GI Brides (65 page)

All the sweet, hurrying, eager questions rushed upon her, each demanding to be answered at once, yet none of them shaking her faith in his love, even for an instant. The breathtaking memory of his arms about her, folding her close. Why, she had never dreamed what love like this could be!

She had read many beautiful love stories of course, had delighted in them, yet none of them came up to the sweetness of those all-too-brief blissful moments while Charlie was with her. Her own beloved!

There would come a time, of course, when she must bring all this out in the open, must tell her mother and father. Or would there?
Must
she? If anything happened to Charlie, if he did not come back, she would keep it deep in her own heart. Never would she allow even her dearest ones to speculate on what Charlie was, and what he had intended to do about all this. That was her part, and for the present it must be kept so. Precious. Just between themselves. And so, whatever came in the future, this afternoon was hers to be with Charlie in her thoughts. To knit up all the years that had been so empty and barren for them both before the knowledge of their mutual love had come to make it shine like a light.

And then she turned in her mind to face that other thought, that terrible thought, that perhaps he might not come back. Not
ever
! He had spoken as if that was a sure thing. In fact, it was the only reason, apparently, that had given him the courage to come and tell her of his love, as if it were just a kind of spiritual thing that could last through eternity but could not be used on this earth. It seemed a beautiful, awesome way to look at life, to reach such heights of sacrifice that he could smile as he said it. Would she ever reach that height, too? Oh, she could not, must not, think of that now. She must only think how he was going to try to call her up sometime, today, or this evening, and she
must
be at home and be ready for it. She must have heartening words ready at the tip of her tongue, for his time to talk with her might be very short, if it came at all. Just between trains, or a stop at some station for connection or some needed repair. She must think of all those things and be ready not to waste the time. She must have a pencil and paper ready in case he wanted her to write down an address or something. But she must have some brief sweet messages ready for him to take with him in his memory; things he would like to hear her voice saying, ringing in his heart sometime when he was far away and needed comfort or strengthening.

And so she sat and dreamed it out, as if she were communing with him, knitting up those past years when they had never talked except a few scant words concerning an algebra problem.

It might have seemed to an outsider like a monotonous little round of thoughts to be so sweet and absorbing, but they were precious to the lovely girl who sat and thought them. Like some potent charm that works a change on words written long ago brings out clearly what was invisible before, so these tender thoughts were painting over the past years and bringing out the meaning of a young love that had grown up unknown and unacknowledged. And now she could remember glances, furtive shadowed smiles, little acts of kindness and courtesy, like picking up her examination paper that a breeze from the window had caught and fluttered across the aisle down to his vicinity. She could read the look in his eyes, the flush on his cheek that before might have only meant embarrassment, shyness. Oh, it was wonderful, this thinking, in the light of the knowledge of that confession of his that he loved her!

Into the midst of these happy dreams, that were as yet not consciously tinged with the coming fears of possible pain and sorrow, there came the ringing of the telephone.

Blythe sprang from her chair and hurried to the instrument across the hall in her mother’s room, lovely anticipation in her face. Could this be Charlie?

But no, it was only some tiresome woman who wanted to persuade her to undertake the management of a play to be given for the benefit of a day nursery.

Feverishly, because she didn’t want the telephone to be in use when Charlie called—if he called—she tried to decline, but the woman only urged the harder.

“But such things are not in my line, Mrs. Basset. I never got up a play in my life, wouldn’t know how to go about it, and besides, just at present I’m doing all the war work I can possibly manage, without undertaking anything else. No, I’m sorry. I can’t possibly do it. Think it over? No, I’m sorry I can’t promise to do that even, for I wouldn’t, under any circumstances, undertake to put on a play anywhere, and I’m quite sure there are more important things to do for the war than to get up a play. No, Mrs. Basset, you’ll have to count me out.”

She hung up at last with a sigh and glanced at the clock. Five whole minutes wasted that way! What if he had tried to call during that time, and might have no other opportunity! But there! She must not get hysterical over this.

Quietly she went back to her room and read over the notes she had been writing down. Why, they were almost a letter, for the words came directly from her heart! She would go on writing, and when he did call, she would tell him she was just writing him a letter.

With this thought in mind she went back to her writing, a light in her eyes and a sweet smile on her face.

The next interruption was from her mother, calling to say that neither she nor Blythe’s father would be at home to dinner tonight, as they had met an old friend who was leaving town at midnight and wanted them to dine with him at his hotel so they could have an old-time visit.

“Why don’t you call Dan and ask him over to dinner with you tonight? That will probably just fit in with his plans,” said her mother.

“No,” said Blythe sharply. “I don’t want to, Mother. I’ve got letters to write and a lot of other things to do. I’ll be all right, and I’ll tell Susan. You needn’t worry. What’s one dinner, after all? And I’m tired, I really am. Have a good time, Mother dear.” Then Blythe went back to her pleasant thoughts and her first happy letter.

It was five minutes of six when the telephone rang again and Blythe flew to answer, sure now it must be Charlie. But instead she heard Dan Seaver’s angry voice.

“What in the name of time is the matter with you, Bly?
Can’t
go? Of
course
you can go! I’ve been planning to take you to this picture for weeks. You know I’ve spoken of it several times.”

“Oh,” said Blythe, “I’m sorry, Dan, to disappoint you, but you said nothing about going
tonight,
and I really can’t do it. I made other plans!”

“Plans!
Plans!
What are your plans? Change them, then! Call off whatever you’ve promised to do. This comes first, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Blythe drew a weary little sigh and looked with anguished eyes toward the clock. Suppose Charlie should call now? It might be likely. It would be so near the dinner hour, surely his train would stop somewhere at this time, or would it?

Her mind was turning this subject over and over while she tried to be half listening to Dan and wondering what she could say to him that would make him understand she meant what she said and that she was not available this evening for
any
thing but her own plans.

“Bly, you’re not listening! I say I’m coming right over there and get you. We’ll go somewhere and get dinner, and then take in the first show.”

Blythe roused.

“No!” she said. “
Positively no!
I simply
can’t.
I thought I sent you word in plenty of time for you to find someone else to go with you.”

“No, Blythe, you don’t mean that! You know you don’t want me to take someone else.”

“Why, yes, I certainly do, Dan,” she said sweetly. “I’m sure you can find somebody.”

The altercation lasted some minutes, and Blythe drew a breath of relief when Dan finally grew angry and hung up the receiver with a slam, furious because she wouldn’t tell him where she was going or what engagement she had that she would not break for him.

Annoyed beyond measure at the time he had kept the telephone occupied, Blythe tried to get back her happy serenity, but try as she would, she was worried lest Dan had made her miss the few treasured words she hoped to hear from Charlie. Of course, he hadn’t been sure he would be able to call, and this was probably but the beginning of a long weary hopeful waiting. But she put the thought from her. She must not allow her mind to dwell on the possibility of future unhappiness, not on this first day of her new joy. Sorrow and anxiety might come, but she would not dwell on them ahead of time. And this was a day that must be remembered as having been all joy.

It was an anxious evening for Blythe. She was beginning to worry lest Charlie hadn’t been able to telephone at all, and perhaps there wouldn’t be any way she could hear his voice again, ever! She was also beginning to be afraid the call might come so late that her mother and father would arrive in the midst of it, and there would be questions perhaps, and she might have to explain at once, so that the beauty of Charlie’s words might become dimmed before she could savor them fully.

But there she was, being silly and hysterical again! Why couldn’t she be sensible? This whole thing was something that had come to her right out of the blue as it were, nothing she had solicited, nothing that any act of hers had brought about, and if it was something sent to her, she ought to be able to trust, and not get excited about it.

It was not until a little after ten that the call did come, and she tried to go to it calmly, so she would not be out of breath to talk.

His voice was very clear in the quiet room.

“Is that you, Blythe?”

“Oh yes, Charlie!” she said joyously. “It is
you at last
!”

“Yes, beloved,” he said. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, I’m alone, and so glad to hear your voice!”

“My precious girl! How wonderful to hear
your
voice!”

“I was afraid you couldn’t make it,” she breathed.

“Yes,” said the young man, “our train was late and we had to make up time. New orders. And now, I’ve only a few minutes to talk, so we mustn’t waste time. But I’ve written you a letter, and you may get it in a day or two. It has to go through the regular routine now of course, I think, and you won’t know where I am nor where I’m going. But don’t mind about that. I just want to say again that I love you. I love you more than I ever dreamed I could love anyone. You opened the way into a heaven of delight when you told me you loved me. I hadn’t counted on that. I hadn’t thought you ever noticed me. I know I’m going to spend a lot of time rejoicing in your words, in the memory of you in my arms, your face against mine, your lips on mine. It is a greater joy that I ever had hoped could be mine. Even though it must likely be a brief joy, since I have a rendezvous with death.”

“Oh Charlie!
Don’t
say that!”

“Well, it’s true, beloved! You know I told you if it had not been for that I would never have presumed to tell you what I did.” He spoke gravely.

“Well, I’m glad that anything made you tell me,” said Blythe happily. “But oh, I pray that it may only be a brief absence and that you will soon come back to me.”

“I shall be glad of your prayers, but don’t be arbitrary about them. My mother used to say that God must have His way, and it was of no use to try to force any other. I believe God knows what He is doing, don’t you? And I’ve committed myself to this thing, you know. I think it is right. I know it is patriotic.”

“Yes, I know,” sighed Blythe, “but oh,
don’t
take it
for granted
that this is going to be
the end
!”

“No,” said the young man’s voice, with a clear ring to it, “we won’t take anything for granted now, but just our love. Shall it be that way, beloved?”

“Oh yes!” said the girl breathlessly. “And I like the way you say ‘beloved.’ I shall remember your voice saying it,
always
—till you come again.”

“That’s very precious of you to say. Yes, till I come again—somewhere, sometime. For I do believe there’ll be a ‘somewhere’ of meeting, don’t you?
Don’t you?
No matter what happens?”

“Yes, of course,” said Blythe. “But—I’ll believe—you will come back. Oh, Charlie! Why didn’t we know each other better before? How much time we’ve lost out of our childhood days!”

“Not enough to keep us from loving, my dear!” His voice was very tender. “Please don’t mourn over that or anything else. It is enough for me for the present that I can carry your love with me, your permission to receive my love. You are not angry that I told you. That gives me great joy and strength for my mission. It is more than I have ever dared to ask of life. Will you pray for me that I may be brave as I go forth to my duty? Forget that it is terrible, and think of it as something that
must
be victorious. Will you do that?”

“Oh yes, dear. Of course.”

“Then I shall go armed with courage, feeling that whether I live or die, I shall
conquer.
And now, I’ve only a few seconds left to talk, and how can I possibly say all that I have in my heart in that time? But I want you to understand that if you hear nothing from me, perhaps for a long time, or even perhaps
never,
still I have loved you with all my heart. They have not told me what are to be our circumstances or location, but I feel that communication with our home world may hereafter be greatly restricted, certainly limited, possibly entirely forbidden or impossible, and you will not let yourself grieve about that, will you? You will say in your heart it is all right. You will know I have not forgotten, nor changed. You will remember that?”

“I will remember!” Blythe breathed the words softly, choking back the sobs that kept rising in her throat.

“Dear girl! It was selfish of me to do this to you, and make you unhappy, even for a day. I should have kept my love to myself.”

“No, no, don’t say that! Please don’t!” she pleaded. “Your love is the greatest thing that ever came into my life. I am glad,
glad
that you told me! I shall be glad always!”