Time Enough For Love Part 29

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 Gibbie0146 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 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 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 would do it that way." do it that way."

"Not 'would'-shall. If you will."

"Well, we're not 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?" 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! 'Durable 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 very sinful past." 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 pa.s.sed 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 am married." 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. Smoothshaven. 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 Pa.s.s, dear. Does that appeal to you?"

"I go where you go."

"Does it appeal 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 G.o.d knows what else. But no neighbors." 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 G.o.d 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 h.e.l.lions. My kids are always h.e.l.l-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 Pa.s.s. 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."

"Goodness! You can afford to have Captain Briggs hold a starship in orbit? Just to let me make up my mind?"

"I shouldn't have rushed you. But it's not exactly a case of affording it, Dora-although it doesn't cost much to stay in orbit. Uh . . I've kept my own counsel so long that I'm out of the habit of being a married man, with a wife I can trust with secrets; I must stop it. I own sixty percent of the 'Andy J.' Dora; Zack Briggs is my junior partner. And my son. Your stepson, you could say."

She did not answer at once. Presently he said, "What's the trouble, Dora? Did I shock you?"

"No, Woodrow. I'm just having to get used to new ideas. Of course you've been married before, you're a Howard. I'd never thought about it, that's all. A son-sons. And daughters, too, no doubt."

"Yes, surely. But what I was getting at is that I've done some bad planning-through my own selfishness. I was rushing you when there is no need for it. If we stay on New Beginnings, I want 'Ernest Gibbons' to disappear-leave in the 'Andy J.,' that is, as he is getting too old: I can't keep it up much longer. So young 'Bill Smith,' who is much nearer your age, takes his place . . which looks better and no one here will ever suspect that I'm a Howard.

"I've worked this shenanigan many times; I know how to make it stand up. But I was trying to get rid of 'Ernest Gibbons' as fast as possible because he's your old foster uncle who is about three times your age and wouldn't dream of patting your pretty bottom, nor would you encourage him to. As everybody knows. But I want want to pat your pretty bottom, Dorable." to pat your pretty bottom, Dorable."

"And I want you to pat it." She reined up; they were getting close to where houses were near together. "And more. Woodrow, you're saying that we can't live together right away because of what the neighbors might think. But who taught me never to care what the neighbors think? You did."

"True. Although sometimes it's expedient to make the neighbors think what you want them to think in order to influence what they do and say-and this might be such a time. But I also tried to teach you to be patient, dear one."

"Woodrow, I will do exactly what you tell me to. But I'm not really patient about this. I want my husband in my bed!"

"And I want to be there."

"Then what does it matter if people a.s.sume that I choose to tell my Uncle Gibbie good-bye in bed? Or that I then go away with a new settler almost at once? Woodrow, you didn't say a word about it at the time-but you knew that I was not virgin, I'm certain. Don't you think there must be others who know it, too? Probably the whole town. I've never worried about it. Why should I worry what they think now?"

"Dora."

"Yes, Woodrow?"

"I'll be in your bed every night, that's settled."

"Thank you, Woodrow."

"The pleasure is mine, madam. Or half of it, at least; you seem to enjoy it, too-"

"Oh, I do! And you know it. Or should."

"So stipulated, let's pa.s.s to other matters-except to say that had I found you virgin-big as you are, old as you are-it would have worried me a little, and I might have felt that Helen had not been quite the wholesome influence that I thought she was. That she was indeed, bless her heart! The matter of pretending to be dear old 'Uncle Gibbie' who would never touch little Dora was purely for your face; since it does not worry you, let's drop it. What I started to say is that you can take as long as you like in deciding whether to pioneer here or go to Secundus. Dora, Secundus has more than inside plumbing; it has a Rejuvenation Clinic."