Dec. 15, 19--.
Darling Katherine:
There's no use talking, I can never be the same again. My life is
wrecked--ruined--blighted; my heart is broken, my faith in Man shattered,
but try as I like I can't forget him. His image is graven on my heart,
and there it will be until I die. But for all that, I hate him--hate
him--hate him! I don't want to be unpatriotic, but I do hope he gets
killed in the very first battle he's in. Then at least _she_ won't have
him! But a few short weeks ago I was a mere child, playing at life, a
schoolgirl, carefree and heedless, with no other thought in the world
beside winning the freshman basketball championship and surviving
midyear's; to-day I am a woman, old in experience, having eaten the fruit
of the tree of knowledge and found it bitter as gall. And I must bear it
all alone, because if I told the girls here they would laugh at me, and
some would be spiteful enough to be glad about it. But I have to tell
somebody or explode, and I know you will neither laugh nor tell anybody,
being a perfect Tombstone on secrets.
It's really all Agony and Oh-Pshaw's fault anyway, for being born. Not
that that actually had anything to do with it, but if they hadn't been
born they wouldn't have had any birthday, and if they hadn't had any
birthday they wouldn't have given that box party to the LAST OF THE
WINNEBAGOS and I never would have met Captain Bannister.
You will readily understand, Katherine, how I burn to serve my country at
a time like this. There is nothing I would not do to save her from the
clutches of the enemy. It is all very well to say that woman's part in
the war is to knit socks and sweaters and fold bandages and conserve the
Food Supply, for that is all that the average woman would be capable of
doing anyhow, but as for me, I know that my part is to be a much more
definite and a far nobler one. Of course, I do all the other things, too,
along with the other Winnies and the whole college, for that matter;
joined the Patriotic League, go to Red Cross two nights a week and go
without sugar and wheat as much as possible. When I wrote and told Nyoda
that I hadn't eaten one speck of candy for three months except what was
given me and was sending the money I usually spent for it to the
Belgians, she said I ought to have the Cross of the Legion of Honor, and
that "greater love hath no man than this, that he give up the craving of
his stomach for his country." You see, Nyoda understands perfectly what
it means to have an awful candy hunger gnawing at your vitals like the
vulture at the giant's liver and look the other way when you go past a
window full of your favorite bon-bons. But somehow candy doesn't seem so
satisfying when you know there are little Belgian and French children
suffering from a much worse gnawing than candy hunger, and usually
dropping the price of a box of bonbons into the Relief Fund stops the
craving almost as much as the bonbons themselves would.
But this is only doing what thousands of other girls all over the country
are doing and there isn't any individual glory in it. What I long to do
is carry the message that saves the army from destruction, or discover
the spy at his nefarious work. If only the chance would come for me to do
something like that I could die happy.
Agony and Oh-Pshaw's birthday celebration was quite an event. We had
luncheon first at the Golden Dragon, a wonderful new Chinese restaurant
that was recently opened, and had chop suey and chow main and other funny
things in a little stall lit up with a gorgeous blue and gold lantern. Of
course, after that luncheon and the funny toasts we made to the long life
and health of Agony and Oh-Pshaw, we felt pretty frolicsome, and by the
time we got settled in our seats at the Opera House we were ready to
start something. Our seats were in the first row of the balcony, center
aisle, and very prominent. I had my knitting along as usual, intending to
do a few rows between the acts. I always knit in public places; it sets a
good example to other people. Besides, my new knitting bag is too sweet
for anything.
I had just got started knitting in the intermission between the first and
second acts when the orchestra began to play "Over There," and Agony got
an inspiration. "Let's all stand up," she whispered, "and see how many
people will bite and stand up, too."
So, stifling our giggles, we sprang promptly to our feet and stood
stiffly at attention. In less than a minute more than half of the
audience, not knowing why they should stand up for that piece, but
blindly following our lead, gathered up their hats, wraps and programs in
their arms and dutifully stood up. Then as soon as they were standing we
sat down and laughed at the poor dupes, who sat down in a hurry when they
saw us, looking terribly foolish. I haven't seen anything so funny in a
long time.
"Stop laughing," said Gladys, giving me a poke with her elbow. "You're
shaking the seat so I'm getting seasick." But I couldn't stop.
"Look out, Hinpoha, there goes your knitting," said Migwan. "Catch it,
somebody!"
But it was too late. When we stood up I had laid the sock and the ball of
yarn on the broad, low rail in front of us, and now the ball had rolled
over the edge and dropped down into the audience below, right into the
lap of a young man who was sitting on the end seat. He looked up in great
surprise and everybody laughed. They just _roared_! There I stood,
leaning over the balcony, hanging on to the sock for dear life and trying
to keep it from raveling, and there he stood down below holding onto the
ball, and plainly puzzled what to do with it.
"Throw down the sock, silly," whispered Agony, reaching over and pulling
my sleeve. "Do you think he's going to throw up the ball?"
I dropped the sock and the man caught it in his other hand and stood
there laughing, as he started to wind up the yards and yards of yarn
between the ball and the sock. When he had it wound up he brought it
upstairs to me. I went out into the corridor to get it. Then for the
first time I got a good look at the man. He was dressed in uniform and
wore an officer's cap. He was very tall and slim, with black eyes and
hair and a small black mustache.
"Here, patriotic little knitting lady," he said, making a deep bow and
handing me my knitting. I looked up into his handsome, smiling face, and
little needle points began pricking in my spine. His eyes met mine, he
smiled, blushed to the roots of his hair and looked away. All in one
instant I knew. I had met my fate. This was my Man, my own. I felt faint
and light-headed and all I could see was his black eyes shining like
stars. His deep, thrilling voice still rang in my ears. With another low
bow he turned to leave me.
"Captain Bannister, at your service," he said.
I went back to my seat with my head swimming. "Patriotic little knitting
lady," I found myself whispering under my breath. The girls suddenly
seemed awfully young and silly as they sat there giggling at me and at
each other. My mind was above all such childish things; it was soaring up
in the blue realms of true love. I was glad he was tall and thin. I think
fat girls should marry thin men, don't you? And he was dark, too, just
the right mate for redheaded me. And he was a Captain in the army! How
the other girls would envy me! Some of them had friends who were
lieutenants and were quite uppish about it, but none that I knew had a
Captain.
Then at another thought my heart stood still. Suppose he should be
killed? I pictured myself in deep mourning, wearing on my breast the
medal he had won for bravery, which with his dying breath he had asked
his comrades to send to "my wife!" I couldn't help brushing away a tear
then and was quite bewildered when Agony poked me and wanted to know if I
wasn't ever going to make a move to go home. The show was over and the
people were streaming out. I hadn't seen a bit of the last two acts.
Down in the lobby I saw Him again. He was standing by the door talking to
another man in uniform. How he stood out among all other men! He was one
out of a thousand. My heart beat to suffocation and I couldn't raise my
eyes. In a moment more I must pass him. I tried to look straight ahead,
but something I couldn't resist drew my head around and I turned and
looked straight into his eyes. He tilted back his head and gave me one
long, thrilling glance, raised his hand to his cap, then blushed and
looked down. Just then Gladys pulled at my sleeve and dragged me over to
some girls we knew and we were swept out with the crowd to the sidewalk.
I scarcely knew where I was going. My feet walked along between Gladys
and Migwan, but my soul was in the clouds, listening to strains of
heavenly music, while the others squabbled over ice cream flavors and who
should stand treat after the show. Ice cream! Ye gods! Who could eat ice
cream with their soul seething in love?
From that hour when I had looked into Captain Bannister's eyes and read
the truth in them, I was a changed being. I listened in silence to the
idle chatter of the girls around me as we walked to and from classes.
Their souls were wrapped up in their knitting, in their lessons, in their
meals. Agony and Oh-Pshaw were trying to learn a new and difficult back
dive and they talked of nothing else night and day. They were constantly
at me to come and try it, too, but I sat loftily apart, hugging my
delicious secret. As it says in the poem we learned in literature class:
"What were the garden bowers of Thebes to me?"
Like Semele, I scorned the sports of mortals and thought only of my
Beloved. I didn't envy her a bit because her Love was Jupiter. What was
Jupiter compared to Captain Bannister?
Twice I had seen him since that day in the theater--had spoken to him, in
fact. He was stationed in the recruiting office and one day I happened to
be walking past with old Professor Remie and he knew him and stopped and
talked and introduced me. As if we needed any introduction! We chatted of
commonplaces, but all the while our eyes told volumes. However, soul
cannot speak to soul in a public recruiting station where curious eyes
are looking on.
I had an errand uptown every day after that. Only once did I see him as I
passed the recruiting station, however. Then he was throwing out a
Socialist who had tried to stop the recruiting and he didn't see me.
But the next day there came a perfectly huge box of chocolates, addressed
quaintly to "Miss Bradford, Somewhere in Purgatory." Inside the box was a
card which read:
"The strand you dropped with careless art
Has wound itself around my heart."
Underneath was written "Captain Bannister," in a bold, masculine hand.
I buried the chocolates in the depths of my shirtwaist box where no
profane eye could see them or profane tooth bite into them. I didn't mean
to be selfish, but I just couldn't bear to pass _his_ chocolates around
to the crowd and hear Agony's delighted squeal as she dove into them,
"Come on, girls, have one on Hinpoha's latest crush!"
For Agony has absolutely no understanding of affairs of the
heart--everything is a "crush" to her.
The chocolates were fine and I ate a great many of them, thinking of my
Captain all the while, and wondering when I would see him again.
"Hinpoha, what on earth is the matter with you?" said Gladys that night.
"You didn't eat a bite of supper and you're as pale as a ghost. Have you
upset your stomach again?"
I drew myself up haughtily. The idea! To call this delicious turmoil in
my bosom an upset stomach! I was glad I looked pale. I am usually as red
as a beet. It was more in keeping with the way I felt to be pale.
"I am not myself," I replied loftily, "but it's not my stomach."
"Go to bed, honey," said Gladys, "and I'll bring you a glass of hot
water."
I curled up in bed with Captain Bannister's card in my hand under the
pillow. I was so happy I felt dizzy. Gladys came back with the hot water
and made me drink it in spite of my protests, and, strange to say, I felt
much calmer after it.
Needless to say, I couldn't pin my mind down on my lessons. I did such
queer things that people began to notice it. For instance, mild old
Professor Remie, the chemistry teacher, handed back my paper one day
after he had given us a written lesson on the Atomic Theory, and inquired
in a puzzled tone if I had meant just what I wrote. I glanced at it and
blushed furiously when I realized that I had written down some lines that
had been running through my head all day:
"Why do I fearfully cling to thee, Maidenhood?
'Tis but a pearl to be cast in thy waves, O Love!"
Then one day the word went around that He was coming to make a speech in
the college chapel. How my heart fluttered! I could hardly sit still in
the seat when he came out on the platform. It seemed as if everyone could
hear what my heart was saying. Soon that deep voice of his was filling
the room, thrilling me with unearthly things. Again and again his eyes
sought mine, full of joyous recognition, of love and longing. I smiled
reassuringly, trying to telegraph the message, "Be patient, all will be
well."