Radio Mirror: The Magazine of Radio Romances (Jan-June 1943)

up to you and want to be like you. All the other things." * "Alma, don't." He looked really uncomfortable. "As for Julian, I like the kid. He just needed a word here and there to set him right. And as for gratitude, it's on my part. I'm grateful to old Drake for getting you here in the first place. I'm grateful to you for just being around where I can see you . . ^HE words trailed off. They said •*■ more than had ever been said before, brought me closer to the verge of something , infinitely precious, infinitely sweet. Maybe something of that showed in my face. Because Andy made a sort of inarticulate sound and then gathered me to him. I felt the rough tweed lapel of his jacket against my cheek, smelled the clean, masculine freshness of him, and even before his lips met mine, I thought, "I'll have to tell him. He's got to know." And then, "But not yet. Not now." That kiss was more than I had ever imagined it could be. In it, unspoken, was the knowledge I belonged to him, that now my life was starting for the first time. If only— And then the doorbell buzzed again. Andy muttered under his breath. I pulled away from him and went to answer it, trying to still the radiance that must be glowing on my face. I-opened the door — and the radiance was stilled of itself, as if there had never been any. For there was the past I thought was over, caught up with me again. Standing there on the threshold was Jed Clinton. I clutched the doorknob to steady myself and stared at him. He gave his old easy smile. "Surprised to see me, baby?" Then as I couldn't answer, "Aren't you going to ask me in, after all this time?" Automatically I stepped back. Jed looked at Andy. "This is Jed Clinton," I heard myself saying. "Andrew Pendleton." Andy came forward, hand outstretched. "Clinton?" he said pleasantly. "A relative of Alma's?" Jed laughed. "Sort of. A — cousin, shall we say." He glanced around the room. "Cozy little place you've got here, Alma. You seem to be doing all right." He opened if the only way you can open a penny bank. He smashed it, and a shower of coins and crumpled dollar bills spilled out on the mantel .■Yes" I felt like a ghost of myself' with a numbed brain and nerveless hands. Andy broke the rather awkward pause "Well, I'll be running along-' I i™gine you two. h3Ve -1 tot to talk over -surprise visit and all that. See you tomorrow, Alma. Glad to have seen you, Mr. Clinton." , He was covering it up nicely, but I sensed his puzzled bewilderment. Nobody could have missed that atmosphere of sudden strain, and Andy was more perceptive than most I tried to smile at him but my face felt wooden. And then he was gone. Jed dropped comfortably onto the couch. He hadn't changed a bit. Nearing forty now, he was still smooth, assured and terribly convincing. He lit a cigarette, his eyes regarding me with amusement over his cupped hands. oJW "Sorry," he said, "to interrunt a love scene. *" "It wasn't a love scene! And you've got no right to come here to — to track me down!" "No?" He raised his eyebrows "Maybe you didn't notice your bov friend was wearing a smear of liD stick on his chin." Then he laughed "It's a good thing I'm a broadminded guy, Alma. After all, y0^ are my wife." "Only because of the divorce laws of this state — Jed, how did you find me? Why couldn't you leave me alone?" The old trapped feeling was coming back. "The answer to the first is easy. I've known where you were for some time. As to why I came— well, I'm a little short of cash at the moment. I thought that under the circumstances — " he paused significantly — "you could tide me over." "But I haven't any money! Just enough to get along on—" "Now, Alma," he said reproachfullyHis voice never left that easy conversational tone. "I know the set-up around here. A hick town, a jerkwater college, and everybody pious as a Sunday School picnic. How'd you like these good, proper folks to know you'd been married all this time — and passing yourself off as a widow? I'll bet the Dean would be .so shocked at the scandal, he'd kick you right out on your pretty little ear. Also — " his eyes watched me shrewdly — "I'll bet your boyfriend doesn't know. I noticed you didn't correct that 'cousin' crack." I was silent. It was all true. This was nothing short of black-mail but I knew Jed Clinton well enough to know he'd carry out his threats. My hard won peace and security would go and — worse Helen Irwin Dowdey's "No More to Fear" „o, gested by an original radio drama wrH en by the Air. heard Saturdays. 12 noon, on r.R<; —I couldn't bear for Andy to hear the truth until I told him. "And then," Jed went on, "there's Julian." My heart did stop beating then. My brother Julian! I couldn't "If I give you all I've got, will you go away? Will you promise to go away now and never come back?" "How much is it?" I crossed over to the mantel. With unsteady hands I lifted down the Mexican pottery piggy-bank that had stood there so proudly. I turned it over in my hands, thinking of the quarters and dimes it contained. "About seventy dollars. Julian and I were — saving it for a war bond." Jed laughed. "You always were a sucker, Alma. War bonds! Well — it's chickenfeed, but it'll have to do. Open it up." I looked down at the pig's idiotic smirk. I thought of that pathetic little treasure trove — Julian's savings from his paper route, my cheap lunches, both of us giving up movies. All those small sacrifices that meant so much more than the money . . . "Come on, come on," Jed said impatiently, and sent me out to the kitchen for a heavy screwdriver. And then he opened it the i MP only way you can open a piggybank. He smashed it. Dimes and quarters and tightly folded bills showered over the table. Jed began gathering them up. "The hotel clerk'U think I'm nuts when I pay my bill tomorrow. Still — better than nothing." He put the last one in his pocket and looked across the table at me. "You seem mighty anxious to get rid of me." "That's right, Jed," I said evenTy. "That's all I want." "What a greeting for a husband after four — or is it five — years! Not a kind word, not a little kiss, not anything. You know, you're a damned attractive woman, Alma. Prettier even than you used to be. Maybe I made a mistake, letting you run out on me like that. Maybe — " "Get out!" I said in a low voice. "Get out!" He put on his hat and overcoat, and gave me his easy smile. "Well — be seeing you." ATot if I can help it, I thought as I closed and locked the door. Not ever again. As soon as the school term was over I would do what I should have done long ago, leave the state for a while and get a divorce. I sank down wearily on the couch. You can't ever really bury the past. You think it's gone — but always you carry some part of it with you, some part that can reach out and hurt you when you least expect it. I'd met Jed Clinton when I was eighteen. Julian and I had been left alone and penniless by the death of our parents within a week of each other, a year before. I was working as a stenographer in a real estate office, struggling to support us. Struggling, too, to keep Julian from being taken from me and put in a children's home somewhere. Julian was eleven — not innately bad, but an unstable, hot-tempered child who needed a firmer hand than I could wield. He was always in trouble at school, fighting with other boys, playing hookey, staying on the streets. The authorities had already threatened once to take him from (Continued on page 80) 43