"Susan – susan?"
Gilbert stood in the door frame, looking about the foyer for a face to greet him or a voice to hear. But he heard nothing. The door was open, a clear sign that someone would be about.
"Anne-girl? Are you about?"
There was still no sound, nor a face as he weaved in and out of rooms and hallways. Anne's cross stitch was sitting on the easy lounge in his office, the door was wide open. Glancing in the direction of the kitchen his brown eyes caught sight of the telephone reciever as it hung from its resting place. Nobody would had left it hanging in such a manner. Unless –
As fear rushed over him, he yelled for his wife hoping that she would be somewher ein the house. Hoping she would be there to say that it must have fallen off its hook, due to excitement.
But excitement there was none. In its place Gilbert found his wife sitting on the bench that sat outside their room, her head buried in her hands. At her feet a piece of paper, in which Gilbert feared was really there.
He wanted to scream her name too look his way, to laugh and tell him the wounderful news. Instead he rushed to his wife, falling at her feet. With need to see his wifes face, Gilbert pulled her hands from her face.
"Anne – oh Anne please. Please." He pleaded, but she shook her head. Her hand reached ou to pick up the piece of paper, but she failed. Gilbert took the paper, reading over it.
"I was sitting, waiting for you – and, and the phone rang. The man…Mr….he told me to come. He said there was a telegram for a Mr. Blythe."
Gilbert read over it again and again, feeling a sudden tightening around his throat. "Why?" he demanded. "Why another child, not another child Anne. Not my son!"
He dropped his head onto Annes lap, demanding to know why. But she gave no answer, and continued crying.
"I ran so quickly Gil, I ran. I thought it was good news. And I refused to open it before I came home. I wanted to tell you – I wanted to tell you that our boys were coming home."
Gilbert looked up, trying to find something in Annes face that would make everything better. Everything had lost its lusture, except her touch. It seemed to be the only thing still alive – the only thing keeping his heart beating. She sank down to the floor, and Gilbert found himself pulling her close. This is not what he wanted when he came home. His first thoughts were too whisk Anne to the bedroom, and take advantage of their time alone.
Gilbert stood in the door frame, looking about the foyer for a face to greet him or a voice to hear. But he heard nothing. The door was open, a clear sign that someone would be about.
"Anne-girl? Are you about?"
There was still no sound, nor a face as he weaved in and out of rooms and hallways. Anne's cross stitch was sitting on the easy lounge in his office, the door was wide open. Glancing in the direction of the kitchen his brown eyes caught sight of the telephone reciever as it hung from its resting place. Nobody would had left it hanging in such a manner. Unless –
As fear rushed over him, he yelled for his wife hoping that she would be somewher ein the house. Hoping she would be there to say that it must have fallen off its hook, due to excitement.
But excitement there was none. In its place Gilbert found his wife sitting on the bench that sat outside their room, her head buried in her hands. At her feet a piece of paper, in which Gilbert feared was really there.
He wanted to scream her name too look his way, to laugh and tell him the wounderful news. Instead he rushed to his wife, falling at her feet. With need to see his wifes face, Gilbert pulled her hands from her face.
"Anne – oh Anne please. Please." He pleaded, but she shook her head. Her hand reached ou to pick up the piece of paper, but she failed. Gilbert took the paper, reading over it.
"I was sitting, waiting for you – and, and the phone rang. The man…Mr….he told me to come. He said there was a telegram for a Mr. Blythe."
Gilbert read over it again and again, feeling a sudden tightening around his throat. "Why?" he demanded. "Why another child, not another child Anne. Not my son!"
He dropped his head onto Annes lap, demanding to know why. But she gave no answer, and continued crying.
"I ran so quickly Gil, I ran. I thought it was good news. And I refused to open it before I came home. I wanted to tell you – I wanted to tell you that our boys were coming home."
Gilbert looked up, trying to find something in Annes face that would make everything better. Everything had lost its lusture, except her touch. It seemed to be the only thing still alive – the only thing keeping his heart beating. She sank down to the floor, and Gilbert found himself pulling her close. This is not what he wanted when he came home. His first thoughts were too whisk Anne to the bedroom, and take advantage of their time alone.