GI Brides (70 page)

Blythe finished the letter slowly and then buried her face in it for a moment or two. Such a precious, precious letter! Why, this was a letter that she could show to her mother and father. It was a real picture of the story of their love. It gave a true account of their first knowledge of each other; it showed what Charlie really was. Mother and Father could not help understanding how fine he was from that letter. Oh, she was glad he had written it! Yet, would he like her to show it to even her nearest and dearest? He had written this because he knew that there was censorship ahead, and he wanted his letter to come to her before any other eyes had seen it. Well, she had it now, as it came straight from himself, without any alien eyes between. Yes, it was hers to use as she felt was right. She was sure Charlie would agree with her. She would think about it. And she would read it over and over and get it into her heart. She would be able to tell in time whether she wanted to share that letter with her parents.

Happily she began to read the letter again, reveling in every word, following his memories and matching the time with her own. How he had felt just as she had done again and again. It was almost like having him there. How she could envision his speaking face as she read! How she could thrill with the memory of his arms about her, and the tenderness of his kiss!

She was just starting to read the letter over for the third time when she heard her mother’s voice downstairs.

“Oh!” She caught her breath. She didn’t want to be interrupted in this third reading of the letter, and she hadn’t decided yet whether or not she was willing to show it to her mother. She listened for an instant and heard another voice. Ah! Mother had brought someone home with her, and there would not be opportunity to talk with her alone at this time anyway. So with a quiet smile on her face, Blythe went through her third reading of that precious first letter.

A little later she heard the summons to lunch, and she went down to find a friend of her mother’s was a guest. So, her secret was her own for another little while at least, but she sat through the meal with such a happy smile on her face that the guest could but remark on how well Blythe was looking. Blythe was hugging to herself the thought of this first letter of Charlie’s, and already she was planning how she might answer it and make plain to her lover how his words had rung bells of joy in her heart, even though the censor’s eagle eye might keep him from writing another like it. Oh there would be ways to write that a mere censor would not understand, words that yet would convey a depth of love and trust each to the other.

And Mrs. Bonniwell, watching the happy face of her dear girl, was relieved to see that the dark circles under her eyes were gone, and that there was a healthy flush on her cheeks. She must have been very tired the night before, or else upset about her words concerning Dan Seavers. Strange that young people took such strange notions about each other when they began to grow up. Dan had always been such a handsome boy, rightly born and rightly bred. His people were intimate friends of the Bonniwells, and their children had been educated in much the same way. She could not think that Blythe was right in what she thought of the way Dan had changed. Very likely this was only a whim, and would pass. Dan and Blythe would presently be as good friends as ever, perhaps, and she wouldn’t worry about it. There was one good thing about it. Blythe wasn’t fond of any other young man, she was sure of that.

So she put away the worried thoughts she had had and entered into a discussion of the best way to conduct the new War Bond drive that they were planning. Soon after lunch Blythe escaped upstairs to write to Charlie, her first answer to his first love letter to her.

Meantime, downstairs in the library, Blythe’s mother and her guest, Mrs. Corwin, had settled down before the open fire to have a nice talk and plan the War Bond drive.

“What a charming daughter Blythe has become,” said Mrs. Corwin. “She used to be so tall and gangling, but she seems to have filled out beautifully, and is really lovely now. I’m so glad to have seen her again. And why did she go away? Wouldn’t she like to sit in on this conference? I’m sure we could give her something to do. She is so ornamental, she ought to be sitting in one of the best positions to reach the right people, say, in the bank, or one of the big department stores. Why don’t you call her down?”

Mrs. Corwin was one of those who could always spoil any complimentary remark she tried to make by some unfortunate word like “gangling,” and as that word had never described Blythe’s slim loveliness, it rather annoyed the mother. Blythe had always been lithe and graceful as soon as she got out of actual babyhood.

Mrs. Bonniwell looked up sharply.

“No,” she said decidedly. “Blythe already has too much war work to do. She has no time at all to relax and have a little social life. I wouldn’t think of letting her get into this.”

“Oh, of course, if you feel that way,” said the guest petulantly. “But she is so lovely, and would make a grand drawing card, I’m sure. But of course a young girl should have amusement. I suppose she goes out evenings a good deal and stays up too late. I hear she’s very popular.”

“We haven’t encouraged her going out very much,” said Mrs. Bonniwell. “After all, she’s just got through her college course and the last year is always so strenuous. But Blythe is doing some hospital work in the early evenings among little children, and other days she works in the baby day-nursery.”

“How sweet of her!” said Mrs. Corwin. “So many girls wouldn’t bother to do a thing like that. It’s very strenuous.”

“She loves it,” said Blythe’s mother, bringing pencils and paper and settling down ready for work.

“Well, that’s all very well for a little while,” said the guest, “but I suppose her young friends will soon clamor for her release. I think you are so fortunate to have her at home again, and to have such a delightful companion for her in Dan Seavers. So many of the young men are gone overseas, she is fortunate to have one so good-looking and so devoted to stay nearby. Has he received his commission yet? I understand he had been asked to take over some very important work for the government. Is it arranged yet where he will be stationed?”

“Why, I wouldn’t know,” said Mrs. Bonniwell coolly. “I haven’t heard the matter discussed.”

“Oh,
really
?” said the guest, lifting her stylish eyebrows. “Why, I should think you would be one of the first to know. They’re engaged, aren’t they? I suppose if he is stationed nearby they will be married before he goes and she will go with him?”

“Engaged?” said Blythe’s mother, lifting a haughty chin. “Of whom are you speaking? Who are engaged?”

Mrs. Corwin rippled out a musical little laugh.

“Why, I’m speaking of Dan Seavers and your charming daughter, of course,” she said with a daring little smile. “I understood the engagement was to be announced in a few days. Isn’t that so?”

“Engagement?” said Mrs. Bonniwell severely. “Between my daughter and Daniel Seavers? Certainly
not
! They have no idea of being engaged, and never have had. Where in the world did you get that idea?”

“Why, my dear, I have heard it everywhere. Everybody has been saying what a delightful match it is and how simply perfect for you to have your daughter marry a young man you have known so long and so well and one who is such an admirable fellow. Simply everybody is saying that. You certainly surprise me.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Bonniwell. “It is quite amusing how people can make up stories out of whole cloth with nothing to go on but a few scattered appearances in public together. They are good friends of course, have been for years, but nothing more. I am afraid Blythe would be quite annoyed if she knew that her world was parceling her off in this wholesale manner, without even asking her if it is true.”

“But Alice! You surprise me! I had no idea I was speaking of affairs that were not yet in the open. I do hope you will pardon my speaking beforehand. Of course I felt you were an old friend, and I would be expected to congratulate you. I didn’t understand that something must have happened, and the engagement was off.”

Mrs. Bonniwell gasped.

“But, my dear, you don’t understand yet! There
never
has been an engagement, and
nothing
has happened, and therefore there is nothing to ‘be off,’ as you say. Now, forget it, please, and shall we get to work?”

“But my dear, I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t think you’d be so secretive with me!”

“Why, Clarice, the idea! I’m not being secretive. I have nothing to be secretive about. There is
nothing
in this at all. I can’t understand who could have told you a thing like this. But please,
please
put the matter entirely out of your mind and let us plan this drive.”

After much persuasion Mrs. Corwin stiffly agreed to drop the matter, but her manner retained its stiffness, and she had the air of having been deceived about something. Deceived, and intentionally left out of something important.

So, amid an undertone of hurt and suspicion the two ladies went to work, and perhaps even more was actually accomplished than would have been if there hadn’t been a dignified restraint in the atmosphere.

The work had progressed to the stage of two very neat complete lists of names, two sets of programs finished, and two notebooks with various items listed that must be attended to later. Suddenly they heard Blythe coming lightly down the stairs humming a bright little tune, and Blythe’s mother rejoiced that her child sounded happy and lighthearted. Mrs. Corwin couldn’t possibly go out and tell people that Blythe was wasting away because Dan Seavers had jilted her. But there was no telling. Mrs. Corwin had certainly proved herself this afternoon to be capable of getting up almost any story out of nothing.

“Blythe, is that you, dear?” called her mother suddenly. “Are you going out this afternoon?”

Blythe appeared promptly at the door, her cheeks beautifully rosy and what looked like stardust in her eyes, a letter in her hand.

“Why, Mother, I’m just running down to the post office with a letter I want to get off in a hurry. I think it will go more quickly if I take it down. Can I do anything for you?”

“Why no, dear, I think not. Will you be going out after dinner?”

“Yes, Mother, I’m on the evening shift at the hospital tonight, but I shall be done by eleven. Would it be convenient to send the car, or are you using it somewhere else? I can come back on the bus if you are.”

“Why no, dear. You don’t need to do that. I have to run over to Mrs. Haskell’s a little while to get her ideas about this War Bond drive, and suppose I stop at the hospital and pick you up. Eleven, you say? All right. Do I go to the side entrance? Very well, you can plan for that. Now run along with your letter, dear, and leave us to our work. We’re almost done, and we simply must finish this and get the lists off to the printer.”

“Well, I’ll say good-bye, Mrs. Corwin,” said Blythe, pleasantly. “So nice to have seen you.” She smiled on the lady and flitted away like a bright bird of passage.

“She certainly looks happy,” said Mrs. Corwin provocatively.

“Yes, she’s a very happy child,” said Blythe’s mother. “She seems so glad to be at home again. Her father asked her this morning if she wouldn’t like to take a trip somewhere, but she said no, she wanted to stick by her war work in the day nursery.”

“Well, that’s certainly commendable,” said the lady stiffly. “And now about the list of people who are to work the suburbs. Do you have Mrs. West’s suggestions for the district around the northwestern part of the city?”

“Yes, here it is. I looked it over and it seems very good to me. See what you think.” And so the work went rapidly on to the finish, Mrs. Corwin presently went away, and Blythe’s mother drew a long breath of relief. Was this kind of thing what Blythe had meant? Well, it was most annoying. Nothing bad, nothing that would do any harm to her dear girl, of course, and yet it was most trying. No girl liked to have her affairs settled by a committee of the town, nor pried into. And if Blythe stopped going with Dan abruptly, everybody would say he had deserted her. But there, what was the use of worrying? So long as Blythe could bring such a happy face around, no amount of gossip could really hurt her. Her mother smiled indulgently and went slowly upstairs to her room to snatch a few minutes’ rest.

What would she have thought or said if she had known about that first real love letter her daughter had received and answered that day? What would she have thought about Charlie Montgomery?

Back in her own room Blythe was standing by her window staring out across the lawn with a look of distance in her dreamy eyes. She was feeling as if she had just been talking with Charlie, and was reflecting that it was only a few hours ago that he was actually with her and now he seemed so far away. She must not lose sight of that wonderful first visit of his. And now, as soon as her mother woke up, she probably ought to go and talk it all over with her. She must not have the blight of any burden on the joy of her heart. It was burden enough that very soon Charlie was going into awful danger, and how she was going to bear that when the time came, she did not know. But she simply must not let her present happiness be spoiled. It was something so perfect that it must not be touched by gloom.

And then, just a few hours apart, Charlie’s other letters began to arrive, a dear procession of them, and she seemed to be living in his company, all the way of his journey, although of course she had no idea just where he was going.

A
s Charlie Montgomery went from the train into the camp where he had been given to understand he was to await further orders, he looked about him at the men who stood watching the newcomers, and then suddenly he heard a voice calling out.

“Hello, Charlie Montgomery!”

He turned sharply and looked into a young face that seemed familiar even in the army outfit. Eager gray eyes searched his face, and he heard a doubtful, hesitant voice.

“You
are
Charlie Montgomery, aren’t you?”