"That's just it, Mr. Johnson, I don't have a background. Pool hustler."
"Not much wrong with that. Pool is an open game, like chess. Difficult to cheat."
"Well...I do something that you might regard as cheating.
"Look, son-if you need a father confessor, I can tell you where to find one. I am not one."
"Sorry."
"Didn't meant to be blunt. But you do have something on your mind."
"Uh, nothing much perhaps. It has to do with having no background. None. So I go to church-to meet people. To meet nice people. Respectable people. People a man with no background otherwise could never meet."
"Mr. Bronson, everybody has some background."
Lazarus turned down Benton Boulevard before answering. "Not me, sir. Oh, I was born-somewhere. Thanks to the man who let me call him 'Grandfather'-and his wife-I had a pretty good childhood. But they're long gone and-shucks, I don't even know that my name is 'Ted Bronson."
"Happens. You're an orphan?"
"I suppose so. And a bastard, probably. Is this the house?' Lazarus stopped one house short of his-their home.
"Next one, with the porch light on."
Lazarus eased the car forward, stopped again. "Been nice meeting you, Mr. Johnson."
"Don't be in a hurry. These people-Bronson?-who took care of you. Where was this?"
"'Bronson' is a name I picked off a calendar. I thought it sounded better than 'Ted Jones' or 'Ted Smith.' I was probably born in the southern part of the state. But I can't prove even that."
"So? I practiced medicine down that way at one time. What county?" (I know you did, Gramp-so let's be careful with this one.) "Greene County. I don't mean I was born there; I just mean I was told I came from an orphanage in Springfield."
"Then I probably didn't deliver you; my practice was farther north. Mrrph. But we might be kinfolk."
"Huh? I mean 'Excuse me, Dr. Johnson?'"
"Don't call me 'Doctor,' Ted; I dropped that title when I quit delivering babies. What I mean is this: When I first saw you, you startled me. Because you are the spit 'n'image of my older brother, Edward...who was an engineer on the St. Looie and San Francisco...till he lost his air brakes and that ended his triflin' ways. He had sweethearts in Fort Scott, St. Looie, Wichita, and Memphis; I've no reason to think he neglected Springfield. Could be."
Lazarus grinned. "Should I call you 'Uncle'?"
"Suit yourself."
"Oh, I shan't. Whatever happened, there's no way to prove it. But it would be nice to have a family."
"Son, quit being self-conscious about it. A country doctor learns that such mishaps are far more common than most people dream. Alexander Hamilton and Leonardo da Vinci are in the same boat with you, to name just two of the many great men entitled to wear the bend sinister. So stand tall and proud and spit in their eyes. I see the parlor light is still burning; what would you say to a cup of coffee?"
"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you-or disturb your family."
"It'll do neither. My daughter always leaves the pot on the back of the range for me. If she happens to be downstairs in a wrapper-unlikely-she'll go flying up the back stairs, then reappear instantly down the front stairs, dressed fit to kill. Like a fire horse when the bell rings; I don't know how she does it. Come on in."
Ira Johnson unlocked the front door, then called out as he opened it: "Maureen! I have company with me."
"Coming, Father." Mrs. Smith met them in the hall, moving with serene dignity and dressed as if she expected callers. She smiled, and Lazarus suppressed his excitement.
"Maureen, I want to present Mr. Theodore Bronson. My daughter, Ted-Mrs., Brian Smith."
She offered her hand. "You are most welcome, Mr. Bronson," Mrs. Smith said in warm, rich tones that made Lazarus think of Tamara.
Lazarus took her hand gently, felt his fingers tingle, had to restrain himself from making a deep bow and kissing it. He forced himself to give only a hint of a bow, then let go at once. "I am honored, Mrs. Smith."
"Do come in and sit down."
"Thank you, but it's late, and I was merely dropping your father off on my way home."
"Must you leave so quickly? I was simply darning stockings and reading the 'Ladies' Home Journal'-nothing important."
"Maureen, I promised Mr. Bronson a cup of coffee. He fetched me home from the chess club and saved me a soaking."
"Yes, Father, right away. Take his hat and make him sit down." She smiled and left.
Lazarus let his grandfather seat him in the parlor, then took advantage of the moments his mother was out of sight to quiet down and to glance around. Aside from the fact that the room had shrunk, it looked much as he remembered it; an upright piano she had taught him to play; fireplace with gas logs, mantel shelf with beveled mirror above; a glass-fronted sectional bookcase; heavy drapes and lace curtains; his parent's wedding picture framed with their hearts & flowers marriage license, and balancing this a reproduction of Millet's "Gleaners," and other pictures large and small; a rocking chair, a platform rocker with a footstool, straight chairs, arm chairs, tables, lamps, all crowded and in an easygoing mixture of mission oak and bird's-eye maple. Lazarus felt at home; even the wallpaper seemed familiar-save that he realized uneasily that he had been given his father's chair.
An archway, filled by a beaded portiere, led into the living room, now dark. Lazarus tried to recall what should be in there and wondered if it would look just as familiar. The parlor was immaculately neat and clean, and kept that way, he knew, despite a large family, by the living room being used mainly by children while this room was reserved for their elders and for guests. How many kids now? Nancy, then Carol, and Brian Junior, and George, and Marie-and himself-and since this was early 1917 Dickie had to be about three, and Ethel would still be in diapers.
What was that behind his mother's chair? Could it be?- Yes, it's my elephant! Woodie you little devil, you know you aren't supposed to play in here, and everything must go back into your toy box before you go up to bed; that's a flat rule. The toy animal was small (about six inches high), made of stuffed cloth, and gray with much handling; Lazarus felt resentment that such a treasure-his!-was entrusted to a young child...then managed to laugh at himself even though the emotion persisted. He felt tempted to steal the toy. "Excuse me. You were saying, Mr. Johnson?"
"I said I was temporarily delegated in loco parentis; my son-in-law has gone to Plattsburg and-" Lazarus lost the rest of the remark; Mrs. Smith returned in a soft rustle of satin petticoats, carrying a loaded tray. Lazarus jumped to relieve her of it; she smiled and let him.
By golly, that was the Haviland china he had not been allowed to touch until after he got his first long pants! And the "company" coffee service-solid silver serving pot, cream pitcher, sugar bowl and tongs, the Columbian Exposition souvenir spoons. Linen doilies, matching tea napkins, thin slices of pound cake, a silver dish of mints-how did you do this in three minutes or less? You're certainly doing the prodigal proud! No, don't be a fool, Lazarus; she's doing her father proud, entertaining his guest-you are a faceless stranger.
"Children all in bed?" inquired Mr. Johnson.
"All but Nancy," Mrs. Smith answered, serving them. "She and her young man went to the Isis and should be home soon."
"Show was over half an hour ago."
"Is there any harm in their stopping for a sundae? The ice-cream parlor is on a brightly lighted corner right where they catch their streetcar."
"A young girl shouldn't be out after dark without a chaperon."
"Father, this is 1917, not 1890. He's a fine boy...and I can't expect them to miss an episode of their serial-Pearl White and very exciting; Nancy tells me all about it. With a William S. Hart feature tonight, I understand; I would have enjoyed seeing that myself."