Part 53 (1/2)

”We did not meet at church, Father. What with herding my zoo I barely have time to speak to Reverend and Mrs. Draper. But now that I think about it, I'm sure I saw Mr. Bronson there last Sunday. One does notice a new face among old familiar ones.”

”Daughter, as may be, that wasn't what I meant. Whom does Ted look like? No, never mind-doesn't he look like your Uncle Ned?”

His mother again looked at Lazarus. ”Yes, I see a resemblance. But he looks even more like you, Father.”

”No, Ted's from Springfield. All my sins were farther north.”

”Father.”

”Daughter, quit worrying about me rattling the family skeleton. It's possible that-Ted, may I tell it?”

”Certainly, Mr. Johnson. As you said, it's nothing to be ashamed of-and I'm not.”

”Ted is an orphan, Maureen, a foundling. If Ned weren't warming his toes in h.e.l.l, I'd ask him some searching questions. The time and place is right, and Ted certainly looks like our kin.”

”Father, I think you are embarra.s.sing our guest.”

”I don't. And don't you be so hoity-toity, young lady. You're a grown woman, with children; you can stand plain talk.”

”Mrs. Smith, I am not embarra.s.sed. Whoever my parents were, I am proud of them. They gave me a strong, healthy body and a brain that serves my needs-”

Well spoken, young man!”

-and while I would be proud to claim your father as my uncle-and you as my cousin-if it were so-it seems more likely that my parents were taken by a typhoid epidemic down that way; the dates match well enough.”

Mr. Johnson frowned. ”How old are you, Ted?”

Lazarus though fast and decided to be his mother's age. ”I'm thirty-five.”

”Why, that just my my age!” age!”

”Really, Mrs. Smith? If you hadn't made clear that you have a daughter old enough to go to the picture show with a young man, I I would have thought you were about eighteen.” would have thought you were about eighteen.”

”Oh, go along with you! I have eight children.”

”Impossible!”

”Maureen doesn't look her age,” agreed her father. ”Hasn't changed since she was a bride. Runs in the family; her mother doesn't have a gray hair today.” (Where is Grandma?-oh, yes, so don't ask.) ”But, Ted, you don't look thirty-five either. I would have guessed middle twenties.”

Well, I don't know exactly how old I am. But I can't can't be younger than that. I might be a bit older.” (Quite a bit, Gramp!) ”But it's close enough that when I'm asked I just put down the Fourth of July, 1882.” be younger than that. I might be a bit older.” (Quite a bit, Gramp!) ”But it's close enough that when I'm asked I just put down the Fourth of July, 1882.”

”Why that's my my birthday!” birthday!”

(Yes, Mama, I know.) ”Really, Mrs. Smith? I didn't mean to steal your birthday. I'll move over a few days-say the first of July. Since I'm not certain anyhow.”

Oh, don't do that! Father-you must bring Mr. Bronson home for dinner on our joint birthday.”

”Do you think Brian would like that?”

Certainly he would! I'll write to him about it. He'll be home long before then in any case. You know Brian always says, 'The more, the merrier!' We'll be expecting you, Mr. Bronson.”

”Mrs. Smith, that's most kind of you, but I expect to leave on a long business trip on the first of July.”

I think you have let Father scare you off. Or is it the prospect of eating dinner with eight noisy children? Never mind: my husband will invite you himself-and then we will see what you say.”

In the meantime, Maureen, stop crowding him; you've got him fl.u.s.tered. Let me see something. You two stand up, side by side. Go ahead, Ted; she won't bite you.”

”Mrs. Smith?”

She shrugged and dimpled, then accepted his hand to get up out of her rocking chair. ”Father always wants to 'see something.' ”

Lazarus stood by her, facing his grandfather, and tried to ignore her fragrance-a touch of toilet water, but mostly the light, warm, delicious scent of sweet and healthy woman. Lazarus was afraid to think about it, was careful not to let it show in his face. But it hit him like a heavy blow.

”Mrrrph. Both of you step up to the mantel and look at yourselves in the gla.s.s. Ted, there was no typhoid epidemic down that way in'eighty-two. Nor 'eighty-three.”

”Really, sir? Of course I can't remember.” (And I shouldn't have tossed in that flouris.h.!.+ Sorry, Gramp. Would you believe the truth? You might . . out of all the men I've ever known. Don't risk it, Bub, forget it!) ”Nope. Just the usual number of dumb fools too lazy to build their privies a proper distance from their wells. Which I feel certain could not describe your parents. Can't guess about your mother, but I think your father died with his hand on the throttle, still trying to gain control. Maureen?”

Mrs. Smith stared at her reflection and that of their guest. She said slowly, ”Father . . Mr. Bronson and I look enough alike to be brother and sister.”

”No. First cousins. Although with Ned gone there's no way to prove it. I think-”

Mr. Johnson was interrupted by a yell from the front staircase landing: ”Mama! Gramp! Gramp! I want to be b.u.t.toned up!” I want to be b.u.t.toned up!”

Ira Johnson answered, ”Woodie, you rapscallion, get back upstairs!”

Instead the child came down-small, male, freckled, and ginger-haired, dressed in Dr. Denton's with the seat flapping behind him. He stared at Lazarus with beady, suspicious eyes. Lazarus felt a s.h.i.+ver run down his spine and tried not to look at the child.

”Who's that? that?”

Mrs. Smith said quickly, ”Forgive me, Mr. Bronson.” Then she added quietly, ”Come here, Woodrow.”

Her father said, ”Don't bother, Maureen. I'll take him up and blister his bottom-then I'll b.u.t.ton him.” I'll b.u.t.ton him.”

”You and what six others?” the boy child demanded.

”Me, myself, and a baseball bat.”

Mrs. Smith quietly and quickly attended to the child's needs, then hurried him out of the room and headed him up the stairs. She returned and sat down. Her father said, ”Maureen, that was just an excuse. Woodie can b.u.t.ton himself. And he's too old for that baby outfit. Put him in a nights.h.i.+rt.”

”Father, shall we discuss it another time?”

Mr. Johnson shrugged. ”I've overstepped again. Ted, that one's the chessplayer. He's a stem-winder. Named for President Wilson, but he's not 'too proud to fight.' Mean little devil.”

”Father.”

”All right, all right-but it's true. That's what I like about Woodie. He'll go far.”

Mrs. Smith said, ”Please excuse us, Mr. Bronson. My father and I sometimes differ a little about how to bring up a boy. But we should not burden you with it.”