Radio romances (July-Dec 1945)

could never make his life complete. It was better to make a clean break now, even if it would hurt him terribly, than to wait until he came home. Because I knew in my secret heart that once I saw him again, felt his kiss on my lips, I would never have the courage to let him go. He knew that we had lost little Timmy. But he did not know about the doctor's verdict. He would never know about that. Some day he would find another girl, a girl who could bear him wonderful children, and they would take up life together. . . . But I had to close the door quickly on that thought because it was such agony. MY letters to him became stilted, filled with gay, silly chatter about the "fun" I was having with the old crowd. Impersonal letters that I hated. From his replies I knew that he was puzzled and hurt. I told mother and dad that Bob and I were "through," that I would prefer not to mention him again. They were shocked, unbelieving. But because I had been so ill, they did not protest much. "You will feel differently when you are stronger," mother said anxiously. 'T want to forget that I was ever married!" I cried and my voice broke uncontrollably. Forget the happiest months I had ever known, the love Bob and I had shared? As if I could! Then one day came his jubilant cable about being shipped back home. My answer was the letter asking for a divorce. "It was all such a mistake, Bob," I had written. "Perhaps I was too young. ... I want to be free now to enjoy everything I missed. . . . Please don't try to contact me. . . ." Horrible little words that I forced myself to write across the pages. Words to sicken a man and kill his love. There would be no turning back now. The letter was mailed. Ahead of me, dusk had settled in the canyon and the mountains were shrouded. "This is like death," I thought. "Only worse, because part of me has to go on living." Slowly I got to my feet and made my way back to town. Sooner or later every person carrying around an empty heart finds there is only one relief — helping others. And there were plenty to help, even with the end of the war in sight. The big Army Air Base near town had been converted into a redistribution center, and there was also a General Hospital filled to overflowing with wounded from the Pacific. I worked with the Special Services department of the Red Cross, and there was plenty to do. We did it all — from locating missing families for servicemen to channeling war orphans from foreign countries into good homes there in the San Joachin Valley. I liked the latter work particularly. I had been afraid, when my mother and dad suggested it, that things I had tried to kill would come alive again — that other people's children would hurt unbearably. But, actually, it seemed to help. There were not so many who came through, but those that did had such shy, hopeful little faces. There were the bright-eyed small Martanis from Italy who were on their way to their uncle's near Santa Rosa. Their home in Naples had been bombed and they had been looked after by a group of American combat engineers until the Red Cross had located this uncle in the States. Then there were the two chil Be Lovely to Love You'll never worry about staying sweet and dainty if you use Fre.ih. Fresh, new cream deodorant, stops perspiration worries, completely. Fresh contains the most effective perspiration-stopping ingredient known to science. Fresh stays smooth... never gritty or sticky... doesn't dry out. MOST FASCINATING AND INTRIGUING.. JUNE IN "DAVID HARDING, COUNTERSPY." WED. NIGHTS, 10 E.T., AMERICAN (.BLUE) NETWORK R M 67