All in Good Time

by Edward Ormondroyd

  “All right, I’ll take your word for that part of it. But the rest —!”

  “I know it sounds crazy. But after I did a little checking up, I decided that I believed it, anyway — maybe because my taste runs to that sort of thing. The clincher was when you asked me over to see the new Historical Association headquarters, and I saw that old photograph on the wall. I knew it was true then. I mean, there they all are! It’s obvious that everything turned out the way Susan hoped it would.”

  “Are you absolutely sure that those are the people you think they are?”

  “Well, I’m sure about Susan.”

  “Mmm …”

  “You’re an awful skeptic, Charles. Well, nuts to you. I’ve given you the explanation you asked for. Now may I have that book?”

  He made no move to hand it over. “You know, I thought you were going to pass out when you looked into this book. Now tell me what that was about, and it’s yours.”

  “Oh, all right. I’m finding it a little hard to believe this part myself … Well, when Mr. Bodoni saw the Shaws getting on the elevator he noticed that they were both carrying something. Mr. Shaw was carrying a black cat — Toby, the Walkers’ cat, who’d come to the twentieth century by mistake with Susan. And Susan was carrying — brace yourself again, Charles — Susan was carrying a diary. A blue leather book. The book you’re holding right now.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “I know, I know! But just read the first sentence will you?”

  He read aloud, “ ‘Daddy and I went up the elevator last night.’ ” His voice trailed off on the word “night,” and he let out a long whistle.

  “See what I mean? Now may I have it?”

  “Incredible …” he murmured. “Yes, you may have it. Just one more favor, though? Will you read it here so I can read along with you?”

  2. Mr. Shaw at the Top

  Daddy and I went up the elevator last night. Poor Daddy — he was in a state. We’d had a terrible day. Everybody kept interrupting, and he tried to get an appointment for me without any luck, he was embarrassed by his costume, and when we finally got there …

  “Hallucinations,” Mr. Shaw said into the telephone. “She thinks she’s gone into the past, and she says she wants to go back again and take me with her. — No. First time anything like this has happened. — No, she’s acting normally otherwise. — Well, she looks — she looks happy.”

  “I am happy,” Susan said.

  “Thursday!” Mr. Shaw went on. “No, I’m sorry, it really has to be sooner than that. — Oh.” He banged down the receiver, wiped his hand over his face, and burst out, “What’s the matter with these quacks, anyway? Just because I can’t tell ’em that you’re rigid as a board and foaming at the mouth, they won’t take me seriously. ‘Nothing to be alarmed about,’ he says, ‘I can see you Thursday.’ ”

  “I can’t wait till Thursday, Daddy.”

  “We’re seeing somebody today, or Monday afternoon at the latest. Let’s see, who’s next?” He ran his finger down a column in the telephone directory.

  She wanted to say, “We won’t be here Monday,” but she refrained. He was doing what he felt he had to do, and once an appointment was be made he would feel better. The main thing was that he had agreed to go up the elevator with her to meet Mrs. Walker. She had agreed, as her side of the bargain, to see a psychiatrist. Maybe it was unfair of her to make such a promise, knowing that she would never have to keep it.

  Oh, dear, he was slamming down the receiver again …

  “Daddy, why don’t we have some lunch now, and then you can try again when you’re a little more calm?”

  But he was already dialing the next number. ‘Please,’ she prayed, ‘let it be somebody who isn’t busy.’ She had to get her father calmed down soon, because there was still the matter of his costume to take care of. She was all set with the dress and shoes Victoria had lent her, but he had nothing. It was unthinkable that they introduce him to Mrs. Walker in his twentieth-century business suit, or the grey chinos that he had on now. He had agreed under duress to wear a costume, but she knew it was going to be difficult to get him right down to it; and they had to go buy one before the stores closed.

  The doorbell rang. “… hallucinations,” Mr. Shaw was saying into the telephone for the twentieth time. He motioned toward the door with his eyes. She didn’t want to open it. The bell rang again before her reluctant hand turned the knob.

  It was the man who had started to pester her with questions that morning the minute she had stepped out of the elevator.

  “Hello, Susan,” he said. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Oh … all right,” she answered, not stepping aside to let him in.

  He pushed in anyway. “Susan,” he said, “let’s sit down and have a little heart-to-heart talk, shall we? My name is Mr. Haugen. I’m a detective.”

  Oh, good grief … “I’m all right,” she said. “Nothing happened to me. Really.”

  Her father put down the receiver and said, “Another quack trying to tell me everything can wait. Hello, Mr. Haugen.”

  “Hello, Mr. Shaw. Susan and I were just going to get it all straightened out, now that she’s feeling better.”

  The doorbell rang. It was the couple from next door, the ones who always turned on their television set to full blast the first thing in the morning. Ugh! Their tongues were practically hanging down to their waistlines with curiosity. Oh yes, she was fine, everything was all right, she’s just been staying with friends, there’d been a little mix-up, pardon me, busy right now. She shut the door on their gleaming eyes.

  “You can be perfectly frank with me, Susan,” Detective Haugen said. He wasn’t going to believe the truth any more that her father did … It was time to put on an act. She made her chin tremble, and said in a wavering voice, “Can I talk about it — later?”

  “She’s still kind of distraught,” her father said.

  The doorbell rang. Mr. Shaw grabbed his hair and pulled it. “I’ll drop by later,” Detective Haugen said, easing himself out the door. “Oops! Pardon me, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Clutchett came down on them like a tornado.

  “Merciful heavens, what’re you doing up, child? You ought to be in bed with a nice hot cup of cocoa. And limping — still limping! D’you mean to say she hasn’t been taken to the doctor yet, Mr. Shaw? Why, goodness, don’t try to tell me it isn’t anything, missy! Believe you me, you neglect something like that and the first thing you know complications can set in! And you, sir, standing around like a bump on a log or I don’t-know-what while this poor motherless child wastes away from neglect and misunderstanding!” She emphasized the word “motherless” with a little shake of her head. “Well, Mr. Shaw, I don’t care if heaven itself falls, I will speak my mind concerning a subject of which you know very well what I’m speaking about. Not that I don’t respect your feelings, but things have come to the point of no return, as they say, so if you will be so kind as to give me a few minutes of your valuable time — alone.”

  He threw one agonized look over his shoulder at Susan before Mrs. Clutchett swept him into the kitchen and shut the door.

  ‘Trying to talk him into marrying someone again,’ Susan thought. ‘Poor daddy … and I’m doing the same thing. But I won’t have to do any talking, he’ll just look at Mrs. Walker and she’ll look at him — and pow! Good grief, look at the time! I’m going to have to get his costume myself, or we’ll never make it … Oh, and a diary! Vicky’s diary was so much fun …’

  She scribbled a note: “Dear Daddy, I haven’t disappeared again, I just have to buy some things. I’ll be right back,” and dashed out of the apartment.

  “I feel like an idiot in this get-up.”

  “It’s late, Daddy, nobody’s going to see us. Here, hold Toby, will you please? I can’t handle him and my diary both.” She peered out the door. “All clear! Come on!”

  They hurried across the hallway. Susan pressed the button, and somewhere below the elevator groaned
into action.

  “Oh, good night!” Mr. Shaw muttered. “Why did he have to pick now?”

  Mr. Bodoni was ambling down the hallway, chewing his cigar and carrying a bundle of newspapers under his arm. He stopped when he saw them, and began to grin.

  Susan didn’t care. Her project was launched now, and joy was bubbling inside her so strongly that she felt as though she could soar like a balloon.

  “Fancy dress party, hah?” Mr. Bodoni said. “Costoom party?”

  She smiled at him, loving him. There, he’d given them the perfect excuse for looking as they did. Her father didn’t have to feel embarrassed now. Why should he mutter like that?

  The door wheezed open and they got in. Oh, she was going to float, she’d have to hold on to something to keep her feet on the ground! “Goodbye, Mr. Bodoni!” she called, pressing the seventh-floor button.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Have a good time.”

  “Flaming moron!” Mr. Shaw muttered; and then the door closed, and they were on their way.

  Toby, who had been growing tense ever since leaving the apartment, moaned as the elevator heaved itself into motion.

  “OW!” Mr. Shaw roared.

  “Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry! He’s such a brute when he gets in here; I forgot. Let me take him.”

  Toby’s claws had sunk deep and he would not turn loose. The three of them struggled for several floors, panting and owing and yowling.

  “I’ve had it!” Mr. Shaw cried. “This — blasted — animal — gets — out!” “He reached for the buttons.

  “No!” she yelped, throwing herself against him. “We have to take him back! I promised Vicky.”

  “We can come back for him later when we — ouch! — have a box to put him in.”

  “Why can’t you understand, Daddy? When we get there, there’s only half a trip left. If we come down again we’ll never be able to get back.” She had one of Toby’s paws loose now. He said “Ow-w-w-w!” blowing his fishy breath on her.

  “Hey!” Mr. Shaw said — but not to her. He was staring over her head. She glanced up. The arrow had come to rest on 7, but the elevator was still rising. There was a sensation of thickness in the air.

  “It’s all right!” she said. “That’s the worst part, that sort of ooshy feeling when it goes through.”

  “There’s something wrong with the mechanism. I’m going to speak to Bodoni about this — it could be dangerous.”

  The elevator stopped, and the door trundled open. There was a sound of tearing cloth as Toby twisted free, leaped to the floor, and vanished.

  “Hey!” Mr. Shaw said again. “What’s the matter with the —?”

  “Sssh!”

  Her hiss was so urgent that he lowered his voice. “The lights,” he continued, sotto voce. “Look, they’re practically out. They are out. This whole place goes to ruin while that idiot Bodoni fumbles around with his newspapers!”

  “Sssh!” she whispered again. “We really have to be quiet, Daddy. Don’t worry about the lights, there aren’t any up here. I wonder where Vicky is — she was supposed to meet us. Well, she left us a candle anyway. Come on.”

  They stepped out into the hallway. Susan turned and pressed the first-floor button. The elevator door sighed and trundled shut, eclipsing the electric light within. They were left in the soft orange glow of candlelight.

  “Say,” Mr. Shaw murmured, “it really is different up here now, isn’t it? Wasn’t like this a few days ago. Somebody’s been doing a lot of fast work.” He gazed about at the oak wainscotting, the dark velvet curtains, the grandfather clock, the little marble-topped table on which stood a stuffed owl under a glass bell and a bowl of paper flowers and a half-consumed candle. “Antiques!” he exclaimed. “They could get stolen, lying around like this.”

  “Daddy,” she whispered, “come on, we really have to go. You can look at all this later.” She took his sleeve in one hand, picked up the candlestick in the other, and began to pull him toward the back of the house. She was wondering if something had gone wrong. Victoria should have been waiting for them. Well, the best thing now was to get out to the stable and wait for Victoria there …

  “Ssst!” she hissed, tightening her grip on his sleeve so suddenly he jumped. She looked back over her shoulder. He turned to look too. There was nothing at that end of the hallway but dark shadows.

  Somewhere in the front of the house there was a muffled sliding sound, and a heavy thump.

  “Vicky?” Susan whispered.

  Silence.

  “Maybe it was Toby,” she murmured. “Come on.”

  “Susie, I am very tired. I’ve been under a terrific strain since you disappeared Wednesday night. I think maybe I’m beginning to understand why you’re having the kind of hallucinations you have — I mean, obviously there’s something out of whack in the elevator, and that fool Bodoni has let all the lights up here burn out, and there’s been some redecoration. All right. But the answer is, so what? We’re still on the seventh floor. Now let’s go down and go to bed.”

  “Daddy, will you please please just come outside for a minute before you make up your mind? Please?”

  “What? My dear child, it’s under forty degrees out there, and the wind’s blowing!”

  “Well, can’t we just stick our noses out, then? I’ll tell you what; if it is under forty degrees and the wind is blowing, I promise we’ll go back right away.”

  “Oh … all right. Good night, you’re a stubborn one! Where are we going, the fire escape?”

  “No.”

  They had reached a door; she wasn’t sure, but hoped it was the door to the kitchen. She opened it with care. A little draft burst through and extinguished the candle, but not before she had seen that it was the kitchen on the other side. They were all right, then. She pulled her father in and shut the door behind them.

  “Susan!” he whispered, clutching her shoulder. “We shouldn’t be sneaking into somebody’s apartment like this!”

  “It’s all right, we’re just going to zip through.”

  They zipped through. She opened the back door, and they stepped out on the porch.

  The sweet summer smell of damp earth and grass enveloped them. Frogs were shouting “Brrreep brrreep!” in the pond nearby. The sky glittered with stars and moonlight from horizon to zenith. The shrubbery-dotted back yard, the stable, the surrounding fields and the woods, were drawn in charcoal and silver.

  “O-h-oh!” she sighed, taking a deep breath.

  Mr. Shaw made a shuddery noise and staggered against her. “I want to sit down,” he said in a choked voice. She helped him down. “Where are we?” he whispered.

  “Oh, Daddy!” she sighed. “I’ve told you and told you.” She sat down beside him and squeezed his trembling hand. “You’re going to love it in a minute. You’ll see.”

  3. Cloud on the Horizon

  … in the stable. Daddy didn’t say anything for so long that I began to worry. Then Vicky and Bobbie came out. They hadn’t been able to meet us because Maggie had been prowling around. Daddy made a hit with Bobbie, and Vicky approves of him too. They had some bad news, though. We’ll have to work fast …

  “Sue?”

  Straw rustled as Susan and Mr. Shaw gave a start in the darkness.

  “Is that you, Vicky?”

  “Yes! And Bobbie.” The forms appeared in silhouette against the stars in the doorway, and vanished again as Robert and Victoria came into the inky shadows of the stable. “Thank goodness!” Victoria’s voice went on. “It was you, then! We couldn’t tell whether you or Maggie had taken the candle, so we had to come out and see.”

  “Maggie?” Susan said.

  “Yes. Oh, the suspense was dreadful! You see, we left a lighted candle for you on the hallway table, in case you arrived before it was safe for us to come down. We waited and waited, and finally we crept downstairs, and heavens! — there was Maggie in her nightgown, standing in the parlor!”

  “I think she was trying to catch me,” Robert said.
“There’s a new cake in the pantry, and she knows I’d like to forage a little of it.”

  “Anyway, we had to retreat upstairs again and wait forever until Maggie went back to bed, and when we came down the candle was gone; and we didn’t know if you’d come or if she’d taken it.”

  “It was us,” Susan said. “Thank you for the candle. Come here, Daddy, I want you to meet the — oh, how am I going to introduce you all in the dark?”

  “A soldier is always prepared,” Robert announced. There was a click, and a beam of light pierced the darkness. He had opened the shutter of his bull’s-eye lantern.

  “Victoria Walker, Robert Walker,” Susan said, suddenly feeling awkward and shy. “Mr. Shaw, my father.” Her heart began to pound. It was so important that they like each other …!

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Robert said, putting out his hand.

  “My pleasure,” Mr. Shaw said, shaking it.

  “Charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Shaw,” Victoria said. “Did you not find today’s heat somewhat fatiguing?”

  Mr. Shaw was not prepared for her Deportment Class voice. He mumbled, “Well, ah, yes, I mean no, actually,” and then something got caught in his throat and he doubled over trying to harumph it clear again.

  “Oh dear me!” Victoria cried. “I do hope you are not indisposed, sir?”

  Mr. Shaw rallied. “No, no, thank you, frog in my throat, I’m all right. Really pleased to meet you, too. I’m ah — it’s just that — oh, look here, I’m having a hard time taking all this in. I mean, Susan’s told me an incredible story about herself and you —”