GI Brides

by Grace Livingston Hill

  At last he convinced Susan that his business was important enough to wake Mrs. Bonniwell, and presently Blythe’s mother’s voice sounded faintly at the other end of the wire. “Yes?”

  “That you, Bonny? This is Dan. I’m sorry you’re sick, and I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but I simply had to find out what is all this about Blythe and the hospital. You don’t mean she’s taking on more hospital work?”

  “Why, yes, Dan. She’s gone into training, regularly. She’s quite enthusiastic about it.”

  “But now, Bonny, you know that’s absurd! How can she keep that up if we’re going to be married soon? You know she’ll have to give it up. It’s much too far to commute for a morning’s work, even if this is war, where I’m going, and besides, I won’t have my wife looking after other people, doing loathsome services for them, and being at the beck and call of every doctor in the place. I should have thought you would have known that. Gone in training as a nurse and going to be married very soon! What’s she trying to be? Sensational? She’ll make the front page of the paper all right if she keeps this up.”

  “But Dan,” said the quiet voice of Blythe’s mother, “I understood my daughter to say that she had told you quite definitely that she was not going to marry you either next week or any other time.”

  “Oh, but Bonny, you know she didn’t mean that!”

  “I’m sure she did, Dan, and you might as well accept it and get used to it at once, and not carry on this way.”

  “Now look here, Bonny. I want you to call Blythe up and tell her to come home at once, and then I’ll come over and get this thing amicably settled between us, Mamma Bonny. Now please do that for Dannie boy, won’t you?”

  But Mrs. Bonniwell was not to be wheedled.

  “No, Dan, I can’t do that. It’s against the rules of the hospital to call a nurse out from duty, and it would be quite impossible for me to do it. And even if we could do it, Dan, I’m quite sure what Blythe’s answer would be. She does not want to marry you, she does not want to marry anyone at present; and no amount of wheedling, even by you, will change her mind. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, Dan. I’m not feeling well, and I’ve got to go and lie down. Good night.” The lady hung up, and blank silence was all that answered Dan’s continued insistent ringing.

  So at last he called Anne Houghton back and told her he would be around after her in a few minutes and to be sure to wear her prettiest outfit. And that was the way that Anne won out.

  Quite triumphantly she put on her most ravishing garments and went down to meet Dan at the door, holding her head high and resolved to get away with something very definite before this night was over, for she felt it would not be good to dally too long and give Blythe a chance to change her mind. If Dan was in a mood to marry before he left for his war job, whatever that was, she hadn’t as yet heard, she was ready to marry him at a moment’s notice. She would show Blythe Bonniwell that she couldn’t dally too long with a soldier’s feelings. She must take him when he wanted to be taken, or he wouldn’t hang around and wait. So Anne was blithe and bright and eager for the evening, and it wasn’t long before she had definitely banished the gloom that Dan brought on his face when he arrived.

  Pretty? Why, yes, he hadn’t noticed before how very pretty she was. Twice as vivid and dashing as Blythe could ever be. Perhaps this was going to be the solution to all his difficulties after all. And maybe it would be a good thing not to have any bothersome father-in-law to deal with, always asking annoying questions and insisting on conventionalities, and demanding deference to himself and his family.

  So quite happily Dan went out with Anne, resolved at least to make the most of the evening.

  Chapter 18

  Dan Seavers and Anne Houghton were married two weeks later in a great rush of furbelows and uniforms. It was only a little later than the date that Dan had originally set for his wedding with Blythe, for Anne said she simply could not get ready a suitable trousseau any sooner. Besides, her favorite cousin was on furlough at the later date, and that would make another uniform. Anne was keen on uniforms.

  Mrs. Seavers shed a great many tears, for she didn’t like Anne, and neither did Anne like her, and she sent for Mrs. Bonniwell and stayed in bed to talk with her, and complained about Blythe not marrying Dan as if it were Mrs. Bonniwell’s fault.

  Mrs. Bonniwell was not feeling well herself that morning, and she stood it as long as she could and then she said, “But my dear! I couldn’t possibly help it that my child did not want to marry your son. Of course I’ve always been fond of him, the way he has run in and out of my house and been a good friend to Blythe, but young people have their own ideas today whom they wish to marry, or whether they wish to marry at all, and I don’t really think it makes for happiness to try and bend them to your wishes, do you?”

  “But my dear Mrs. Bonniwell,” said the aggrieved Mrs. Seavers, “surely you can’t contemplate with any sort of comfort having your child become an old maid?”

  “Why, I don’t think it is absolutely necessary that she become an old maid because she doesn’t choose to marry your son, do you? After all, you married the man you wanted to, and she has the same right. But even if she should become an old maid, what’s so bad about that? I know a lot of elderly women who have never married, who have lived very happy, contented lives, don’t you? Could anybody be happier than Sylvia Comfort, or the Gracewell sisters, or Mary Hamilton? Yet they have never married, and I never heard anybody call them old maids, either.”

  “But you certainly wouldn’t want that fate for your daughter!” declared the mother of the unwanted son. “Come now, be honest. Would you?”

  “Well, I certainly would rather have my daughter have a fate like that than to marry somebody she doesn’t love and doesn’t want to marry.”

  “Well, I don’t think you’re stating that in the right way. I don’t think you have any right to say that your daughter doesn’t want to marry my son, or doesn’t love him either. You know perfectly well that you and John influenced Blythe, put the screws on her, and made her think she didn’t want him. Blythe wasn’t acting from her own free will. In fact, you’ve always influenced her about everything, until she has no will of her own.” Then the handkerchief came into play, with more tears. Suddenly Mrs. Bonniwell began to feel inexpressibly weary, as if she couldn’t stand another bit of such talk. She looked at her onetime friend with a kind of desperate determination.

  “Matilda,” she said, “I won’t stand another word like that. Neither John nor I had anything to do with Blythe’s decision. In fact, we didn’t talk the matter over with her at all. She made her own decision, and insisted upon it. And now, if you persist in saying such things, I really am done with our friendship. I’m sorry you are disappointed, but I could not think of influencing Blythe on a matter like this. And after all, Dan seems to be fairly well satisfied. He’s marrying a nice girl, and will have a very pretty wedding.”

  “But I don’t like her,” sobbed the mother-in-law-to-be. “I never did like her, she isn’t pretty like Blythe, and she’s awfully modern. I just won’t stand it, that’s all.”

  “But what can you do about it, my dear?” said Mrs. Bonniwell. “It’s your son’s life, not yours.”

  “Yes, that’s it! I can’t do a thing about it. Dan has practically told me it’s none of my business, after I’ve loved him and slaved for him. And now he brings a girl I don’t like and practically forces me to accept her.”

  “Listen, my friend. You oughtn’t to talk that way. You won’t want to remember some of these things you are saying to me. She’s a nice girl well brought up, has been in our social set all her life. It won’t be like some of those dance-hall girls you were afraid of. Anne will know how to do the proper thing, and you won’t have to be ashamed of her. If I were you, I would just make up my mind from the start to accept her and make the best of it. Then there won’t be anything on your part to repent.”

  “Oh, yes, it sounds well for you to talk that way, b
ut it isn’t your child! If your girl had accepted my son, everything would have been all right. He had the plans made for a lovely wedding, and he wouldn’t have stopped at giving her anything she wanted. Oh, why did she have to be so stubborn? I believe it’s your fault! I believe you influenced her! Yes! Yes, I do! You influenced!” And then the poor lady burst into another flood of weeping.

  “But my dear,” Mrs. Bonniwell began in an attempt to stop this tirade, “I tell you I had nothing whatever to do with this.”

  “Oh, yes, you did! No matter what you say. You did! It was all your fault. Your fault and that nosy fanatical husband of yours. You thought your girl was too good for any man that ever walked the earth. Too good for my angel child who had been her playmate practically all her life. You stopped it, and I shall never forgive you!”

  Broken and weary at last, Mrs. Bonniwell abandoned her old friend to her tears and laments and went home, too worn out to think of going anywhere else that day. Even Red Cross and war drives had to be abandoned while the good lady took a real rest and went to bed.

  It was so that Blythe found her mother, when, an hour later, she ran home to get a few of her belongings that she found she needed.

  “But Mother, this isn’t like you, going to bed in the daytime. Lying there by yourself and crying! Mother, what is the matter? Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m not sick,” protested her mother. “I’m just worn out with Mrs. Seavers’s whinings and crying. An hour and a half, Blythe, and she blames you for all her trouble. And then she blames me, says your father and I influenced you, and she’ll never forgive us!”

  “Oh well, Mother, don’t worry about her. She always was dramatic! She’ll get over it. And anyway, why should you care? I certainly am glad I don’t ever have to call her mother. She is a pain in the neck, and what do you worry about her for anyway? She never was worthy of being your friend. She’s a selfish woman who doesn’t care what she does to her friends if she can only manage to get what she wants for herself.”

  “There, there, Blythe! Don’t be hard on her. I really feel sorry for her, and it must be pretty hard on her to have to give you up and get Anne Houghton in your place.”

  “Oh Mother, you’re the limit!” laughed Blythe. “First you take to your bed because your neighbor has worn you out weeping and wailing, and then you begin to weep for her because she can’t have the daughter-in-law she wants. Well, you’ll have to excuse me. I can’t find any cure for your ailment but to go to sleep and wake up in the morning to find something more interesting to think about. Now, I’m tucking you up the way I do my patients, and I want you to go to sleep at once. I’ll be telephoning Susan after a while to find out if you are better, and if you’re not I’m telephoning Dad. Understand?”

  But Blythe went back to the hospital with a worry on her mind. After all, there had been dark circles under her mother’s eyes, and surely they were not here because she, too, was troubled that her daughter was not going to be married to Dan Seavers. Well, so that was that, but definitely Blythe felt that her mother had been overworking. For Blythe had been in the hospital long enough now to recognize that look of pallor, that tiredness in the face she loved, and tonight she must call up and talk to Dad about it. Dad would do something. He would perhaps take Mother away for a rest or something, and let her have a good time, although there weren’t so many good times to be had in these wartimes. Also, a woman who was used to organizing committees and carrying on successful drives could not easily switch to just good times either. Dinner parties and clubs and such things would be a letdown after the hard work her mother had been doing.

  That evening the invitations to Dan’s wedding arrived, and there was another complication. Mother would say that of course they must all go to that wedding. It would be just too conspicuous if they stayed away, and everybody would say that Blythe was jealous if she wasn’t there. Blythe had been so much with Dan.

  Not that Blythe minded going to the wedding, but she knew her mother would mind it keenly if they did not go, and she and Dan’s mother would sit glumly and let their eyes say to one another what they could not let their lips say. It certainly would be good if her mother could be away at the time of that wedding. But she didn’t see how it could possibly be managed. The wedding was so soon. Of course her mother would overrule them all and they would go, with satisfied smiles on their faces, and well-bred gestures. And there would be at least two of those smiles that would be real, hers and her father’s. For she was sure Dad hadn’t ever wanted her to marry Dan, and certainly, she never had desired it.

  So Blythe called up her father and urged him to get Mother to rest, and then the next day when she had time off she went to the store and bought the most expensive, most exquisite piece of table decoration for a wedding present that she had seen in these wartimes. It was a centerpiece of crystal in the form of a beautiful ship, delicate in its workmanship as a crystal cobweb, yet perfect in all its details, standing on a mirrored sea, and arranged for lighting. There could not have been anything more lovely, and Blythe was pleased that she could find something that was so beautiful and so seasonable and yet had no possible connection with anything that she and Dan had ever done together. He couldn’t possibly torture his mind into a sentimental meaning that she might have had in mind in sending it. She arranged for it to be sent at once, and then with a great sigh of relief put Dan and his bride out of her mind. If her mother decided later that they should go to the wedding, why, that was all right with her, of course, if her duties at the hospital didn’t prevent it, but that would be to be discussed the next time she went home.

  So instead of bringing depression to Blythe by marrying Dan Seavers, as Anne had hoped it would, the wedding was settling into a normal, pleasant event that didn’t make the least bit of difference to her.

  Blythe didn’t get home again to talk with her mother for several days, but when she did she found that her mother was most determined that they would all go to the wedding, and that Blythe should have a new dress, if possible. But Blythe declared that she had no time at all to go and select a dress. If her mother wanted to do it, all right, but she simply couldn’t get away, not if she was to ask for leave for the wedding. It was simply impossible.

  Then the question of the wedding present came up, and Blythe described the crystal ship elaborately and saw that it entirely pleased her mother.

  But she saw also that her mother did not look at all well, and she resolved that as soon as this wedding was over she simply must manage to get her away somewhere to rest. She would talk to her father the very next day.

  So Blythe went to her night work in the hospital and put the wedding and everything concerning it out of her mind. She didn’t want to go to it, but she was going of course, and it was silly for her to care. She had a strange, uneasy feeling that in some way Anne would try to be disagreeable, and she wasn’t altogether sure but Dan might still be angry enough to mortify her in some way. However, whatever came would come and would pass, and what did it matter? She didn’t love Dan, she couldn’t have loved him ever, and she was glad he was going to be married and go away.

  Then there came a warm, happy feeling to her heart that there was someone she did love, someone she had a right to love, and who loved her. While she couldn’t think of being married to him because he might never return to claim her, still she felt her life belonged to Charlie, and she was happy in the thought of him.

  But quite early on that wedding morning everything changed. There came a telephone message for Blythe at the hospital from her father. Her mother was very sick and it would be necessary for her to come home at once. There followed days of anxiety when it was not sure whether the mother would pull through or not, and because nurses were so exceedingly scarce, and because the hospitals were so overcrowded, it seemed best for Blythe to give up her course of training and come home to take care of her mother in this terrible emergency. Of course that would have been Blythe’s wish anyway, and she was proud and pleased to be
able to take over her mother’s case, with the assistance of a part-time nurse after the first few trying days, when they were able to get two skilled nurses, a few hours at a time.

  Wedding? Why, they had no thought nor memory of the wedding, and at the hour when, if she had followed the dictates of Dan Seavers, she would have been marching down a church aisle to be married to him, Blythe was standing at the bedside of her darling mother, counting her pulse, watching the quiet breaths that came so intermittently, trying to look brave when she saw the anguish in her dear father’s eyes. No, Blythe did not go to the Seavers’s wedding, and neither did any of her family, and the best thing about it was that her dear mother didn’t have to know anything about it at all, not at least until it was far over and no one could blame them for not being there. Everybody knew how very low poor Mrs. Bonniwell was, and no one would think of expecting any of them to leave their home.

  So Anne Houghton had no opportunity to gloat over Blythe or give one single triumphant toss of her head or glint of her eye. Anne had chosen her path and would walk down it in pride, but not with any envious eyes turned in her direction.

  So the organ rolled and the flowers drooped and the young men and maidens in uniforms or colorful chiffons went carefully, measuredly up the aisle; but Blythe was not there to see.

  “Why, where is Blythe Bonniwell?” asked someone of the bride as the guests went down the line. “Surely she is here somewhere, isn’t she? I wanted to ask her a question about the work in the hospital. Has she gone down the line yet?”

  Anne shrugged.

  “I really wouldn’t remember,” she said haughtily. “With all this mob here how could I tell if one certain girl went by?”

  “Why, certainly she’s here,” spoke up the bridegroom. It wasn’t believable that she hadn’t come when all this show had been started just to impress her and make her understand what she had lost. “She accepted the invitation, didn’t she, Anne?”