Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (bearly read books txt) 📕

Hours Before He

Left? Why,  He Must Have Come To Say Good-By."

 

"What Did I Do?" Sophie Whispered. "My God,  How Was I To Know What I Was

Doing?"

 

She Sat Staring At Her Father. But She Was Not Seeing Him,  And Carr Knew

She Did Not See Him. Some Other Vision Filled Those Wide-Pupiled Eyes.

Something That She Saw Or Felt Sent A Shudder Through Her. Her Mouth

Quivered. And Suddenly She Gave A Little,  Stifled Gasp,  And Covered Her

Face With Her Hands.

 

 

Chapter 21 ( The Last Bridge) Pg 144

Thompson Received His Preliminary Training In A Camp Not Greatly Distant

From His Birthplace And The Suburban Toronto Home Where The Spinster

Aunts Still Lived. He Did Not Go To See Them At First,  For Two Reasons.

Primarily,  Because He Had Written Them A Full And Frank Account Of

Himself When He Got Out Of The Ruck And Achieved Success In San

Francisco. Their Reply Had Breathed An Open Disappointment,  Almost

Hostility,  At His Departure From The Chosen Path. They Made It Clear

That In Their Eyes He Was A Prodigal Son For Whom There Would Never Be

Any Fatted Calf. Secondly,  He Did Not Go Because There Was Seldom

Anything But Short Leave For A Promising Aviator.

 

Thompson Speedily Proved Himself To Belong In That Category. There

Resided In Him Those Peculiar,  Indefinable Qualities Imperative For

Mastery Of The Air. Under Able Instruction He Got On Fast,  Just As He

Had Got On Fast In The Henderson Shops. And By The Time The First Fall

Snows Whitened The Ground,  He Was Ready For England And The Finishing

Stages Of Aerial Work Antecedent To Piloting A Fighting Plane. He Had

Practically Won His Official Wings.

 

With His Orders To Report Overseas He Received Ten Days' Final Leave.

And A Sense Of Duty Spurred Him To Look Up The Maiden Aunts,  To Brave

Their Displeasure For The Sake Of Knowing How They Fared. There Was

Little Other Use To Make Of His Time. The Pacific Coast Was Too Far

Away. The Only Person He Cared To See There Had No Wish To See Him,  He

Was Bitterly Aware. And Nearer At Hand Circumstances Had Shot Him Clear

Out Of The Orbit Of All Those He Had Known As He Grew To Manhood.

Chapter 21 ( The Last Bridge) Pg 145

Recalling Them,  He Had No More In Common With Them Now Than Any

Forthright Man Of Action Has In Common With Narrow Visionaries. It Was

Not Their Fault,  He Knew. They Were Creatures Of Their Environment,  Just

As He Had Been. But He Had Outgrown All Faith In Creeds And Forms Before

A Quickening Sympathy With Man,  A Clearer Understanding Of Human

Complexities. And As He Recalled Them His Associates Had Been Slaves To

Creed And Form,  Worshippers Of The Letter Of Christianity While

Unconsciously They Violated The Spirit Of Christ. Thompson Had No Wish

To Renew Those Old Friendships,  Not Even Any Curiosity About Them. So He

Passed Them By And Went To See His Aunts,  Who Had Fed And Clothed Him,

To Whom He Felt A Vague Sort Of Allegiance If No Particular Affection.

 

It Seemed To Thompson Like Reliving A Very Vivid Sort Of Dream To Get

Off A Street Car At A Certain Corner,  To Walk Four Blocks South And Turn

Into The Yard Before A Small Brick Cottage With A Leafless Birch Rising

Out Of The Tiny Grass Plot And The Bleached Vines Of Sweet Peas Draping

The Fence Palings.

 

The Woman Who Opened The Door At His Knock Stood Before Him A Living

Link With That Dreamlike Past,  Unchanged Except In Minor Details,  A

Little More Spare Perhaps And Grayer For The Years He Had Been Gone,  But

Dressed In The Same Dull Black,  With The Same Spotless Apron,  The Same

Bit Of A White Lace Cap Over Her Thin Hair,  The Same Pince-Nez Astride A

High Bony Nose.

 

Aunt Lavina Did Not Know Him In His Uniform. He Made Himself Known. The

Old Lady Gazed At Him Searchingly. Her Lips Worked. She Threw Her Arms

About His Neck,  Laughing And Sobbing In The Same Breath.

 

"Surely,  It's Myself," Thompson Patted Her Shoulder. "I'm Off To The

Front In A Few Days And I Thought I'd Better Look You Up. How's Aunt

Hattie?"

 

Aunt Lavina Disengaged Herself From His Arms,  Her Glasses Askew,  Her

Faded Old Eyes Wet,  Yet Smiling As Thompson Could Not Recall Ever Seeing

Her Smile.

 

"What A Spectacle For The Neighbors," She Said Breathlessly. "Me,  At My

Time Of Life,  Hugging And Kissing A Soldier On The Front Step. Do Come

In,  Wesley. Harriet Will Be So Pleased. My Dear Boy,  You Don't Know How

We Have Worried About You. How Well You Look."

 

She Drew Him Into The Parlor. A Minute Later Aunt Harriet,  With Less

Fervor Than Her Sister Perhaps,  Made It Clear That She Was Unequivocally

Glad To See Him,  That Any Past Rancor For His Departure From Grace Was

Dead And Buried.

 

They Were Beyond The Sweeping Current Of Everyday Life,  Living Their

Days In A Back Eddy,  So To Speak. But They Were Aware Of Events,  Of The

Common Enemy,  Of The Straining Effort Of War,  And They Were Proud Of

Their Nephew In The King's Uniform. They Twittered Over Him Like Fond

Birds. He Must Stay His Leave Out With Them.

 

At This Pronunciamento Of Aunt Lavina's A Swift Glance Passed Between

The Two Old Women. Thompson Caught It,  Measured The Doubt And Uneasiness

Of The Mutual Look,  And Was Puzzled Thereby.

 

Chapter 21 ( The Last Bridge) Pg 146

But He Did Not Fathom Its Source For A Day Or Two,  And Only Then By A

Process Of Deduction. They Treated Him Handsomely,  They Demonstrated An

Affection Which Moved Him Deeply Because He Had Never Suspected Its

Existence. (They Had Always Been So Precise,  Almost Harsh With Him As A

Youngster.) But Their Living Was Intolerably Meager. Disguise It With

Every Artifice,  A Paucity Of Resource--Or Plain Niggardliness--Betrayed

Itself At Every Meal. Thompson Discarded The Theory Of Niggardliness.

And Proceeding Thence On The First Conclusion Stood His Two Aunts In A

Corner--Figuratively,  Of Course--And Wrung From Them A Statement Of

Their Financial Status.

 

They Were Proud And Reluctant. But Thompson Had Not Moved Among And

Dealt With Men Of The World To Be Baffled By Two Old Women,  So Presently

He Was In Possession Of Certain Facts.

 

They Had Not Been Able To Support Themselves,  To Rear And Educate Him,

On Their Income Alone,  And Gradually Their Small Capital Had Been

Consumed. They Were About To Negotiate The Sale Of Their Home,  The

Proceeds Of Which Would Keep Them From Want--If They Did Not Live Too

Long. They Tried To Make Light Of It,  But Thompson Grasped The Tragedy.

They Had Been Born In That Brick Cottage With The Silver Birch Before

The Door.

 

"Well," He Said At Length,  "I Don't Want To Preempt The Lord's

Prerogative Of Providing. But I Can't Permit This State Of Affairs. I

Wish You Had Taken Me Into Your Confidence,  Aunties,  When I Was A

Youngster. However,  That Doesn't Matter Now. Can You Live Comfortably On

Eleven Hundred Dollars A Year?"

 

Aunt Harriet Held Up Her Hands.

 

"My Dear Boy," She Said,  "Such A Sum Would Give Us Luxuries,  Us Two Old

Women. But That Is Out Of The Question. If We Get Five Thousand For The

Place We Shall Have To Live On A Great Deal Less Than That."

 

"Forget That Nonsense About Selling This Place," Thompson Said Roughly.

That Grated On Him. He Felt A Sense Of Guilt,  Of Responsibility Too Long

Neglected. "Where I'm Going I Shall Be Supplied By The Government With

All I Need. I've Made Some Money. I Own War-Bonds Sufficient To Give You

Eleven Hundred A Year In Interest. I'll Turn Them Over To You. If I Come

Back With A Whole Skin When The War's Over,  I'll Be Able To Use The

Capital In A Way To Provide For All Of Us. If I Don't Come Back,  You'll

Be Secure Against Want As Long As You Live."

 

He Made Good His Word Before His Leave Was Up. He Had Very Nearly Lost

Faith In The Value Of Money,  Of Any Material Thing. He Had Struggled For

Money And Power For A Purpose,  To Demonstrate That He Was A Man Equal To

Any Man's Struggle. He Had Signally Failed In His Purpose,  For Reasons

That Were Still A Little Obscure To Him. Failure Had Made Him A Little

Bitter,  Bred A Pessimism It Took The Plight Of His Aunts To Cure. Even

If He Had Failed To Achieve His Heart's Desire He Had Acquired Power To

Make Two Lives Content. Save That It Ministered To His Self-Respect To

Know That He Could Win In That Fierce Struggle Of The Marketplace,  Money

Had Lost Its High Value For Him. Money Was Only A Means,  Not An End. But

To Have It,  To Be Able To Bestow It Where It Was Sadly Needed,  Was Worth

While,  After All. If He "Crashed" Over There,  It Was Something To Have

Banished The Grim Spectre Of Want From These Two Who Were Old And

Chapter 21 ( The Last Bridge) Pg 147

Helpless.

 

He Was Thinking Of This Along With A Jumble Of Other Thoughts As He

Leaned On The Rail Of A Transport Slipping With Lights Doused Out Of The

Port Of Halifax. There Was A Lump In His Throat Because Of Those Two Old

Women Who Had Cried Over Him And Clung To Him When He Left Them. There

Was Another Woman On The Other Side Of The Continent To Whom His Going

Meant Nothing,  He Supposed,  Save A Duty Laggardly Performed. And He

Would Have Sold His Soul To Feel _Her_