All in Good Time

by Edward Ormondroyd

  “How do you do, Mr. Shaw?”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Walker,” and ‘Oh, good for you, Daddy!’ Susan thought as he lifted his hat and inclined his head with as much ease as if he’d been doing it all his life.

  “And his daughter, Susan.”

  “How do you do, Susan,” Mrs. Walker said, turning to her with such a lovely little smile that she thought she would melt into the ground with pleasure.

  There was a moment of silence. They were all looking at Mr. Shaw. He flushed, but made a gallant try. “The, ah, weather was so beautiful we had to come out and — look at the flowers and so forth.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Walker said, looking about and breathing deeply, “it is beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve been so busy lately that I’ve quite neglected the out-of-doors. Why, I might have missed today’s sunshine altogether if my children hadn’t insisted on my coming out.”

  “We, ah,” Mr. Shaw plowed ahead, “we’ve been, ah, walking up the road —” He froze, then shot a desperate glance at Susan.

  “We’ve been admiring the countryside,” Susan said. “Such lovely flowers and birds.”

  “I’m so glad you are enjoying it. I understand that you will be vacationing here for a while?”

  “Well, actually,” Mr. Shaw said, “I don’t think we can —”

  “Our plans are flexible,” Susan interrupted. Good grief, did he really mean what he had started to say? She hurried on: “We find life in the city very tiring — indeed, there are days when I can hardly stand it. Coming to the country is like coming to a whole new world.”

  “Yes — the loveliest of all worlds,” Mrs. Walker said, looking around her again. Her face grew sad, and her eyes brightened with tears. ‘Oh, you dumb cluck!’ Susan raged at herself. ‘That was the wrong thing to say. She thinks she has to lose all this and go live in the city.’

  Mrs. Walker’s back stiffened, and she turned again to the Shaws with her face composed. “Forgive me, Mr. Shaw. You find us at a difficult moment, I’m afraid. Our circumstances have altered, and we are all a little upset.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Mr. Shaw said. “If there’s any way I can help —”

  “Thank you, no. I appreciate your concern, but we have matters well in hand, and assistance will be arriving soon … Well, I do hope you have a pleasant vacation, and that you may go back to the city refreshed. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shaw; and you too, Susan.”

  ‘No, wait!’ Susan thought in a panic. ‘We can’t say goodbye now! Nothing’s happened yet!’ But Mrs. Walker was turning to go, her father was saying “My pleasure,” and lifting his hand to tip his hat again …

  Susan shot a desperate glance at Victoria.

  Victoria’s face turned scarlet. She said, “M-Mama?” It came out in a strangled bleat.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Could we not — invite — Mr. Shaw and Susan over this evening — to — to — to look at our magic lantern pictures?”

  “Oh, yes, Mama!” Robert put in with feverish brightness. “I believe Susan told us that Mr. Shaw was in the army. Perhaps he’d like to see my views of the Great Battlefields of Europe!”

  “Children!” Mrs. Walker froze for an instant, then turned back to the Shaws. Her cheeks were pink. “Do please forgive my unruly brood, Mr. Shaw! They sometimes allow their impetuousness to overcome their good breeding.”

  “Oh, I understand,” Mr. Shaw said, smiling. “Susan sometimes does the same. I know what it is to be a parent.”

  She gave him a grateful smile and said, “Children, if you wish to see more of Susan, you have my permission; provided, of course, that she has her Papa’s permission to see more of you.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Mr. Shaw said.

  “Mama,” Victoria said, turning if possible even redder than before, “could we — invite them — tomorrow morning for — for —”

  “For tea?” Robert croaked.

  Mrs. Walker was so thunderstruck that she seemed for an instant to forget the Shaws. “Tea?” she asked. “In the morning?”

  “Cousin Jane will be here in the afternoon, Mama,” Robert faltered, “and then …”

  Victoria burst into tears. “Oh, Mama,” she sobbed, “I know it’s dreadfully improper, but our poor dear house deserves to have one more happy scene in it before we — before we have to — oh, oh, oh, oh!”

  “There, there,” Mrs. Walker murmured. She put her arms around Victoria. Her own eyes were brimming again. “I seem to have to ask your forgiveness very often, Mr. Shaw! My daughter is strongly attached to our house, and — well, you see, we are forced to give it up.”

  “Oh!” Susan cried. “How dreadful for you. I’m so sorry.”

  Mr. Shaw murmured, and looked at Mrs. Walker with an expression of troubled concern.

  “I believe,” Victoria hiccupped, “that I could — rest content if we could — offer the hospitality of our dear house — once more before we — leave it forever.”

  A musing look came over Mrs. Walker’s face. “Yes,” she said, half to herself, “we have been very happy in our house … Perhaps we could express our gratitude by —” She gave a wry little smile. “Mr. Shaw, Susan, pray do not think us absurd or forward. If you can countenance the impropriety of it, please come and take tea with us tomorrow morning. The afternoon, I’m afraid, will be taken up with business. Shall we say ten-thirty? Think of it as a kindness to us — helping us to say goodbye.”

  “I’m awfully sorry about your house,” Mr. Shaw said. “It must be a terrible blow. And I appreciate your very kind invitation. But the fact is —”

  Good heavens — he was going to refuse! She had to act fast.

  “Oh, we’d just love to come!” Susan cried. Hoping that the hedge would hide the gesture from Mrs. Walker, she reached out with her foot and pressed down hard on her father’s toe. “I don’t think it’s absurd or improper or anything like that.”

  “But really,” Mr. Shaw said, sliding his foot out from under hers, “I’m afraid—”

  He was going to ruin everything! She couldn’t let him do it.

  She screamed.

  They all jumped and looked at her with startled faces. She twisted her mouth into a grimace of pain, clutched her knee in both hands, and began to hop backwards. “Yellow jackets!” she shrieked. “Look out!”

  She could see understanding flash into Robert’s face. “Great Caesar!” he cried. “They’re swarming in the hedge! Run, Mama! Run, Vick!”

  Susan grabbed her father’s hand and yelled, “Run, Daddy!”

  As the Shaws and Walkers fled in opposite directions, Victoria called back over her shoulder, “Ten-thirty tomorrow morning!” And Susan answered, “We’ll be there!”

  The Shaws came to rest on the Hollisters’ veranda.

  “Good night!” Mr. Shaw panted. “We’d better get a cold wet cloth. Does it hurt bad?”

  “Hurts,” she said, bending over and hugging her imaginary sting. She was having trouble suppressing a triumphant giggle. “It’s — hoo! — all right, Daddy, really. I can stand it.”

  “What a devil of a time for yellow jackets to start acting up! I was just about to turn down her invitation.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we can’t accept it, that’s why. We’re going to send her a note, or go back over and make our apologies.”

  She pretended amazement, but her heart was contracting with dread. “Why can’t we accept it?”

  “We’re not going to be here.”

  “But —”

  “No ifs, ands or buts. We’re going back to the twentieth century as soon as we can possibly get to the elevator. Tonight.”

  7. Mr. Hollister Discourses

  … had a discussion. Daddy was right in a way—he had done what he had said he’d do, and since Mrs. Walker hadn’t bowled him over, why shouldn’t we go back? I could tell, though, that all we needed was a little more time. Mr. Hollister gave us the time, but he almost killed us doing it …

  “Oh,
Daddy,” she moaned.

  “Now, look here, chick,” Mr. Shaw said, “it’s time we got things straightened out.” He sat down on the veranda steps, took off his hat, and mopped his brow. “I’ve been very patient with you so far … We had a bargain, remember?”

  She had sunk down on the steps beside him. She nodded her head, too miserable to speak.

  “Your part of the bargain was that you’d accept some professional help as soon as I could get an appointment. Well, maybe we can forget that. My part of the bargain was that I agreed to come up the elevator with you in costume to meet a certain lady. And I’ve done it. I did not agree to lose another night’s sleep and walk my legs off and go through a lot of folderol with new clothes and hide-and-seek at the railroad station and so forth and so on. But I’ve done all that too. Now I want to go back.”

  Sussna shook herself free of the numbness that was threatening to settle over her.

  “Daddy,” she said, “when you saw Mrs. Walker, didn’t — didn’t anything happen? Didn’t you feel anything?”

  “Well, you were right about her — she is a beautiful woman. I felt the usual amount of interest and attraction that I feel when I’m talking to a beautiful woman.”

  “Was that all?”

  “Well, I felt admiration for her — I think she’s very gallant. I felt sorry for her because she’s feeling bad. I felt — oh, well, I’ll be honest with you. What I was feeling most of all was, ‘I’ll be glad when this is over.’ ”

  “Oh …”

  “Oh, Susie, you look so crushed! Did you really think I was just going to up and fall in love? Like that?” He snapped his fingers.

  She gulped and nodded.

  “You’ve been watching too many movies on that television set, chick. That’s not the way things happen in real life.”

  “But they could happen that way, couldn’t they?” she insisted.

  “Oh, I guess so … I’ll concede the point that I could possibly fall in love with her. She is gallant and beautiful and appealing, and if she belonged to my own time, I — But that’s the thing right there, Susie: time. You and I belong to the twentieth century, not here.”

  “Do you really like the twentieth century, Daddy?”

  “It’s not a question whether I like it or not. It’s our time. It’s our place. It’s where we know what to do and what to say. It’s where your school is and where my job is.”

  “Oh, school!” she snorted, waving her hand. “And you’re not all that crazy about your job, either. Are you?”

  “Well, it’s not the most exciting job in the world, no. But I know how to do it, and a lot of people rely on me to do it, and I do it well.”

  “Oh, Daddy …”

  “I know, I know,” he said with a rueful little laugh. “It must sound very uninspiring … I guess it’s the difference between being young and being grown up. When you’re young, you think everything you want to happen, will. When you’re grown up you learn to accept the fact that most of it won’t. I’m sorry that’s the way it is, but it is.”

  “But, Daddy, if —”

  “So to get back where we started from: we had a bargain. I’ve fulfilled my part of it. As soon as we can get back to the elevator tonight we’re going home.”

  Well, maybe he thought the subject was closed; but as far as she was concerned, it wasn’t. She had recovered from the initial shock by now, and hope was beginning to reassert itself. He had said so many things that hope could fasten on! “A beautiful woman,” he had admitted without hesitation. “Gallant,” he had said. “Very appealing. I could very possibly fall in love with her …” His exact words! — well, almost exact. ‘Good grief!’ she thought, ’he’s right on the edge already. He’s not willing to recognize it, that’s the trouble. Why, I bet the real reason he’s so eager to get back is because he’s running away! He’s making up all those fuddy-duddy excuses about school and his job and “our time” because he’s afraid of falling in love … Oh, there just has to be way to keep him here a little longer, so things can have time to develop!’

  There was.

  She almost fell off the steps as the solution hit her. It was so simple and so foolproof! They couldn’t go back to the twentieth century if the doors of the Walkers’ house were locked. All it required was a word to Victoria or Robert … So they would be here tomorrow, after all; and being here, they could accept Mrs. Walker’s invitation to tea; and for an hour at least (maybe more!) Mrs. Walker’s beauty and gallantry and appeal could make headway against her father’s reluctance. And if still more time were needed — well, she and Victoria and Robert would think of something.

  A lathered horse appeared out on the road, drawing a dilapidated buggy. It turned in through the gate and headed directly toward them. The driver had a familiar appearance.

  “It’s Uncle Sam, right out of a cartoon!” Mr. Shaw said in a low voice. “A seedy Uncle

  Sam.” The resemblance was so comic that Susan burst into giggles.

  Mrs. Hollister emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. “There’s the mister,” she murmured.

  He drew up by the veranda, threw the reins around the stone hitching post, and came toward them, wagging his grey goatee and emitting loud nasal sounds.

  “These’re the new boarders, Hiram,” Mrs. Hollister mumbled.

  “N-yas!” Mr. Hollister brayed, displaying large horsey teeth and bearing down on the Shaws with his hand extended.

  “Mr. Shaw,” Mrs. Hollister murmured at the ceiling. “Miss Shaw.”

  “A very rare and welcome privilege, sir! And this little lady!” Mr. Hollister’s voice dropped four whole tones. He whipped off his mangy stone-pipe hat, pressed it against the frayed edging and food spots on his waistcoat, bowed over it and intoned, “A radiant vision of — ha — budding young womanhood.”

  Susan curtseyed. Her face was red with the effort of keeping her embarrassed laughter down.

  Mr. Hollister’s voice resumed it’s original pitch. “I sincerely hope and trust, sir, that you propose to stop in these parts for an extensive length of time.”

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Shaw said. “Probably not very long. I —”

  “Grieved to hear it, sir, acutely grieved. Let me entertain the idea, sir, that further acquaintance with this vicinity will lead you to revise your plans. I believe there is more opportunity here, sir, then is to be found anywhere in the United States. Why, the very air you are now breathing, sir —” his voice performed its four-tone plunge “— the — ha — salubricity of this air, sir, is a matter of record at the State capitol itself. Fact. The fertility of the soil hereabouts —”

  “Hiram,” Mrs. Hollister murmured. “Supper.”

  “N-yas. If you will pardon me for a brief interim, sir.” Wagging his goatee and braying through his nose, Mr. Hollister went off to stable his horse.

  “If you want to wash up,” Mrs. Hollister mumbled. The Shaws followed her to a lean-to shed in back of the house, where they washed their hands with yellow soap under a pump, and tried to dry them on a dank roller towel. ‘I’ll have to see Vicky and Bobbie right after dinner about locking up,’ Susan thought. She felt a twinge of conscience. Was it right to prevent their return? Her father had done everything she had asked … Ugh, this towel! She dropped it, and wiped her hands on her dress. ‘It’s only for one more day,’ she promised that nagging voice within. ‘Just to make sure.’

  Dinner was a plentiful amount of roast beef, potatoes, onions and gravy, all glistening with grease. In a while Mr. Hollister returned, smelling very horsey and braying. He took up his oration exactly where he had left off.

  “The fertility of the soil in these parts, sir, is nothing short of phenomenal. A bumper crop is guaranteed each season. The water, sir, has a balanced mineral content that ensures health of man and beast. The local climate is equalled by none. In short, sir, the spot has been chosen by — ha — Providence. A man of means, sir, could do no better than to invest those means right here. And co
nsider this, sir.” His voice dropped. “Progress, sir. Growth.” He pointed a knobby index finger over his left shoulder. “The city, sir, is extending its enriching boundaries in this direction. If the currency question, sir, were to be settled as every right-thinking citizen of this Republic knows it should be settled —” He suddenly paused with upraised hand. “But, perhaps, sir, I am treading on delicate ground. May I ask, sir, where your — ha — political sympathies lie?”

  “Now, Hiram,” Mrs. Hollister murmured.

  Mr. Shaw roused himself. “Well, ah,” he said. He looked at Susan. She looked back. He shrugged. “Last election I voted Democratic, for all the good it did me.”

  “N-yas!” Mr. Hollister brayed. “I had only to look at you, sir, to divine that you were a man of sound politics! The name of Democrat may have its ups and downs, sir, but show me a man that calls himself Republican, and I’ll show you either a misguided fool or a scoundrel. The Republican machine, sir —”

  “Now, Hiram.”

  “— is the most devilish engine ever constructed for the oppression of mankind. The vast majority of the populace of this continent groans under its yoke, sir, while a handful of thieves and parasites battens on the lifeblood of —”

  The Shaws’ eyes glazed. Their dinner settled heavily in their stomachs; a foggy torpor overcame their spirits. In some rapidly dimming corner of her mind Susan recalled that there was something she wanted to do after dinner, but what it was she could no longer remember. Mr. Hollister contrived, without a second’s interruption in the flood of words, to light a powerful stogie. Its fumes finally roused them sufficiently to push back from the table and stagger out to the veranda. He pursued them, relentlessly braying. They fell into a prolonged stupor, from which Mr. Shaw at last rescued them only by a superhuman recovery of will.

  “Bedtime,” he mumbled, struggling to his feet like a man who has been repeatedly knocked down with a club.

  “One more point, sir,” Mr. Hollister trumpeted, thrusting the glowing tip of his third cigar at them through the dark. “The recent merger of the telegraph companies is but one more sinister straw in the wind. You may count on it, sir, that the foul hand of the Republican machine was tightly grasping the controls. I have no hesitation in asserting —”