Free Timepiece by Richard Paul Evans Page B

shouldn’t she be allowed the truth? I feel as if I am living a lie.”
    â€œThen it is the lesser of a much greater one.”
    â€œWhat is that?”
    â€œSociety’s lie. The lie that claims that simply impregnating a woman makes a man a father.” Her eyes glazed in loathsome recall. “The man who lay with me is not a father. He is not even a real man. I wonder that he is a member of our species.”
    David sat still, quietly weighing the intent of her words. “Have you seen him? Since our engagement?”
    MaryAnne wondered why he hadasked the question, but could not discern from his expression. “Once.”
    â€œYou went to him?”
    â€œDavid!” She took his hand. “That would be like emptying a cup of champagne to fill it with turned milk.”
    â€œYou hate him?”
    â€œI do not care enough about him to hate him. Nor pity him, as pitiful as he is. . . .”
    David remained silent.
    â€œHe stopped me outside the company two days after you asked me to marry to tell me that he wanted me back. I told him that I had no desire to see him again. He called me a harlot and said that when I had the baby, it would be for the world to know, but that he knew of a way to take the child so that it would not interfere with our life together.” MaryAnne grimaced as she turned away. “I have never wanted to hurt anyone in my life, but at that moment, I wanted to kill him. He just stared at mewith this arrogant grin as if he had just rescued me from disrepute, as if I should fall to my knees in gratitude. I slapped him. I knew he would probably beat me again, even in public, but I didn’t care.
    â€œJust then, one of the clerks came around the corner. I suspect that he had observed the exchange, as he stopped and asked if he could be of assistance. Virgil was mad with rage, but he is a coward. He raised a finger to me, sneered, then stormed off. That is his name. Virgil. It leaves a putrid taste in my mouth to even speak it.”
    She looked into David’s eyes.
    â€œOnce I thought I loved him, but now he is irrelevant, David. To me, he is nothing, but more especially to Andrea. I beg you, as her father, not to tell her. It has no chance of bringing her happiness and may bring her great pain.”
    Her voice cracked. “The only questionwe should reason is how it will affect her happiness, is it not?”
    David silently contemplated the question. Then his mouth rose in a half smile. “I love you, MaryAnne. I truly love you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Widow’s Gift
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    â€œI find it most peculiar that these old women share their deepest secrets with a man who, but a few months previous, they would have shrunk from in terror had they encountered him on a streetcar.”
    David Parkin’s Diary. August 1, 1911
    In a strange twist of social convention, Lawrence had become the toast of the city’s elite widowhood, and those who sought its ranks would drop his name at teas and brunches like a secret password. Initially, the elderly women had begun the visits to Lawrence’s shack because it was perfectly scandalous and gave rise to gossip,but through time, the visits had evolved and now came more through loneliness than social pretension. It was suspected that some widows would actually damage their clocks as an excuse to visit the horologist.
    Though the widows rarely left their homes after dark, as summer stretched the day, the visits would sometimes intrude upon Lawrence’s dinner. This particular evening, Lawrence was cutting carrots into a pan with a steel buck knife when there came a familiar, sharp wooden rap at his door. He lifted the blackened pan from the stove and greeted the widow. Maud Cannon, a gaunt, gray-haired woman, stood outside, leaning against a black, pearl-embedded cane. She wore a maroon poplin dress with a satin sash and a gold maple-leaf-shaped brooch clipped to its bodice. In her left hand, she