Time Enough for Love (44 page)

They paused on a sunny hilltop well out of town. Gibbons said, “Why so silent, little Dora? Buck has had more to say than you have.”

She turned in the saddle and faced him. “How many more rides will we have together? Is this the last?”

“Why. Dora! Of course we will have more rides together.”

“I wonder. Lazarus, I—”

“
What did you call me?
”

“I called you by your name, Lazarus.”

He stared at her thoughtfully. “Dora, you’re not supposed to know that name. I’m your ‘Uncle Gibbie.’”

“‘Uncle Gibbie’ is gone, and so is ‘Little Dora.’ I’m almost as tall as you are now, and I’ve known for two years who you are, and I had guessed it before that—guessed that you were one of the Methuselahs, I mean. But I said nothing to anyone. And never will.”

“Don’t make it a promise, Dora; it isn’t necessary. It’s just that I never meant to burden you with it. How did I give myself away? I thought I had been most careful.”

“You have been. But I have seen you nearly every day almost as far back as I can remember. Little things. Things no one would notice who didn’t see you—really
look
at you—every day.”

“Well, yes. But I didn’t expect to have to keep it up so long. Helen knew?”

“I think she did. We never spoke of it. But I think she guessed the same way I did…and she may have figured out which Methuselah you are—”

“Don’t call me that, dear. It’s like calling a Jew a ‘kike.’ I’m a member of the Howard Families. A Howard.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that the name mattered.”

“Well…it doesn’t, really. It’s just a word that reminds me of a time long gone. A time of persecution. Sorry, Dora; you were telling me how you learned that my name is ‘Lazarus.’ One of my names, that is, for I am ‘Ernest Gibbons’ just as truly.”

“Yes… Uncle Gibbie. It was in a book. A picture. A microbook one has to read with the viewer at the town library. I saw this picture and winked on past it—then clicked back and looked again. You weren’t wearing whiskers in the picture and your hair was longer…but the longer I stared at it, the more it looked like my foster uncle. But I couldn’t be sure—and couldn’t ask.”

“Why not, Dora? I would have told you the truth.”

“If you had wanted me to know, you would have told me. You always have reasons for everything you do, everything you say. I learned that when I was so little we used to ride the same saddle. So I didn’t say anything. Until—Well, until today. Knowing that you are leaving.”

“Have I said that I was leaving?”

“Please! Once, when I was very little, you told me a story about when you were a little boy hearing wild geese honking in the sky—how, when you grew up, you wanted to find out where they went. I didn’t know what a wild goose was; you had to explain to me. I know you follow the wild goose. When you hear them honking, you have to go. You’ve been hearing them in your head for three or four years. I know…because when you hear them,
I
hear them, too. And now the ship is here and it’s very loud in your head. So I knew.”

“Dora, Dora!”

“Don’t, please. I’m not trying to hold you back, truly I’m not. But before you go, I want something very much.”

“What, Dora? Uh, didn’t mean to tell you this yet, but I’m leaving some property for you with John Magee. Should be enough for—”

“No, no, please! I’m a grown woman now, and self-supporting. What I want doesn’t cost anything.” She looked him steadily in the eye. “I want your child, Lazarus.”

Lazarus Long took a deep breath, tried to steady his heartbeat. “Dora, Dora, my dear, you are hardly more than a child yourself; it is too soon for you to be talking about having one. You don’t want to marry me—”

“I did not ask you to marry me.”

“I was trying to say that, in a year or two—or three, or four—you
will
want to marry. Then you will be glad that you did
not
have my child.”

“You refuse me this?”

“I’m saying that you must not let an emotional upset over parting cause you to make any such hasty decision.”

She sat very straight in the saddle, squared her shoulders. “It is not a hasty decision, sir. I made up my mind long ago…even before I guessed that you were a—Howard. Long before. I told Aunt Helen, and she said that I was a silly girl and that I must forget it. But I have never forgotten it, and if I was a silly girl then, I am much older now and know what I am doing. Lazarus, I am not asking for
anything
else. It could be syringes and such, with Doc Krausmeyer’s help. Or”—again she looked him squarely in his eyes—“it could be the usual way.” She dropped her eyes, then looked up again, smiled briefly and added, “But, either way, it had best be quickly. I don’t know the ship’s schedule; I
do
know mine.”

Gibbons spent all of a half second reviewing certain factors in his mind. “Dora.”

“Yes… Ernest?”

“My name is not ‘Ernest,’ nor is it ‘Lazarus.’ My right name is Woodrow Wilson Smith. So since I am no longer ‘Uncle Gibbie’—and you are right on that point; ‘Uncle Gibbie’ is gone and will never be back—you might as well call me ‘Woodrow.’”

“Yes, Woodrow.”

“Do you want to know why I had to change my name?”

“No, Woodrow.”

“So? Do you want to know how old I am?”

“No, Woodrow.”

“But you want to have a child by me?”

“Yes, Woodrow.”

“Will you marry me?”

Her eyes widened slightly. But she answered at once:

“No, Woodrow.”

Minerva, at that point Dora and I almost had our first—and last, and only—quarrel. She had been a sweet and lovable baby who had grown into a sweet-tempered and utterly lovable young woman. But she was as stubborn as I am—with the sort of firmness that can’t be argued with, because she would not argue. I pay her the respect of believing that she had thought this through, all aspects, and had long since made up her mind to bear my child if I would let her—but not to marry me.

As for me, I did not ask her to marry me on impulse; it just sounds like it. A supersaturated solution will crystallize almost instantly; that’s the shape I was in. I had lost interest in that colony years earlier, as soon as it stopped presenting real challenges; I was itching to do something else. At the top of my mind I thought I was waiting for Zack to return…but when the
Andy J
. finally did orbit in that sky, two years overdue—well, I learned that it was not what I had been waiting for.

When Dora made that amazing request, I knew what I had been waiting for.

Surely, I tried to argue her out of it—but I was playing devil’s advocate. In fact, my mind was busy with what and how. All the objections to marrying a short-lifer still remained. My even stronger objections to leaving a pregnant woman behind me—shucks, dear, I didn’t spend a nanosecond on
that
.

“Why not, Dora?”

“I told you. You are leaving, I will not hold you back.”

“You won’t hold me back. No one ever has yet, Dora. But—no marriage, no child.”

She looked thoughtful. “What is your purpose in insisting on a marriage ceremony, Woodrow? So that our child will bear your name? I don’t want to be a sky widow…but if that is what it takes, let’s ride back to town and find the Moderator. Because it really should be today. If the books are right about how to figure it.”

“Woman, you talk too much.” She did not answer this; he went on: “I don’t give a hoot about a wedding ceremony—certainly not one in Top Dollar.”

She hesitated, then said, “May I say that I do not understand?”

“Eh? Yes, surely. Dora, I won’t settle for one child. You’re going to have half a dozen children by me, or more. Probably more. Maybe a dozen. Any objection?”

“Yes, Woodrow—I mean No, I do not object. Yes, I will have a dozen children by you. Or more.”

“Having a dozen kids takes time, Dora. How often should I show up? Every two years, maybe?”

“Whatever you say, Woodrow. Whenever you come back—each time you come back—I’ll have a child by you. But I do ask that we start the first one at once.”

“You crazy little idiot, I believe you
would
do it that way.”

“Not ‘would’—
shall
. If you will.”

“Well, we’re
not
going to do it that way.” He reached out and took her hand. “Dora, will you go where I go, do what I do, live where I live?”

She looked startled but answered steadily, “Yes, Woodrow. If this is truly what you want.”

“Don’t put any conditions on it. Will you, or won’t you?”

“I will.”

“If it comes to a showdown, will you do what I tell you to? Not give me any more stubborn arguments?”

“Yes, Woodrow.”

“Will you bear my children and be my wife till death do us part?”

“I will.”

“I take thee, Dora, to be my wife, to love and protect and cherish—and never to leave you…so long as we both shall live. Don’t sniffle! Lean over here and kiss me instead. We’re married.”

“I was not either sniffling! Are we really married?”

“We are. Oh, you can have any wedding ceremony you want. Later. Now shut up and kiss me.”

She obeyed.

Some long moments later he said, “Hey, don’t fall out of your saddle! Steady, Betty! Steady, Beulah! ’Dorable Dora, who taught you to kiss that way?”

“You haven’t called me that since I started to grow up. Years.”

“Haven’t kissed you since you started to grow up, either. For good reason. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Is that one of the things I just promised? Whoever taught me to kiss, it was before I was a married woman.”

“Mmm, you may have a point there. I’ll take it up with my legal staff and have them write you a letter. Besides it might be native talent rather than instruction. Tell you what, Dora, I’ll refrain from quizzing you about your sinful past…and you leave mine alone. A deal?”

“Yes indeed—for I have a
very
sinful past.”

“Piffle, darling, you haven’t had time to be sinful. Swiped some sweets I had fetched for Buck, maybe? Very sinful.”

“I never did any such thing! But lots worse.”

“Oh, sure. Give me another of those native-talent kisses.”

Presently he said, “Whew! No, the first one wasn’t a fluke. Dora, I think I married you just barely in time.”

“You insisted on marrying me—my husband. I didn’t make an issue of it.”

“Conceded. Sweetheart, are you still anxious to get started on that baby? Now that you know that I am not going away without you?”

“No longer anxious. Eager, perhaps. Yes, ‘eager’ is the right word. But not demanding.”

“‘Eager’ is a fine word. Me, too. I could also add ‘demanding. Who knows?—you may have other native talents.”

She barely smiled. “If not, Woodrow, I’m sure you can teach me. I’m willing to learn. Eager.”

“Let’s head back to town. My apartment? Or the schoolhouse?”

“Either one, Woodrow. But see that little stand of trees? It’s much closer.”

It was almost dark as they neared town; they rode back at a gentle walk. As they passed the Markhams’ house on the old Harper place, Woodrow Wilson Smith said, “Adorable Dora—”

“Yes, my husband?”

“Do you want a public wedding?”

“Only if you want one, Woodrow. I feel very much married. I
am
married.”

“You certainly are. Not going to run away with a younger man?”

“Is that a rhetorical question? Not now, or ever.”

“This young man is an immigrant who may not be down until the last or nearly the last trip. He is about my height, but he has black hair and a darker skin than I have. Can’t say just how old he is, but he looks about half the age I look. Smooth-shaven. His friends call him ‘Bill.’ Or ‘Woodie.’ Captain Briggs says Bill is very fond of young schoolmarms and is anxious to meet you.”

She appeared to consider it. “If I kissed him with my eyes closed, do you think I would recognize him?”

“It’s possible, Dorable. Almost certain. But I don’t think anyone else will. I hope they don’t.”

“Woodrow, I don’t know your plans. But if I do recognize this ‘Bill,’ should I attempt to convince him that I am that other schoolmarm? The one you were singing about? Rangy Lil?”

“I think you could convince him, dearest one. All right, ‘Uncle Gibbie’ is back, temporarily. It will take Ernest Gibbons three or four days to wind up what he must do here, then he’ll say good-bye to people—including his foster niece, that old-maid schoolmarm Dora Brandon. Two days later this Bill Smith comes down with the last, or nearly the last, load of cargo from the ship. You had better be packed and ready to leave by then because Bill is going to drive past your schoolhouse the following day, or the day after that, just before dawn, headed for New Pittsburgh.”

“New Pittsburgh. I’ll be ready.”

“But we won’t stay there more than a day or two. On we go, past Separation; then right over the horizon. We’re going to tackle Hopeless Pass, dear. Does that appeal to you?”

“I go where you go.”

“Does it
appeal
to you? You won’t have anyone to talk to but me. Until you bake one and teach him—or her—to talk. No neighbors. Lopers and dragons and God knows what else. But no neighbors.”

“So I’ll cook and help you farm—and bake babies. When I have three I’ll open ‘Mrs. Smith’s Primary School.’ Or should we call it ‘Rangy Lil’s Primary School’?”

“The latter, I think. For young hellions. My kids are always hell-raisers, Dora. You’ll teach school with a club in your hand.”

“If necessary, Woodrow. I’ve got some like that now, and two of them outweigh me. I clobber them as necessary.”

“Dora, we don’t have to tackle Hopeless Pass. We could leave in the ‘Andy J.’ and go to Secundus. Briggs tells me that there are over twenty million people there now. You could have a nice house. Inside plumbing. A flower garden instead of breaking your back helping me to make a farm. A good hospital with real doctors when you have babies. Safety and comfort.”

“‘Secundus.’ That’s where all the—Howards moved. Isn’t it?”

“About two-thirds of them. A few are right here, as I told you. But we don’t admit it because when you are outnumbered, it is neither safe nor comfortable to be a Howard. Dora, you don’t have to make up your mind in only three or four days. That ship will stay in orbit here as long as I want it to. Weeks. Months. As long as I order it to stay.”