Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

Then he told her about the manyplaces he had been since Riverfield. About Glen Falls and Cranmore and his long trip across the continent and Carol stood up. Her eyes were blazing. "You've always run away! Oh don't you see how you've run away every time the going was hard? It's become a habit with you!" "What was there to stay for?" "What is there ever to stay for?" Carol demanded. "Only the good will and good wishes of your friends and the people who love you!" "And who were they?" Michael's voice was low. "They were always around you," Carol insisted. "There's never a time when a man is truly alone — not if there's any spark of good left in him." "Do you see a spark of good in me?" Michael asked softly. Carol turned her head away. "I see much good, and a little evil, and much, much selfishness!" Michael shrugged. "A man must live." "Yes, and he must live with himself. That's another thing. After the first time you've always tried to run away from yourself because deep down you were ashamed of what you'd done." There was a deep frown on Michael's face. "Because I refused to suffer for another man's treachery?" "Oh call it that if you like, but you must see I'm right." She strode off across the yard to her car, impatient, angry — Michael could tell by the set of her shoulders. As she opened the door, she called back, "Please tell Mrs. Anderson I'm sorry." MICHAEL sat still, very still for a while, until Mrs. Anderson called him. During supper he was very quiet, remembering Carol's indignation, seeing again her face with the eyes blazing and the mouth stormy. And that night, after he had gone to bed, he lay there a long time waiting for sleep to overtake him. When it did, he tossed, and dreamed of Carol ordering him never to see her again. But in the morning she was as vivid in his mind as the sunlight that streamed in through the window. He forced himself to think back to Edith Browning, the girl who had occupied all his private thoughts for five years. Again there came the catch in the throat, the tightening of the heart. Carol was lovely, impetuous, but he knew deeply that no other girl could ever take the place of Edith. He sat on the edge of his plain bed, with the old-fashioned iron-work frame, and let his mind go back. There was Edith, with her lovely, serene face, and her long hands that were always so calm. That must have been what I loved most about her, Michael thought. Because it was so unlike myself — that serenity and still beauty. She was so trusting and fine and beautiful. Always and forever beautiful. In his arms she was still cool, but the touch of her hands, the touch of her lips, was a promise of deeper fire within, and beauty such as no man could imagine. She was fire and ice and the beauty of the two, and the beauty of desire, made into one slender, lovely woman. Michael found himself gripping his hands into fists. He lay back for a minute across the bed, staring at the ceiling. I must forget, he told himself. I must stop. This is dreaming of something that has gone as surely JULY, 1942 as the great bird flies. Stop, Michael. Mrs. Anderson greeted him calmly, told him to sit down and eat his breakfast. When she brought the hot cakes, she said, "Carol Bates telephoned a few minutes ago. Said she forgot the eggs she came out to get yesterday. You and Bobby are to deliver them as soon as you go into town." Michael was startled. He looked up quickly at mention of Carol's name, so quickly that Mrs. Anderson noticed. But she gave no sign. Michael got hold of himself. "Where's Bobby?" he said. "In the hen house." "I'll get him." DRIVING in, Michael wished he had his old accordion. In spite of himself the day was brighter than other days. "Are you stuck on that girl, Carol Bates?" Bobby demanded. "Stuck on her? No." Bobby looked straight ahead at the white road. "Girls are sissy," he declared. "Sure they are. That's why I haven't got one." "Are you sure that Carol Bates isn't your girl?" Bobby wanted to be reassured. "I'm sure." Michael was serious. Bobby leaned back in the seat with a sigh of relief. But Michael wondered if he really wanted Carol to be his girl. Maybe Edith Browning, reaching out from the past, still had a strong hold on the imagination of his heart, but when Carol was near, he felt alive and aware of the world around him more keenly than ever before. Or perhaps he was not destined to know again the rapture of a requited love. And of this he was certain, that with his past record of failures stretching out behind him like a rope too long and heavy to drag forward, he had no right to love a woman. The Bates house seemed friendlier this morning. Knowing what sort of people live in a house gives it a personality of its own, Michael thought. Just as a man you see and do not speak to is still a stranger. But when you have once spoken to him and heard his voice in return he comes partly out of the unknown and becomes something of a friend. The cook was in the kitchen. "Wait a minute," she said, and went to a doorway. "They're here, Miss Carol," she called. Carol came in at once, while Michael was still piling the eggs into the bowl the cook had set out. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was very rude and unfair yesterday. Will you forgive me?" "Of course I'll forgive you," Michael said wryly. "I realize what a fine target I am for uplift." Carol's reply was quick and warm. "You're not. You're not at all. It's just that I have a weakness for trying to improve people I like." "The implication is obvious, as we lawyers used to say," Michael said, "and I'm flattered." Carol turned to the shelf for a minute. "These are lovely cookies," she said. "A specialty of Anna's." She held the jar out, first to Bobby and then to Michael. 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