Radio mirror (July-Dec 1943)

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But they seemed to think the piano part went all right. When" we had wound up "America the Beautiful" with a fine flourish, there was a sudden strange little silence. I looked up in time to see Jim's triumphant grin at his mother, her glance at Pop, and then an emphatic nod that showed her double chin. "You're in," Jim said, smiling at me with a warmth that gave me a funny feeling in my throat, made me want to cry for no reason. "In what?" I asked. "In the Musical Marions," he said. "That is, if you want to be." "We've got a date to play at the Bond Rally next month," his father explained. "And we'd be honored to regard you as an act of Providence, turning up just now." "But — but I couldn't," I said, catching my breath. "Why not?" young Cal demanded belligerently. "Well—" I thought of Paul. I had promised not to go out with other men. But I really wasn't dating Jim; I was friends with his whole family; surely there was no harm in it. Of course not! "Why not indeed?" I asked in sudden joy. "Of course I'll play, if you want me to!" JIM'S fiddle and Cal's trumpet answered that with a wild little duet of triumph. And I joined in with some boogie woogie that sent Dad's cello and Mom's viola into some highly undignified capers. We all ended up laughing, for no real reason, so that my side was still aching when Jim and I started walking home. "I never had such a good time in all my life," I told him, out in the sudden dim quiet of the street. "I never did, either," he said quietly. "Ah, but you're lucky," I told him. "You've always had fun like that." "Not quite," he corrected me gently. "Not quite like that." I didn't answer that. I didn't know what to say. I said, "Your family is exactly like the one I've always dreamed about." "Dreamed?" He looked at me, his eyes gentle. "And why did you have to dream a family?" I told him what I'd wanted to tell Paul, and somehow never had. But now I told Jim, and as I talked he took my hand and held it in a warm, strong clasp of sympathy. When I finished he said in a voice that was sort of gruff, "Well, you've got a family now, you know. Don't forget, you've been made a member of the Musical Marions, Unlimited." "I won't forget," I told him. When we stopped before the Ocean View House, Jim said, "What goes on? You don't live here, do you?" "Not after tonight," I told him. But I didn't explain. He said, "What are you holding out on us? You know we don't admit princesses or heiresses to the Musical Marions, even if they're incognito." "Well, I'm neither," I said, laughing. "I'm going to find a room tomorrow." He said, after a moment. "I think the Graysons across the road from us could use the income, and you could join our car pool. Want me to ask them?" I said, "That would be wonderful." But when I met Paul under the arbor, and walked down the cove road with him, I didn't tell him. I guess I was afraid. Things were too nice to change. In my new contentment I loved him more than ever — I loved the whole world. But I didn't want to tell him about the Marions just yet. He might not like it — and I did so want to go on playing with them! The numbers we played at the rally weren't anything very elaborate — -we were a small part of a big program including most of what could be called local talent — but the last week I was running across the road from the Graysons once a day or more. And I actually broke a date with Paul. "It's a surprise," I told him, explaining. It was a surprise he couldn't miss. For he was one of a panel of Sea Cliff's prominent business men who were speakers at the rally. He made his speech, too, though when I saw him looking across at us, I wondered how he'd be able to say a word. His face was dark with anger. He spoke well, just the same. His voice was smooth as he told of the difficulties and problems of managing a war plant. " — And now it's up to the rest of us to buy bonds!" There was a burst of applause and a flurry of buying. I was proud of Paul. He had been kind to me, he was the first one to give me affection when I had needed it, and I could never forget that. He was stepping down off the platform, then, people were shaking his hand. But he came through the crowd, over to where the Marions were packing up their instruments. He said, "Good evening, Sarah." I said, "Hello, Paul." There was a moment of silence. The Marions were stopping, waiting. But I couldn't speak. THEN Paul said, "Well, Sarah, aren't you going to introduce your new — friends — " He said the word politely, but there was something in his tone that bothered me, just the same. Then he added " — to your fiance?" Jim carefully finished placing his violin in its case and straightened up. Then he came to stand beside me. I saw the pallor of his bony face under its tan when he looked down at me and said, "Yes, Sally. You shouldn't hold out on your — friends." That was just what I had done, I knew then, miserably. I said in a faint, painful voice, "Paul, these are the Musical Marions — " "I know Jim," Paul said easily. "I ought to know the best foreman in my plant." His voice was hearty, and his hand went out, but Jim didn't see it. And I knew, when I turned to go, my hand tucked into the crook of Paul's arm, that I had lost my membership in the Musical Marions. I had lost my jolly, wonderful family! But that was nonsense. I had just what I wanted. Paul had publicly announced our engagement. He would tell his mother tonight. Soon I would go to that great square white brickended house with its four chimneys that stuck up at each corner so tall and important looking and I would meet Paul's mother. I would become part of his family, with all the bonds of legality. Continued on page 64 They're Still Fighting— Are You Still Buying Bonds?