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  “I love her well enough to want her happiness above everything else in the world,” he said. “I know it’s going to be a long time before she can forget Tip — perhaps she can’t, ever. But all that is over, and she is too fine and sweet to go on alone, grieving for something she can never have again.”

  “Oh, but, Phil, you’re quite wrong,” Beth protested earnestly. “I’m her mother and I know her so well and I’m quite sure she loves you. I know her much better than you do, you see.”

  Geraldine laughed and hugged her mother and said comfortingly, “Never mind, mom, I’ll convince him!”

  “Well, I should hope so,” said Beth, slightly ruffled.

  Phil beamed at her and at Tom and said simply, “It’s going to be fun to be married into this family. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home, or a family. My father died when I was six, and Mother when I was fourteen.”

  Beth said swiftly, “You poor boy!”

  “That settles it! You’ll be well and thoroughly familied from now on, son,” said Tom firmly, and his eyes were kind and warm and friendly.

  “I hope so, sir. I like the idea.”

  Chapter Three

  Geraldine had dreaded the first week at the office when the whole town would know that she was going to be married again. But before the first day was well advanced, she saw that there had been no reason for her brief discomfort. People were glad of her happiness, she felt, as they stopped her and offered good wishes.

  Then two weeks after the announcement of her engagement, Geraldine and Beth went up to Atlanta to select furnishings for the gay little house that was already beginning to emerge from the rejuvenated carriage house.

  She remembered her elopement with Tip, when neither had carried with them so much as a toothbrush. She had shopped hilariously at a small settlement store near the mountain cabin where they had spent that poignantly brief honeymoon that was to be all the married life she and Tip were ever to know.

  Looking back, she shuddered a little and remembered that even in those brief days, young and silly as she had been, there had been a terror that she had never faced or acknowledged. Perhaps a premonition that this was all she and Tip were ever to have of love and living together; perhaps that was what had made those few days so exquisite, so unforgettable. And in her heart, even now in her great happiness, she wept for the two children who had raced lightheartedly into a marriage over which, from its very beginning, had lain the bitter shadow of death and desolation.

  She and Beth came back on a train that readied Marthasville at 6:10 in the afternoon. Tom and Phil were waiting for them. There was something odd and strained in their faces, but Geraldine was so glad to see Phil after what seemed like an age-long absence — it had been two days and nights — that she was not quite conscious of the curious, veiled glances that the station loungers turned her way.

  Tom hustled them into his old sedan before they could do more than call a greeting to a friend here and there. And as the sedan rattled through town, with Tom at the wheel, Beth beside him, Geraldine drew closer to Phil, slid her hand in his and demanded very softly, “Did you miss me, darling?”

  His hand closed painfully on hers and his jaw had a set, stern look as he said half under his breath, “I — I’ll always miss you, if you’re gone from me five minutes.”

  In the dusk that filled the old sedan she could only guess at his expression. But the clasp of his fingers on hers, the tone of his voice, made her breath come a little faster, and she was almost giddy with happiness.

  The car turned in at the break in the white picket fence, went up the straggling drive and stopped. As Tom helped Beth out and turned for a fleeting moment to look at Phil, Geraldine knew that something was wrong. Knew it, with a little sudden sharp stab of terror that was like a chill finger against her heart.

  “Dad, what — ?” she gasped.

  Tom said almost curtly. “Inside with you, kid.”

  Beth looked at him swiftly, and her eyes widened. But without a word she turned and led the way into the house.

  Geraldine stood before her father, looking from him to Phil, an icy hand closing about her young heart. But her voice was quite steady. “All right, Dad — let’s have it. Straight from the shoulder, like always.”

  Phil thrust his hands deeply into his pockets, bunched into fists, and turned his back. Slowly the color drained from Geraldine’s face and Beth made a soft, whimpering little sound. But Tom met his daughter’s eyes. “There was a cablegram for you this afternoon, Gerry — and one for Mrs. Parker.”

  “A — cablegram?” Geraldine repeated wonderingly.

  “Tip’s — been found alive and well, in a remote fishing village in South Vietnam,” said Tom. “He escaped from the hands of the Viet Cong.”

  For a moment Geraldine stood very still. She was like a woman turned to stone. Her eyes were wide and dark, her face as white as paper. The words said themselves over and over in her stunned, unbelieving mind. Tip’s alive and well — in a remote fishing village in South Vietnam.

  Somehow, words struggled through her stupefaction.

  “Oh — I’m so glad! I’m so glad!”

  A little of the tension went out of Tom’s face and he said thickly:

  “I knew you would be, kid.”

  Beth looked straight at Phil, but Phil stood rigid and silent.

  Geraldine was trying to adjust herself to the fact that Tip, who had so loved life and who had lived it to the full, was to go on living. For the moment there was no room in her mind for anything else. She did not know that tears were slipping down her white face, or that she was swaying a little, clinging to the back of a chair because her knees were threatening at any moment to desert her.

  “The War Department notified Mrs. Parker,” said Tom after a moment. “And then there was this cablegram for you, from Tip.”

  He held it out to her and the flimsy paper trembled a little in his hand. He smiled wryly.

  Shakily her fingers drew out the message. It said, Alive and well. See you soon. Loving you always. Tip.

  She looked up then and straight into Phil’s white, ravaged face. She was engaged to Phil — and now her husband was coming home!

  For a long, stunned moment she met Phil’s eyes. Neither of them knew when Tom and Beth slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. She only knew that she could not stop looking at Phil.

  “Phil!” she whispered at last, desperately. “Phil — what happens — to us — now?”

  And Phil, who had had the whole afternoon to face the stunning news, and who had himself well in hand, smiled faintly and said quietly, “You’re going to have your husband back, and be terribly happy with him — what else? After all, you love him.”

  “I love you,” Geraldine said unsteadily.

  Phil made a little swiftly controlled gesture, his face gray, his eyes tired and sick.

  “I’m here — he’s far away. It’s easy when you’re as lonely as you have been to kid yourself,” he told her patiently. “But when he is back, and you see him again, you’ll forget that there was ever anybody else, even for a little while — and that’s the way it’s got to be, Geraldine. He’s been in hell. He’s dreamed of a heaven he never expected to see again, but now that he’s got his chance to live again, we can’t rob him, Geraldine. We could never live with ourselves — or each other, if we did that. And of course, once you see him again, you’ll forget this — this interlude.”

  “I won’t, Phil! I won’t! I can’t ever. I love you so terribly!” Her voice was a small, strained whisper of agony straight from her heart.

  Phil said evenly, “I saw your eyes, Geraldine, when your father told you he was alive. You were completely off guard. There was a radiance in your face I’ve never seen before. And that’s right, Gerry. That’s the way it’s got to be. He’s got to come back and find you waiting for him, he has gone on loving you! There is no lower, more wicked thing two people can do than to stay here at home, quietly and comfortably and p
eacefully and rob a man who’s been through what Tip has. You and I — our happiness isn’t important any more. We owe him a debt, Gerry — we’ve got to pay it, or never know another moment’s peace as long as we live.”

  There was a terrible conviction in his words. They fell on her heart with a pain that was, in itself, bitter conviction. Phil was right.

  After a moment, Phil said very softly, “You see, darling? That’s the way it’s got to be.”

  And dumbly, unable to form words, looking up at him, her eyes acknowledged the bitter fact of that. There was a moment that seemed to stretch endlessly, while their eyes clung and their hearts stood there, for each to see; in that age-long moment that was only seconds, they said good-bye to each other, good-bye to the future they had planned with such high hearts.

  Phil turned then, without a word, and went out of the house, and the sound of his footsteps on the path echoed back with a hollow ring that was the loneliest sound Geraldine had ever heard in all her life.

  She heard the sound of the telephone without being conscious that she had heard it; she heard the sound of her mother’s voice answering the telephone, and though she heard quite clearly, her numbed brain was unable to separate the words, to understand anything of what was being said.

  It was not until Beth came and put an arm about her that Geraldine became conscious of what her mother was saying. Beth was white and stunned and anxious looking.

  “That was Mrs. Parker, darling,” she said gently. “She wants to see you.”

  “Oh, no, Mother — I can’t!”

  “I tried to put her off, darling, but Mrs. Parker’s not easy to divert!” said Beth uneasily. “I told her you were not able to come out there, and that you had collapsed. So she said she would come here, and hung up before I could try to stop her.”

  Geraldine stood hopelessly for a moment, until Beth was holding her.

  “You’ll have to see her, darling, sooner or later, and it might as well be now,” she soothed anxiously. “Do you want Dad and me to sit in? We won’t let her bully you, darling.”

  Geraldine made herself smile wryly and kiss her mother’s cheek. “Of course I can’t go to pieces. It’s only that — Oh, Mother, I’m so — lost. I don’t know which way to turn. I’m terribly glad for Tip — so very, very glad! It’s only that I’ve got to get used, all over again, to thinking of him — to knowing that he is alive.”

  “Of course, darling, as if I didn’t understand! You run up and wash your face and pull yourself together, and Dad and I will hold Mrs. Parker at bay until you are ready to face her,” Beth soothed her and at last Geraldine moved towards the stairs and to her own room.

  She moved like an automaton. The first days after word had come from the War Department that Tip’s ship had gone down in the Saigon River, with only a handful of survivors being picked up, and that Tip must be presumed dead, she had had this dazed, stunned feeling — a wild, frightening pain that she had not even tried to fight. And tonight, she was shaken to the very depths of her being at the thought that Tip was alive; but there was, too, the bitter agony of knowing that her first young, unquestioning love, that had been more than half youth and physical attraction, had been swallowed up in her grown-up, complete love for Phil.

  Scarcely knowing what she did, she changed from her dark traveling suit and showered and dressed in a becoming deep blue housecoat, her hair brushed high on her head. She tried to repair the ravages of tears with lipstick and powder and rouge; and when at last she went down the stairs, she looked outwardly composed, if one did not notice too closely her wide, dazed eyes or the tremulous red mouth.

  The murmur of voices from the living room told her that Mrs. Parker was here. Geraldine paused and braced herself for what must follow, before she entered the living room.

  Mrs. Parker, very erect, neatly groomed as always, sat in a wing chair near the fire Tom had lighted. At sight of Geraldine she rose and threw her arms about the girl and kissed her eagerly.

  Geraldine was not prepared for one of the very few impulsive gestures she had ever experienced on Mrs. Parker’s part and, startled, she did not return the kiss. But Mrs. Parker kept her arms about the girl, drawing her down on the sofa, chattering eagerly, color high in her cheeks.

  “Oh, my dear, isn’t it the most wonderful news in the world? I can hardly make myself believe it, even yet. We’re going to have our darling boy back again — ” Her voice broke and she wept.

  Geraldine was dazed by this unwonted display of emotion. Mrs. Parker, who had always prided herself on her poise, who was never impulsive or excited!

  “We’re leaving for the coast at once, my dear,” Mrs. Parker went on, regaining some portion of her self-control, smiling with wet, anxious eyes at Geraldine. “We’re going to be there to welcome him. We must leave in the morning.”

  Beth and Tom exchanged an astonished glance.

  “Oh, not in the morning! I can’t!”

  Momentarily Mrs. Parker’s eyes were hostile and she seemed a much more familiar Mrs. Parker.

  “If you’re thinking about that man, Geraldine!” she began frostily.

  Geraldine set her teeth hard. “Phil and I have said good-bye to each other,” she said.

  “Well, naturally,” answered Mrs. Parker. “Of course, I know you were only consoling yourself with this Donaldson person, because you were lonely and grieving. But Tip’s coming home, and there’s no longer any need for you to console yourself elsewhere.”

  Geraldine said evenly, “I was not consoling myself with Phil, Mrs. Parker. You might as well know the truth. I love Phil with all my heart.”

  Mrs. Parker caught her breath. Her eyes went wide, and her face was suddenly grayish, like old paper.

  “Nonsense! What are you saying? Geraldine, you’re Tip’s wife!”

  “I shan’t forget it,” said Geraldine evenly.

  “You are breaking with this Donaldson person?”

  “Of course — what else could I do? I am Tip’s wife,” said Geraldine. Beth put one hand over her eyes and set her teeth hard against the little pitying sob that clutched at her throat.

  Mrs. Parker drew a deep breath and smiled uncertainly.

  “For a moment, I was terrified,” she admitted frankly. “I know how hard it is for a thoughtless young girl to remain loyal to a man who is far away. Out of sight, out of mind, I know. But of course, for you to turn on Tip now after all that he’s been through would be a monstrous thing.”

  There was a sternness in her tone, almost a suspicion in her eyes that flicked Geraldine on the raw.

  “I have no intention of turning on Tip,” she said evenly.

  “Of course not, my dear.” Mrs. Parker was almost cooing now, and her plump ringed hand patted Geraldine’s clenched fist gently. “Therefore, we will leave in the morning — ”

  “But, Mrs. Parker, it may be weeks before Tip is sent back to this country,” Tom protested.

  Mrs. Parker gave him a cool glance.

  “I quite realize that, Mr. Foster.” Her tone matched her glance. “But I also realize that it is not going to be at all pleasant for Geraldine here in town, waiting, with everybody knowing how nearly she married this Donaldson person. People are going to pry and gossip, and the most casual meeting between Geraldine and Mr. Donaldson will start a scandal that will be so easy to create, so difficult to kill.”

  “Oh, see here, now,” Tom’s voice had a distinct edge, “I think you can trust Gerry and Phil not to behave in a manner to create a scandal.”

  “My dear Mr. Foster,” said Mrs. Parker icily, “the only way not to create a scandal is for one of them to leave town before Tip returns. The change will do Gerry good and I’m sure she’d be happier to be out of town until people get over discussing Tip’s return and the — er — destruction of the wedding plans between herself and Mr. Donaldson!”

  “She’s quite right, Dad,” Gerry said quietly. “I should get away for a while.”

  Chapter Four

  “We m
ust see to it, my dear,” Mrs. Parker said almost casually on the plane, “that Tip never knows anything about — this Donaldson person.”

  Geraldine caught her breath at the sheer effrontery of that.

  “I’m afraid it will be quite impossible for us to keep Tip from knowing of my engagement to Phil,” she said swiftly.

  Mrs. Parker’s gentle mask slipped for a moment and she was the cold-eyed woman Geraldine had known.

  “You’d throw it in his teeth! A man who has been through such an experience!”

  “You know perfectly well,” Geraldine cut in swiftly, “that someone will tell him. I think it much better for Tip to hear it directly from me.”

  “But, my dear” — Mrs. Parker was gentle and winning again, yet the hostility had not quite vanished from her eyes — ”you’re so wrong! It would be the most inhuman cruelty for you to tell him you forgot him. You mustn’t — you simply mustn’t, ever!”

  On and on went the sweet, soothing voice, until Geraldine felt that she must scream. At last, shattered and exhausted, she promised that Tip should not be told until they had returned to Marthasville.

  And then Mrs. Parker beamed at her happily.

  “That may be a long, long time,” she had said contentedly. “After all, the poor darling has been through a terrible time. Otherwise the government would not be sending him home to recuperate. We must do everything we can to help him back to himself. When he’s quite strong, and quite sure of himself — and of you — then you may tell him and you will both look on it as merely a joke.”

  Geraldine flinched and set her teeth. The gentle, musical voice went on and on until, in sheer weariness, Geraldine stopped listening.

  Reaching the Coast eventually, they managed to stay a few days at a hotel, and then Mrs. Parker managed to rent a furnished cottage in the hills, and there they settled down to wait for Tip’s return.

  There were times when Geraldine felt that their constant questioning, their daily appearances at the hospital, the Red Cross and the various places where they might hope to gain some faint shred of information, constituted nuisances of themselves. But nobody’s patience seemed to wear thin, and they were invariably treated with courtesy.