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 being 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 modem 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?”

  “Maureen, since we can’t do it, the next best thing is talking about it.”

  “Me, too, Theodore. I wish I were covered with chigger bites and my soul filled with the peace I know you could give me. Since I can’t give myself to you the way I had hoped, I want you to know me as deeply as words can bring us to­gether as deeply as I wish you were in my body this very instant. Does my frankness shock you?”

  “No. But it might get you raped right on this bench!”

  “Please, not so much enthusiasm, dear one; people can see us—we’re talking about the weather. Tell me, is your thing hard?”

  “Does it show?”

  “No, but if it is, think about blizzards and icebergs—Brian says that helps—because our pony rider needs to be lifted down.”

  They played both games for prizes; then Mrs. Smith de­cided that she could risk the Fun House if she clutched her skirts as if crossing a muddy street. Woodie enjoyed it, es­pecially the Hall of Mirrors and the Crystal Maze. Maureen avoided air blasts by watching girls ahead of them, then either walked on one side or held her skirts firmly.

  Woodie tired himself out, so Lazarus picked him up and he seemed to fall asleep—as his head touched Lazarus’ shoulder. They started to leave, which took them over the farewell air blast. Mrs. Smith was ahead and Lazarus assumed that she had it spotted from the way she swerved—then she turned as if to speak to him, and stood over it. Her skirts went flying high.

  She did not squeal; she simply pushed them down a split second too late. Once they were outside she said, “Well, sir?”

  “Same color. But curly, I think.”

  “Quite. As curly as my other hair is straight; As you already knew.”

  “And you did it on purpose.”

  “Certainly. Woodrow is asleep and you had his head turned away. Perhaps some stranger got an eyeful, but I think not. If someone did, what can he do? Write a letter to my husband? Pooh. There was no one in there who knows us; I kept my eyes open. And grabbed the chance.”

  “Maureen, you continue to amaze and delight me.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And you have beautiful limbs.”

  “‘Legs,’ Theodore. Brian says so, too, but I’m no expert on women’s legs. But when he tells me so, he always says ‘legs.’ ‘Limbs’ is for public speech. So he says.”

  “The more I know about the Captain, the more I like him. You have gorgeous legs. And green garters.”

  “Of course they’re green. When I was a little girl, I wore green hair ribbons. I’m too old for hair ribbons, but if there is the teeniest possibility that my curls will be seen, I wear green garters. I have many pairs; Brian gives them to me. Some with naughty mottoes on them.”

  “Are there mottoes on these?”

  “‘Little pitchers,’ Theodore. Let’s get Woodrow settled down in the back seat.”

  It seemed to Lazarus that “little pitchers” could not be listening; the child was limp as a rag doll. Nor did he wake when he was bedded down; he curled into fetal position, and his mother put the robe over him.

  Lazarus handed her into the car, cranked it and joined her. “Straight home?”

  She said thoughtfully, “There is plenty of gasoline; Brian Junior filled the tank this afternoon. I don’t think Woodrow will wake.”

  “I know there’s enough gasoline; I checked when I went out to meet Mr. Johnson’s captain. Shall I find that walnut tree?”

  “Oh, dear! Please don’t tempt me. Woodrow might wake up and could climb over the back and get out, as easily as he climbed in and hid. He’s not old enough to understand what we would be doing; nevertheless, I think his misunderstanding of it could upset him just as much. No, Theodore. What I meant is this: It’s not late, it’s just late for a little boy. While he sleeps we can ride around and talk for, oh, an hour. If you wish.”

  “We’ll do that.” He got rolling and added, “Maureen, al­though I want to take you back to that walnut tree, I think it’s best that we don’t. Best for you, I mean.”

  “But, darling! Why? Don’t you think I want you?”

  “I do think you want me. And God knows I want you. But despite your brave talk, I don’t think you’ve ever done that. You would want to confess to your husband and if you did, it would make you both unhappy—and I don’t want to make Captain Smith unhappy either; he’s a good sort. Or maybe you could keep it to yourself—but it would prey on your mind. Because, while you love me—a little—you love him a great deal more and I am sure of that. So it’s best. Isn’t that so?”

  Mrs. Smith was silent a long moment. Then she said, “Theodore, take me straight to that walnut tree.”

  “No.”

  “Why not, dear? I must show you that I do love you and that I am not afraid to let you have me.”

  “Maureen, you would do it; you have the courage to do any­thing. But you would be tense and worried, afraid that Woodie would wake up. And you do love Brian. All the sweetly intimate things you’ve told me kept saying that.”

  “But don’t you think my heart is big enough for both of you?”

  “I’m certain it is. You love ten people that I know of; I’m sure you can squeeze in one more. But I love you and do not want you to do anything that would make a wall between you and your husband. Or hurt you both through your trying to tear down that wall by confessing. Beloved, I want your love even more than I want your dear, sweet body.”

  Again she was silent before speaking: “Theodore, I must tell you things about my husband and me. Private things.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “I should and I must—and I shall. But— Please, will you touch me while I talk? Don’t say anything, just touch me closely and intimately and nakedly…while I strip myself naked with words. Please?”

  Lazarus put his free hand on her thigh. She pulled up her skirts, opened her thighs, pushed his hand more firmly to her. Then she covered his hand with her skirt, and spoke in an even, steady voice: “Theodore beloved, I love Brian and Brian loves me and he knows exactly what I am. I could keep a secret forever to keep from hurting him, and he would do the same for me. I must tell you what he said to me before he went away to Plattsburg—and I must use ‘bedroom words,’ Theodore; polite words don’t have the force it must have.

  “The night before he left we were in bed and had just had each other, me still wrapped around him like a curling iron and him still deep inside me. ‘Swivel Hips,’ he said—a pet name he calls me in bed—’I didn’t sell the Reo to tie you down. If you want to drive, buy a Ford; it’s easier to learn on.’ I told him I didn’t want to drive; I would wait until he came home. He answered, ‘All right, Hot Bottom’—and that’s a pet name, too, and Brian means it most lovingly—’All right, Hot Bottom, but buy one if you wish; you may need a car while I’m gone.

  “‘But a car is a minor matter. Your father will be here and that’s good—but don’t let him boss you. He’ll try, he can’t help it, it’s his nature. But you are as strong-willed as he is; stand up to him, he’ll respect you for it.

  “‘Now to more important matters, Pretty Tits’—and I like that name, too, Theodore, even though they’re not and don’t stop me to say they are—’Pretty Tits, I may not have gotten you pregnant; you don’t usually catch again this soon. If not, once I’m back from Plattsburg, we’ll keep on trying’—and we did, Theodore, and I caught, as I told you.

  “Brian went on, ‘We both know we’re going to get into this war or I wouldn’t be going to Plattsburg. It may last a long time—that “million men springing to arms overnight” is hog­wash. When we do, I’ll be gone again, and you’ll be lonely—and we both know what a firecracker you are. I’m not telling you to jump the fence again’—I said ‘again,’ Theodore!—’but if you do, I expect you to do it on purpose, eyes open and not to regret it afterwards. I have enormous respect for your taste and judgment; I know you won’t cause a scandal or upset the children.’”

  She paused, then went on: “Brian knows me, Theodore—I really am a firecracker, and I’ve never understood why some women don’t like it. My own mother— Nine children and she told me on my wedding day that it was something women had to put up with for the privilege of having babies.”

  Mrs. Smith snorted. “‘Put up ‘with!’ Theodore, I was not a virgin when Brian first had me. Nor had I let him think so; I told him the truth the day I met him and two minutes after he took my bloomers off he knew it through having me. Theodore, I broke my maidenhead three years before I met Brian—on purpose; I’ve never been a flirt—and told, not my mother, but my father, because I trusted him; we’ve always been close. Father didn’t scold me, didn’t even tell me not to do it again. He said he knew that I would do it again but hoped that I would take his advice and let him keep me out of trouble—and I have and it did.

  “But that first time, when I came to him, scared and ready to cry—it had hurt, Theodore, and wasn’t the thrill I had ex­pected—that time Father just sighed and locked the door and had me get on his surgery table and examined me and assured me that I hadn’t been damaged—and I felt much better!— and told me that I was as healthy a woman as he had ever examined and would have babies with no trouble—and that made me feel smug—and Father was right; I have babies easily and don’t yell—or not much. Not the way Mother used to.

  “After that, Father examined me from time to time. Doctors don’t ordinarily treat their female relatives, not for female things. But Father was the only doctor I dared tell. So Father helped me with my problems and got me all over any shyness about being looked at there or anywhere. Not that I was ever too shy; he told me that sort of modesty was dadratted nonsense—when Mother was telling me the exact opposite. I believed him, didn’t believe her.

  “But I was telling you what Brian said to me in bed that night. Brian added, ‘I want you to promise one thing, Pussy­cat. If you find that you haven’t kept your legs crossed, will you keep it to yourself until this war is over? I will do the same if I have something to confess—and I might! Let’s not worry each other more than we have to until the Kaiser is taken care of. Then when I come home, I’ll take you to the Ozarks—leave the children home with someone; just us two— and. you won’t see anything but the ceiling while we get caught up, and also catch up on anything we need to talk about. Is it a bargain, my darling?’

  “I promised, Theodore. I didn’t promise not to jump the fence; he wouldn’t let me promise that. I promised to be care­ful—and to save any confessing until the war was won. I wanted to promise that much because he might not come back!”

  Her voice had been steady up to the last. Then it broke, and he realized that she was crying. He started to remove his hand and to pull over to the side of the road. Mrs. Smith grabbed his hand, pushed it more firmly back between her thighs, and said, “No, no, do touch me and don’t stop the car! Or I might rape you. I don’t know why it makes me so pas­sionate when I let myself remember that Brian might not come back from the war. But it does. I’ve been that way ever since the day we declared war…and always have to look serene and calm and unworried. For the children. For Brian. I haven’t let Brian see me cry, Theodore. You have just now— I suddenly could not help it. But I would rather you told Brian that I tried to seduce you than have you tell him that I cried through fear that he might not come back!

  “And now I’ll stop it.” Mrs. Smith took a kerchief from her purse, wiped her eyes, blew her nose. “Don’t take me home yet; the children must not see me with my eyes red.”

  Lazarus decided to break cover. “I love you, Maureen.”

  “I love you, Theodore. In spite of my tears, you have made me happy. By letting me unburden myself—and I should not have; you are going to war, too. I feel almost married to you now, by telling you things I haven’t been able to talk about with anyone else. If you had put me on the grass and had me—it would have been sweet and just what I planned. But this is even closer. And sweeter. A woman can open—her body to a man without opening her mind. I had two babies by Brian before I learned to open my mind to him the way I have to you tonight.”

  “Perhaps our minds are much alike, Maureen. Your father thinks we are cousins.”

  “No, he doesn’t, darling; he thinks you’re my half brother.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “And I think so, too. By things Father did not say, dear Theodore. By how broken up he was when he misunderstood you about your intention to enlist. By the way he insisted that we must claim a service star for you. I feel sure he is right…and I want to believe it. Yes, that makes what I tried to do to you dreadfully sinful in some people’s eyes, Incest. I did not care a whit. Since I’m pregnant, it could not possibly cause harm to a baby and that’s the only thing that could make incest wrong.”

 

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