"Thanks." Dim lights flicked on. Carl Perry made his way forward and stepped out, into the blackness of a rainy night. In a moment, he was standing in front of a general store, his sea bag beside him. The bus whined and rattled and groaned and left Carl very much alone. Except for a lighted Greyhound sign, the store, the whole hamlet, was dark. There was a sort of porch by the door; Carl moved under it with a shrug and a sigh. It had been a long haul from San Diego. His whites were rumpled and damp, but he wasn't cold. The weather was warm for so late in the year. He didn't bother to put on his coat.
Restlessly, Carl looked down the road, hoping to see the lights of Harvey's car. He hoped Harvey had got the telegram and that he would pick him up. Carl had written his parents, telling them that Harvey would meet him at the bus stop. Otherwise Pa would have come, and Pa's eyes weren't up to driving at night. Carl waited, standing in the glow of the sign, staring out into the blackness. He wondered if Harvey might not come. They had known each other during high school, but they had not been friends. Harvey had been athletic, popular, the class president, dating cheer leaders, smart, but not studious. Carl had been too short, underweight, one of those invisible kids who sits in the back and never gets chosen for anything, the kind only desperate girls date. Harvey and Carl had only declared themselves to be buddies when they found themselves in boot camp together. Carl was always there when Harvey needed something, like a loan. Carl wished Harvey would be there just once, when Carl needed a ride.
Time dragged. He looked at his watch, which had an aluminum band made from a crashed Betty bomber. While Harvey enjoyed himself in Australia, Carl had been a lot closer to the war. The Navy had discovered that Carl was clever with electronics, and he had flown as crew on the secret nocturnal Black Cats, special Catalina flying boats painted gloss black and set up for ferret missions. They would sneak as close as they dared to Japanese bases, and Carl would listen for the telltale electronic emissions which would betray the existence of a hidden radar or command post.
He remembered the night he had picked up signals from six Jap destroyers and worked his direction finder so effectively that, come dawn, Hellcats and Avengers knew right where to look. They sank one, damaged the others. What would civilian life be like, after all that? First thing, find a girl. Harvey had been discharged first and had been home for more than a month. As one of the first servicemen home, he must have had the pick of the girls. Carl knew it would be tougher for him. Girls had never taken Carl very seriously. His senior year, he had dated Norma Jean Wilkinson. They had written to each other for a while, but she had lost interest when she and her family moved to Kansas.
Carl looked up and saw some headlights, quite near, which hadn't been there a moment ago. They approached and slowed. A black '36 Ford did a U-turn and pulled off the road, crunching on the gravel. As the engine slowed, the vacuum windshield wipers accelerated, slip-slop, slip-slop. In a second, Carl was at the door, pulling it open and tossing his coat and sea bag behind the seat. Then he froze and stared. It wasn't Harvey.
"Hi, there," said a husky feminine voice. "You are Petty Officer Carl Perry, aren't you?"
"Yes, Ma'am, but I was expecting my buddy, Harvey."
"He couldn't make it. He sent me."
"Oh."
"Go ahead, get in."
Carl slid into the passenger side of the seat and pulled the door closed: clunk. There wasn't much light, but he could see that the driver was a stunningly beautiful woman. She wore an ordinary cotton dress, the kind found in a Sears-Roebuck catalog, but the way she wore it! It fit a lot better than it would on most. "Do I know you?" he said hesitantly. "No, but you should. You will. You can call me Tiffany."
"I've never met a girl named Tiffany. I heard of a jewelry story named Tiffany's. Are you related to the jewelry store?"
"No." She laughed, as she let out the clutch and started toward home. The wipers slowed and sped up as she shifted, not very expertly: first, second, high gear. Once in high gear, she let her hand drop from the tall gear shift lever, and her hand landed on Carl's knee. He moved his leg, and Tiffany used the hand to brush her long blonde hair away from her face. He studied her face, what he could see in the dim light of the dash lights. She had fairly straight brows, natural, not plucked, and a narrow straight nose, and a little cleft in her chin. Her lips were very glossy, and he guessed she must be wearing some sort of eye make-up. "You've been a while in the Navy," she said, "stationed in Australia, working in a warehouse." Her voice had a strange accent he couldn't place. She certainly wasn't a local girl.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"Must be Harvey mentioned it."
"No, Harvey wouldn't tell you that, because Harvey knows the truth. I just wrote that to my parents, so they wouldn't worry. Actually, I was crew on a flying boat."
"Oh, well, I must have heard it from your mother. She saves all your letters. You write very good letters. I'll bet that, some day, historians will come across all those letters your mother saved and will find them very useful."
"You know my folks?"
"No, not really. I...uh...heard your mother saved all your letters. You know, shows them to her friends."
"You're a friend of Harvey's, then?"
"Well, not really. But when he couldn't come to meet you... You know. I mean, it wouldn't do to have you come all this way and not have anyone meet you."
"Well, thanks for coming." Carl didn't know what else to say, so he kept quiet. The rain stopped, and the clouds began to break up. Ahead, to the east, the sky brightened, and he could see then that her eyes were blue. He liked the look of her, wished he could get to know her, but he didn't know how to say what was on his mind. He had never been very clever around girls. He and Norma Jean had found each other, even necked a bit, but he couldn't imagine what to say or do with Tiffany. Carl was the only sailor he knew who was, or would admit to being, a virgin. Women, white women, were scarce in the war zone. Yes, Carl thought, he had a lot to make up for. He wondered if Tiffany was spoken for. As if reading his mind, Tiffany reached out, very deliberately, and placed her hand on his thigh, lightly stroking the inside. He guessed she wasn't spoken for. "You are very beautiful," he said, not knowing how to be subtle.
"Thank-you," she replied huskily. "Of course, it could be plastic surgery. But, actually, I was very fortunate in the hand I was dealt in the genetic shuffle."
"What do you mean?"
"You know. You grew up on a farm. It's a matter of selective breeding."
"Yes, but I never gave it much thought when it came to humans."
"More people should. There are an awful lot of genetic diseases; a lot of children are born defective or carry defective genes. In ancient times, defective children would be killed or abandoned. Of course, that's illegal now. More and more, medical science will keep those children alive, cover up the effects of hemophilia, Huntington's chorea, PKU, all sorts of mental and metabolic and character weaknesses...contact lenses for bad eyes, reconstructive surgery, psychoactive drugs, hormone therapy... Those genetically defective children will grow up and reproduce. Their genes are everywhere. You can't be too careful about a choice of mate. What's a person to do? You meet a man; you can't tell by looking."
"I never thought about it much. I don't know about genetics. I guess there's something in what you say. I mean, if you want a winning colt, you want to breed your fastest mare with the fastest stallion. Like that?"
"Exactly! It would be a crime, wouldn't it, to serve your best cow with just any old bull." She slid her hand along his thigh, making him press back against the back of the seat. "You think I'm attractive?"
"Yes, of course."
"I find you attractive, too." She took his hand and pressed it against her dress. He was surprised that she wore no bra. Surely the war-time shortages weren't that bad. No decent woman he knew would go out without a bra. What kind of woman was she?
Carl snatched his hand away as soon as she relaxed her grip. "Tiffany! We just met. We don't even know each other." He wondered how she could find him attractive. No other woman had. This was strange. He needed to think. She was like one of those spies in the training films on security. What did she want from him? Loose lips sink ships. No, the war was over. She couldn't be. He made a point of looking out the window, not at Tiffany. He noticed there was no ration sticker on the windshield. Gas rationing was over, but most cars still had them. He looked out at the fields, muddy. He had come home too late for the harvest. But he couldn't keep his eyes off Tiffany for long. "Where are you from, Tiffany?"
"Long way away."
"Where, exactly?"
"Ever been to Arizona?"
"No." "I'm from Arizona. I'm really attracted to you, Carl," she said, with a resonant voice which seemed out of place in such a slim woman. Now that Carl could see her better, he thought she might be older than he, twenty-five, maybe even thirty. Still, she was in fine shape. "We should get to know each other better," she added.
"Yeah, OK. Where are you staying, Tiffany? Maybe we could see each other again soon."
"Oh, Carl, I can't stay. We have to know each other very soon, today."
Carl couldn't imagine how to reply. He didn't say anything, until he had to. "There's the turn-off up there. Turn right." They turned onto the gravel county road. The rising sun cast a long shadow of the car on the fence posts and fields. It would be a beautiful day, and he was almost home. "You know the way? Our farm's about four miles ahead."
"I know the way. I checked everything out first, on the old maps."
"Why old maps?"
"A slip of the tongue. Tell me about yourself, Carl. Are you and Patty engaged?"
"Patty?"
"Patty Simmons. Aren't you planning to marry her soon?"
"Patty Simmons? She's Harvey's girl, I guess." Carl had always liked Patty, ever since grade school. He had admired her, from afar. She was pretty, an A student, very popular, captain of the cheer leaders. Harvey and Patty had been king and queen of the prom. She had never had time for Carl. He had danced with her once, at a USO dance, when he was on leave before he shipped out. She sure had been nice to dance with. He had asked her out, but she said that USO girls aren't allowed to date men they met at the dances. He tried to argue that they had met in grade school, but she danced away with a soldier, a six-footer who scowled at Carl. Carl didn't want to provoke a fight. Not that Carl lacked courage. Ensign Broglie, the pilot, had put a letter of commendation in Carl's file for the cold-blooded way Carl had shot up a Nip night fighter with his .50 caliber waist gun. Carl vividly remembered the engagement, the flashes of the Jap's guns and the flame and roar of Carl's own. The Nip had disappeared into the night, and Carl couldn't claim a kill because they didn't see it crash. Funny that he should think of that when he really wanted to think about the beautiful Tiffany who sat beside him.
Her hand was on his thigh again, and moving up. He couldn't help reacting, responding, though he felt suddenly thirsty and uncomfortable. "I have a feeling, Carl," she said coyly as she moved her hand to his crotch, "that you would like to make love with me."
"Tiffany, you are very nice and all that, but, really, I couldn't. It wouldn't be right."
"Yes, it would," she said, and she whipped the car into a sharp left turn, not even down-shifting, throwing up a spray of damp gravel. They sped down a lane which Carl recognized as the road to the County Highway Department garage. At dawn, on Sunday, there would be no one there. He had nearly $300 in his wallet and $500, carefully saved, pinned to his skivvies. Did she mean to rob him?
Tiffany stopped the car in the tall grass behind the garage. They could not be seen from the road, and a grove of trees blocked the view from any nearby farms. She reached out to him and drew him close to her for a long kiss. It was a kiss like nothing Carl had experienced, all wet and full of tongue. He liked it. Still, he couldn't believe it. This was a sailor's fantasy come true: picked up by a beautiful, passionate woman who talked of making love. "Tiffany," he said hesitantly, "do you do this often? I mean, am I supposed to pay you or something?"
Tiffany laughed, a light, gay laugh for a woman with such a husky voice. "No, Carl, I'm not a prostitute. In fact, this is a first for me. I've never just gone out and picked up a stranger before. But you see, to me, you are not a stranger. I picked you out. You are the man I particularly want to make love with." She looked pointedly at her wrist watch. A tiny green light glowed on the face.
"Tiffany, I think you are very nice, very pretty, but I can't...I don't know. If we were going steady or something." "Carl," she said, "don't be difficult. Don't resist. Kiss me again." When he hesitated, she unbuttoned the top of her dress and tried to put his hand on her breast. "Please, Carl. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to get here, and I've only got the one chance. This will be the high point of my life. I want to remember that it was nice, nice for both of us."
"But why right now? Besides, I don't have a rubber." Not true. Like nearly every young man, he did have one and hopefully carried it always. "I wouldn't want to knock you up."
"But that's the whole idea, Carl. Come on, get out of the car." She got out on the left, he on the right. The tall, wet grass dampened his uniform halfway to the knees. "Come on," she said, and she opened the trunk. She took something out and threw it down on the grass. It inflated automatically into a mattress, like the inflatable dinghies they had carried in the Cats. Carl could not help staring at it. In the distance, Carl could hear barnyard noises, chickens, and cows coming in for milking, but there, among the trees behind the garage, he was quite alone with a beautiful woman who seemed determined to make love with him.
"Carl," she said, "I haven't much time." She pulled her dress over her head and tossed it on the car. Wow! Her stockings were like nothing Carl had ever seen, all in one piece right up to her waist. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off the stocking thing, her breasts swaying as she bent over to free her feet from the clingy hose. Then she was naked, stark naked, except for her watch and ear rings. She reached out to Carl. "Here, I'll help you undress."
A vision, a perfect beauty, tall, taller than Carl, standing erect and inviting in the grass, a siren, a nymph, a goddess. The rosy light of dawn accentuated her curves and left enticing shadows in the hollows. "Come," she murmured as she put her arms around his waist and drew him toward the mattress. She ran her hands up under his shirt and caressed his body. One hand went to the first of the thirteen buttons which secured the flap of his uniform trousers. Carl pulled back, bumping into the car. She pressed against him, pressing her pelvis against his, looking down into his eyes and lightly kissing his nose and cheeks. "Carl," she breathed, "I want you. Relax, I won't hurt you." Her arms went around his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest. Carl put his hands on her firm waist, half-heartedly pushing her away. Suddenly Carl felt something on his neck: a stab, a burn, an electric shock. His arms and legs went rubbery. Sandwiched between Tiffany and the car, he did not fall over. He sagged, crumpled, and slid down between them, his face dragging across her breast, her belly, her thigh, her foot, the grass.
He lay sprawled in the wet grass. His mind was clear. He could see. He could hear. He could smell and feel the grass against his face. His lungs worked, but his limbs did not, no matter how hard he willed to move them. He tried to scream, but all he heard was his breath. "Damn!" she said, "I didn't want to have to do it this way. Really, I didn't, but I'm fertile right now." He felt her lift him and place him on his back on the mattress. How strong she was. He was helpless to resist, and he suddenly remembered the time he had seen them laying out the dead for burial, after an air raid. She was doing that to him! "Foolish archaic clothing," she muttered as she undid the buttons and pulled down his pants, ignoring the money in his skivvies.
As if in a dream, Carl watched her straddle his body and lower herself. He had feeling where it counted, and it felt so good! She rode him slowly at first, then faster, with wild abandon. Her golden hair swirled as she tossed her head. Her lips parted; her eyes flashed. He saw the sweat gleaming on her breast, the erect nipples. Carl experienced an exquisite series of internal explosions, to which she responded as if in pain, shuddering and straining, but, strangely, suddenly relaxing and smiling broadly. It was over.
"I'm sorry I had to rape you like that; really, I am. It would have been nicer if...but, you see, I couldn't take the time." She continued to sit on him, breathing heavily and smiling, glowing with warmth. She reached forward and caressed Carl's face, ran her hands over his chest. "I want to savor these moments," she said. Then her watch gave a little beep and started blinking yellow. She got off him and began to pick up her clothes. "I hope you enjoyed that half as much as I did. You are some stud, Carl." She started to dress, keeping her eyes on his. "You know, you won't be able to tell anyone about this. You might better convince yourself it was all a wet dream." She pulled the mattress from beneath him and deflated it, tossing it in the car. "I wonder if you will ever understand." Then, impulsively, she added, "You, Carl Perry, will marry Patty Simmons. Your only child, a daughter, will be a scientific genius, a Nobel laureate, an author, a political activist. She will be beautiful, healthy, and will live to 93, when she will die in a skiing accident. That proves your genes are top notch, so I chose you to father my child." Her watch beeped and started blinking red.
Tiffany slid into the driver's seat and closed the door. She didn't start the engine. She manipulated something underneath the dash. Then, with a smile, she called out the window, "Got to go, lover. Thanks a lot. Bye." There was a low rumble which rose in pitch to an almost inaudible whine. Then there was nothing. Tiffany, the car, just gone.
Carl discovered he could move. He scrambled to his feet, pulled up his pants, and checked to see he still had his wallet. "Damn!" he said to no one in particular, "She went off with my sea bag." It took him a minute to do up his buttons and get organized. Then he started toward the road. He was smiling.
An hour later he was at the Perry farm, greeted with hugs, and tears of happiness from his mother. Soon he was scarfing up three eggs, home-made sausages, and hot cakes. "Pa, I brought you and Ma some presents, souvenirs and stuff, but in the St. Louis bus depot I fell asleep, and somebody swiped my sea bag."
"Oh, that's a shame, Dear," clucked his mother.
"Well, nothing was worth much, except my discharge papers. I can get duplicates. Mom, did you ever meet anyone named Tiffany?"
"No, Carl. Why do you ask?"
"It just seemed like an unusual name. Someone said Harvey had a girl friend named Tiffany."
"Not that I'd heard. Of course, we haven't seen Harvey, not to talk to."
"Well, Son, now that you are home, what do you plan to do?" said Pa.
"I aim to start with a long, hot bath, and get rid of this uniform. Then maybe go into town."
"Sure, Carl," Ma said. "I'll get your Sunday suit out of the moth balls and press it while you take your bath. Take your time. Most your friends will be in church, won't they?"
"Oh Ma, I know you want to sit and talk, but I'm restless. I want to walk the streets, smell the air, see the old home town. It's great to be back."
"Sure, Son, I know. You can take the pick-up. Tank's half full," said Pa.
Carl parked the pick-up and walked down the main street, hearing the muffled sound of singing from two of the churches. The air was fresh after the rain, and Carl felt uncommonly happy as he looked in the store windows. The Simmons' Store was open on Sunday, because they sold drugs and had gas pumps in front. He looked in the window past the big apothecary jars filled with brilliant green and red fluid. Patty Simmons was near the soda fountain, her father back in the pharmacy section. She looked really pretty, wearing a white sweater and a blue skirt, wartime style with no pleats, and saddle shoes.
She smiled when Carl walked in. "Hi, Carl. Welcome home. Can I get you something?"
"Hi, Patty." He had to stare. Patty had done her hair like Veronica Lake's, and she was shorter and rounder, but, by God, she reminded him of Tiffany. "Cherry Coke?"
"One cherry Coke, coming up," she said, flashing her cheer leader smile, "on the house for our returning naval hero." He liked the way she moved when she worked the handles on the fountain and drew him a Coke with two shots of cherry syrup in it. She put the distinctive Coke glass on the counter and smiled again. "Been home long?"
"Just got home this morning."
"Didn't take you long to change your clothes."
"Nope. The Navy and I have parted company for good. Time to settle down and be a farmer."
"So how are you doing?"
"Fine, glad to be home. And you?"
She smiled again, showing her perfect teeth. "Fine, glad you're back." They smiled at each other for a few moments. "Say, Carl, there's a kind of a party at the Grange tonight. Would you like to go?"
"You mean ... on a date?"
"Yes. Will you take me?"
"Sure! How long do you have to work here? Maybe we could go for a drive, kind of get acquainted again."
"I'd love to, Carl. I'll tell Daddy. He won't mind. And I'll ask him if you can't have Sunday dinner with us, before the party."
They drove back to the Perry farm, to tell his parents what he planned to do. Ma and Pa smiled warmly at Patty and said of course it would be all right to eat with the Simmons. Pa winked at Carl and told him to have a good time.
Then they drove around a bit, making small talk. Patty asked Carl about his Navy experiences, and Carl asked her about what had happened at home. John Milch's mother had a gold star in the window; he'd been killed at Aachen. Jay Squires was back, trying to start a Studebaker dealership. "You can't buy a new car for love or money...or both." She didn't say much about herself.
"Seen Harvey lately?"
He didn't notice the catch in her voice when she replied, "No, not lately. Not for a few days. He's left town, I think."
At dinner, Patty's parents insisted Carl have seconds of everything. When Patty went up to dress for the party, her father talked earnestly with Carl about what great opportunities there would be for young veterans, now that the war was over. When Patty came down the stairs, in a lacy dress and heels, she looked beautiful, grown up.
The dance was fun, but it was mostly older folks. Not many of the young men were back from the war yet. And, of course, half the town wouldn't dream of dancing on Sunday. Carl reminded Patty about the USO dance, but she just made a face and said that was a long time ago. They were both older now.
After the dance, they sat together on the glider on her front porch. Her parents called goodnight to them and turned off the lights in the house. Carl said it was getting cool, and he put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him, and they listened to the sounds of the night. Far away, a train whistled for a crossing. Carl put his hand under Patty's chin, lifted it, and ventured a kiss. She kissed him back with enthusiasm. When their lips parted, Patty said, "You know, Carl, I like you an awful lot. Even in high school, I thought you were nice, but, well... I had a lot of friends, you know."
"I like you, too, Patty." He had a brief flashback to his experience that morning. You, Carl Perry, will marry Patty Simmons. That was what Tiffany had said, as if it were an unchangeable fact. It seemed a nice idea right then, with Patty so close, so pretty. A nice idea, but was it possible? How could it be that Patty really liked him? Was she just teasing? He kissed her again. She seemed to enjoy it. Carl insinuated his tongue between her lips, as Tiffany had done. Patty responded. Encouraged, Carl looked around. The town was dark; no one would see them. Tentatively, as he kissed her again, he placed his hand against her dress, over her breast. Without stopping the kiss, she pushed his hand away.
From within the house, they heard the chiming of the clock in the living room. "It's getting late," they said to each other, simultaneously. Then they both giggled.
"I'd better be going home," Carl said. "I want to be up early to help Pa with the milking. Can I see you tomorrow?" She nodded. "Here, about noon?"
"Yes, I'd like that," she said. He kissed her briefly at the door, watched her enter the house, and skipped happily back to the truck.
His parents, of course, were asleep when he got back to the farm. His room was as he had left it, except that his mother had turned back the covers of the bed and left a plate of cookies on the bedside table. Carl lay for a while in bed, calming down from the euphoria of being with Patty, not sleepy at all. He tried to mentally catalog what he knew of love and women. Film and literary sources didn't help; neither "Gone With The Wind" nor "Romeo and Juliet" seemed like very useful guides for getting to know a girl. He wasn't quite sure what love was, or how to recognize it when it appeared, but the feelings he had when he held Patty seemed a lot like the descriptions in stories he had read. Women, girls, mysterious creatures. It seemed some did; some didn't. He knew that love and sex were supposed to be related, but he knew that sex was sometimes anything but loving. He'd heard a lot about sex in the Navy, not much about love. He remembered Harvey boasting about how he had met a waitress in San Diego and "felt her up." He remembered a Marine telling about his encounter with a native girl. He had propped her up against a palm tree and "put it to her" standing up. She had evidently enjoyed it. She had cried out and urinated on the Marine when she "came." And then there was Tiffany. Surely she didn't love him, but she had enjoyed it. Carl realized there was a certain role reversal there; the man was supposed to be the aggressor, wasn't he? Did nice girls enjoy sex, ever? Was Patty a nice girl? Well, if Tiffany was anything to go by, Carl enjoyed sex. Patty sure reminded him of Tiffany.
Carl drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of lying on his back in the light of the dawn, of Tiffany/Patty straddling his body and lowering... Then he was wide awake. Had it really happened? Or was it a dream? He reviewed the evidence. He must have gotten off the bus; that was real. Could he have fallen asleep, imagined the encounter with Tiffany? He was home for breakfast; could he have walked all that way home in a daze? Impossible. Could someone else have given him a ride, and he had forgotten all about it? Not likely. Suppose that Tiffany were real. She had certainly seemed real, and his uniform really was damp and grass stained. Yes, she was real.
But how did she just disappear? The paralysis trick. How could she be so certain that he would marry Patty Simmons and sire a Nobel Prize winning daughter? It was weird, other worldly. Pa didn't know, but Carl had long ago discovered where Pa hid his copies of Weird Tales, and Carl used to sneak a read when he could. Tiffany qualified as a subject for a weird tale. If all this were a story in a magazine, she might be a time-traveling woman from the future, who had come to steal his seed. Yes, that was it. It all made sense, if Tiffany really was from the future. Her strange speech, her reference to the "old maps," and the letters his mother had kept, "historians" coming across them. But, if Tiffany was really a time traveler, then she really knew the future. It must be inevitable that he will marry Patty and father a genius. Love her or not, the future demands that he will get into Patty's pants, and she won't be able to stop him. Wow, it's a sure thing! A sure thing, nothing to worry about... He promptly fell asleep.
His alarm clock woke him before dawn, and he hurriedly dressed to get out to the barn. The pink in the east, the smell of the fields, all reminded him of yesterday, of Tiffany. Dimly, he remembered that he had thought that all out, and he should put it behind him. More vivid was his memory of kissing Patty.
Pa showed Carl the cows and heifers and named them all for Carl to get acquainted with them as he and Pa did the milking. Cows are a lot like family to a farmer. A lot of the cows that Carl remembered from before he joined the Navy were gone now, and he asked about them. Pa was proud that Carl remembered every one. Back in the house, Pa showed Carl the herd book.
"Selective breeding is very important, isn't it, Pa."
"You bet, Son."
"It would be a crime to serve your best cow with just any old bull, wouldn't it."
"That's the honest truth, Son. Some day this farm will be yours, and you will benefit from all the years I've been trying to improve the bloodlines of the herd. That's something you can't go out and buy. Breeding takes time, and it has to be done right."
Later, as they relaxed with a cup of coffee, Carl remarked to his father, "Pa, I've got the urge to get married and settle down."
"That's right and proper, Son. You're back from the war, almost twenty-two. It's time for you to think of marriage. Your mother and I would like some grandchildren. I married your mother when I was nineteen, and she was sixteen. Of course it was a while before you came along. We used to live in the tenant house, out back by the barn, until your grandpa got busted up, and I took over running the farm. You won't have to wait until I get crippled or croak. I'm willing to retire and let you do the work any time you are ready." Carl knew that his father didn't mean right now, but he was trying to reassure Carl.
"I told Patty Simmons I'd see her about noon. Is that OK? I mean, if you need me for anything..."
"No, Son, you go see Patty. You've your own life to live. She's a fine girl. Queen of the Prom, as I remember. Doc Simmons is a fine man; they're good stock."
When Carl went to Patty's house, Mrs. Simmons was fretting that the radio wouldn't work. It was a big old Stromberg-Carlson with a varnished wooden cabinet about the size of a hay bale.
"You know about radios, Carl. Do you think you could fix it?" said Patty. "Carl's very clever. During the war he did something with radios."
"I guess I could have a look," he replied. What else could he say? He got the back off the cabinet and poked around. He spotted the trouble right away.
"Your IF amplifier tube looks like it's burned out."
"Is that serious, Carl?" asked Mrs. Simmons.
"Well, it's got to be replaced. I don't suppose I could find one around here. Why don't Patty and I drive over to Byron and see if we can get one? With luck, we can be back and have your radio fixed before supper time."
That's what they did, and they had a fine time, stopping for sodas at a drug store and sitting for a while in the Memorial Park, just talking.
"What church do you go to, Patty?"
"Methodist, but we don't go every week. Well, mostly Christmas and Easter. My mother was Baptist, and Daddy was what he called a free thinker, so they kind of compromised on Methodist. Sometimes, when Mommy is feeling religious, she and I go, and Daddy minds the store. What church do you belong to?"
"I guess the Perrys are about the only family in town that don't belong to a church. My father used to be Presbyterian, but something happened, years ago, before I was born, and he's been an atheist ever since. He says that if God does exist, he's not the kind of person you'd want for a friend. God plays cruel tricks. Look what he did to Job."
Patty giggled. "Well, I guess he's got a point, hasn't he, Carl. I think it was Mark Twain said something about heaven having a good climate, but all his good friends would be in hell. Something like that." She giggled again at the blasphemy of it all. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"No."
"Me neither. I think, someday, I'd like to have about three kids. Maybe two boys and a girl."
"That sounds nice."
Suddenly Carl was reminded of what Tiffany had said: "Your only child, a daughter,..."
"Of course, Patty," he said awkwardly, "I guess...well, when it comes to children, you have to be happy with what you get. I mean, you can't really plan on two boys and a girl." It struck Carl for the first time that, if Tiffany was right, he would have no son to pass the farm on to. It made him sad, for a moment, but he told himself that he couldn't change the future. He was going to marry Patty, and they would have one child, a daughter, who would be a blessing to the world. That was why Tiffany wanted his seed. He wondered it Tiffany really did get pregnant from their brief encounter. Perhaps he would have a son, after all, some time in the future, after he, Carl, was long dead.
"Carl? Are you all right? You have the strangest look on your face."
"Oh, sure, Patty. I was just thinking, about children. I think it would be just great to have a house full of them."
"And a dog, and a cat? Kids should have pets, don't you think?"
"Sure, Patty. The more the merrier."
And so it went. They got back well before supper, and Carl had the radio fixed in a jiffy. He was off to do his chores at home before Mr. Simmons got home from the store.
About dark, Carl was back on the Simmons' porch, with Patty very much on his mind. Mr. Simmons came to the door and invited him in. "My wife tells me you fixed the radio."
"It wasn't much, Sir, just a tube."
"Are you good with radios? Could you fix other things? I mean if there was more than just a tube wrong?"
"Sure, I guess so. I'd need some tools and instruments: a signal generator, vacuum tube volt meter, rf probe...not much. You can get them from a catalog. I fixed a lot of radios in the Navy, had to."
"Have you ever thought of going into the business, son? Repairing radios?"
Carl liked the note of familiarity in his voice, the way he said "son". "I have a farm to worry about. I couldn't be spending all day in a store in town. Besides, there can't be enough business to make a living."
"Well, of course, you are right, Carl. People are used to going over to Byron or Dexterville with their broken radios. But there are quite a few. Suppose I put a sign in my store, Radios Repaired? I could take them in. You could pick them up, fix them when you had the time, after you'd done your farm work, and return them to me. I'd collect the money for the repairs and keep out, say, fifteen per cent for me. How's that sound?" Carl agreed that it sounded pretty good, but warned it would take a while to get set up.
"Daddy must really like you," said Patty excitedly, when they were alone. "He never talked to any of my other boy friends like that."
"What other boy friends?"
"Oh, Carl, you know I've had lots of boy friends."
"Well how about me? I don't want to share you with lots of boy friends. Will you go steady with me?" It just slipped out. He hadn't really meant to push things so fast. But he knew he was destined to marry Patty Simmons, so perhaps it didn't really matter. It was only a matter of time. If she didn't want to, he could wait.
Patty thought for what seemed an uncomfortably long time. "OK, Carl, I'll go steady with you. At least for a while."
Carl hugged her and kissed her joyously, and Patty made a mock protest. They spent a long time on the porch glider that night. When Carl finally tried to put his hand over her breast a second time, she did not push it away.
"Mmmmm, Carl," she murmured, "you grew up a lot in the Navy, didn't you. You'reso... sophisticated." Carl caressed her breasts, through her dress. She had large breasts. He liked them. It was the first time he had ever done that; Norma Jean would never let him. He thought he could feel her nipples through her bra, but he wasn't sure. He raised one hand to her throat and tried to slip it down the front of her blouse. Patty firmly removed it. "What sort of girl do you think I am?" she said. "Don't you respect me?"
"Of course I respect you," he said. "You are the prettiest, sweetest, smartest girl in town, and I feel incredibly lucky that you are going steady with me. It's just that you are so beautiful, so incredibly lovely." He hugged her closely. "It's just... it's just that I can't keep my hands off you. I'd like to... Oh, I've just got to make you all mine." He showered her with kisses, her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, her ears, her throat, until she giggled and pushed him away. "Patty," he whispered, "there is absolutely nothing on my mind except wanting to make love with you."
"Oh, Carl, don't talk like that." She cradled his head in her arms, pressed his face against the front of her dress, and neither one said anything for a long time.
When Carl went home that night, he almost ran off the road, thinking of Patty. He didn't think, even once, of Tiffany. He was going steady with Patty. He slept very well that night, but he woke up with sticky pajamas.
Tuesday morning, at breakfast, Pa remarked that they were having a fine spell of Indian summer, unusually sunny and warm. Carl said yes, and he'd like to spend such a nice day with Patty. "We're going steady."
"So soon?" asked Ma. "You've only been home, why less than two days. Do you know her that well, Carl?"
"We've known each other since grade school."
"Now Mother," said Pa, "he's been away at the war. He's got a lot of lost time to make up for."
"You know, Carl," Ma said, "I'm only thinking of your best interests. Do you know what she's been doing while you were away?"
"Helping her father in the drug store."
"I'm just concerned for you, Carl. I wouldn't want you to get... well, soiled goods."
"What are you saying, Ma?"
"Well, Mrs. Pearson says that her daughter says that Patty Simmons is...is easy. I just want you to be careful. Don't let her take advantage of you. I mean, you haven't had a lot of experience with girls, have you, Carl?"
"Ma, we're only going steady."
Pa spoke up: "Now there, Carl is a grown man. We've got to let him make his own decisions." Ma dropped the topic.
That afternoon, Carl and Patty took a long walk along the river bank, and, when they were well out of sight of the town, they sat on the bank and tossed pebbles in the water and talked. Then Patty dropped a twig down the back of Carl's shirt, and he threatened to do the same to her, and soon they were rolling around in the grass, tickling each other and laughing. Carl found himself pressing Patty down into the grass, his body stretched out over hers, pressing against her and holding her hands over her head so she could not push him away. They kissed a long, wet, tongue-filled kiss. But then Patty wriggled loose. "Carl! Stop! I'm getting grass stains all over my clothes. What will I say when I get home?" So they resumed their walk, and Carl was too embarrassed to go in with her when he left her at her house.
That night, after milking and such, Carl went back to see Patty. Mrs. Simmons insisted that they all play Monopoly together. Mr. Simmons won, with Carl a close second. They certainly made him feel welcome, invited him for supper tomorrow night, but he was disappointed that he got hardly more than a goodnight peck from Patty. "No more rolling in the grass," she whispered. Then she giggled: "Next time, bring a blanket."
Wednesday, since he was staying for supper, Carl wore a sport coat, white shirt, and tie. Mr. Simmons had asked Patty to help in the store, so Carl sat in the store with her. When there were customers, he would browse through a magazine. When there were not, he and she would talk earnestly. One of the things they talked about was The Scarlet Letter, a book that Patty had read just recently (it wouldn't be allowed in the school library) and that Carl had read a year ago when they had had a spell of bad flying weather. They agreed that Hester wasn't such a bad girl. Society can be cruel.
At one point, they overheard Mrs. Canfield, who was hard of hearing and tended to speak loudly, speaking with Mr. Simmons. "...Your daughter, Patty, with that farm boy, Carl Perry. What an odd couple: beauty and the beast, ha, ha, ha. It's all over town that they are..."
Then Mr. Simmons raised his voice: "He seems nice enough to me, Mrs. Canfield, and I'll thank you not to spread rumors about my daughter and whoever she chooses to spend her time with."
"Really, Doc, you should..."
"Doc" Simmons said something through clenched teeth, something they couldn't hear. Mrs. Canfield clutched her prescription and hurried past Carl and Patty, not looking at them. She slammed the door behind her.
Carl looked at Patty. She blushed. "What do you suppose is all over town about us?"
"Oh, Carl, Mrs. Canfield is the world's worst gossip. Probably someone said they saw us together, and her imagination and big mouth did the rest. It doesn't matter." Carl would have liked to have known more. Whatever it was, he felt a little proud, that people knew he was dating the prettiest girl in town.
That night, after supper, Patty's parents found some reason not to sit and talk, so Carl, impatiently, got to sit on the glider with Patty. He still couldn't understand his good fortune, that she really seemed to like him, and her parents didn't seem to mind. He put his arm around her and kissed her. She kissed him back as if she enjoyed it. He put his hand on the bodice of her dress. She didn't resist him. He tried to unbutton it. She protested.
"There's no one to see," he whispered.
"That's not the point. It's not right. We're only going steady."
"Don't you like it when I touch you lovingly?" She did not reply. "Suppose we were engaged. Would it be all right then? Would you like me to make mad, passionate love to you, or would you get all cold and stiff?"
"Carl, I like you very much. But there's a time and place. A girl can't let just any man fondle her body, even if she likes him very much. Things can get out of hand. You don't know what could happen."
"Ah,ha. You are telling me you don't like me to touch you, because you do like me to touch you, and you are afraid it might be habit forming."
"Something like that. I'm afraid of you, Carl. You've only been back from the Navy for four days. How do I know you're not taking advantage of me?"
Carl held her firmly, pulling her head down on his shoulder. Softly and seriously, he spoke to her: "I do not want my girl saying she doesn't trust me. I love you, and I wouldn't think of hurting you. I want you. I want to make love to you. I want the thrill of delighting you like no one else can. I want you to be mine, all mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Carl, and I go to bed at night dreaming of what it might be like having you make love to me. But a girl has to be careful. We're not even engaged."
"That would make a difference?"
"Yes, Carl."
Carl decided to put it to the test. "Sweetheart," he said, "will you marry me?"
"Oh, yes, Carl!" she said.
"Great! We're engaged." He hugged her, surging with excitement. Everything was going according to plan. He really was going to get into Patty's panties! But then she pushed him away and took both of his hands in hers and looked at him very seriously. There was enough moon that he could see her expression. "Carl, we don't really know each other all that well. Are you really sure you want to marry me?"
"Yes!" Carl meant it. He was strongly attracted to her, and the fact that there seemed to be some sort of cosmic plan, that he couldn't help marrying her, relieved him of any need to wonder whether he was doing the right thing. "Yes, I want to marry you."
"Carl, would it bother you to know...I'm not a virgin?"
"Patty, that's all right. I'm not either." He saw that she was still concerned. "Patty, you're twenty-one years old. It wouldn't be normal for you to live that long and never to have been in love. I understand."
"Carl, you are so nice. I do love you." They kissed, and Carl pressed her down against the cushions, his hands roaming more freely than he had previously dared. Patty did not resist. Carl was elated; she was his! "Mmmmm...Carl," she responded, "you are so good! Can we get married right away? I can't wait."
"Of course, My Dearest, whenever you want. I can't wait either. We can fix up the tenant house out by the barn. How long will it take to arrange for the wedding?"
She stroked his face. "Could we elope? Tomorrow?" "Anything you say, My Love." He enveloped her as if they were already married. "We'll run away together tomorrow. Tonight, if you want."
"Yes, Carl, tonight! Oh, I love you."
"Won't your parents be upset?"
"They'll understand, Carl. I'm old enough; I don't need their permission. We can drive to Dalton and be married by the mayor, first thing in the morning."
"Heck, what are you waiting for, woman?" said Carl, suddenly possessive. "Go get your things, whatever you need, and meet me by the truck." She slipped away from him, let herself quietly into the house, and was back at the pick-up in only a minute, carrying a little overnight bag. They embraced again, as if after a long absence, and climbed into the cab, trying to close the door quietly. They kissed again. "I can't believe this is happening to me," he said. "I'm so happy."
Patty was silent for a moment. "Carl, I love you. I think it's really nice that you love me and want to marry me. I want you to marry me, but..."
"But what?"
"If we are going to be married, Carl, I've got to be honest with you. I... I..." She looked troubled again. She couldn't go on.
"Patty," Carl replied, "Tell me what you were going to say." She squirmed, silently. "I insist that my wife be honest with me, just as honest as I am with her. I love you. I'm as certain as I am of anything that we are going to get married, and I don't see any point in wasting time, because I lust for you in the worst way. But let's always be honest with each other." He kissed her, tenderly. "I won't start this truck until you finish what you started to say."
She hesitated, and he put his arm around her. She shivered a little and made some mewling false starts. "Take your time, Dear," said Carl, softly. Still, she hesitated. His right arm was around her shoulders, pulling her close against him. Carl reached over with his left hand and stroked her thigh, cupped her breast, asserted his claim to her body. Patty did not pull away or hold his hand; she leaned into him affectionately.
Still, there was her unfinished sentence. "Tell me," he whispered, "what you were going to say. You have to tell me." Patty made a noise like a kitten, and sniffled. "Tell me!"
"Carl!" she blurted, "I'm pregnant! I'm only a little pregnant. I was planning to make you think it was yours. But that wouldn't be right. Do you still want to marry me?"
Carl kissed her tenderly. "Of course I do. Was it Harvey?"
"Yes. It didn't seem so sinful. We'd always said we'd get married someday. When I told him my period was overdue, that we would have to get married right away, he got mad and left town." She embraced Carl with both arms, pressing against him. "I HAVE to get married, Carl. I want my baby to have a name, Carl! Do you understand? Do you mind? Can you still love me, knowing what a fool I was? I'm soiled goods, Carl. Do you still want me? Will you still marry me? Please? I'll try to be a good wife, Carl. I'll make it up to you."
"Yes, Patty, I still want you." He pulled her still closer. He could believe she really loved him, lusted for him as he lusted for her. "I can't help wanting you. We will get married right away, and no one else will ever know she's not my daughter."
"She? Why do you think it will be a girl?"
Carl did not reply immediately. He had to think. If he and Patty had only one child, the genius daughter, and she was really Harvey's daughter, then Carl would actually have no children of his own, not of his own seed. The Perry line would die out. There would be no grandson to inherit the farm. So? That didn't seem so important, not when the prettiest woman in town would soon be his. Tiffany was right; he would marry Patty Simmons, but Tiffany couldn't have known that Patty had to marry him, because she was pregnant with Harvey's child and desperate to get married, even to someone like Carl, if he would have her. Tiffany went to all that trouble, and mated with the wrong stud!
"Carl," Patty said, squirming a bit as Carl hugged her, "why do you think our baby will be a girl? Carl, why are you looking at me like that? Why are you laughing?"
Carl pressed his lips together, trying to hold his laughter in. When his ribs stopped shaking, and he could keep from laughing out loud, he breathed deeply, chuckled a bit, and finally was able to reply. "I'm not laughing at you, Patty. My father was right. God, or fate, or whatever it is, plays cruel jokes on people. Then they have to... they have to laugh, because it's better to laugh than to cry." He put both hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length and looking her in the eye. "Do you really want to marry a runt like me? Do you really think you can be happy with me? I'm not tall and handsome and popular like Harvey."
"Yes, Carl. I'm glad you're not like Harvey. You are kind, and honest, and I know you will be a good father. I promise I'm going to be the best wife I can."
"Good," said Carl, as he twisted the ignition key and stepped on the starter.