GI Brides (76 page)
Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
The mother shivered at the thought and said in her heart,
She can’t possibly understand what it means. She couldn’t really care, and yet take it this way!
And yet when she looked into her child’s eyes and saw that exalted look, as if she had somehow had a vision from heaven and was still under its spell, she knew that her conclusion was wrong.
“But, Blythe,” began her mother with a troubled hesitancy, “you have left us without anything to go on, just your word that you admired this young person when he was a mere boy in school. We haven’t even an idea how he looks. If we only had something tangible by which we could judge him.”
A swift look of decision passed over the girl’s face.
“I have, Mother! Just wait a minute and I’ll get it.”
Blythe jumped up and hurried out of the room and lightly up the stairs. Now was the time to show them Charlie’s letter!
While she was gone the mother looked hopelessly across the room into her husband’s eyes.
“Isn’t it
terrible
, Father? It seems to have taken such hold on her. Do you think she’ll ever get over it?”
“Of course,” said the troubled man. “Such things don’t last, and she’s young, you know. They get over it. Unless—”
“Unless what, dear?”
“Unless it’s
real,
” said her husband thoughtfully. “And it certainly looks as if she thinks she has something there.”
But now they could hear Blythe coming down, breathlessly, a soft flush on her cheeks, a couple of small photographs and a folded letter in her hands.
“This is the way he looked in high school,” she said excitedly, handing out a photograph. Her father got up, came over to stand behind his wife’s chair and look over her shoulder at the picture.
“Why, yes, he is very good-looking for a young boy,” said her mother leniently, studying the picture. “I’m not surprised that you admired him. He looks like a smart boy, too. You say he was a scholar. The head of the class, you said?”
“Yes,” said Blythe. “At least he doesn’t have a weak chin.”
“He must have been a handsome lad, dear. Of course I can see how you admired him, but young boys often lose their good looks as they grow older, and coarsen up. And you are apt to idealize people and stick to what they appeared to be at first. Of course you must take that into account.”
There was gentleness and indulgence in Mrs. Bonniwell’s voice.
For answer Blythe handed out the other picture, Charlie in his officer’s uniform, handsome and manly and assured.
“This is the way he looks now, Mother,” said Blythe quietly.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Bonniwell. “
Indeed!
Well he certainly has fulfilled the promise of his youth. He is
very
good-looking. I don’t wonder you fell for him, Blythe. But you know, appearances are sometimes deceitful. You cannot always be sure just by the looks of a person. And a uniform certainly does a lot for anybody.”
But Mr. Bonniwell reached for the second picture and studied it carefully, and then, holding it off, he looked again.
“Well, Daughter,” he said. “I am bound to say you have chosen well, if one may judge from appearance. That young man looks as if he had character, and a lot of it. So far as I am concerned, I think you are to be congratulated, child. At least he hasn’t a weak chin, and that’s a great relief to me. I never could endure having a son-in-law with a weak chin!”
“Son-in-law!” exclaimed Blythe’s mother in horror. “But John, as I understand it, they have no idea of that. They are merely admiring friends.”
“No, Mother,” said Blythe decidedly, “we are courting. It may never be anything else, because Charlie is going out to meet death, but please don’t speak as if it would be such a dreadful thing if it could ever be a closer relationship.”
“But Blythe, dear, after all, while he makes a very good appearance, and as your father suggests he does look as if he had some character, still you must remember that you know him very little, and we, your parents, do not know him at all. I think you should not expect us to judge him and rejoice in your new pleasure, until we know him better. Remember, we have never talked with him, we have never heard him talk, and we shall certainly have to reserve our judgment until such a time, if there ever be such a time, when we can meet him and get really acquainted—find out if he be suited to our beloved child.”
“Yes, I know, Mother. I knew that you would feel that way, and so I have brought down a couple of his letters that you may read his own words and know just what he felt. At first I thought they were too sacred to show to even you, but after I had thought it over, I felt that it was only fair that you might know how he looks on this thing that has come to us. And I am sure he would be entirely willing that I should show you his letters. You have a right as my parents to judge him from his own lips. Here, Daddy, read this one first. This was his first letter after he went away. It came a few hours after he had gone.”
Mrs. Bonniwell was still studying the picture, taking in little details that even Blythe had not had time yet to analyze.
“I like the way he holds his head,” she commented pleasantly, as if it was going to be her policy not to antagonize her daughter.
Blythe’s anxious eyes watched her mother. She was going to be fair, that was plain, but she was not so overwhelmingly carried away with the young man as Blythe had hoped. Though it was a hope against hope, for Blythe had rightly judged that it would take a great deal to carry her mother away at first sight, with any unknown quantity.
But it was her father’s attitude that was giving Blythe her great hope. For Mr. Bonniwell was carefully, earnestly reading the letter she had given him and did not try to hide the fact that he was greatly pleased with it.
At last he folded the letter carefully and handed it back to her.
“Well,” he said heartily, “that’s a fine letter. I can see no fault in that at all. I think it shows unusual character, and you certainly are to be congratulated on having such a friend, even if he were only a friend. As for the beloved part, I cannot conceive of more delicacy of feeling, discerning appreciation, and restrained tenderness. I think you would be most fortunate indeed to be loved by such a man, and I for one can give my hearty endorsement to
that
young man. I certainly hope he comes back. I wouldn’t mind having him for a son-in-law.”
“John!” reproved his wife in a startled voice. “But it seems so cruel in him to have forced himself upon her this way, and
compelled
her to recognize his love when he says he has no hope of returning. I cannot see anything fine and delicate in such actions.”
“Read it, Alice, read it! You can’t help seeing how really superior that letter is.”
“But John, you can’t mean that you think a man who was expecting to die in a few days had any right to dare to offer his love to a decent girl.”
“Why not, Alice? It seems to me that that very fact shows a fineness of soul, and an unselfishness that is exceptional. It sets his love in a class all by itself. It puts love on a higher plane than merely fleshly pleasure and worldly advantage. And I cannot see that even a jealous mother can object to a lover who puts his hopes on a plane that only looks for consummation in heaven.”
“John! How can you talk so? I can’t see any reference to heaven in this letter. In fact, it doesn’t seem to be in the least
religious.
And that’s it. What do we know about him? What church did his people attend? You can’t be sure that he even believes there is a God.”
“Oh, but Mother, there is another letter I want you to see. It just came this morning.”
“Well, I haven’t finished this one yet. Wait. But I will say this in favor of the young man, he certainly writes a handsome hand, very clear and readable. You seldom see such penmanship.”
But Blythe, light-footed, was already on her way upstairs for the letter that had been written that early morning after Charlie had given himself to Christ in Lincoln Silverthorn’s meeting. In a moment she was down again and put the letter in her father’s hand that was held out for it.
Then Blythe went and sat down in a shadowed corner where the window draperies half hid her face, and watched her father’s expression. She had been loath to show this almost sacred letter to anyone, dreading sneers and misunderstanding, but the look on her father’s face fully justified her having shown it. She felt sure in her heart Charlie would be glad to have that letter, especially, shown to anyone.
A
s she watched her father read the letter, her mind was going over it sentence by sentence, as it seemed to be graven on her heart.
Dearly beloved:
I have risen early that I may talk a little while with you alone, before the rest of the camp is astir. For I want to tell you of something extraordinary that happened to me last evening. It seems to me that my eyes have been opened to the greatest thing in the world, or in the whole universe, and I want you to see it, too, my dearest.
I have told of a man I have heard of, a chaplain, going about from camp to camp, bringing cheer and salvation and hope to the men who are going out presently to die. I had heard that his preaching was wonderful, and when I found myself dropped here for a brief stay on my way, and saw his name in shining letters over the hall where he was to speak, I was glad, for I knew that I needed something more before my life went out.
A boy from our hometown, Walter Blake, hailed me when I arrived, and went with me to the meeting. The name of the speaker was Silverthorn.
At first, when we entered, they were singing. All the men in the place singing with mighty power, and we presently began to sing, and the prayer that followed stirred my heart to its depths.
But when this Silverthorn began to speak, it was not as if a man was talking. It was as if something was being enacted there before us on the platform. For I presently saw Jesus Christ standing there alone being tried for my sins. Sins He had never committed.
I have never considered myself much of a sinner, but as Christ stood there alone, with the shadow of a great cross beginning to appear in the dim background, I began to realize that He was a sinless One, and as I looked at Him, I saw myself in contrast, as most sinful. I learned a great truth right then and there, as I looked at the Jesus who was ready to die, for me, and that was that one does not fully recognize sin in one’s self until one has looked into the face of Jesus.
So, as I sat there and watched Him, looked into His eyes, He turned and looked into mine, and I realized that He had been loving me all the blank years of my life. I had been trying to cultivate the brains He had given me and get a great education, and He had been loving me and had died in my place, and I hadn’t been thinking at all about Him! Then I was made to see that that was sin, the greatest sin of all sin, unbelief and indifference.
It does not sound as great as it really was when it is merely written down, but I want you to know that before the evening was finished I went down on my knees with Silverthorn and gave myself to my Lord who died for me. Or, as they say it here, I accepted Christ as my personal Savior.
Perhaps you did this long ago, but if you did not, then I hope you will right away.
And now I am sure that whatever comes, I shall be safe in the hands of my Lord, and life or death, I shall be sure of heaven. I wanted you to know this.
You will perhaps be interested to know that the lad, Walter, belongs to the Lord also. We knelt together with the same prayer.
There used to be an old hymn my mother sang, something about Christians meeting around the mercy seat. It went something like this:
“There is a place where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend,
Though sundered far, by faith they meet,
Around one common mercy seat.”
And it has come to me that so you and I may hope to meet, at the feet of our Lord Jesus, and talk to Him about one another, and of our love for Him. Will you meet me in prayer at the mercy seat, my precious friend?
Now the camp is astir and I must close.
But I want you to know that I am very glad in the knowledge of the Lord Jesus, and filled with a great peace.
May He be with you.
I love you.
Charlie
As Mr. Bonniwell read this letter a mist stole out on his lashes, and tears rolled unnoticed down his cheeks. As he finished and handed the letter to his wife he commented, “A beautiful letter! A most extraordinary setting forth of sacred things. My dear daughter, I congratulate you.”
“It seems to me it must be a very gloomy letter,” commented Mrs. Bonniwell as she took it from him. “You are both crying!”
“Oh, no, not gloomy!” said her husband. “It is full of peace.”
Blythe and her father were very quiet while the mother read that letter, and she held it thoughtfully in her hand for a full minute after finishing before she spoke in a reserved, husky voice: “Very—commendable—I’m sure.”
Then she handed the letter to Blythe, and the three, without further talk, went quietly up to their rooms.
When the father and mother had silently prepared for sleep, and all sounds had ceased from behind Blythe’s closed door, her parents, now lying in their beds, staring wide awake in the dark room, stirred uneasily. At last the mother began in a fearsome whisper:
“John, she’ll soon forget him, don’t you think so? She’s so young! You think so, don’t you?”
There was another silence for a moment and then the father replied:
“I trust not! No, certainly not! If I thought that Blythe was vapid enough to forget a man like that, I should be in despair about her.”
“But John! You certainly don’t want your little girl to go mourning all her days for a dream-man; a person she doesn’t really know, and never has. You can’t possibly think she won’t forget him after a little while!”
“Suppose an angel from heaven should come down and talk with you for an hour? Would you forget that in a little while?” asked her husband.