SERIOUSLY WOUNDED
They walked the rest of the distance to the house in absorbed silence,
reading as they went. Then suddenly Betty gave a little cry of
amazement.
"I thought this was for me," she said, holding up a letter. "But it
isn't. It's for your mother, Grace. I don't see how I could have made
such a mistake!"
But Grace only heard the first part of Betty's speech. The last of it
passed right over her head.
"A letter for mother?" she cried. "Oh, give it to me, Betty. It may be
from dad. Oh, it is! It is!" she exclaimed, as she saw her father's
familiar writing. "He must have heard about Will. Mother! Mother--" she
broke away from the girls and took the porch steps two at a time, waving
the letter wildly as she went.
"Oh, if it's only good news, if it's only good news!" Betty found
herself saying over and over again as she, with Mollie, followed Grace
into the house.
They found Mrs. Ford in the living room, pale and trembling a little,
holding the envelope in her hand as though she dared not open it. Grace
had collapsed in a chair and was gazing up at her mother with such
agonized pleading in her eyes that the girls could not look at her.
Then very slowly Mrs. Ford tore open the envelope. At the same moment
the girls seemed to sense that they might be in some manner intruding,
and with one accord they moved over to the window and stood looking out.
After a wait that seemed interminable they heard Grace say in a
strained, far-away little voice:
"Mother, what is it? Can't you tell me? I think I'll die if I have to
wait any longer."
"Read it," they heard Mrs. Ford say in a choked voice, as a rustle of
paper told that she had handed the letter to Grace. "I can't tell you
dear. Oh, my boy, my boy!" And she sank down in a chair and covered her
face with her hands.
The girls turned from the window and started to leave the room, for they
felt that the moment was too sacred for even them who were so intensely
interested, to share.
Just as they reached the door they paused, arrested by a cry from
Grace.
"Seriously wounded!" she read in a muffled voice. "Oh, Mother, for all
we know, that may mean Will is--dead!"
They were startled by a muffled sob, and turned in time to see Amy rush
from the room. Poor little Amy! In the excitement and grief of the
moment they had forgotten that she might also be affected by this news
of Will!
Betty and Mollie ran upstairs after her, leaving Grace and her mother
together.
"And I was so hoping," said Betty as she closed the door softly and
Mollie flung herself on the bed, "that it would be good news."
"Yes," said Mollie, staring moodily out the window, "it does seem that
everything terrible that can happen to us is happening all at once. I
wonder what's next."
"There isn't going to be any next," said Betty, but in her heart she was
not so sure. Almost everyone in the world was suffering, one way or
another, and it was only to be expected that they would get their full
share.
And as she thought of Allen a hot wave of fear went over her, leaving
her faint and sick. Out there in the very thickest of the fight, it
would be a miracle if he should be saved to come back to her.
But he must come back, he _must_ come back, her heart cried over and
over again. Hadn't he said he would? And Allen always kept his word.
Then she shook herself, and with an effort brought her wandering thought
back to this new trouble--or rather, confirmation of an old one.
From the time Mrs. Ford had received the telegram telling of Will's
wound, they had hoped against hope that it had been a mistake, or that
at least, the wound had not been serious.
But this new report from Washington seemed to put an end to that hope,
and there was nothing to do but to face the terrible reality. Will was
seriously wounded in some hospital in France, and, as Grace had said,
that might mean that even now he was in a critical condition, perhaps,
for all they knew, he had died out there away from all his dear ones and
the friends that loved him.
"I don't suppose there is any use acting as though he were dead
already," said Mollie, breaking in upon her unhappy reverie. "There have
been several thousand wounded soldiers over there who have recovered."
"Yes, only to be sent back again to the firing line and have it done all
over," said Betty bitterly, for, for a time at least, her staunch
optimism had deserted her and she was ready to see the blackest side of
everything.
"Yes, it does seem that once a soldier has gone down to the very gates
of death, he should be exempted," sighed Mollie, adding dispiritedly:
"But I suppose if they made that a rule they wouldn't have any armies
left after awhile."
"And the boys themselves don't want to be exempted," said Betty, feeling
a little thrill of pride in spite of her heartache. "Their one biggest
reason for getting well is to be able to get another 'whack at the
Hun.'"
"Shall we go and see if we can cheer up Amy?" she asked after an
interval filled with gloomy meditation. "She is so brave and quiet about
everything that you never have a chance to guess how hard she is taking
her trouble. Poor girl!"
"I do feel awfully sorry for her," agreed Mollie, shifting unhappily,
"but I must say I don't feel very capable of cheering anybody up myself.
I never felt so horribly discouraged in my life."
"Well, it doesn't do any good to think about it," said Betty. "Maybe if
we try to make poor Amy feel better we'll help ourselves at the same
time."
"I suppose it won't do any harm to try," agreed Mollie, rising wearily.
"But I wish somebody would lend me a smile for a little while till I get
mine back again. I might be able to play the role of merry little
sunshine better."
She gave Betty a wry little smile, and arm in arm they started down the
hall to Amy's room.
The found the door shut, and tapped lightly upon it. When there was no
response they rapped again, then tried the knob and found the door was
locked.
"Whatever in the world--" Mollie was beginning apprehensively, when a
plaintive voice in the room behind the closed door interrupted her.
"Who is it?"
"It's we, Dear--Mollie and Betty," answered Betty quickly. "Can't you
let us in?"
"I--I'd rather not," replied the voice falteringly. "I'm all right, and
I'll be out in a minute. Please don't worry about me. You ought to be
used to my making a goose of myself by this time." This last accompanied
by a pitiful little attempt at a laugh.
"All right, Honey," Betty spoke sympathetically, for she had often seen
the time when even her best friend would have been in the way. "We only
wanted to help, that's all. When you want us we'll be in my room."
Amy murmured something in reply, and they slipped back again into the
other room and closed the door.
"I guess she feels it even worse than we thought she did," said Mollie
pityingly. "When Amy cries she is pretty well cut up."
"Well, I guess all we can do now is just sit still and wait till
somebody wants us," said Betty, sitting down irresolutely and folding
her hands. It was this last action that reminded her of the letter from
Joe Barnes which she had not yet read. Although she had been holding it
in her hand all the while, she had completely forgotten there was such a
person as the writer.
At her exclamation Mollie looked up rather listlessly.
"That's so," she said. "You never did find out whether or not Joe Barnes
had been accepted. Tell me about it. I'd welcome a diversion--a cyclone
or a tidal wave or anything--if it would only get my mind off our
troubles."
"I'll guarantee it would be effective," returned Betty absently, as she
took up the closely written pages. "It would be like burning yourself to
make you forget you have a toothache."
There was silence for a long while, broken only by the sound of the
waves breaking on the shore and the crackling of the paper as Betty
turned page after page.
It was a long letter, filled with youthful enthusiasm. In it the youth
spoke his pleasure in meeting her and his hope that she would not only
answer this letter but would allow him to write to her often.
But over and above all the great fact stood out that he had been
accepted! The doctors had looked him over and declared him fit in every
respect to serve his country.
As Betty read the last glowing sentence a sob broke from her and she
buried her head in her arms. Mollie went over to her quickly.
"What is it?" she asked anxiously, putting an arm about the Little
Captain. "You haven't had bad news too, have you, Betty?"
"N-no," sobbed Betty, raising eyes that were shining through her tears.
"I just love them so--all those splendid boys that are so crazy to give
their lives for their country, that my heart gets too full sometimes,
that's all."
"Then I take it that Joe Barnes has been accepted," Mollie rather stated
than asked.
"Yes," said Betty, feeling for a handkerchief. "And he is simply wild
with joy, Mollie," she added, while the color flooded her face. "The
Germans simply can't last long with that spirit against them. It makes
our boys indomitable!"