GI Brides (73 page)

“Oh, I’ve seen her around. Saw her at a coupla your football games. Saw her watching you play.”

“Well, that’s something!” said Charlie, realizing that was something he and Blythe had not had time to talk about. Of course he had seen her there, but he had not been aware of her watching him. She hadn’t been one of his crowd, and he hadn’t even ventured a greeting to her at those games.

“Well, think you could give her a message? Here, I’ll write just a line. Of course, if you lose it before you get there, it won’t matter. You can read it and repeat it.”

The engine screeched a warning, and Lieutenant Charles Montgomery, standing on the bottom step of the car, seized his pen and notebook from his pocket and wrote.

“You’ll havta make it speedy, pard,” said Walter, forgetting his army manners. “She’s about ta start.”

“Beloved. I’m off. God bless you. Love, Charlie.”

The engine gave a lurch and then a warning whistle.

“Make it snappy, Lieutenant,” breathed Walter anxiously.

Charlie folded the paper and put it in the eager hand, even as the train began to move.

“Good-bye, kid. Keep it safe, and if you have a chance to talk with her, tell her how we met and all about it. If you don’t get home, well, never mind! Take care of your faith, kid, and don’t forget to pray.”

“Oh, sure, you know I won’t!” shouted the boy-soldier, as the train moved away beyond his following feet.

Two days later Walter was moved on,
without
his furlough home. He had wrapped the precious slip of paper in a bit of cellophane and fastened it between the pages of the Testament his mother had given him when he left home, which he always carried over his heart. That meant that Charlie’s message would never get lost and would
sometime
be delivered, unless the young soldier was lost himself. This commission from his hero was his only consolation for the sorrow that he would not go with Charlie through fire or death or whatever was to come to him. And his prayers every night for Charlie and for the girl to whom he had sent his farewell, were most fervent, and never forgotten.

Two days more Walter had, following after Silverthorn and his friend Luther Waite, and then they went on to another location; but the boy-soldier had learned much from sitting at the feet of these two servants of the Lord, and he carried a lighter heart as he went out into the great unknown future that was to be his. His hand was in God’s hand; his strength was the joy of the Lord.

But as he went he thought often of his friend and hero Charlie Montgomery, and sent up a prayer for him. For though he had no idea what Charlie was going into, he was sure it was full of danger, more than most soldiers and fliers were destined for, and his heart would fail him sometimes as he thought that perhaps he would never see Charlie again on this earth. But he was glad, glad that he was sure of that meeting in heaven. There would be no doubt or anxiety about that.

And then, at his first opportunity, Walter wrote a long letter to his mother.

Mrs. Blake cried tears of joy over that letter and prayed for the two who had gone their separate ways, and in due time went to her Red Cross sewing class, from which she had been absent for a couple of weeks on account of extra time at the plant where she worked. When she came into the room, Blythe noticed that there was a look of peace on her face, and a light in her eyes that she had not seen before.

As usual the other ladies paid little attention to her except to nod a cold good morning. Only Anne Houghton remarked hatefully:

“Oh,
you’re
back, are you? I thought they’d got you transferred.”

But even that didn’t disturb the calm of Ms. Blake’s tired little face.

Blythe had been sitting at the other end of the room when Mrs. Blake entered and had distinctly heard the disagreeable greeting. She made an excuse, presently, to change her seat and take the one beside Mrs. Blake.

“I’ve been missing you from the class,” she said sweetly and quite distinctly, so that everyone could hear. “Have you been ill?”

“Oh no,” answered the little woman pleasantly, in a very quiet, refined tone. “I had extra work at the plant and couldn’t get away, but I came back as soon as I could.”

“Oh, I’m glad you weren’t sick,” said Blythe, beginning on another buttonhole. “So many people have had colds this time of year. And then I thought of your little girl, and wondered if she was sick. All the children in our neighborhood have had the measles.”

“No, Peggy’s quite well,” said her mother. “She’s been joining that Junior Red Cross group they’ve started at school, and she heard me telling what wonderful buttonholes you make, so she wants to learn how, and I told her I’d watch you if I got the chance and see if I could give her some help. I never was very good at buttonholes myself, but maybe if I watch you I could teach her.”

“Oh, let me teach her, Mrs. Blake! I’d love to. That would be fun.”

“Why, would you be willing to? That would be wonderful. But I’m afraid that would be a lot of trouble for you.”

“No, I’d love it. What time does she get home from school? Could she stop at my house on her way home a few times? We’ll make a fine little buttonhole maker of her.”

Mrs. Blake fairly beamed.

“Well, I’m sure I never can thank you enough for being so kind. It’s just beautiful of you to offer.”

“Oh, please don’t get the idea I’m doing anything great,” said Blythe, smiling. “We’re in a war, you know, and everybody is supposed to do everything they can to help along. I’m sure if I succeed in making Peggy a good buttonhole maker, why, then she can help to finish more garments, and so we’ll be doubling our output. Isn’t that good reasoning?”

So they laughed about it, and little Mrs. Blake’s face took on a very sweet look. If Charlie Montgomery could have seen Mrs. Blake, he might have said she looked like her youngest son, Walter. But Charlie Montgomery was not there, except in the thought of one dear girl whose mind was always hovering about his memory.

“This is a happy day for me,” said Mrs. Blake, “you offering to do this for Peggy, and I know she’ll be so happy about it. And then I had a letter from my Walter this morning. I was almost late getting here, stopping to read it. In fact, I haven’t read it all yet, but I must read one sentence near the end where it was folded that said he had met with somebody from home and it made him very glad. He went around with him for a couple of days, and it’s evidently braced him up a lot.”

“Oh, that is nice! Poor boys. It must be very hard for them to be torn away from their homes and families this way and compelled to grow up suddenly and go out and fight! It’s hard enough for the older ones, but for the very young ones it must be terrible. Didn’t you tell me he was only seventeen?”

“Yes, just turned seventeen,” said the mother, sighing.

“Oh, why did you let him go yet? Couldn’t you have kept him at home for one more year?”

“Well, yes, I suppose I could, but it would have been like holding wild horses in. He was just raring to go, and he really felt kind of ashamed, his two brothers both gone already. You know the boys feel it.”

“Yes, I suppose they do! Poor kiddies! They don’t realize what it is, but I suppose there are some good things about it.”

“Yes, perhaps,” sighed the mother. “Well, one thing in Walter’s letter made me real glad anyway. He says he’s been getting to know the Lord.” She said it shyly, with almost a hush of shame in her voice, as if she wasn’t used to talking of such things, and she didn’t know how this girl from the aristocracy would take it.

“Oh,” said Blythe embarrassedly. “Why, that’s kind of wonderful, isn’t it? I suppose war does make the boys thoughtful. They aren’t always sure how they are coming through.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Blake, “I suppose it does. Though before they went that was one thing I worried about. I was afraid they would get into bad company and get to cursing and swearing and doing all sorts of dreadful things. You see, I always tried to bring my children up to be Christians, though to tell the truth, when they went out from home and were with other children, they kind of got away from it. They’d make any excuse to stay away from church, you know. But now Walter says he and this fellow from home went to a meeting every night and that some chaplain who’s very interesting has got them to thinking real seriously.”

“Well, I guess you ought to be very glad over that,” said Blythe. “Maybe there are going to be some good things come out of this war after all. Of course, it’s going to be awfully hard for their families, a lot of sorrow having them gone and not knowing if they’ll come home safe, but it’s good there is a brighter side.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Blake. “If I thought my boys would get to be good Christians and be right ready if they had to die, I wouldn’t worry so much. And that’s why I’m so glad over Walter’s letter.”

And then suddenly the sewing class broke up, and they all went home. Blythe and Mrs. Blake lingered just long enough to make arrangements about Peggy’s coming for her buttonhole lesson, and then Blythe hurried away, for somehow Mrs. Blake’s telling of the letter from her son made her eager to get home and see if there might be another letter from Charlie.

And sure enough there was, the letter he had written that early morning after he had given himself to the Lord the night before.

M
r. Bonniwell, busy in his office that morning, had received a telephone call from Dan Seavers, asking urgently to be allowed to see him at once. Blythe’s father, annoyed, had put aside some very important telephone calls he had planned to make right away, and told him he might come, if he would make his business brief, as he had but ten minutes to spare. Young Seavers agreed, and presently presented himself at the office.

There was no humility in the bearing of the brash young man as he entered the Bonniwell office smiling, almost condescendingly.

He was in officer’s uniform, and looked very handsome and domineering. Mr. Bonniwell suppressed a definite dislike that he of late had experienced whenever he saw this young man. Even the stunning new uniform did not dispel this feeling, and the older man struggled against it and tried to be decently cordial. His own prejudice dated back to when Dan was ten years younger and Mr. Bonniwell saw him do a very unfair thing to a schoolmate who was even younger, and definitely not as well dressed as himself. But of course, he tried to tell himself, the fellow was grown up now, and had likely got over those snobbish tendencies. Anyway, he would give him the benefit of the doubt. He was Blythe’s friend, of course, and she must see something good in him or she wouldn’t be off with him so much. “Good morning, Dan,” he said, trying not to be stiff in his manner. “Won’t you sit down? Sorry to have to hurry you about time, but I am a good deal rushed this morning. Now, what’s on your mind? I see you’re in uniform. Does that mean you are going to leave our town soon?”

Daniel smiled proudly.

“Yes, I suppose so. I just got my commission, and I’m getting matters arranged for my departure. And that’s why I wanted to see you without delay, so I can begin to get everything shaped up. You see, it is not quite settled yet where I am to be stationed, but the order may come through in a few days, and I don’t want to have a lot of things to attend to at the last minute, and have to rush, you know.”

“Yes?” said Mr. Bonniwell, lifting puzzled eyes to the young man and trying to understand what his glib speech could mean. “And how do I come in on that?”

The young man gave a self-conscious laugh.

“It’s about Blythe, sir. My mother brought me up to feel that it was the proper thing always to ask permission of the father before one formally asked a girl to marry him, and I came this morning to get that over with. I know it’s rather old-fashioned to assume that the parents have anything at all to do with the modern marriage, and it isn’t done much anymore, but I know that both my mother and Blythe’s mother are rather sticklers for the old-time formalities, so, as I want to do everything up right and please everybody, I came this morning to formally ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Mr. Bonniwell sat there and stared at the young man, suffering a distinct inner revulsion, and he stared so long that Dan grew slightly impatient. He had expected a smiling acquiescence, at the very least. Was he not honoring this man’s daughter? The man ought to be very grateful that he had even troubled to ask his permission. Most fellows wouldn’t think of stooping to do that nowadays.

“You see,” he said uneasily, to bring the matter to a head, “if I should have to go suddenly, it would be well to have the wedding over with and not have to be rushing through everything. One has to prepare in plenty of time to avoid confusion at the end, you know, and I hate above all things to be rushed. Half the beauty of a stately and magnificent wedding is to have it without any appearance of hurry, just calm and perfect. Don’t you think so, sir?”