The Arkansas Farmer

A SOLDIER'S RETURN
By Nellie Graves

So it happened. I had the privilege of being a witness to what I think is one of the most beautiful and touching love stories growing out of the World war.

After the death of my father, I had lived a number of years with my two cousins, their father, and a great-aunt who was almost completely deaf. As I was considerably older than the two girls, they frequently asked my advice and always took me into their confidence.

Virginia was 24, and Cynthia 20. They were lovely girls and resembled each other to a marked degree, but I have never seen such widely different traits of character in two sisters.

My story begins with Jack's return from the war. He loved Virginia, and she told me that she had promised to wait for him. She had heard from him fairly regularly for a while after he went away, then intermittently, and finally not at all. He wrote whimsical, tender letters interspersed with interesting descriptions of his many new experiences. I read several of them—with Virginia's permission, of course.

And so, after a long silence from Jack, she suddenly received a telegram one morning saying that he would arrive home that afternoon and be over to see her at 3 o'clock. This threw her into such a state of nervous excitement that she could hardly do anything. Just sat around and looked at first one and then another of Jack's pictures. And a very handsome chap he was, too. Dark hair, fine dark eyes, straight nose and finely-cut lips.

At last 3 o'clock came. Cynthia was not at home, and Virginia and I were sitting uneasily in the living room. I could see that she was eagerly, though nervously anticipating this meeting with the boy whom she had not seen for so long. Would he be much changed? Would his very soul be embittered by the unspeakable horrors of war through which he so recently had passed? He had written in his last letters that so far he had not been wounded. But would he come back to her the same gay, gallant boy she loved, or would he be a man—sterner, more reserved, and subtly different? Older, of course, but after all, it is not age that ages a man.

Abruptly we were startled by the shrill peal of the doorbell. Virginia jumped to her feet and took three or four steps. Then she returned and sat down.

"You go," she whispered to me.

And so I went and opened the door. But the ready smile of greeting froze on my lips. A man stood there. A broken, crippled, horribly scarred man in whom I did not at first recognize the straight, splendid boy that Jack used to be. Indeed, was it possible that this could be Jack? I looked at him more closely, and as he became conscious of my scrutiny, he held out his hand and smiled, somewhat sadly it seemed to me. But with that smile, his eyes lit up like they used to, and I knew then that I could not be mistaken. It was Jack.

"You don't know me, do you, Miss Winters?" he was saying, and the smile in his eyes faded, to be replaced by an utter hopelessness.

Ashamed of my seeming lack of cordiality, I grasped his hand warmly, while a great sympathy for him surged up within me.

"Of course I know you, Jack," I told him gently, "and I am so glad to see you again. Come in. Virginia is waiting for you."

He thanked me wearily and limped inside. I took his coat and hat and hung them on the hall-rack. When I turned around, I saw him standing in the door that led into the living room, his arms half-outstretched. I think in that moment when he first caught sight of Virginia that he forgot his scarred face and misshapen body, forgot everything but his great joy at seeing her.

And Virginia? Did she run and throw herself into his arms? No! She had risen, and horror-struck, was frozen in fascination. In the tense silence that followed, I found myself pitying them both inexpressibly, and regretting that there was nothing I could do to make it less hard for them. Then Jack's arms slowly fell to his sides, and my heart ached for him. Somehow, I was angry with Virginia for hurting him like that. But the stricken look in her eyes made me realize that she was hardly to be blamed. The nervous strain she had been under all morning coupled with the unexpected shock of his appearance, had completely unnerved her.

Not a sound escaped her as she struggled for self-control, but I knew with what a tremendous effort she finally summoned all the will at her command and crossed the room quietly to him.

"Jack," she said in low tones, "I—am sorry. I—we did not know you had been wounded." She caught her breath and stopped, covering her face with her hands.

"You—didn't know?" Jack breathed.

"Good heavens! It's no wonder you looked stunned. I know I'm not a very pleasant sight."

The bitterness of his voice served to make Virginia realize that she was not the only one who was suffering.

"You must not talk like that, Jack," she said. "Come and sit down and tell us all about it, if you care to."

I did not miss the "us", and because I knew that it was a trying situation for both of them, I followed them into the room.

Jack made a desperate attempt to appear at ease. He talked and even laughed a little, and related various incidents that occur in the life of every soldier. And then—and then he told us of that awful day when he had been struck by shrapnel. Of the weeks and weeks that he had lain in a hospital, maimed and scarred for life if he lived. . . .

"But I had the nurse write you a letter," Jack said, "and I wrote you myself when I was able. I thought you got them, of course. If I had even dreamed that you didn't know, I wouldn't have thought of bursting in on you looking like—like this."

A painful silence ensued, during which a dull red slowly suffused Jack's face, giving the scars a dreadful purplish hue.

"No, they never came," Virginia murmured at last, and turned her face away with an ill-concealed shudder.

This small act of revulsion was not lost on Jack, but he tried not to notice, and talked on at random, directing his remarks for the most part at me. And how sorry I was for this poor boy, trying bravely to overcome his self-consciousness in the presence of the girl he loved. I watched his face intently. It looked tired and strained, and fine lines of suffering were drawn about his eyes. But to my mind, this did not detract, but rather added a certain grave dignity and tolerance to his whole manner and appearance that was most appealing.

Suddenly, quick steps were heard on the porch, and a moment later Cynthia swept into the room like a breath of fresh, invigorating air. She came at once to Jack her hand outstretched, her blue eyes glowing a warm welcome.

"Hullo, Jack!" she greeted him gaily. "I just heard you were here."

There was nothing but genuine pleasure in the eager, vibrant tones of her voice. If she was surprised and shocked at the change in him, not by a word or look did she show it.

An answering smile leaped into Jack's eyes as he rose and took her hand.

"It's good to see you again, Cynthia," he told her gravely, and his dark eyes were rather wistful. I fancied that he could not help comparing the manner of the two girls upon meeting him.

Cynthia chatted on lightly, unconsciously putting us all at ease again with her contagious cheerfulness.

Jack presently took his leave, but after this, Virginia appeared to avoid him. Not deliberately or cruelly, but she managed it so that she seldom saw him. And Jack...hurt and bewildered and vaguely resentful, turned naturally to Cynthia in his loneliness. She seemed to understand him, and with her he felt that he had no need to force a gaiety that he often did not feel. The calm strength of her splendid character was restful and reassuring. They were together constantly, talking, driving and going to various entertainments.

Virginia withdrew entirely into herself. She brooded alone, and never went out any more, nor did she appear to notice that Jack was so much with Cynthia—or care.

As we lived on the outskirts of the town, not far from the woods, I often took a book and sought out a favorite spot of mine where a log lay conveniently against a tree-trunk, thus making an excellent rustic seat.

One day I had been there for perhaps half an hour, when suddenly I heard voices which I recognized as belonging to Jack and Cynthia. I had been so engrossed in my book that I did not hear their approach, but now I leaned from behind the tree prepared to shout a greeting. When I saw them, however, I drew back hastily. Knowing they were unaware of my presence, I felt rather guilty of eavesdropping, but I could not have revealed myself then. And anyway, Cynthia later told me of the whole episode, together with her own thoughts and emotions at the time, with no embarrassment whatever.

"Cynthia," Jack was saying, and his voice shook a little, "you are a blessed angel of kindness and gentleness, but can't you—love me a little? I need your love, dear."

Cynthia met his eyes squarely.

"Jack," she replied firmly, "I cannot let you talk like that. I know you don't really mean what you say, even though you have persuaded yourself that you are very much in earnest. I have been your friend at a time when perhaps you needed one most. You are grateful, of course. But please don't make the mistake of confusing gratitude with—love. Your love is still Virginia's."

Jack did not deny this, although he avoided a direct answer.

"But Virginia no longer loves me," he burst out. "She merely pities me."

"Jack!" Cynthia spoke very softly.

"I think I understand my sister better than she understands herself. The shock of your appearance left her senses practically numbed, and she has not yet waked to the fact that a man's character may not be judged by his looks. She has been trying hard to forget you—but she has not succeeded. In spite of her seeming indifference, it is my belief that she loves you as deeply as you love her."

The quiet tones of Cynthia's voice held such conviction that Jack caught her hand impulsively and carried it to his lips.

"What new hope you have given me, Cynthia," he breathed reverently.

Neither of them made further reference to his first statement, and there was no need for him to explain what prompted him to make it. Cynthia understood so thoroughly and so beautifully.

"If Virginia's love for you is ever put to a test," she said, "you will find that it won't fail you."

(Continued on Page 16)