GI Brides

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Oh, you blessed little lady, I ain’t done nothin’. I just wish I coulda made things easier. Good night.”

  And then the two went quietly to their beds to rest for the day that was ahead and to ask keeping all through the night and the days that were to follow.

  Chapter 3

  The next day dawned brightly, a fitting morning for an old saint to leave this earth on her way to her heavenly home. Dale rose quite rested and ready to face the trials that would undoubtedly come to her that day.

  She had a passing wish that she could go in there and stand by her sweet grandmother and tell her all that had passed, for somehow she felt her beloved presence was still here. Well, she knew that if she were here she would only laugh at some of the things that happened and press her lips and shake her silver head at the whole attitude of those unwelcome relatives, and she would finally say, “Didn’t I tell you, Dale dear?”

  Then she knelt by her bed and thanked the Lord that her grandmother was away out of it all, not here to hear the unpleasant words, nor guess at the insinuations that Dale was having to bear. I thank You, dear Lord, she prayed, that You have taken her home, out of all the unpleasantness of earth. And please help me to keep calm and sweet and bear everything gently as You would have me do.

  She went down the stairs slowly, singing softly to herself the words of a little chorus that the soldier’s words had brought to her mind, a song she had often sung in young people’s gatherings.

  “All through the night, all through the night

  My Savior has been watching over me.

  He saves me so sweetly, so fully and completely,

  And washes in His own atoning blood;

  My sins are all forgiven, I’m on my way to heaven,

  I’m walking in the smile of God.”

  Hattie looked up from her work at the stove and smiled. “You-all feelin’ better, Miss Dale?” she asked in her most motherly tone. “You look real rested. Now sit down and eat your breakfast. You ain’t got no call to wait to see if them relatives come. They’ll surely understand that people will be comin’ and goin’ and you couldn’t wait around to be stylish.”

  Dale glanced at the clock. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I believe you’re right. They’ll probably like it better that way anyway. And then, you know, they may not come.”

  “I surely hopes they don’t!” breathed Hattie, almost like a prayer, as she slammed out into the kitchen to bring in the coffee and toast, and Dale felt her soul echoing an Amen to that prayer.

  But they came. All three of them. With an eye to Hattie’s delectable cooking they remembered. It was a quarter to nine before they got there, and the table was all cleared off, except for the cloth. But when Hattie heard them say they hadn’t eaten yet, she whisked the dishes on and remembered to keep a pleasant face as she had promised Dale she would do.

  There was orange juice for them all, coffee, and toast in plenty.

  “Is this all?” asked Powelton insolently. “We should’ve stayed at the hotel. If I had known—” But Hattie hurried out into the kitchen, thus moving the audience to further insolence.

  Hattie returned presently with a platter of neatly fried eggs and set them down with finality. Powelton surveyed them unpleasantly and asked, “Haven’t you got any bacon? I like bacon with my eggs.”

  But Hattie in a greatly controlled tone said quietly, “Not today, we ain’t. We couldn’t have the smell of bacon when there’s folks coming and going.”

  “Nonsense!” said the boy in his imperious voice. “Go cook me some bacon.”

  Hattie looked at him calmly an instant, with close-shut lips, and then marched back to the kitchen, shutting the door definitely. She did not return, and Powelton finally finished the eggs and went out to the front porch to smoke endless cigarettes, growing more and more peeved at the idea of the funeral that was imminent and from which his mother had absolutely refused to let him absent himself.

  “You know you have got to make as good an appearance as possible,” his mother had said. “The will hasn’t been read yet, and it may mean something to you if the lawyers are in your favor.”

  So the spoiled boy sulked on the front porch and smoked and watched the undertakers bring piles of folding chairs into the house. And when he went into the house to get a drink of water, he found them taking the leaves out of the dining room table, closing it up, and shoving it to the far corner of the room.

  “Hey!” he said arrogantly, standing in the doorway. “You can’t do that! We’ve gotta have lunch here before the funeral!”

  The undertakers glanced at him curiously and looked to their own boss, who answered Powelton curtly. “Those were the orders, young man,” he said and paid no further attention to him.

  So the guests discovered—when Hattie called Aunt Blanche to the hurried meal—that lunch was to be served in the kitchen. A couple of small, neat tables covered with snowy napkins were set in the far end of the kitchen, with steaming bowls of soup for the three, cups of coffee, a pitcher of milk, plenty of bread and butter, and applesauce with a plate of sugary doughnuts. But Dale was nowhere to be seen.

  “She’s in the livin’ room, fixin’ the flowers,” explained Hattie when questioned. “She said she couldn’t come now.”

  Aunt Blanche stiffened and sat down in the neat chair after inspecting it to see if it was really clean.

  “Well, if I’d known I was to be treated so informally,” she signed, “I certainly shouldn’t have come.”

  Hattie pursed her lips grimly together and refrained with effort from saying, “I wisht ye hadn’t uv.”

  But they ate a good lunch, and not a crumb of the big plate of doughnuts remained, for Powelton and Corliss made a business of finishing them, meantime going outside to observe developments.

  “Well,” said Aunt Blanche arrogantly, as she rose from the kitchen chair, “that’s the first time I was ever served a meal in the kitchen in any place where I was visiting.”

  But Hattie again made no reply, and very irately and a trifle uncertainly the guest withdrew.

  They found when they entered the hall that the casket had been arranged in the living room opposite the door, and the sweet silver-crowned face was visible among the flowers.

  Corliss gasped and, ducking her face down in her mother’s neck, got ready one of her terrific screams. But her mother, well knowing the signs, put a quick hand over her mouth and uttered a grave order: “Shut right up! Do you hear? There are ladies coming in the front door. And there comes a sailor!”

  It was that word sailor that stopped the scream in its first gasp. Corliss lifted her frightened, angry eyes and caught a glimpse of a uniform coming in the front door.

  Wide-eyed, Corliss ducked behind her mother, slunk into the corner out of sight of the doorway, and shut her eyes. If she had to endure this torture, at least she would make it as bearable as possible. She wouldn’t see any more than she had to see of the horror of death.

  The people were stealing in quietly now, going into the living room for a solemn look at the face of the old friend who was lying there and then, with downcast eyes, sitting down in an unobtrusive seat. A few of them stepped across to the open dining room. It seemed to be quite a sizable gathering, mostly old ladies, a few uninteresting-looking men, thought Corliss, as she peeked out between the fringes of her lashes and observed Grandmother’s friends contemptuously. The seats were almost full and the minister was arriving, according to a somber whisper of the woman who sat just in front. And then suddenly there came more people, hurrying in as if they knew they were late, filling up all the chairs in sight. Behind them came a good-looking young man in a gray business suit, who walked straight out of sight over to where the minister had gone, by the foot of the casket. Corliss wondered who he was and stretched her neck to try and see him, wishing she had taken a better seat while there was still room. But there wasn’t a vacant chair in sight, and even if there were she couldn’t get by, the chairs were crowded so closel
y.

  Then, just at the last minute like that, came the officer, the same one who had been there the night before with the flowers that they had put in Grandmother’s hands, they said. She hadn’t seen them. She wouldn’t go and look. Silly lilies of the valley, what you gave to a baby!

  But the officer walked quietly in and one of the undertakers placed him in a chair in the doorway, where he could see into the living room and, best of all, where Corliss could watch him. She decided that this funeral wasn’t going to be so stuffy after all and straightened up in her chair, opening her eyes as effectively as she knew how.

  Then gentle notes on the piano startled her into attention, and a wonderful voice began to sing. It seemed to Dale as she sat quietly by the casket as if an angelic voice were announcing the arrival of a soul in heaven, and a sweet smile hovered over the lips of the girl who was being so terribly bereaved.

  “Isn’t that Grandma’s song?” whispered an eager neighbor to Hattie who was standing up just behind Corliss.

  “Yes ma’am,” Hattie whispered audibly. “Mr. Golden always sang it for her when he came to see her. She just loved to hear him sing.”

  “Open the gates of the temple,

  Strew palms on the victor’s way,

  Open your hearts ye people,”

  sang the golden voice, thrilling triumphantly through the rooms and causing even Corliss to listen. That man really had a voice if he only would sing something decent. But this song was quite an old chestnut. Why didn’t they pick out something real? Why, there wasn’t a word about heaven even in that song. Or was there?

  Then suddenly the golden voice brought out the tender triumphant affirmation:

  “I know. I know. I KNOW that my Redeemer liveth!”

  Oh, so that was it, was it? Religious stuff! Of course that would be it. Grandmother was that way. Corliss turned back to lean against the wall and close her eyes again.

  But the golden voice went on, bringing out the words with such conviction in the tone that Corliss had to listen, had to know that there was really something in this song that others beside Grandmother believed in. A hint crept into her heart that it might somehow be true, at least to a certain extent. It was conceivable that she herself might have to pay some attention to such things some time. But not now. She was young. When she got to be as old as Grandmother it might be all right, if people still believed in such things as a Redeemer. She wasn’t at all sure she did. Yet the voice of that good-looking young man sounded as if he did. That golden voice like a piercing blade of a golden sword that was cutting deep into her soul and frightening her, in spite of all her opposition, in spite of all her unacknowledged sin!

  Suddenly she turned toward the officer sitting across from her, sitting where he could see into the room with the golden voice and the casket. Was he taking it as some sort of mockery, just mere words? Or even a joke? She hoped he was.

  But no, the man was looking straight toward the voice, sympathy and conviction in his face. It really was quite attractive in a serviceman, a look like that. She hadn’t thought it would fit with a uniform, but it did. And he didn’t look like a sissy, either. He looked as if he could fight hard if he tried, throw bombs, and shoot, maybe dance and have good times. Corliss sat back and studied him through half-closed lashes. She decided he looked pretty nice, and she would stick around and see if she couldn’t date him for the evening. It oughtn’t to be hard to do. If she only could get out of riding to that old cemetery!

  The service was going on all this time, but without benefit of Corliss’s attention. She was studying the young officer. Maybe she could work it around for him to ride in the same car to the cemetery, if he went. If he didn’t, she would stay at home herself and see if she couldn’t follow him down the street and pretend to sprain her ankle or something. She was determined to get to know him. Maybe make him take her to a movie or a dance tonight.

  Wonderful scripture was being read that Grandmother Huntley had herself selected, but it made no impression upon Corliss. She was studying the profile of the splendid-looking officer. But the man was giving interested attention to the service and was utterly unaware of the girl who was watching him.

  Corliss was disappointed that he didn’t ride in the same car with them. Instead, he was put with Dale and the minister and the young man singer. That was mean of Dale to manage it that way. And there was some old woman in the car with her mother and brother and herself. If there hadn’t been so many people around, she might have tried the screaming act, but on account of the good-looking singer and the navy man, she didn’t consider it. Perhaps there would be some way to get to talk to him after this ride was over. So she gloomed through the remaining ceremonies and was glad indeed when the car drew up at the house again and she saw that the navy man was getting out and going into the house with Dale. He probably wouldn’t stay long, and she would plan to talk to him somehow. So she settled herself on the porch to wait for his departure. He seemed to be over by the desk in the living room writing something for Dale. What in the world could he want of Dale? Some business probably connected with the funeral. He certainly couldn’t be interested in her. She was awfully plain and not stylish at all according to Corliss’s tastes.

  But Corliss grew impatient before the meeting at the desk ended. Dale was writing something, too. Some address probably, or maybe signing a paper. Only they seemed so awfully interested in what they were saying. A sharp, jealous look went over her young face. It had always been this way with Dale, thought the young cousin. She seemed to think because she was older she could manage everything.

  But at last the two young people rose from the desk and came to the door. Corliss rose precipitately and scuttled to the other side of the door, where she could easily slip down the steps after the man when he should go; and so she missed the look in his eyes when he took Dale’s hand briefly and said good-bye.

  Then he was gone, with a quick, bright smile back at Dale standing in the doorway. But Corliss missed getting the full effect of even that, for she was hurrying down the walk nonchalantly ahead of him, sliding behind two old ladies, who were going into the house next door, and nearly knocking one of them over in her haste. Her main object was to catch that “navy guy” before he should vanish again as he had last night, for he was walking now with long, quick strides and looking at his watch as he went, as if he was afraid he was going to be late somewhere. She mustn’t appear to be walking too fast, either. She mustn’t dare to run, or her mother would say something. She had already endured one long, sharp lecture from her mother on the subject of decorum at the time of a funeral. But as soon as the two old ladies went into their own gate, she pressed by them and hurried on, dismayed to find how far ahead the man had already gone. Then, as he turned a corner, she did begin to run. She wasn’t going to let him escape this time. A moment later she caught up by his side, quite out of breath, and accosted him.

  “Oh, I say, what’s your rush?” she panted. “I’ve nearly run my legs off to catch you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” he said, coming about-face and looking at her, startled. “I didn’t leave something, did I? Was there some message from Miss Huntley? Should I go back?”

  “Oh no, no such luck,” laughed Corliss. “I just wanted to talk to you. I like servicemen, and I especially like you. I wanted to ask you if you wouldn’t make a date with me for this evening. We could go to the movies first, and then you could take me dancing. I’m just sick to death of all this funeral business and I want to have a little fun. I thought you would show me a good time.”

  The young man gave her a puzzled look. “That would be impossible,” he said. “I have to catch a train back to the barracks.”

  “Well, miss your old train, then, and stay with me. There are always more trains. Besides, I want you! I’m fed up with all the solemnity, and I’ve got to get out and see some life. Miss your old train. Come on!” There was wheedling in the blue eyes lifted to his, but there was only firmness, almost severity, in t
he eyes of the young officer.

  “Haven’t you heard that there is a war?” he said. “When one is in the service one does not miss trains. Here comes my bus. Good night!” And he was gone.

  Corliss—baffled, angry—stood and watched the bus disappear around the next corner and then went furiously back to the house to see what other deviltry she could think up.

  Meantime Dale had dropped into a chair near her aunt, getting ready to take over the burden of this uncongenial set of guests, hoping against hope that they would see their way clear to going home on the midnight train yet not daring to believe that they would.

  But her aunt broke the momentary silence: “Who is this naval officer who seems to be always around?” she asked, withdrawing her gaze from the place where her daughter had disappeared in pursuit of the uniform.

  Dale came to attention at once, bringing back her mind from a consideration of what she ought to do or say next.

  “Officer? Oh yes? Why, he’s just a friend.”

  “Oh! Only a friend. He must be a very special friend to go out of his way to come to a mere funeral.”

  Dale hesitated. How should she explain?

  “It was kind of him, wasn’t it?” she said pleasantly. “You see, he was interested in Grandmother. A great many people were interested in Grandmother, you know.”

  “So it seems,” said Aunt Blanche sarcastically, as if the fact annoyed her. “You certainly had a mob here today. One wonders what satisfaction people like that get out of a funeral. It must be just morbid curiosity.”

  “Curiosity?” said Dale with a perplexed frown. “What could they possibly be curious about? They were most of them very dear old friends who have been here constantly during the years and who loved Grandmother very much.”