Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
Time Out of Mind (20 page)
“
Yes, my darling.” Gwen tried to keep her voice from
breaking. “Our son will be all of that. Not like that other
child.”
You can teach him the piano”—Corbin's voice became
tender, affectionate—‘‘and to converse in French. You can
teach him grace and good manners and I will teach him to
be manly.”
Gwen's mind raced. “You can teach him the manly arts.
Fisticuffs. Boxing.” One of those had to be right.
“
Yes,” he answered. “Just as John Flood taught me.
And I will show him how to play baseball. I'll teach him
to cycle and swim and to drive a gig. If he wishes it, he'll go to Harvard. And one day, as I've promised, I will give
him my name.”
Your name. Say your name, she begged in her mind. But
another question came first to her lips.
“
We are not to be married then?”
He looked away. “Perhaps. One day that will be possi
ble.”
Gwen felt hurt, and more than a little irked for Mar
garet's sake. Did he love her or was he hiring a bRood
mare? ”I should like that,” she told him.
“
No more than I,” he answered sadly. “But while my
father is alive, and while my business binds me to this city, we must wait. Although you deny it now, I know that the
ostracism we would suffer would bring you more pain than
I can bring you joy.”
Well, thought Gwen, at least he didn't spell it out that
she'd been irretrievably sullied and could not possibly be
considered as a wife. Still, she'd like to have felt that if
Margaret was good enough to carry his child, as she was
now obviously doing, she ought to be more important to
him than the acceptance of his blue-nosed social set. Better
change the subject.
she'd been irretrievably sullied and could not possibly be
considered as a wife. Still, she'd like to have felt that if
Margaret was good enough to carry his child, as she was
now obviously doing, she ought to be more important to
him than the acceptance of his blue-nosed social set. Better
change the subject.
“
This home I am to have. Where will it be, my darling?’'
Corbin looked at her oddly. ”I have told you many
times.”
times.”
“
Yes, but I am only a woman and so many things fly
from my mind.”
Another odd look. It was what Gwen's grandmother
might have said but she was a twit. Margaret would not
have been the fluttery type.
“
I'm teasing you, my darling. It's just that I so love
hearing you speak of it.” From the top, Gwen thought,
although she knew perfectly well where this house must be.
Corbin smiled patiently, warmly. “The house is one of
my prettiest properties outside New York. It was built by
Tweed himself for use as a guest house, so be assured that nothing was spared. I've had a telephone installed, a new
model, that will carry my voice a great distance as clearly
as you hear it now. And I've spoken to Mr. Johnson about wiring for electric lights and he promised it will be done
before summer is past. Have I told you about Mr. Johnson's
blind horse?”
my prettiest properties outside New York. It was built by
Tweed himself for use as a guest house, so be assured that nothing was spared. I've had a telephone installed, a new
model, that will carry my voice a great distance as clearly
as you hear it now. And I've spoken to Mr. Johnson about wiring for electric lights and he promised it will be done
before summer is past. Have I told you about Mr. Johnson's
blind horse?”
“
Oh, yes.” The house, Jonathan.
“
The house is also steam heated, the first like it in the town, and you shall have all the hot water you need at the
turn of a valve. You need never carry wood nor buckets of
water for your bath. You need never again go out of doors on a cold winter morning because a bathroom with all the
necessities has been built within the house. I'm assured
there will be no odor or peril to your health due to some
plumbing contraption that flushes away the sewer gases and
keeps them from returning.”
The house is also steam heated, the first like it in the town, and you shall have all the hot water you need at the
turn of a valve. You need never carry wood nor buckets of
water for your bath. You need never again go out of doors on a cold winter morning because a bathroom with all the
necessities has been built within the house. I'm assured
there will be no odor or peril to your health due to some
plumbing contraption that flushes away the sewer gases and
keeps them from returning.”
“
That does sound charming,” she said dryly.
“
In the carriage house, there's both a surrey and a sleigh
and I have my eye on.a dun gelding only three years
old ...” His smile dimmed a degree or two and he touched
her cheek. “You will be happy there, Margaret.”
In the carriage house, there's both a surrey and a sleigh
and I have my eye on.a dun gelding only three years
old ...” His smile dimmed a degree or two and he touched
her cheek. “You will be happy there, Margaret.”
“
I know.”
“
You will have a gentle future and you will have no past except the one we choose for you. No one need ever know. You will be a proper young widow, a very lovely young widow, and I will be first your protector and then your
gentleman caller.”
You will have a gentle future and you will have no past except the one we choose for you. No one need ever know. You will be a proper young widow, a very lovely young widow, and I will be first your protector and then your
gentleman caller.”
A new past? Gwen thought. That means a new name.
“Say my new name, Jonathan.” Oh, shit!
Corbin's eyes glazed and batted rapidly. He backed away
from her, his eyes now darting around him with the look of a man who suddenly realizes he is lost.
“
Jonathan.” Gwen dropped her shopping bag and seized
his lapels. “Jonathan, what's her new name? What's your
name?”
“
She didn't say ‘children.’ ”
“
What?” Oh, yes. The word the woman said as he
pressed her into the snow. “‘Jonathan, say his name before
you lose it.”
“
She said Tilden. His name is Tilden.”
Seven
Raymond Lesko had crossed to the north side of the nar
row street. While Corbin and the Leamas woman were in
volved in a particularly intense discussion on the south side,
he slid past them and went on down toward the corner at
Sixth Avenue, where he blended into a small group awaiting taxis outside the Barbizon-Plaza Hotel. Lesko waited there, massaging the back of his neck. It was developing a
crick from trying to watch both Corbin and the dazed old
man who still plodded along behind them.
The look of fear and shock he'd seen on the old man's
face had, if anything, deepened since he'd left Barnes & Noble's. Haunted was how he looked, Lesko thought. Like
a guy walking through a spook house, trying hard to believe
there were no such things as ghosts, but afraid that any
moment one would pop up and stop his heart. Lesko would
have felt sorry for him if he hadn't instinctively disliked
him. The black homburg had been tilted off center some
place along the way, probably one of the times he stopped to wipe the sweat off his face. Funny about a black homburg. Wear it straight and everybody with a flunky men
tality either sucks up to you or steps out of your way. Wear
it crooked and you look like a drunk.
face had, if anything, deepened since he'd left Barnes & Noble's. Haunted was how he looked, Lesko thought. Like
a guy walking through a spook house, trying hard to believe
there were no such things as ghosts, but afraid that any
moment one would pop up and stop his heart. Lesko would
have felt sorry for him if he hadn't instinctively disliked
him. The black homburg had been tilted off center some
place along the way, probably one of the times he stopped to wipe the sweat off his face. Funny about a black homburg. Wear it straight and everybody with a flunky men
tality either sucks up to you or steps out of your way. Wear
it crooked and you look like a drunk.
Back at Seventh Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, Lesko had stood in a foot of snow behind a padlocked newsstand,
watching the reactions of both Corbin and the old man as
they stood on different corners, each having been obviously
and deeply affected by the sight of the old Osborne apartment building. With Corbin, Lesko thought, it was kind of
a confusion. And a reluctance to get too close. With the
black homburg, it was more like one big moan. Lesko
thought he would have sagged to his knees if he hadn't had
a corner of Carnegie Hall to hold on to. It was the Osborne
that was doing it. Lesko was fairly sure of that, thanks to
the English dame. He might not have made the connection
if she hadn't parked Corbin out on Seventh Avenue, done
a lot of gesturing toward the building, and then run into the lobby to check out—whatever. He could probably find out later from whoever works there. In the meantime, he real
ized, she continues to be the only one of the three of them
with her head on straight.
watching the reactions of both Corbin and the old man as
they stood on different corners, each having been obviously
and deeply affected by the sight of the old Osborne apartment building. With Corbin, Lesko thought, it was kind of
a confusion. And a reluctance to get too close. With the
black homburg, it was more like one big moan. Lesko
thought he would have sagged to his knees if he hadn't had
a corner of Carnegie Hall to hold on to. It was the Osborne
that was doing it. Lesko was fairly sure of that, thanks to
the English dame. He might not have made the connection
if she hadn't parked Corbin out on Seventh Avenue, done
a lot of gesturing toward the building, and then run into the lobby to check out—whatever. He could probably find out later from whoever works there. In the meantime, he real
ized, she continues to be the only one of the three of them
with her head on straight.
She also, he decided, now watching as they resumed their slow progress down Fifty-eighth Street, seems to be the one
who's running this show. Whatever the hell is going on,
and so far no one really seems to know, she's the only one besides me who's working at putting the pieces together.
Uh-oh! Hold the phone. Now all of a sudden it's Corbin
who's standing straight and it's the dame who suddenly looks shook up. It looks like—Wait a minute. Steady,
Lesko..
Raymond Lesko had been struck by a thought, an intu
ition, that the pragmatist in him tried at once to reject. What
he felt was the odd notion that Jonathan Corbin was sud
denly somebody else. He was standing straighter. Stiffer.
Almost military. Except there wasn't any stiffness in his
face or in the tone he must have been using. He looks
happy, Lesko realized. And about ten years younger. Although there was nothing remotely threatening or fearful in
Corbin’ s manner, Lesko felt an unaccountable chill and a sudden impulse to call it a day and retire to the bar of the
Barbizon-Plaza. Whatever is in the air around here, he
thought, it must be catching, because for absolutely no rea
son, he was afraid of Jonathan Corbin. Corbin
had
changed.
And now he was changing again. Aging again. Lesko watched as Corbin seemed to soften and shrink into the
man he was before, but more intense this time, less con
fused. His eyes were darting up and down, at everything
and nothing, his lips moving in short, staccato bursts of
sound, which Lesko couldn't hear.
‘
Tilden?” Gwen Leamas tugged at his arm.
Corbin shook his head, his expression telling her that
Tilden was gone and that he could not call him back at
will.
“
Jonathan, try.” She reached for his cheek and tried to turn his face toward her own. “The rest of his name. Try.”
“
The el station was here,” he said. They had almost
reached Sixth Avenue. Corbin gestured with his head. “She wanted to run for the stairs over there. But they were cov
ered with snow and there was no one to help her there
anyway.” Corbin fell silent for a long moment. “There was
something obscene about her looking for help in a New
York elevated station. She didn't just hurt me, I mean Til
den, you know. She and Carling hurt another very good
man who was connected with these elevateds. I would tell her things and she would tell Carling and people would be ruined. It was why Carling was interested in her in the first place. Information. Ammunition. If she'd reached him that
night, I think he probably would have turned her away.”
“
Who was the good man she hurt?”
”
I don't know. He built things. A lot of things.”
“
Like this elevated line.” Gwen realized she was point
ing to it as if it were there.
“
Maybe. That doesn't sound wrong.”
“
Could you have been involved with the city's train sys
tem too?”
“
Maybe.”
“
But you're not sure.”
“
It's all going away, Gwen. I knew so much a couple
of minutes ago but it's all breaking up, like when you wake
from a dream.”
“
Let's follow the woman this one last block, Jonathan.
Perhaps more will come back.”
“
Bastard,” he spat, suddenly turning his head toward the
street they'd just come down.
“‘
What is it?’' Now Gwen turned. She saw nothing. Only one superintendent shoveling a sidewalk and a woman stopping to pry a piece of rock salt from the paw of a Pekingese
she was walking and, off to her right, a few departing
guests huddling in the doorway of the Barbizon. “Jonathan,
who's back there?”
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