Story of the Month: I Loved Her and Lost Her... May God Forgive Me!

I was far from manhood when this happened... I was seventeen and a half years old, and I did not meet my responsibility face to face.

I had a companion... Jean Ellis... small... sweet... blue-eyed... She was not my sweetheart, but between us there was a kind of closeness that was bound to turn into love... had I given it the chance.

But I was restless, feeling that the line of my life had already been drawn... and that no place had been left on the white map for me to draw on myself...

I wanted to join the army, and my mother rose up against the idea... but my father and my sister Mary approved it, so I carried it through... And so I went with my father, passed the medical examination, and then departed.

My God... the army was not the great and marvelous game that gives youngsters like me the pleasure of a lifetime... And so my longing for home awoke... for my parents and Mary... and Jean... Why had I not stayed in Talmont?... We would by now have been thinking of marriage — Jean and I — even though neither of us had, up to that hour, said the trembling word: I love you!

I came home on my first leave... and on the second night after my return I had a date with Jean.

I said to her: Did you miss me?... And she whispered: Oh, Jud, you don't know how much I missed you... And I felt myself a person of great importance... and I held her until she stopped crying, and kissed her.

She did not push me away, and that was her great mistake, for in that hour everything was blotted out before me except desire... She stiffened hard, but I pressed hard, and the fire of my pleading melted her firmness... I told her: I leave tomorrow, and from there... from under the tent, I will go on feeling that we are one, not two... that we have not parted... and that I have a girl waiting for me.

After that night my feeling toward Jean changed... I went to bid her goodbye before my departure, but I had to force myself to go... I was ashamed of this feeling of mine... in revolt against myself, trying to convince her that what had happened happens often.

In camp I met Roy Fletcher, who introduced me to Stella Fleming... She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen... two big black eyes that said "I am happy"... and a rich red mouth that said to you at first meeting "kiss me"...

And yet she could stop you at your limit in a moment... All the charm I had used with Jean failed with Stella... and after six weeks I spoke to her of marriage, and she accepted.

There were troubled little hours when I thought of Jean, and I would hurry to convince myself that we had not been made for each other... and that Jean herself would not have me if she knew I loved another.

You can believe anything if you are determined to believe it, and I believed that Jean would not wait for me... that I had not even been the first man in her life... That was then; now I see clearly that Jean trusted me... loved me... handed me her future... and that Stella knew men better — she would not trust a man until his ring was on her finger.

I took my fiancée to Talmont, and she charmed my family... Besides her beauty she had a special magnetism... My mother drew me aside and said: And what about Jean? I said uneasily: We were never serious... She said: In any case, my son, you must see her and tell her about Stella before she hears it from someone else...

And I went... Jean looked ill... She had heard the news... She was silent a long while, then whispered, staring at the ground: Jud, I am going to be a mother...

And I felt a knife driven into my stomach, and stayed silent.

And Jean whispered: Please.

I did not see her eyes, but I understood what lay behind the word "please"...

Please help me... don't abandon me... say you love me and everything will be easy.

I said: I suppose we ought to marry... The words came out forced, and Jean understood and cried out in fury:

No... we will not marry if you don't want to... I will not marry a man who does not want me and wants my child.

And I muttered: Jean, don't be foolish... we must marry... why didn't you tell me before now?

She said: I thought a thing like this is not said on paper but on an outing... in a car, with your arm around me... I — and her voice choked — I thought you thought of no one but me... I thought you were a man.

I muttered again: Jean... but she turned her face away and snarled:

Get out of here... go... I will not marry you even if you go down on your knees and beg me... Go.

The next day I went back to camp, but before I left I went to Jean... I asked her whether she had changed her mind. She was silent a long time, then said: And what about the other girl?... I said: That is not the important point... And I heard her catch her breath and then say: Yes, Jud, it is an important point to me... I want nothing from you that you do not give with your whole freedom... and your heart... and your will... Forget it, Jud, and go; I don't want to see you again.

And I felt relieved in spite of myself... I had offered her marriage and she had refused, so what more was asked of me! Jean had surrendered to me easily —

perhaps she had done the same with others... perhaps the baby was not mine!

That is what I persuaded myself of, to quiet my conscience... and to push away from before me Jean's eyes, full of terror and despair.

I married Stella... and lived the first weeks in a bliss troubled only by the arrival of a letter from my father, which I would open with trembling hands lest I read Jean's name in it.

At last the name came... My mother said in her letter: I owe you an apology, my son; I believed you had wronged Jean, but I see now that you knew her better than I did, or that your instinct was truer... The whole town knows she is going to have a child... and she says its father is a stranger she met on one blind day... As for her parents, they are both ill...

Oh, Jean... she loved me even while she hated me... I did not explain the matter to my parents — what would have been the use? As for my wife, she noticed that something was troubling my life, and tried with all her cleverness to discover it, and failed.

We were invited to my sister's wedding, so we had to go... I seized a quiet hour and telephoned Jean, and was told she was in the hospital... I set out with a bouquet of flowers in my hand, bought without thinking... I asked the nurse, and she said: Mrs. Innes has had a baby; if you want to see him, hurry over there.

I do not know why I went... I stood with the others before the wide glass, behind which each nurse passed carrying an infant to show to its people... One of the nurses said: Innes... then came forward carrying a woolen bundle; she drew part of it away from the face, and I saw my son.

I had never thought of him before; but now I shall not forget him as long as I live... my flesh and blood... He was red-faced, fair-haired, blue-eyed... he opened one eye first and then the other, as if he were examining me with it, or as if he were saying: You... my father?...

And I reeled... The nurse pointed to Jean's room... There was no other visitor, and she lay staring at the ceiling, and from her wide eyes the tears streamed like rain... I took her hand, threw the bouquet on the bed, and went down on my knees... The whole world had melted away... Stella... the army... everything was a dream... and all I knew was my girl... my friend, with her sallow face and her despairing eyes... Jean, whose laugh had been a warble of song and who looked now as if she would never laugh again... little Jean, whose books I had carried... whose hand I had held... whose lips I had kissed... and then whose life I had shattered... And I cried: Jean.

She turned at last with her dead eyes and whispered: I did not know you would come.

I murmured something, and she shook her head and murmured in turn: Say nothing, Jud... hold me a minute and let me believe that all is well.

I gripped her hand and cried: We will marry... I will take care of you...

She said with a sad smile: And your wife?

I said: I will leave her... I must do it...

She said: I don't want "must," Jud... I don't want you — neither I nor my child — unless you want us truly and honestly.

She was silent a moment, then whispered: Jud, tell the truth: do you love me?

I was silent in my turn for a moment in which she read my answer, and she said: Then there is no need for marriage... Then she added wearily... It is too late now, and the worst of it is over...

I rose and said: Perhaps you are right; I never loved you, and I never loved Stella... perhaps I am a wretched creature who does not know how to love... Goodbye.

I left with my wife... and I swore never to return to Talmont... But I did return, for my father died suddenly and I had to settle his affairs... Jean's family had moved to the other end of town, and yet I never saw a woman holding a child without believing it was she, and hurrying to see my son...

Stella bore me no children... and the magic of love between us had vanished, or nearly... I used to thank my sister Mary, for she has a boy and a girl who resembles me greatly and so reminds me of another child... I wanted a child; but could I tell my wife that I wanted someone to fill my heart in place of the child I had disowned...?

And I could bear it no longer... I wanted to know: was he happy?... Did he look like me when he laughed?... Did he know anything about me?... So I got in touch with Jean and pleaded with her; she hesitated, then agreed to meet me at a certain street corner at the noon hour... She came, opened the car door, and got in... I glanced at her: she was thin... She said kindly: I suppose you want to hear about Bob...

And I trembled, for I had not even known his name. She added: Here is his picture... And I cried: Jean, won't you let me see him?... My heart longs for him... Her face flushed and she said: And my heart longs for him, Jud... then she began to cry.

And she explained. She said: After you left the hospital, life no longer seemed worth living... and I wanted my child never to know anything of his tragedy. My cousin came from Arizona — she has no children — to adopt a baby, and she adopted him when he was fifteen days old... and I have not seen him since.

And I cried out: How could you do that?...

And she turned the arrow back into my breast in a flash. She said: As you did... You denied the child twice.

She was sobbing as she said: Take me home... I took out paper and pen and said: Give me his address... She said: No; I promised never to see him and never to let him know who his father is...

I said: I will not trouble him; but think it over, Jean — if anything happened to you, I would never know where my son is.

She thought a moment, then gave me the address... We arrived; she opened the car door and said, as I had once said to her: "Jud, I am soon to marry a man called Chesterlin"... I swallowed a lump and said: I am glad of that...

I hid the address as I hid my longing deep within me... and consoled myself with the hope that Stella would bear me a child to soften that longing... But my wife was ill... I went with her to the doctor, and he prescribed an operation after which we would have no children... And I held my head in both hands... Was this my punishment for what I had done to Jean?...

Time passed and I was burning... and I found myself on the road to Arizona... The house whose address I carried was painted rose, pretty, ringed with leafy trees... I waited near it for two hours before its door opened and a small boy of seven came out, carrying a little rifle and riding a bicycle.

He saw me; I did not go near him, lest I frighten him... He passed close beside me, and I smiled at him... He hesitated, then smiled... I said shyly, as if I were the boy and not he: What's your name? He said: Bob. And you?... I said: Jud... He said: See my rifle? I'm going to shoot you now, so pretend to fall...

And I was silent... What do you say to a boy who wears your face?... What do you say to your son?...

After a moment I said... It's a lovely house... He did not answer... And we heard a voice from inside calling: Bob... then the door opened... and a beautiful lady came out and called to the boy... Bob, come here quickly. He said, in spite of himself: I have to go... And the woman kept looking at us until he turned and went... I said: He will look back... he will wave his hand goodbye... But he did not... And I heard

the woman say gently... Didn't Mama tell you not to talk to strangers?...

I wanted to scream: I am not a stranger... look at the boy, and at me — he is my son and I am his father... let him come back to me and be my friend... let me talk with him a little while... But the rose-colored door had closed.

And I drove off... I drove the car like a madman, to put miles and miles between me and my son... and so as not to do something still more foolish... All I wanted was to walk into a tavern and drink and drink to the dregs, and forget that in the world there was a girl named Jean and another named Stella and a miserable scoundrel named Jud, and... And I went in and drank...

Eight days passed, and I did not know how many they were... I woke among rows of beds... and a man in a white coat saying: Drink this... I asked where I was — I was in the hospital.

All that is past now... Today Stella and I live on a single hope: to adopt a child... It may never come about... we may wait a long time... but we no longer live under one roof as strangers, because one hope stirs in us both. And when the hunger for a child takes hold of me... I do not say to my wife, for instance, I am going to the children's playground. No... I tell her I am going out to buy a bottle of wine for the house... and I go out, and my feet carry me to the children's playground, where I watch them play... or I go to my sister Mary's and stretch out on the floor so her two children can ride on my back, shouting Get up, my horse!... or I pick up a few children off the road in my car, and we go and buy the bottle of wine and eat cakes and sweets, and then I come back with them like a king... And Stella understands — all but the one thing she will never know: that I have a child growing up whom I cannot watch over.

My son will grow up; if only I could say one word to him... Do not rush things, my boy... but if you do rush them, then stand up to your responsibility like a man.

I behaved like a coward; but believe me, it is not always the woman who pays the price... the man pays too.

(From the English)