“How you must hate that girl,” said Mrs. Felton, who happened to be sitting next to Anne. “What’s the idea? Are you jealous of her, or something?”
A great smoldering anger burned up into Anne’s face as she flashed her eyes at Mrs. Felton. “I, jealous? What an idea! What has she got for me to be jealous of, I’d like to know?” she asked with contempt.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” said Mrs. Felton amusedly. “But it looks as if there must be something, for you never lose an opportunity to say something mean about her, and I wonder why?”
Anne tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders indifferently.
“Oh, you don’t understand,” said Anne. “I don’t think she’s of enough importance for that, but it amuses me the airs she takes on with people she must see the rest of us haven’t taken up yet. I suppose she’s trying to reprove us, she thinks she’s so superior and so righteous. She makes me tired. Well, it doesn’t matter.” And Anne yawned daintily, behind a jeweled hand. “I suppose there will always be all kinds of people in the world, and we just have to put up with them.”
“We certainly do,” said Mrs. Felton pointedly.
But Blythe was reading Walter’s letter and seeing Charlie as he stood on the step of the car and wrote that precious tiny message to her. Her face was radiant, and her eyes bright.
“Just look at her,” said Anne, with a sneer. “You know she’s not that interested in any papers that woman can bring. Not that interested anyway.”
And then Mrs. Felton was prompted to put this to a test. She turned quickly toward Blythe.
“What is it, Blythe, that interests you so? Read it out and let us all enjoy it.”
Then Blythe looked up and smiled, her eyes alight. She wasn’t embarrassed, not even a little bit, for Blythe had poise, lovely poise.
“Oh,” she said pleasantly, just as if she thought they were all dear friends. “Why, you see, it’s a letter from Mrs. Blake’s boy, Walter, and he’s been meeting an old friend of mine who sent me a message. Wasn’t that great? They’re somewhere on the other side. Of course we don’t know just where, but it’s wonderful to get word from people who have been gone so long, after the great silence that envelops them once they are doing anything important.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Felton interestedly, “have you a son in the service, Mrs. Blake? I didn’t know that before.”
“Yes,” said little Mrs. Blake quietly, a soft flush spreading over her shy cheeks, “I have three sons in service.”
“Why, Mrs. Blake! How wonderful!” burst forth several women in chorus. “How was it we never knew that before? We certainly ought to honor you. You’re one of our war mothers.”
Mrs. Blake looked uncomfortable. She did not desire this publicity.
“I’ll tell you what we ought to do,” said one of the younger married women. “We’ll give her a tea. I’ll make the cookies and maybe some darling little sandwiches. I suggest we have it Thursday afternoon. Will that be a good day for you all? Can you come then, Mrs. Blake?”
“I’m sorry, no. I couldn’t come any afternoon. I work in a war plant afternoons. And please, don’t give me any tea. I couldn’t take time to come at any time, and it really wouldn’t be right in these wartimes. Send the cookies to your own boys at the front, and forget about me, please. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go or I shall be late at my job. Good-bye.” And Ms. Blake picked up her coat and hat from the hook on the wall nearby and slipped quietly out of the room. But Mrs. Felton gave an amused withering look toward Anne Houghton before she folded her work and went to get her own wraps. Anne was wearing an inscrutable look, with her haughty chin in the air, and Blythe was stepping out the door like one who walked on wings. There must have been something in that Blake boy’s letter beyond a mere hello from a soldier boy to make Blythe’s eyes shine like that. Mrs. Felton was a wise woman, and a good reader of faces. Moreover, she liked Blythe, and she did not like Anne Houghton.
But it turned out after that that everybody in the class became kind and gracious toward Mrs. Blake. All but Anne Houghton. They smiled at her when she came in, and asked after her boys at the front, and made little pleasant remarks to her just as they did to the other women, and Mrs. Blake began presently to feel like one of the crowd. Not that she had minded their distant attitude so very much. She was very humble-minded, but it was nice not to have that chilly feeling around her heart whenever she entered the Red Cross room. So she was grateful.
But she was glad most of all about the look in that sweet Blythe’s eyes when she gave her the bit of paper her Walter had sent. To think that it should be Walter’s adored friend who was her friend!
Chapter 17
Walter Blake was really only a kid when he went into the army, but he went with his whole heart, determined to give his all if need be to help win the war.
But when Walter met his old admiration, Charlie Montgomery, and went through those three days with him in that training camp on the way “somewhere,” and what is still more, after Walter had gone with Charlie to those three wonderful meetings under the leadership of Lieutenant Silverthorn, there was a great difference. He would never forget those meetings nor the truths he learned there. He had that feeling of constant companionship now with God, that gave him strength and courage and had taken away the fear he used to have sometimes when he thought about going out to face the fire of the enemy.
So Walter began to grow in spirit as he grew in stature, and others began to notice it and to take account of him. His officers began to see, and now and again to favor him.
One day he was on duty near his captain’s quarters, and the captain, as he had been doing lately, fell into casual conversation with him, asking a few questions about his home—just a friendly gesture with a soldier to whom he had taken a great liking.
Then suddenly Walter asked a question.
“Captain, there’s something I would like to ask you, if it’s all right with you. If it’s something you oughtn’t to answer, why that’s all right by me. I’ll understand. But it’s something I’d like very much to know.”
The captain looked up, surprised.
“Why, of course, son, go ahead.” The captain spoke like a man and a father, rather than a captain, with a gleam of sympathy in his eye.
“Well, sir, how would one go to work to get transferred to another line of service? Is that possible when one has got so far?”
“What’s the matter, son? Don’t you like your outfit? Don’t you like your officers?”
“Oh, yes sir! Sure I like ’em all right. But you see, sir, I always wanted to get right into the thick of things. Real fighting, you know. Real danger. You see, I’ve got two brothers in this thing, and I want to do my share.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that, kid,” said the captain. “You’ll get all the fighting and danger you’ll want to see pretty soon. I mean it for a fact, soldier boy. Doesn’t that make you feel any better?”
“Yes, sorta.” But Walter’s face did not brighten to suit his professed zeal.
“What is it, kid? What’s on your mind? It won’t do any harm to own up. I may be able to straighten it out for you.”
Walter was still for a minute and then he said, lifting a grave face, “Well, you see, Captain, I got a buddy. Or maybe he was more of a pal, though he was older than I. But he comes from our hometown, and he’s a swell fellow. He was tops in football when he was in college, and I’ve followed him around and watched his games for years, even when I was just a little kid in grammar school. And now he’s gone out on one of those special assignments where they never expect to come back, you know. I don’t know where he’s gone. He didn’t know himself the last I saw him before we left the States, and I’d have given a good deal if I could have gone with him. But of course that wasn’t possible. His was a solo assignment. But I’ve been thinking a lot about him lately. If I could just get exchanged to be somewhere near him, I’d like it a lot. You see, I feel he might need someone to h
elp him out, help him mebbe to get back home to his girl, if he was to get wounded or be taken prisoner or something. I’d like to get near where he was so I’d be there to help if he needed me. Of course, I know everyone can’t be near the ones they think the most of, but since he’s gone to a post of great danger, if there was any way to get near him, I’d like to try for it.”
“I see,” said the captain thoughtfully. “And you’ve carried this on your mind for some time, haven’t you?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, what makes you so anxious about it just now? Got any idea where he might be?”
“No sir, only I was hearing the radio telling about the enemy offensive, and if he should be one of the men to go into danger after information about what’s going to happen, I should think that would be perhaps about where he would be. I just thought he might not be so far off.”
“Well, that sounds like reasonable thinking,” said the captain, looking thoughtful. “Do you care to tell me the soldier’s name? Or is that a military secret also?”
The boy lifted troubled eyes.
“His name’s Charlie Montgomery,” he said, lifting his head proudly, “and he’s a swell guy. But of course, he may be killed by this time. He fully expected that. Only I can’t rest easy till I’m sure he wouldn’t need me.”
“I see,” said the officer. “Well, lad, I’ll look into this, and make the inquiries about transfers and so forth, but I’m pretty sure that the place where you belong is the place where you are. If you’re needed elsewhere that might come later. Just do your duty day by day, and if greater tasks are ahead, wait till they catch up with you. Still, I might be able to look up some records and find out if your friend is still alive. Give me his rating, and I’ll try and find out. Would that help any?”
“It sure would help a lot,” said Walter.
“Only, how about it? If he isn’t living, would that upset you so you couldn’t be as good a soldier?”
“No sir, I’d want to be a better soldier, to sort of make up for his going, for he’s an all-right guy, and no mistake. I know I couldn’t ever make up for him, but I’d do the best I could.”
The captain winked back a mist that came to his eyes as he watched Walter march tall and straight and proudly away when he was relieved from guard, and he marveled again at the mere boys who were showing such mature degrees of bravery. He would do his best to find out about Montgomery now, he told himself, and he sincerely hoped that he was still alive.
That was the beginning of a closer relationship between Walter and his captain, and many a brief talk they had on one subject or another, till the captain came to respect the lad who seemed to have such a firm faith in God even in the midst of war, and to wonder over the influence that the other young man seemed to have acquired over him even though he was older and had not been closely associated with him during the years, and then only a few days at the end. But the captain took the pains to have the records looked up, and after a time he took the trouble to hunt Walter up and tell him that so far there had been no report of Charlie’s being killed, or even that he was missing in action, so that he must still be “somewhere” on his important and secret mission.
That was a comfort to Walter, although it did not prevent him from constant watching for word from his friend. And when there had been a battle nearby, and it was at all possible for him to get permission to help with the group who went out to rescue and bring back their wounded and dead, Walter was always a volunteer.
From one huddled still form to another he would go, give a keen glance into the dead face, and pass on, or offer a drink of water from his canteen to the parched lips of a dying man, or a kindly word. And sometimes he would kneel and pray for a soul that was going out into darkness alone and wanted a prayer. There were many such opportunities. And although Walter wasn’t a chaplain, and made no pretensions religiously before the men, he came to be known as one who was good to send to a dying man, a “guy who knew just the right thing to say,” and his own heart-life grew richer as he was able to help others. So with days of drill and nights of grave searching among the dead, the lines of Walter’s young face, which had been almost childlike when he first joined the army, became more deeply graven, and a great gentleness and peace came into his eyes that made his superiors wonder as they observed him from day to day.
It was about this time that he wrote a letter to his mother.
Dear Mom:
It beats all how these fellows came out here to fight, and never seemed to think to get ready themselves to die. I guess they thought it was such a great thing they were doing, killing enemies, that their own lives would be spared, and when they find themselves wounded, or just about to die, or even starting into a battle, they get scared. They’re afraid to die. They train ’em to shoot and to obey orders, and to keep their uniforms clean and their buttons bright, but they don’t seem to think about training ’em to die. Oh, they talk about being brave and all that, but a lot of them don’t know anything about Christ, and that He died for them, and that they can take hold of that when they get to the end and just trust. Why, Mom, it seems they don’t really know anything about God or the Bible. I don’t see why their mothers didn’t teach them that. You taught me. Maybe you think I didn’t pay any attention to it at home, and I don’t know as I did then, much, but I’m sure you taught me enough, even if I was indifferent, so that I would have cried out to God for help. Even if I hadn’t met Charlie Montgomery and heard Lieutenant Silverthorn preach and got to know the Lord sort of personally, I would have known He was a Savior, and the only One to help me die, just from what you taught me. But I guess mostly their mothers didn’t know those things, or else they would have taught their boys and not let them come out here as dumb and scared as they are. My! But I’m grateful to you that you weren’t that kind. And I’m glad I know the Lord and can tell some of these scared, dying fellows how to be saved. Say, Mom, you better be praying a lot. There are so many people going out without God, and then they need Him a lot. They certainly do.
Now I got to go on duty, so good night, dear Mom.
Your boy,
Walter
That was one of the letters that Mrs. Blake passed on to Blythe to read, one of the letters that Anne Houghton wondered about as she enviously noticed the happy look on the faces of the woman and the young girl.
Anne Houghton studied Blythe’s face and tried to figure her out. Blythe wasn’t in evidence at the parties anymore, and she didn’t seem to go with Dan Seavers—at least they were never together anymore. Yet Dan was not coming to ask Anne to go places with him. Had he found another girl? She must do something about this herself, she decided. It must be that Blythe had found another soldier boy and had turned Dan down, but she had fully hoped and expected that such a move on Blythe’s part would send Dan to find her. Something must have happened. And yet Blythe seemed perfectly content.
And then the next thing that happened was they heard that Blythe was taking a nurse’s course, and perhaps going into the army herself. Anne wasn’t interested in taking up a gesture like that on her own part, so she put on her war paint and began to call up Dan Seavers.
But Dan was sulky. He had been out for several wild nights on his own and was not in a mood to take on Anne at present. He was still angry at Blythe and determined not to give in to her refusal. She must marry him, of course, he had always intended that. So he went on indulging his lower nature with the idea of getting it back on Blythe to show her she couldn’t treat him that way.
But Blythe did not even know of his drinking and carousing, for she was engaged in more serious matters and went out socially not at all. She had entered an entirely new world, that centered around human woes, and the old social group was not even in her thoughts anymore.
But Anne got in touch with Dan at last and proposed another “evening,” said she was about fed up on war work and wanted to get out and have a good time again, and she couldn’t think of anybody that could show it to he
r better than Dan.
But Dan had other ideas in mind for that evening. He had been intending to call up Blythe and have it out with her, take another line of reasoning with her and see what he could do. So he hesitated. He felt he would rather get Blythe in line than to go dancing with Anne. If he failed with Blythe, there would be time enough for Anne. He felt that there would always be Anne, and Anne didn’t have any money in her own right. So he hesitated.
“Well, I’m sorry, Anne, I’m not sure I can make it tonight. There’s something else I ought to do. But wait, suppose I call you up in an hour and let you know if I can make it or not? Will that upset your plans very much?”
Anne wasn’t altogether pleased, and she let it be known as she hesitated and said, “Well, no, I guess not. But let me know as soon as you can, Dannie dear. If you can’t go, there’s a soldier in town tonight I might be able to get, although of course I’d rather have you.”
That was Anne’s method. Show that he wasn’t the only chance of a good time she had. And it usually worked pretty well with this lad.
He paused thoughtfully, waited a moment, half resolved to call her back and say he would go with her, but then he realized that the time was getting short to carry out his original plans, and so he called up the Bonniwell house and asked for Blythe.
“Why, Miss Blythe isn’t here now. She’s in training,” said Susan importantly.
“In training?” exclaimed Dan indignantly. “What do you mean?”
“Why, didn’t you know she’s begun training in the hospital? This is her first week, and she won’t be home tonight at all.”
“My word!” said Dan furiously. “Let me speak to Mrs. Bonniwell.”
“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Bonniwell is lying down. She came in tonight and didn’t feel able to eat her dinner. She’s been overdoing on that war chest drive. You know she always will work so hard.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve absolutely got to talk to her at once, Susan. You tell her I said it was important, important for both hers and Blythe’s sake.”