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

And commuting by train and streetcar and bus, plus the long, hard hours that I put in at my workbench these days made me so weary that I didn't have time to think of much else, to do much else but come home and fall into bed. It was Michael who gave me the idea, but it wasn't for his sake alone that I decided to try it. I knew that if I went on this way much longer I'd be sick — and besides, after the hours with Michael a life that included nothing but working and sleeping and eating was dull. It wasn't really living at all. And so I made my decision. TT took more courage than I thought x I had in me to tell Mother and Dad that I had decided to move into town. I knew before I told them what their reaction would be. But they must have sensed the rebellion in me — rebellion against a physical way of life that was too hard, against anything which stood in the way of the emotional force that meant more to me than anything else — for while they decidedly did not approve they didn't say anything more than that they thought it was a foolish thing to do. I spent a hectic week-end house hunting, and found a tiny furnished apartment that I could afford, in a shabby block within walking distance of the plant. Usually, when a girl says good-by to her mother and father, and moves into a new home, it is to go as a bride, borne triumphantly on a tide of happiness and good wishes. But I left home in a sea of doubts, not knowing whether I would ever be the bride of the man I loved so much. Just the same, that shabby little apartment was like heaven, because Michael could visit me there. Sometimes I could almost make myself believe that I was married, that I was furnishing the apartment for two instead of for myself alone. And then the old question would creep in — why shouldn't I be doing just that? Why wasn't I married to Michael? But the fun of fixing the place up didn't leave me time to think of much else. I bought out the five-and-ten, got the kitchenette ready, put my books and pictures and things I had brought from home in their places. That feeling I sometimes had of actually being married was at its strongest the first night that I was settled enough to be able to invite Michael to dinner. It was wonderful to see him come in the door, to pretend that he came home to me like that every night, to have him take me in his arms and kiss me as I wanted him to do — as I willed him to do— all the rest of my life. But that first festive dinner was destined never to be eaten. Close on Michael's heels, while I stiU stood in the circle of his arms, welcoming him, another visitor came. Kenny. He was home on furlough, and Mother had given him my address. She must have had a talk with him, too, because from the moment he walked in he seemed to know all about MAY, 1943 • "We can't afford to train people unless it's for the duration," he said. "I'll stay for the duration," I said. "That's a promise." Michael. He came and stood close to me, like a huge St. Bernard on guard, and in the end it was Michael who retreated— gracefully, as always. "Sorry to have to go so soon, Jan, but there's business at the plant that has to be attended to. Glad to have met you, Randall." After the door closed on Michael, Kenny turned to me, and his voice was sharp, as I had never heard it before. "Jan! Jan, I don't understand you!" I looked up at him swiftly. "What is there to understand?" I challenged. "Michael is a friend of mine. I have a right to choose my own friends. No — you might as well know it now, Kenny. I'm going to marry You'll — " But my voice trailed under the impact of Kenny's searching mine. "Marry," he said, oddly, after a long silence. "Why, Jan, I believe you mean him. away eyes that. I believe you're honest about it. You really don't know . . ." I stared at him stupidly, and then he dropped his bombshell. The Wayne Lens Works, famous by now throughout the Army and Navy, was owned jointly by Michael and his wife. The way Kenny had found out about it was simple. Because of his accounting experience, he had a job as receiving clerk at Camp Redding. New tank parts, including lenses, went through his hands. He had signed plenty of requisitions and receipts with both Michael's and Helen Wayne's names on them! He had even met her, for she was the field representative for the firm. My brain ticked away sickly. Field representative . . . Helen ... It began to make sense. At the plant, where I had never seen her, we knew of her as Miss Helen {Continued on page 69) 35