The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-12-01

thorn in her flesh. For he was all that was left to her of Bin.
 So Judy pulled herself together, and did her best to assuage the stunned, incredulous grief that was making Diane so hollow-eyed, so numb and deaf and unseeing.
 The next day the Relief dropped anchor in the harbcr, and Judy wanted to race down, to take shore boat, get aboard, see Jack. But her mother said sensibly, Tt would be too narrowing an experience for Diane. to go there and watch them take Bills body of. You must stay with her. IT think it will be bet ter if you wait until Jack is in the Naval Hospital before you
 'But I must see him!" Judy cried. T can't stand this. I've counted the hours, the minutes"
 q know" her mother said. She did not meet Judy's eyes. There will be reporters and photographers. Let's not give them a Roman holi- day. Jack is weak-I spoke to Com mander Sloane-and he, too, thinks it most advisable that you wait until they have taken aJck to the hos pital. By this evening you'll be able to-"
 Judy controlled the rebellious words which were on the tip of her tongue. She realized that the eX- perience would be disastrous for Diaffe. A flag trapped body-the homecoming of the man who had kissed her goodby, who had said carelessly, See you Wednesday" But for herself, meeting Jack would be to find reassurance-to see with her own eyes his face; to hear his voice. To be sure, sure that he was alive. No matter how badly he was injured, she told herself, all she asked was to look at him. To see his eyes move, to touch his hair.
 A Roman holiday, her mother had said. Reporters, photographers. They would make cloying, sentimental copy of her joy at seeing Jack. They would print, ADMIRAL DAUGH- TER SOBS OVER NAVAL FLYER INJURED IN CRASH AT SEA-" They might even take quick, for bidden pictures of her, leaning over the stretcher, being taken down the gangway. She remembered the weep ing women waiting at pier in New London. The papers had printed closeups of their swollen eyes, their twisted, sobbing lips. Oh, no! No! Mother was right. She mustn't go. So for two hours she and Diane sat side by side on the sofa, a ter rible, waiting stiffness enveloping them. Now they were carrying Bills body down. Now they were lifting Jack. Judy prayed inwardly that the men would be gentle with him. She thought of the cold, choppy water in which he had been im- mersed. She thought of him sitting in a cockpit, waiting for the nose to slap into the waves. How had he crawled out? And Bill, flying low, forgetful of his own danger!
 Maybe they'll give Bill medal. A medal! She wanted to laugh. suddenly. They'd pay Diane with a piece of worthless silver or gold for the loss of everything she had held dear.
 Jack wouldn't have wanted Bill to risk his own life. Jack might have shouted to him, told him to go back.
 And yet, even as she sat there, she knew that she would never be able to ask Jack anything about those dark hours after his ship crashed. The story of what had hap pened would be locked in his heart All the raw pain, all the deep, hid- den gratitude. Men didn't talk about moments like those. The men who had been on the Akron with Ward, and who had live through that storm, never spoke of it now.
 At seven o'clock, her mother came back to the bungalow and said, "I'n stay with Diane. There's a car out side to take you to the hospital"
 Judy was glad of the enlisted man sitting at the wheel. She couldn't have controlled herself sufficiently to drive. Yet, she knew, she must greet Jack with a smile.
 When the chauffeur opened the door for her, she tumbled out, rnur- mured, "Thank you" There was a wide, empty hall. smelling of anti septic. A nurse came forward, and said, Miss Alcott? Commander Sloane said you may go right up."