Time Out of Mind (59 page)
Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
Two neighbors appeared on the very first day, bearing casseroles and fresh-baked bread. Mr. Smithberg was there, as was Tilden, who was obviously nervous and awkwardly
solicitous of the very pregnant and very lovely young
widow. The neighbors, ladies of early middle age with large
families of their own, understood Mr. Beckwith to be the
owner of this property before selling it to Mrs. Corbin, and
they understood his behavior to be that of a man suddenly smitten upon coming face to face with a woman he had
heretofore met only through Mr. Smithberg. Andrew Smith-
berg assisted them in coming to this conclusion. It would
not surprise him at all, he told Mrs. Gannon and Mrs. Red
way in confidence, if young Mr. Beckwith, a tragic wid
ower himself, begged the honor of calling upon Mrs.
Corbin in future. Confidence notwithstanding, the two la
dies lost little time in encouraging Margaret to receive him.
The child was born, to the delight of all, on Christmas
morning. A healthy son, delivered there in the house and without great distress by Dr. Miles Palmer with the assistance of a young and very large black nurse named Lucy Stone. Mrs. Redway had been with Margaret since before
dawn, having been alerted by the prearranged signal of
flashing electric lights that the pains of labor had begun.
. Mrs. Redway called first Dr. Palmer and then Tilden Beck
with, who had taken a room in the Indian Harbor Hotel.
She spent much of the morning calming him and pouring
coffee for him even after the first cry of life sounded from
the room upstairs. A body would think he was an anxious
father if she didn't know perfectly well that they'd been
acquainted barely a month. Mrs. Redway was charmed.
Perhaps the dear baby would not long be denied a father
after all.
The noon church bells sounded before Tilden was al
lowed a short private visit. Margaret was pale but without
much discomfort, even though she had refused Dr. Palmer's
offer of laudanum.
“
Oh, Tilden, look,” she said upon returning his kiss,
“he is the image of you. I'm afraid a tongue or two is
going to wag.”
Tilden, who thought all newborns resembled halibuts as much as anything, pretended nonetheless to share her con
viction of their resemblance.
“
He is a Beckwith, to be sure.” Tilden squeezed her hand. “Though on the inside I'd be proud if he's more of
a Barrie.”
Margaret smiled, then was silent for a long moment.
“
Sometimes, Tilden,” she said to him, “when I see a
person I have not met, I try to guess his name. It's a little
game I play.”
Tilden waited.
“
When I first saw you at Georgiana's house, I decided
that your name should be Jonathan. You look like a Jona
than.”
“
Because all Jonathans are noble and handsome, I take
it.”
”
I have decided to call our son Jonathan,” she told him.
“It is not my first choice. But it is fitting and I will be
pleased with it.”
”
I, too, am pleased.” His eyes moistened. “Most
pleased.”
“
He will be christened Jonathan T Corbin. You and I
will both know that the
T
is for Tilden. That is enough.”
Tilden's face clouded. His mind went back to the initial,
similarly incomplete, which he'd given Ella's child in a moment of hurt and anguish.
“
What is wrong, Tilden?” she asked. “Please do not forbid it.”
Oh.” He kissed her. “Nothing of the sort. I was just
wondering if it would be so reckless to give him Tilden as his second name and be done with it. After all, the whole
town knows we've become good friends. And women have been known to name babies after people they hardly knew,
such as the doctor who delivered them, or after famous
people they did not know at all.”
This way is best for now. I have a fear of you feeling
too much bound to me and the child.”
“
Bound,” he stammered. ”I will not hear of such a
thing. You might as well say I fear being bound to my own
arms and legs.”
Later, Tilden.” She touched his lips. “Let us have one
day at a time for now and be thankful for each of them.”
Now Tilden fell into a brooding silence.
“
Tilden?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“
Merry Christmas,” she whispered sleepily.
“
Merry Christmas, my one great love.”
pound cake into the living room. Corbin was on the floor, cross-legged, his back against a window seat. His face, she
saw, was oddly tranquil, although no less lost in thought
than he'd been all morning.
“
Are we about to play Indian?” It was something to say.
She was tired of asking if he was all right.
“
Does it feel like Christmas to you?” He looked up.
Hmm!” She set down the tray in front of him. “We
could do with some chestnuts roasting. Or at least an open
fire.”
“
I'll build one in a minute.” He took a cup and sipped
from it. “You know something, Gwen? I think I know where I am now:”
“
Where you are? You mean this house?”
Corbin nodded. “It always seemed as if I've been here
before. But you know when it's most familiar? It's most familiar from down here on the floor.”
“
Tilden Beckwith had no chairs?”
Corbin grimaced. “Gwen, honey, do you want me to
start thinking twice before I say something to you?”
“
I'm sorry,” she said. So much for trying to keep it
light. “Go ahead, Jonathan.”
come with the tray. “Tilden Beckwith walked right through
that door. He came over here and picked up a ball that was
rolling around between my legs. He put it in his pocket and
then he picked me up. He looked at me, down here, as if
to see if I was wet, and then he kissed me on the head and
tucked me in one arm. If I turned my head, and I did, it
was because his whiskers scratched. I could see Margaret coming from up high through the same doorway. She was
fixing her hat in place with a pin and talking to a much smaller woman with straight blond hair. And the blond
woman, she's very pretty, she sees me and she waggles her
index finger and aims it like she's going to tickle my ribs and I start to laugh and squirm. Then Tilden growls and
pretends to bite my neck.”
“
Jonathan.”
“
Umm?”
“
Nothing. Please go on.”
That's really all. Just some messing around with a baby. From where I sat, I was the baby.”
“
Can you get it back, this vision you were having?”
“
It wasn't a vision, sweetheart. I was remembering.”
“
As Tilden and Margaret's child?”
Corbin nodded, smiling at the still fresh images.
“
And you see nothing absolutely cockeyed weird about
that?”
You mean about going from Tilden's head into his
son's? Into my grandfather's?” Corbin shrugged, still smiling gently. “You and your uncle just spent two days trying to put me at ease about what's happening to me. Now you
want me to start thinking I'm crazy again?”
did not like this at all. Especially not that contented smile.
She had liked it better yesterday and the day before. Al
though it scared her half out of her wits, she liked it better when Tilden would break through Jonathan's fear. And she
could talk to him.
No. No, you're quite right.” She glanced toward the
doorway where he'd said Margaret and the blond woman
stood. “You were saying that Tilden bit your neck and—
Jonathan, I can't help it. Why do you look so damn pleased
with yourself?”
“
You like me better hiding behind office curtains or
screaming in bathtubs? Talk about weird.” He pushed to his feet and selected two logs and a handful of kindling from a wrought iron rack by the fireplace. He tested the flue. “Listen, Gwen, I've told you right along I feel good
up here. Among the things that make me feel good right
now, aside from you being here with me, is
that
I
now
understand why this house was so familiar. But only the
lower part and especially when I sit on the floor. I've
been
here, Gwen. I've visited. I didn't know what the upstairs
looked like because I never had a reason to go there. I was
here in this lady's house with both my parents and I was
very small and very happy. We all were. Everything
was ...” His voice trailed off.
“
Everything was what, Jonathan?”
“
Fine.” The pleasure was fading.
“
Talk to me. What did you just see?”
“
It's nothing.” He shook it off. “Really. It just seemed
that the blond woman was telling Margaret everything would be fine. But she wasn't saying it. It was with the
eyes, you know? And with a squeezed arm. So Tilden
wouldn't hear.”
“
Who was she?”
“
And I'll tell you something else.” He brightened again.
“Do you remember when I met Mrs. Starling? And she
seemed familiar and I had an idea her name should be
Lucy? Lucy was the baby's nurse. She was a big black woman who looked just like Cora Starling.”
woman, Jonathan?”
”
I don't know. Some friend of Margaret's.” He dis
missed the question. “Do you know”—his eyes nar
rowed—“that I have no bad dreams when I'm in
Greenwich? I mean, not one. All my life I've had a feeling
that something wasn't right or that someone had it in for
me. All my life I've had dreams of me beating up on people
or people beating up on me. I mean, that Hoffman House
thing was just the beginning. It was like a whole tourna
ment I had to go through. All the time I was boxing in
college I'd stare hard at whatever opponent I drew, trying
to figure out if it was him, whoever the hell
him
was, and I'd do my damnedest to clobber the guy just in case. Then
when I finally did get beat up in real life it was by these two men in Chicago, and I kept dreaming about that for
years afterward, except in the dreams it was me beating them, I mean really totaling them. But none of this, none of it, ever happens here in Greenwich.”
“
Jonathan.” He was talking so fast. Babbling. She stood
up and reached to touch him. He backed away.
“
Don't ruin this for me, Gwen.”
She blinked. “The blond woman, Jonathan? Is all this
because I asked about the blond woman?’'
“
Don't ruin this for us. I mean it.” His eyes were burn
ing.
A car drove by outside. For an instant Gwen hoped desperately that it was her uncle Harry, but the tires she heard
had chains. What's keeping him? Gwen wandered to the
window, trying not to show that she was frightened. They should have cleared the driveway for him. But he'll get in.
Someone had flattened down the driveway entrance. Gwen stiffened as she heard the floorboards creak behind her. She
jumped as a hand touched her hair.