Then you older ones may stay up and say good-night to Uncle Ted. Good-bye, dear.”

  She thanked the druggist with smiling dignity, took Woodie’s hand and left unhurriedly. But the moment Lazarus had the car rolling, she took his right hand and restored it to warm intimacy of bare thighs. “Any trouble?” he asked, caressing her silken skin.

  “None. They had been engaged in a bloodthirsty game of Flin h and didn’t miss him until it was time to put him to bed, only minutes before I called. Then they were worried, but not yet frantic; my little demon has hidden on us before. Theodore, Electric Park is an expense you did not expect. Will you put aside your pride and let me help?”

  “I would if I needed help: I don’t have that sort of useless pride. But I have plenty of money, truly. If I run short, I’ll tell you.” (Beloved darling, I’ve been teaching optimists not to draw to inside straights, and I wish I could spend every cent of it on emeralds to set off your beautiful skin. But your pride makes that impossible.)

  “Theodore, not only do I love you, you are a most comfortable person to be with.”

  Taking Woodie and his mother to Electric Park turned, out to be more fun than Lazarus expected. He had nothing against amusement parks and was willing to be anywhere with Maureen—except that this time he expected to put up with restless frustration, in public where he must treat her as “Mrs. Smith,” after being in warmest privacy—then disappointed.

  But she taught him a lesson in how to enjoy the inevitable.

  He learned that Maureen could be unblushingly intimate despite people all around them and still maintain her smiling, regal, public dignity. She did it by keeping her persona always intact—happy young matron with boy child clutching her hand, both enjoying an evening of innocent fun as guests of “Cousin” Theodore, “Uncle” Ted—while she found endless chances to continue her gaily bawdy conversation. Maureen did it not in whispers but in ordinary tones pitched to reach Lazarus’ ears only, or sometimes to Lazarus and Woodie but so phrased that the child would neither understand nor be interested.

  Once she gently chided Lazarus. “Smile, beloved man. Let your face show that you are where you want to be, doing what you want to do. There, that’s better. Now hold that expression and tell me why you were looking glum.”

  He grinned at her. “Because I’m frustrated, Maureen. Because I’m not in a certain spot by a big walnut tree.”

  She chuckled as if he had said something witty. “Alone?”

  “Heavens, no! With you.”

  “Not so vehemently, Theodore. You are not courting me; you are my cousin who is wasting part of your precious leave by treating me and my child to an evening of fun . . when you had hoped tha
t I would find you a young lady who would turn out to be not at all ladylike when you took her to a dark place near a big walnut tree. You’re a good sport about it—but not so enthusiastic as to cause Mrs. Grundy to raise her eyebrow . . and there comes Mrs. Grundy now. Mrs. Simpson! And Mr. Simpson. How nice to run across you! Lauretta, may I present my dear cousin Staff Sergeant Bronson? And Mr. Simpson, Theodore.” Maureen added, “Or perhaps you have met? At church? Before war was declared?”

  Mrs. Simpson looked him over, counted the money in his wallet, checked his underwear, inspected his shave and haircut —assigned him a barely passing mark. “You belong to our church, Mr. Johnson?”

  “ ‘Bronson,’ Lauretta. Theodore Bronson, Father’s eldest sister’s son.”

  “Either way,” Mr. Simpson said heartily, “it’s a pleasure to shake hands with one of ‘Our Boys.’ Where are you stationed, Sergeant?”

  “Camp Funston, sir. Mrs. Simpson, I was a visitor to your church; my membership is in Springfield.”

  Maureen stopped their questions by asking Lazarus to fetch Woodie from the miniature railroad train, just returning to its ticket-booth depot. “Pull him like a cork, Theodore; three rides is enough. Lauretta, I didn’t see you at Red Cross last week. May we count on you this week?”

  Lazarus returned with Woodie in time for Mr. Simpson to wave and call out, “Good luck, Sergeant!” as the Simpsons moved on. The trio went next to the pony ride, got Woodie astraddle one; Mrs. Smith and Lazarus sat on a bench, enjoyed more very private talk while very much in the public eye. “Maureen, you stole that base beautifully.”

  “No problem, dear one. I knew someone would see us, so I was ready. I’m pleased that it was the nastiest old gossip in our church; I made sure she didn’t miss us. Pillars of the church and war profiteers; I despise them. So I pulled her fangs and let’s forget them. You were telling me about a certain dark spot. How was I dressed?”

  “Like a French postcard!”

  “Why, Sergeant Bronson!—and me a respectable woman. Or almost. Surely you don’t think I would dare be that shameless?”

  “Maureen, I’m not sure what you would dare. You have startled—and delighted me—several times. I think you have the courage to do anything you want to do.”

  “Possibly, Theodore, but I have limits on what I will do, no matter how much I want to. Do you want to know my limits?”

  “If you want me to know, you’ll tell me. If you don’t, you won’t.”

  “I want you to know, beloved Theodore. I would like to strip naked this very moment. I refrain only for practical reasons—not moral ones and not shyness; I want to give you my body, let you enjoy it any way you please—while I enjoy yours. There are no limits to what I want to do with you . . but only to what I will do.

  “First”—she ticked them off—“I will not risk becoming pregnant by any man but Brian. Second, I will not knowingly risk the well-being of my husband and children.”

  “Weren’t you risking that tonight?”

  “Was I, Theodore?”

  Lazarus thought about it. Pregnancy? Not a factor. Disease? She apparently trusted him on that—and Yes, darling, you are right. I don’t know why you hold that opinion of me, but you’re right. What does that leave? A chance of scandal if we had been caught. How much chance? Very little; it’s as safe a spot as one could wish. Cops? Lazarus doubted that police ever checked that spot—and doubted still more strongly that a policeman, in the present war fever, would tell a soldier in uniform more than “Break it up and move on.”

  “No, my darling, you took no risks. Uh, if I had asked you to undress completely, would you have done so?”

  Her laugh rang like chimes. Then she answered in her controlled pitch more private than a whisper. “I thought about that while I was taking a quick bath to make myself sweet for you, Theodore. It was a delightfully tempting idea; Brian has had me do so outdoors oftener than that once. It excites me, and he says that makes me more fun for him. But that’s a risk he chooses to take, so it worries me not at all—with him. But I did not think it fair to him to take that risk on my own. So I firmly resolved, with my nipples crinkled up as hard as you felt them—hard as they are now; I’m terribly excited—I resolved not only not to undress but not to let you do so. Dear, will you go pay for another pony ride? Or fetch him if he’s tired of that?”

  Lazarus found that Woodie wanted another ride. He paid and went back to the bench, found Maureen staring down a lonely soldier. Lazarus touched his sleeve. “On your way, Private.”

  The soldier looked around, ready to argue—looked again and said, “Oh. Sorry, Sergeant. No offense meant.”

  “And none taken. Better luck elsewhere.”

  Maureen said, “I hate to snub a boy in uniform, even when I must. He wasn’t fresh to me, Theodore—he was just exploring the chances. I must be twice his age and was tempted to tell him so. But it would have hurt his feelings.”

  “The trouble is that you look eighteen, so they’re certain to try.”

  “Darling, I do not look eighteen. Me with a daughter over seventeen? If Nancy marries her young man before he goes to war—she wants to, and Brian and I won’t stop it—I’ll be a grandmother this coming year.”

  “Hi, Grandmaw.”

  “Tease. I will enjoy being a grandmother.”

  “I’m certain you will, dear; I think you have great capacity for enjoying life.” (As I do, Mama!—and now I feel sure I got it both from you and Pop.)

  “I do, Theodore.” She smiled. “Even when frustrated. Very.”

  “Me, too—very. But we were talking about how old you look. Eighteen, that is.”

  “Pooh. You noticed how broken down and baby-chewed my breasts are.”

  “I noticed nothing of the sort.”

  “Then you have no sense of touch, sir . . for you handled them quite thoroughly.”

  “Excellent sense of touch. Lovely breasts.”

  “Theodore, I try to take care of them. But they’ve been filled with milk much of the past eighteen years. That one”she nodded toward the pony ring—“I didn’t have enough milk for and had to put him on Eagle Brand, and he resented it. When I had Richard two years later, Woodrow tried to crowd out the new baby and take my freshened breasts. I had to be firm—when what I wanted was to have one at each breast. But one must be fair to children, not spoil one at the expense of another.” She smiled indulgently. “I have no sense about Woodrow, so I must follow my rules to the letter. Come back in a year, Theodore, and they won’t seem so broken down. They swell out and make me look like a cow.”

  “Will you make it worth my while?”

  “By a walnut tree? Probably no chance, dear one. I’m afraid my scamp killed our one chance.”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t take that much to make it worthwhile. I was thinking of a taste—direct from producer to consumer.” (Mama Maureen, as Galahad says and I’ve never argued, I’m the most tit-happy man in the Galaxy . . and I’m staring at the spot where I acquired the habit. I wish I could tell you so. Darling. )

  She looked startled, snorted, and looked delighted. “That might be almost as hard to arrange as a walnut tree. But—Yes if it can be done without shocking my children. You are a scamp, too—just like Woodrow. I know I would enjoy it. Because—this is secret, dear—Brian has tasted each new freshening. Claims solemnly that he’s checking quality and butterfat content.”

  (Pop, you’re a man of good taste!) “Does he ever find that one has a taste different from the other?”

  She chuckled happily. “Dear one, you have so many playful quirks just like my husband that you make me feel bigamous. He claims so, but it’s just more of his joking. I can’t tell any difference—and I’ve tasted.”

  “Madam, I look forward to giving you an expert’s opinion. I think our cowboy has worn out his pony. What next? Want to try the Ben Hur Racer?”

  She shook her head. “I enjoy roller coasters but won’t go on one now. I’ve never miscarried, Theodore, and never will if bei
ng careful will keep me from it. Take Woodrow if you like.”

  “No. You would have to wait—and these woods are filled with wolves in khaki anxious to pick up eighteen-year-old grandmothers. The Fun House?”

  “All right.” Then her mouth twitched. “No, I forgot something. Those blasts of air up from the floor—intended to make girls squeal and clutch their skirts. Which I don’t mind but—no bloomers, dear. Unless you want everyone to see whether or not I’m truly a redhead.”

  “Are you?”

  She smiled, unoffended. “Tease. Don’t you know?”

  “It was very dark near that walnut tree.”

  “Redhead at both ends, Theodore. As I would happily show you were it not for the—frustrating—circumstances. Brian asked me that while we were courting. Teasing, he didn’t need to ask; I was covered with freckles then, just like Marie. I let him find out for himself on a grassy spot by the Marais des Cygnes River while a gentle old mare named ‘Daisy’ cropped grass and paid no attention to my happy squeals. I suppose the automobile is here to stay—but the horse-and-buggy had many advantages. Didn’t you find it so? When you started stepping out with young ladies?”

  Lazarus agreed with a straight face, unable to admit that his memories did not include 1899 or whatever year she was thinking of. Maureen went on, “I used to fix a picnic lunch and take a blanket to eat on. That was one way a girl of courting age could be unchaperoned as long as I was home before dark. A horse can take a buggy into spots even, more private than our walnut tree. Truthfully, despite this modern talk about ‘wild women’ and morals breaking down, I had more freedom as a girl than my daughters do. Although I try not to make my chaperonage oppressive.”

  “They don’t seem oppressed. I’m sure they’re happy.”

  “Theodore, I would much rather have my children be happy than what our pastor says is ‘moral.’ I simply want to be sure they aren’t hurt. I am not ‘moral’ by the accepted rules—as you know quite well. Though not as well as I had hoped you would know it, and I’m taking out my frustration in talking about it. Perhaps you would rather I did not?”