“So your fare is a dollar; I don’t take no tips from a man about to go over—I got a boy ‘Over There.’ Le’me talk to that clerk.”
Ten minutes later Lazarus was luxuriating in the first tub bath he had had since April 6, 1917. Then he slept three hours. When his inner alarm woke him, he dressed in clean clothes from skin out, his best uniform—the breeches he had retailored for a smarter peg at the knee. He went down to the lobby and telephoned his family’s home.
Carol answered and squealed. “Oh! Mama, it’s Uncle Ted!”
Maureen Smith’s voice was serenely warm. “Where are you, Sergeant Theodore? Brian Junior wants to go fetch you home.”
“Please tell him thanks, Mrs. Smith, but I’m in a hotel at the Thirty-first Street car line; I’ll be there before he could get here—if I’m welcome.”
“ ‘Welcome’? What a way for our adopted soldier to talk. You don’t belong in a hotel; you must stay here. Brian—my husband, I mean, the Captain—told us to expect you and that you were to stay with us. Did he not tell you so?”
“Ma’am, I’ve seen the Captain just once, three weeks ago. So far as I know, he doesn’t know I’m on leave.” Lazarus added, “I don’t want to put you out.”
“Pish and tush, Sergeant Theodore, let’s have no more of that. At the beginning of the war we changed the maid’s room downstairs—my sewing room, where you played chess with Woodrow—into a guest room, so that the Captain could bring a brother officer home on a weekend. Must I tell my husband that you refused to sleep there?”
(Maureen my love, that’s putting the cat too close to the canary! I won’t sleep; I’ll lie awake thinking about you upstairs—surrounded by kids and Gramp.) “Mrs. Captain generous hostess ma’am, I’ll be utterly delighted to sleep in your sewing room.”
“That’s better, Sergeant. For a moment I thought Mama was going to have to spank.”
Brian Junior was waiting at the Benton car stop, with George as footman, and with Carol and Marie in the back seat. George grabbed the grip and took charge of it; Marie shrilled, “My, doesn’t Uncle Ted look pretty!” and Carol corrected her:
“Handsome, Marie. Soldiers look handsome and smart, not ‘pretty.’ Isn’t that right, Uncle Ted?”
Lazarus picked the smaller girl up by her elbows and kissed her cheek, set her down. “Technically correct, Carol—but ‘pretty’ suits me just fine if Marie thinks I am. Quite a welcoming committee—do I run along behind?”
“You sit in the tonneau with the girls,” Brian Junior ruled. “But look at this first!” He pointed. “A foot throttle! Isn’t that bully?”
Lazarus agreed, then took a few moments to inspect the ear—in better shape than he had left it, shining and clean from spokes to top and with several new items besides the foot accelerator: a dressy radiator cap, rubber nonskids for the pedals, a tire holder on the rear with a patent-leather cover for a spare tire, a robe rail in the rear compartment with a lap robe folded neatly, and—finishing touch—a cut-glass bud vase with a single rose. “Is the engine kept as beautifully as the rest?”
George opened the hood. Lazarus looked and nodded approvingly. “It could take a white-glove inspection.”
“That’s exactly what Grandpa gives it,” Brian declared. “He says if we don’t take care of it, we can’t use it.”
“You do take care of it.”
Lazarus arrived in royal splendor, one arm around a big little girl, the other around a small little girl. Gramp was waiting on the front porch, came down the walk to meet him, and Lazarus suddenly revised his mental image: The old soldier was in uniform and seemed a foot taller and ramrod straight—ribbons on his chest, chevrons on his sleeves, puttees most carefully rolled, campaign hat perched high and turned up slightly behind.
As Lazarus turned from handing Carol out, Marie having danced ahead, Gramp paused and threw Lazarus a sweeping Throckmartin salute. “Welcome home, Sergeant!”
Lazarus returned it as flamboyantly. “Thank you, Sergeant; I’m glad to be here.” He added, “Mr. Johnson, you didn’t tell me you were a supply sergeant.”
“Somebody has to count the socks. I agreed to take—”
The rest was lost to Woodie’s explosive arrival. “Hey, Uncle Sergeant! You’re going to play chess with me!”
“Sure, Sport,” Lazarus agreed, his attention distracted by two other things: Mrs. Smith at the open door, and a service flag in the parlor window. Three stars—Three?
Then Gramp was urging him in with something about this being a drill night so supper would be early. Nancy kissed him, openly and without glancing first for her mother’s approval—then Dickie had to be picked up and kissed, and Baby Ethel (walking!), and at last Maureen gave him her slender hand, drew him to her, and brushed his cheek with her lips. “Sergeant Theodore . . it is so good to have you home.”
Supper was a noisy, well-run circus, with Gramp presiding in lieu of his son-in-law, while his daughter ran things with serene dignity from the other end and did not get up once Lazarus placed her chair under her and took his seat of honor on her right. Her three oldest daughters did all that was necessary. Ethel sat in a highchair on her mother’s left with George helping her—Lazarus learned that this duty rotated among the five eldest.
It was a lavish meal for wartime, with hot, golden cornbread replacing white bread, this being a wheatless day—and firmest discipline (administered by Nancy and Brian Junior) required that every morsel accepted must be eaten, with admonitions about hungry Belgians. Lazarus did not care what he ate but remembered to compliment the cooks (three), and tried to answer all that was said to him—nearly impossible as Brian and George wanted to tell about their troop’s drive to collect walnut shells and peach pits and how many it took for each gas mask, and Marie had to be allowed to boast that she could knit just as well as George could and she did not either drop stitches!—and how many squares it took to make a blanket, while Gramp wanted to talk shop with Lazarus and had to be stern to get a word in edgewise.
Maureen Smith seemed to find it unnecessary to talk. She smiled and looked happy, but it seemed to Lazarus that there was tension under her self-control—the ages-old strain of Penelope. (For me, darling? No, of course not. I wish I could tell you that Pop will come back, unharmed. But how could I make you believe that I know? You’re going to have to sweat it out the way Penelope did. I’m sorry, my love.) “Excuse me, Carol—I missed that.”
“I said it’s perfectly horrid that you have to go back so soon! When you’re just about to go ‘Over There.’ ”
“But it’s quite a lot, Carol, in wartime. It’s just that getting here and getting back eats up so much time. I’m not entitled to special privileges; I don’t know that I am about to ship out.”
There was silence around the table, and the older boys exchanged glances.
Ira Johnson broke it by saying gently, “Sergeant, the children know what a pass in the middle of the week means. But they don’t talk; they are disciplined. My son-in-law decided—wisely, I think—not to keep things from them unnecessarily.”
“But, Grandpa, when Papa has leave, he doesn’t go back next day. It’s not fair.”
“That’s because,” Brian Junior said wisely, “Papa usually rides with Captain Bozell in that big ol’ Marmon Six and they burn up the road. Staff Sergeant Uncle Ted, I could drive you back to camp. Then you wouldn’t have to leave till late tomorrow night.”
“Thank you, Brian—but I don’t think we’d better. If I catch the train we call the ‘Reveille Special’ tomorrow evening, I’m safe even if the train is a bit late, and this is one time I’m not going to risk being over leave.”
“I agree with Sergeant Bronson,” Gramp added, “and that settles it, Brian. Ted can’t risk being late. I see that I had better move along, too. Daughter, if I may be excused?”
“Certainly, Father.”
“Sergeant Johnson, may I drive you to your parade ground? Or wherever it is?”
“To the Armory. No, no, Ted, my captain picks me up
and brings me home; he and I go early and stay late. Mrrph. Why don’t you take Maureen for a spin? She hasn’t been out of the house for a week; she’s getting pale.”
“Mrs. Smith? I’d be honored.”
“We’ll all go!”
“George,” his grandfather said firmly, “the idea is to give your mother an hour free of the pressure and noise of children.”
“Sergeant Ted promised to play chess with me!”
“Woodie, I heard what he said. He did not set a time . . and he’ll be here tomorrow.”
“And he promised to take me to Electric Park a long, long, long time ago, and he never did!”
“Woodie, I’m sorry about that,” Lazarus answered, “but the war came along before the park opened. We may have to wait until the war is over.”
“But you said—”
“Woodrow,” his mother said firmly, “stop that. This is Sergeant Theodore’s leave, not yours.”
“And get that sulky look off your face,” added his grandfather, “before we form a regimental square and have you flogged around the flagpole. Nancy? Charge-of-quarters, dear.”
“But—” The oldest girl shut up.
“Father, Nancy’s young man is about to reach his birthday and is not going to wait to be drafted, I think I told you. So some of the young people are giving him a surprise party tonight.”
“Oh, yes—slipped my mind. Fine young man, Ted; you would approve of him. Correction, Nancy; you’re off duty. Carol?”
“Carol and I can take care of anything,” Brian answered. “Can’t we, Carol? My night to wash, Marie wipes, George’s turn to put away. Bedtimes by the schedules, emergency telephone numbers on the blackboard—we know the standing orders.”
“May I be excused, too, then?” said Nancy. “Staff Sergeant Ted—you will be here tomorrow. Won’t you?”
Lazarus went out to the curb to meet Gramp’s militia captain. When he came in, Maureen had gone upstairs. He grabbed the chance to freshen up in the bath off the quondam sewing room. Fifteen minutes later he was handing Mrs. Smith into the front seat of the landaulet, himself dizzied by her wonderful fragrance. Had she managed to bathe again in twenty minutes or so? It seemed like it; she had certainly changed clothes. These wartime styles were startling; as he handed her in Lazarus caught a glimpse not only of trim ankle but quite a lot of shapely calf. He was shaken by the thrill it gave him.
How long would this dress cycle last? While he cranked the car, he tried to quiet himself by thinking about it. Corsets disappeared right after this war, and skirts went up and up all during the Torrid Twenties, the “Jazz Age.” Then women’s styles varied all through this century but with a steady trend toward letting men see more and more of “what they were fighting for.” But social nudity, even in swimming, did not become really common until the end of the century, so he seemed to recall. Then a puritan reaction the following century—a horrid time he had fled from.
What would Maureen think if he tried to tell her any of it?
The engine caught; he got in beside her. “Where would you like to go, Mrs. Smith?”
“Oh, out south. Somewhere quiet.”
“South it is.” Lazarus glanced at the setting sun, turned on his headlights. He made a U-turn and headed south.
“But my name is not ‘Mrs. Smith’, Theodore . . when we are alone.”
“Thank you . . Maureen.” Straight out to Thirty-ninththen over to the Paseo? Or Prospect and out as far as Swope Park? Would she let him take her that far? Oh, for a thousand miles of open road and Maureen beside me!
“I like the way you say my name, Theodore. Do you remember where you took the children for a picnic not long before the war started?”
“Near the Blue River. You want to go there, Maureen?”
“Yes. If you don’t remember the way, I can guide you; I suggested it for that picnic.”
“We’ll find it.”
“It need not be that spot . . but somewhere quiet—and private. Where you need not give your attention to driving.”
(Hey! Maureen, my darling, you don’t want us to be too private—I might shock you dreadfully. Private enough for a good-bye kiss—fine! Then let’s deliver you home safe and sound. You are this century, my sweet! I’d rather have one kiss—and your love and respect—than entice you into more and have you think of me with regret. I decided that many months ago. You darling.)
“I should turn here?”
“Yes. Theodore, Brian Junior said that the new throttle he installed made it possible to drive with one hand.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Then do drive with one hand. Is that plain enough, or must I be still more bold?”
Cautiously he put his arm across her shoulders. She promptly reached up, took his hand, pulled it down, and pressed it to her breast, saying quietly, “We haven’t time to be shy, dear Theodore. Don’t be afraid to touch me.”
Firm-soft breast. Nipple erect to his touch. She shivered and got closer to him, again pressed her hand to his and gave a tiny moan. Lazarus said huskily, “I love you, Maureen.”
She answered, just loud enough to be heard by him over the engine noise. “We have loved each other since the night we met. We simply could not say so.”
“Yes. I didn’t dare tell you.”
“You would never have told me, Theodore. So I had to be bold and let you know that I feel it, too.” She added, “The turn is just ahead, I think.”
“I think so too. I’ll need both hands to drive that lane.”
“Yes,” she agreed, surrendering his arm, “but only till we get there. Then I want both your arms . . and all your attention.”
“Yes!” He drove in carefully, avoiding ruts, until the lane widened into the level grassy spot he remembered. There he turned the car full circle, in part to head it out but primarily to see that no one else was there. His headlights picked up nothing but grass and trees-good! (Or was it good? Oh, my darling, do you know what you are doing?)
He switched off the lights, stopped the engine, set the hand brake. Maureen came right into his arms; her mouth sought his, opened wide to him. For long moments they needed no words; her mouth, her hands were as eager as his and even bolder, urging him on.
Presently she chuckled happily against his lips and whispered, “Surprised? But I can’t say a proper good-bye to my warrior with bloomers on . . so I took them off when I went upstairs, and my corset, too. Don’t hold back, dear one; you can’t harm me-I’m expecting.”
“What did you say?”
“Theodore, must I always be the one with bold words and bold actions? I am pregnant, seven weeks now. Certain.”
“Oh.” He added thoughtfully, “This seat is narrow.”
“I hear that the young people sometimes take the back seat out and put it on the ground. Or do chiggers worry you? Audacity, darling, a warrior must be audacious—so says my father, and my husband agrees. There is a lap rug back there, too.”
(Maureen, my love, there is no doubt where I got my own audacity—or my ruttiness. From you, darling.) “If you’ll let go of me, I’ll get them out. I’m not afraid of chiggers—nor of the loveliest woman I’ve ever held in my arms. I just have trouble believing it.”
“I’ll help!”
She was out of the car without waiting; he slid across the seat and followed her. She opened the tonneau door—and stopped. Then she said loudly and happily, “Woodrow, you’re a scamp! Sergeant Theodore! See who is sleeping in the back seat!” As she spoke, she fumbled behind her, trying to reach buttons of his that she had unbuttoned. Lazarus quickly took over the task.
“Sergeant Ted promised to take me to Electric Park!”
“That’s where we’re going, darling; we’re almost there. Now tell Mama—Shall we take you home and put you to bed? Or are you big enough to stay awake and go to Electric Park?”
“Yes, Sport,” Lazarus agreed. “Home? Or Electric Park?” (Maureen, did Gramp teach you to lie? Or is it genius? I not only love you
, I admire you. Pershing should have you on his staff.) He hastily refastened buttons at the back of her dress.
“Huh? Electric Park!”
“Then settle back down and we’ll have you there in no time.”
“I want to ride in front!”
“Sport, you can ride in back to Electric Park. Or ride in back till we get you home and into bed. I won’t drive with three in the front seat.”
“Brian does!”
“Let’s go home, Mrs. Smith. Woodie doesn’t know who’s driving this car—he must be quite sleepy.”
“I am not either! I had a nap. All right, I’ll ride in back—to Electric Park.”
“Mrs. Smith?”
“We’ll go to Electric Park, Sergeant Theodore. If Woodrow will lie down and try to get another nap.”
Woodie promptly lay down; they closed him in and Lazarus got them out of there. Once there was enough engine noise to blanket her words, she said, “I must telephone. Back where we turned off, you’ll find a drugstore farther along—that’s on our way to Electric Park.”
“Right away. How much do you think he heard?”
“I think he was asleep until I opened the door. But nothing of importance if he was not and would understand less. Don’t worry, Theodore—audacity, always audacity.”
“Maureen, you should be a soldier. A general.”
“I would rather be loved by soldiers . . and I am, and it makes me wonderfully happy. Now you can drive with one hand again.”
“That’s just glass, he can see us.”
“Theodore, you can touch me without putting an arm around me. I shall sit up straight and pretend to ignore whatever you find to do. But-I I am a very frustrated woman—and I want to be touched. By you.” She chuckled. “Aren’t we a pair of ninnies?”
“I suppose so. But I’m not laughing.” Lazarus squeezed her thigh. “I’m too frustrated.”
“Oh, but you must laugh, Theodore.” She pulled up her skirt, moved his hand onto bare thigh above round garters. “When you have as many children as I have, you must laugh. Or go crazy.” She pushed her skirt down over his hand.
Time Enough for Love Page 65
