GI Brides (75 page)

“Alice!” he said, blinking at his wife. “Is that you? I thought you would never get here. What’s kept you so long?”

“Why, I came as soon as I could after you called,” she said. “There were some matters in the committee that I had to settle first, and then I had to wait for a bus. But I’m here now. What is the matter? Are you sick? I never saw you lie down in the daytime. Have you a fever?”

“No, I haven’t any fever, except inside. I’m just worried. Alice, has our little girl been falling in love with that nincompoop, Dan Seavers? Because if she has, I won’t have it! I tell you I
won’t have it
! He has a weak chin and shifty eyes. I know you women think he’s handsome, but if you like that sissified beauty in a man, I
don’t.
I tell you, he’s no man for our girl. But if she thinks she’s in love, we’ve got to deal with it carefully, for I won’t have her hurt. But I want to know the
truth,
the
whole
truth about it, and
right away
! It’s important, I tell you.”

“The truth about what, Daddy?” chirped Blythe, suddenly arriving from the side door and coming into the room, rosy and radiant.

Mr. Bonniwell gasped and then faced the issue.

“The truth about you, child. Are you in love with anybody? I want to know the whole truth. Are you planning to run off and get married without our knowledge? Tell me at once!”

For answer Blythe laughed merrily.

“Why, Daddy! Where did you get that idea? Of course not. You didn’t think I’d ever
elope,
did you?”

“Well, I didn’t
think
you would, but you haven’t answered my question. Are you in love with anybody?”

Then the mother put in:

“Now, Daddy, aren’t you being awfully abrupt with your only child?”

The father glared at his wife.

“You keep out of this, Alice. I want my question answered.”

Blythe flushed and then looked up with a wheedling glance, perceiving in her heart that the time for confession might be near at hand.

“Daddy! And suppose I was, do you think I would like to have the fact drawn out of me like a sore tooth?”

“You haven’t answered me!
Are
you in love?”

Blythe’s cheeks got rosier, and she gave one swift glance at her mother then lifted her eyes bravely to her father’s face.

“Well, Daddy, I might be,” she said sweetly. “What of it?”

Her father came up, standing.

“With that nincompoop, Dan Seavers?” he thundered.

Then Blythe laughed out merrily again.

“
Daddy! Where
did you get that idea? Whoever could have told you that?”

Mr. Bonniwell watched his daughter sharply, grimly, his jaw set, his brows drawn, his gaze steady.

At last he spoke.

“Blythe, I
insist
on being answered. Are you in love with someone?”

“Well, Daddy, I’ve always been in love with
you
—and
Mother
,” she added mischievously. She gave a whimsical little giggle. Was this the time for her to tell about Charlie?

“Blythe! I
mean
it! I am asking you seriously. I want an answer at once and no more nonsense!”

Blythe grew serious at once.

“Well, Daddy, yes, I am in love with somebody, and I have just been waiting from day to day to have a good opportunity to tell you and Mother about it. I guess this is as good a time as any. Let’s go into the library where we won’t be interrupted and sit down. And don’t look so blank over it, it’s nothing to feel bad about. Dad, you look as white as if you were going to fall over in a faint. Shall I help you to a chair?”

“Child, it can’t be
possible
that you are wanting to marry that lazy good-for-nothing Dan Seavers?”

But Blythe only laughed.

“No, Daddy, certainly
not
!” she said with a happy little lilt to her voice. “It is somebody a great deal finer than Dan. Dan’s just an old childhood friend, but I
never
was in love with him.”

“Oh, my child!” said her father with a relieved sigh, sinking down in a nearby chair.

“But my dear,” spoke up Blythe’s mother, “what is this you are saying? Somebody
else
? Oh, my dear! You’ve never said anything about somebody else to me.”

“No, Mother, I haven’t. There hasn’t been any chance since it happened. You were always going somewhere, or things were sort of strenuous, and I was waiting until I could tell you calmly.”

Mrs. Bonniwell’s face was white now and her eyes full of anguish. It might be bad enough to have Blythe fall in love with somebody who wasn’t perfection, whom they had known from childhood; but this person that Blythe was talking about was as yet an unknown quantity, and the very thought of it made Mrs. Bonniwell weak. She sank down in another chair and looked wildly at her child who suddenly seemed to have grown up away beyond her.

“Who is it, Blythe?” she asked in almost a whisper, unable to speak clearly with her shaken voice.

“Why, Mother, you wouldn’t know him. At least, I may have spoken of him sometimes, but you wouldn’t remember, I’m afraid.”

“But, my dear! You wouldn’t certainly engage yourself to a stranger we didn’t know without at least telling us of it.”

“Wait, Mother. Let me begin at the beginning and explain. Father asked me if I
love
anybody and I have answered him truly, yes, I love somebody. Now, let me tell you all about it. Do you remember, Mother, I used to tell you about one of the boys in our high school who was very bright, and always at the head of the class?”

“Why, yes, I do recall something like that, Blythe, but that was a long time ago, and he was only a young boy. Surely you wouldn’t mean that you have stuck to an ideal of your high school days and fancy yourself in love with him! Why, child, you haven’t had any opportunity to really get acquainted with him. It seems to me you never spoke of meeting him socially. Who is he? Who are his people? Are they all right? You know we couldn’t ever consent to letting you marry into a questionable family.”

“Let her tell, Mother,” interrupted the father. “Let her tell it in her own way.”

“All right, Blythe, but tell quickly. I feel as if I could scarcely breathe.”

“Don’t feel that way, Mother. I’ll tell it as quickly as I can. Please calm down and don’t take it for granted that it is bad. I think it is very beautiful.”

“Oh,
Blythe
!” cried her mother, almost in tears. “To
think
it should have gone
so far,
and we didn’t know anything about it.”

“Keep still, Alice. Reserve your judgment till you hear the whole story,” said Mr. Bonniwell. “Go on, Blythe. What is his name?”

“His name is Charlie Montgomery,” said Blythe calmly, lifting her head proudly. “They’re not important people, not
now,
if that’s what you mean. Charlie’s father died about the time he entered high school. His mother is gone, too, now. But he’s a wonderful person, and if you could know him, I’m sure you would say so.”

“But, Blythe, when did this all happen? How is it that we have not heard anything about it before?” asked her mother in a trembling voice. “It isn’t like you to make a mystery of anything you are doing.”

“Nothing has
happened,
Mother,” said Blythe cheerfully. “Charlie and I were in classes together four years. I knew that he was a boy with a lot of courage and principle, honest and fine, and a good student. He hadn’t much time to get acquainted with anybody in high school, for he was working after school, and sometimes evenings. He took care of his mother, and I guess he had a rather wonderful mother from little things he has told me. But that doesn’t matter now anyway, except that she has been a great influence for good in his life, I am sure.”

“But how do you
know
all this, Blythe, if you didn’t have much to do with him in school?”

Blythe gave her mother a clear straight glance, and smiled.

“I’m not sure
how
I know it, Mother,” she said thoughtfully. “I just
know
it. I think I have sort of grown into the knowledge of all that during our years of school together, not so much from anything he said about it, for he never said much to me about anything except our studies, until a few days ago.”

“
A few days ago
!” exclaimed her father. “Do you mean that this is something
new,
Blythe? I don’t understand it. Where has the young man been that we haven’t seen him about at all?”

“He’s been away to college, as I was, of course,” answered Blythe.

“Well, but—have you been corresponding?” This from her mother.

“No, Mother. Never. But one day—just a few days ago—you were busy with your War Bond drive you know, and I couldn’t interrupt you. But Charlie came one morning to see me, and told me that he was being sent on a special mission by the government into enemy territory, under circumstances that made it very unlikely that he would ever return alive.”

She hesitated an instant and her voice trembled, her eyes cast down. Then she caught her breath and went on:

“He said he wasn’t even sure whether I would remember who he was, but he had felt he wanted to let me know before he went away that he loved me; that he had been loving me all the years through high school, and afterward when we didn’t even see each other; and he wanted me to have the knowledge of his love before he went away. He wanted to say good-bye. His mother is gone now, and he hasn’t any other near relatives. He thought, since he was not expecting to return, I wouldn’t mind if he laid his love at my feet as a sort of tribute to what he felt I had meant to him all these years.” Blythe paused an instant and her mother saw that her eyes were full of happy tears, and a smile, like a rainbow was over her face.

“Well, that is certainly the strangest love story I ever heard,” said her father. “Is that all? Wasn’t there more? And when are we to see him? Surely he is coming to see me, isn’t he?”

“No, that’s about all, Father. He had only a very short time. He said that he had waited till the last minute so that he would not embarrass me. He was very humble. He considered it a tribute to what I had meant to him during the years. He said he would not presume to think I cared for him. He had no wealth, nor social prominence.”

She paused again.

“Well, what happened then?” asked her father impatiently. “Is that all?”

“No. I suddenly knew that I loved him, that I, too, had been admiring him for a long time, and I told him so. And then“—Blythe lowered her voice gently as if she were speaking of what was very sacred to herself—“then he put his arms very gently around me and held me close, and kissed me most reverently. It seems rather awful to tell it all out this way to you in words, something that has come to be a very precious experience to me, but I thought you had a right to know. And since Father has asked me, I
want
you to know what he is. He is really
very wonderful,
Mother dear!” And Blythe lifted a face glowing with a great, deep joy.

“But—why isn’t he here?” said her father. “Can’t he come over this evening and let us talk with him? I certainly would like to have some idea what he is like. Go to the telephone and call him, Blythe!”

Blythe’s eyes grew sorrowful.

“He has gone, Daddy. By this time he is far away. And he couldn’t tell me where he was going. I’m not sure that he knew where the army was sending him. It’s a military secret. A very special one. And it was really a good-bye, I am afraid. He seemed to be very sure of that. It was something he volunteered to do,
knowing
there was probably death in it.” Suddenly Blythe’s face went down into her lifted hands and the tears flowed.

“I think that was a terrible thing to do. It was
cruel
!” said Blythe’s mother. “To come here and make you suffer this way! It was
cowardly
—it was—”

Blythe’s head came up with a flash, and more rainbow-shining in her eyes.

“No, no! Mother don’t say that! You don’t understand! It was the most lovely thing that ever came into my life! I would not be without the memory of it, not for everything that life can offer! Even if he never comes back—and he was very sure it would not be possible—it will be my joy all my life to know he loved me that way. I am glad,
glad,
that he came and told me of his love! But I’m sorry if you don’t understand. I was afraid perhaps you wouldn’t, and that’s another reason why I didn’t tell you right away, although there really wasn’t any time when it seemed we wouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Yes, I see,” said Mrs. Bonniwell thoughtfully. “But, my dear, you surely must realize that this thing is all very much out of order, quite unique, and even interesting perhaps, but surely you wouldn’t think of taking it seriously? You certainly did not go so far as to engage yourself to this young man on the spur of the moment as it were!”

“No, of course not, Mother,” said Blythe with an anguished voice. “Does one get engaged to a man who is on his way to death?”

Her mother gave her a startled look.

“Oh, of course, I didn’t realize. But, my dear, that was most wise of you. I am sure you can always be counted on to do the wise, right thing. I have always felt that you could be trusted with anybody, and you would not go beyond convention, no matter who urged you to do so.”

A flash of almost anger, and then despair went over Blythe’s face.

“But Mother, there never was any question of an engagement. He wouldn’t have thought of suggesting it. He felt that he was on his way to his death, and we were not considering life on this earth. We were facing separation. It was enough for us that we loved one another. We had no right to consider—afterward—!”

There was a distinct silence, and the father and mother were evidently impressed. It was a unique situation, and they marveled that their daughter, whom they had until this time considered barely out of little-girlhood, had so far matured as to be able to utter such thoughts as she had just voiced, with such sweet poise and assurance. There was something almost ideal about her attitude, they felt. Was it possible that a girl could love as she had asserted she loved, and yet talk so coolly about the likelihood of her lover’s death?