All in Good Time
Page 18
He also hired a horse and trap from the local livery stable, and took driving lessons, and practiced on daily trips to and from the Walkers’.
Five days after the Battle of Elevator Hall, Mrs. Walker said yes to Mr. Shaw. Victoria claimed that her sharp romantic eye had already detected the state of her Mama’s feelings as early as the first hour of the treasure hunt. In any case, there were proprieties to be observed, and the engagement period proceeded in the approved leisurely fashion of the time. There were long strolls and rides through the countryside, some by moonlight, and shopping expeditions, and picnics on the grassy banks of streams, and tea and cakes and ices in the garden at dusk: everything, in short, that Susan had dreamed about and yearned for.
So the summer passed, and autumn came; and on a bright blue-and-gold day in October, Mrs. Walker became Mrs. Shaw.
Susan’s interest in her diary begins to taper off after this. The entries become shorter and farther apart in time. They mention sleigh rides and snowball fights; magic lantern shows; the purchase of a family mare, named Lady Jones at first, and later, when her true character began to come out, Lazy Bones; Mr. Shaw’s provision for Cousin Jane in the twentieth century (a long entry here: the solution obviously intrigued Susan. I’m glad she never knew about the dreadful Mission); Maggie’s betrothal to the policeman who had brought her back from town that afternoon when Robert was stalking Mr. Sweeney; schooldays; the restoration of the garden around the house; the birth of a little brother …
The last entry is dated September 30, 1882. It mentions various small matters, and tells about the visit of a photographer. She must have been interrupted while writing, because the final sentence says, “He also took some pictures of” Of …? The house, maybe, or Lazy Bones, or Toby — I don’t suppose I’ll ever know. But I know it was this visit that resulted in the old brown photograph that formerly hung in the reading room of the Historical Association. I say “formerly” because one day Charles remarked, “Well, Edward, there aren’t many eccentrics left these days, so I suppose we should encourage the few we still have;” and he made me a present of the photograph. It hangs above my desk as I write. Thanks to Susan’s diary, I know much more about it now than I did when I first saw it.
For instance, I know now that Robert is a cadet in the Colonel Andrew Belcher Stump Military Academy; and that he is scowling in order to keep from laughing, because a schoolmate of his (an older boy whom he worships, here on a weekend visit) is making faces at him from behind the photographer.
I know now that the bundle of blanket and lace that Mrs. Shaw looks down upon so tenderly contains John Thomas Shaw, Jr., who is fifty-one days old. (I also know that both Susan and Victoria were disappointed when he was named. Susan — perhaps with tongue in cheek — wanted him to be called George Bernard. Victoria was set on Robin Adair Beauregard.)
I once described Mr. Shaw’s smile in this picture as “happy but faintly bewildered.” I thought the faint bewilderment might be there because he was still having trouble believing what had happened. But there could be a simpler reason. One of the items in Susan’s last entry is, “Daddy’s repeater still missing.” You can get a lot of bewilderment out of something like that. As for the happiness — who wouldn’t be happy married to someone as beautiful as Isabelle? And who wouldn’t be happy with investments in two young but thriving inventions, the telephone and the electric lamp?
I previously thought that Victoria had that faraway musing look because of general romantic tendencies. I was only partly right. The main reason for her expression in the photograph happens to be Robert’s aforementioned schoolmate. He is tall, and comes from Virginia, and has courtly manners (when he is not standing behind a photographer) and his name is Talbot.
As for why Susan smiles — well, we know why. There is nothing more to add. But I must confess something. That smile, delightful as it is, irks me a little at times. It’s so — smug; as though everything were her doing.
Sometimes I long to be able to say to her, “Susan, my dear, I had a hand in bringing about your happy conclusion, you know. And although you may think that your fortune is unique, I suspect that perhaps it isn’t. Because I have a note from an old acquaintance of yours; a note written in a spidery hand on thick creamy paper. It begins, ‘Reservations for this year are filled.’ Do you see the implication, Susan? For this year …”
But I suppose it’s just envy that makes me want to tell her that. She smiles because one year she was chosen. Whereas I can only hope. I keep telling myself that there are grounds for hope. The writer of that note knows me. This year, perhaps, or next year, or sometime—
About the Author
EDWARD ORMONDROYD grew up in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, and Ann Arbor, Michigan. During WWII he served on board a destroyer escort, participating in the invasions of Okinawa and Iwo Jima.
After the war he attended the University of California at Berkeley, where he received a bachelor’s degree in English. Later he went back for a master’s degree in library science. He lived in Berkeley for 25 years, working at various jobs while writing children’s books, including David and the Phoenix.
He and his wife Joan moved to upstate New York in 1970. They live in the country near Ithaca, in a house designed and partly built by Edward. Their seven children are all grown and independent. They have two grandsons and a granddaughter.
Edward’s interests include studying piano, gardening, books, birds, flowers (wild and tame) and listening to classical music.
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