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A few minutes later the young people came out of the kitchen, made polite sounds without sitting down; then Nancy stepped out onto the porch to say good-night to her swain, came back in, and sat down.
Mr. Johnson smothered a yawn. "Time I hit the hay. You will too, Ted, if you're smart. Too noisy around here to sleep late, especially where your room is."
Nancy said quickly, "I'll keep the young ones quiet, Grandpa, so Uncle Ted can sleep."
Lazarus stood up. "Thank you, Nancy, but I didn't get much rest on the train last night; I think I'll go right to bed. Don't worry about keeping quiet in the morning; I'll wake up at reveille time anyhow. Habit."
Mrs. Smith stood up. "We'll all go to bed."
Mr. Johnson shook hands as he said good-night; Mrs. Smith gave Lazarus a symbolic peck on the cheek such as she had given him, on arrival, thanked him for a lovely evening, and urged him to turn over and go back to sleep if the reveille habit- wakened him; Nancy hung back and kissed him good-night as her elders started up the stairs.
Lazarus went to his room and on into his bath. Maureen had told him not to hesitate to draw a tub; it would not wake the children. He started one, went back and opened his grip, got out the little package, took it into the bath and threw the bolt, there being no key in the bedroom door. It was a small flat box such as garters might come in; he opened it carefully, intending to rewrap it exactly as it had been.
Ah, the garters! Faded, as she had said, and clearly not new...and-Yes!-redolent with her own evocative fragrance. Would it last long- enough for him to get it home, have the lovely, delicate aroma analyzed, amplified, and fixed? Probably-and with computer help a skilled scentologist could separate out the odors of satin 'and rubber, and amplify hers selectively. He would have to go to Secundus for such expert 'help. Worth the trip and then some!
Now let's see those "naughty" mottoes- One read: "Open All Hours-Ring Bell for Service!"-the other: "Welcbme! Come in and Stir the Fire." Sweet darling, those aren't "naughty."
A plain envelope under the garters- He laid them aside and opened it.
A plain white card: "Best I could do, Beloved. M." A photograph, amateur work but excellent quality for this here-k-now: Maureen herself, outdoors in bright sunlight against a background of thick bushes. She was standing gracefully, smiling and looking at the camera-dressed only in her "French postcard" style. Lazarus felt a burst of passion. Why, you generous, trusting darling! Not your only copy? No, Brian would have made more than one print- undoubtedly had one with him. This print would have been locked somewhere in your bedroom. Yes, your waist is slender without a corset...and those are not broken down; they are lovely-and I'm certain what caused your happy smile. Thank you, thank you!
With the photograph was a little flat package in tissue-paper. He opened it gently. A thick lock of red hair, tied with a green ribbon. The lock curled in a tight circle.
Lazarus stared at it. Maureen my beloved, this is the most precious gift of all-but I do hope you cut it so carefully that Brian won't notice it's missing.
He looked at each of her gifts again, restored them just as they had been, put the box into the bottom of his grip, locked it, turned off the tub, undressed, and got into the water.
But a lukewarm tub did not make him sleep. For a long time he lay in darkness and relived the past few hours.
He now felt that he understood Maureen. She was relaxed with what she was-"liked herself" as Lazarus thought of it- and liking yourself was the necessary first step toward 'loving other people. She had no guilt feelings because she never did anything that could make her feel guilty. She was unblinkingly honest with herself, was her own self-judge instead of looking to others, did not lie to herself-but lied to others without hesitation when needed for kindness or to get along with rules she had not made and did not respect.
Lazarus understood that; he lived the same way-and now knew where he got the trait. From Maureen...and through her, from' Gramp. And from Pop, too-reinforced. He felt very happy despite an unsatisfied ache in his loins. Or in part because of it, he corrected, he found that he cherished that ache.
When the doorknob turned, he was instantly alert, out of bed and waiting before the door opened.
She was in his arms, warm and fragrant
She pulled back to shrug off her wrap, let it fall, came back into his arms, body to body, and gave her mouth fully.
When they broke the kiss, she stayed in his ~arms, clinging. He whispered huskily, "Why did you risk it?"
She answered softly, "I found that I must. Once I knew that, I realized that it was even less risk than our walnut tree. The children never come downstairs at night when we have a guest. Father may suspect me...but that makes it certain that he won't check on me. Don't worry, darling. Take me to bed. Now!"
He did so.
When they were quiet, she sighed happily and said, lips against his ear, arms and legs around him: "Theodore, even in this you are so much like my husband that I can barely wait till the war is over to tell him all about you."
"You've decided to tell him?"
"Beloved Theodore, there was never a doubt that I would. I softened some of what I told you tonight and left out a little. Brian does not require me to confess. But it does not upset him; we settled that fifteen years ago. He convinced me that he really does trust my judgment and my taste." Very softly but merrily she giggled against his ear. "It's a shame that I so seldom have anything to confess; he enjoys hearing my adventures. He has me tell him about them over and over-like rereading a favorite book. I wish I could tell him this one tomorrow night. But I won't, I'll save it."
"He's coming home tomorrow?"
"Late. Quite late. Which is just as well, as I don't expect to get any sleep once he arrives." She chuckled softly. "He tild me on the telephone to 'b. i. b. a. w. y. L o.' and he would 'w. y. t. b. w.' That means: Be in bed asleep with my legs open and he will wake me the best way. But I just pretend to be asleep as I wake up no matter how quietly he tiptoes in."
She gave a tiny giggle. "Then we have a happy little game. As he enters me, I pretend to wake up and call him by name-but never his name. I moan, 'Oh, Albert, darling, I thought you would never come!' or some such. Then it's his turn. He says something like, 'This is Buffalo Bill, Mrs. O'Malley. Hush up and get busy!' Then I hush up and do the best I know how, not another word until we both explode."
"Your best is superb, Mrs. O'Malley. Or was that your best?"
"I tried to make it my best-Buffalo Bill. But I was so dreadfully excited that I got all blurry so it probably was not. I'd like a chance to do better. Are you going to give me one?"
"Only if you promise not to do better. Darling, if that was not your best, then your best would kill me."
"You not only talk like my husband and feel like him- especially here-but you even smell like him."
"You smell like Tamara."
"Do I really? Do I make love like her?"
(Tamara knows a thousand ways, darling, but rarely uses anything unusual-lovemaking is not technique, dear, it's an attitude. Wanting to make someone happy, which you do.
But you startled me with your command of technique; you would fetch a high price on Iskander.)
"You do. But that's not what makes you so much like her. Uh, it's your attitude. Tamara knows what is going on in another person's mind and gives him exactly what he needs. Wants to give it."