Mid-March 1942
Betty shook her head in frustration as she gazed morosely down at the still blank page in her typewriter. She'd never get the scripts done if she couldn't put her mind into the task, but they seemed trivial compared with the other things she had on her mind today. How could she concern herself with the fictional travails of Brent and Elizabeth Marlowe's marriage when her own non-fictitious marriage was starting tomorrow?
She sighed deeply, determined to quell the persistent fluttering in her stomach. Scott's train would be arriving in little more than an hour. It was the first time she'd seen him in twelve weeks, reason enough to be a little nervous, she allowed, but she couldn't let it interfere with WENN's broadcasting schedule. Resolutely, she reached for the typewriter once again, though the words her hands produced occupied only half of her thoughts.
The last twelve weeks had been difficult; she'd missed Scott sorely though everyone else had done their best to fill the void. Hilary, who was feeling generous lately since Jeff was declared 4F, had been wonderful, limiting her criticism of scripts and never failing to offer words of encouragement when she thought Betty was down. Mackie and Maple took her to lunch innumerable times, telling jokes to make her smile and eagerly listening to all of Scott's letters. Everyone had offered their own form of support and Betty felt that the staff at WENN was now more closely knit than ever, possibly the only good thing to come out of the recent tragic weeks.
She was concerned about Jeff, though. Hilary made no secret of her unbounded joy at Jeff's military status, but it was just as clear that Jeff didn't feel the same way. He paced the halls of WENN day after day, seething like a caged panther who longed for his keeper to make that one mistake which would allow him to escape his forced inactivity. Betty knew he was restless, and though Hilary chose to ignore all the signs, she suspected that he would soon announce another sojourn to England or wherever else he felt he was needed. Finding a suitable substitute was just another item in a long list of worries that had been keeping Betty up at night lately.
If she was doomed to a life of insomnia, at least she had a nicer place to look at now as she lay sleepless through the long blackout-dark hours of the night. At Scott's insistence, she'd used the money he'd been sending to her since he'd left for Ft. Mead to rent a more expensive apartment closer to WENN's offices. She'd protested the money that came with his letters at first, telling him he probably had more need for it than she did. He'd been persistent, though, arguing that he didn't want her traveling all the way to the Barbican at night by herself and, even more persuasively, that they'd need a place where they both could live whenever he was able to come home on furlough.
Realizing he was right, she'd spent a weekend a couple of months earlier looking for a new home and had lucked out with a beautiful apartment building that she'd often admired on her way to and from work. There'd been a vacancy almost immediately because one of the tenants had joined the navy and his wife was moving back in with her mother in Harrisburg for the duration. Betty had leapt at the opportunity, and a week later, with the help of the WENN staff, she'd moved in, saying good-bye to the Barbican, and Miss Pritchard, forever.
With that done, Betty had thrown herself completely into wedding preparations, anxious for everything to be perfect when the day arrived at last. With the help of the female portion of the staff, her simple plans had come together quickly, from choosing the perfect dress to reserving the romantic-looking little chapel a mere three blocks from the station. Now the only thing missing was the groom, Betty thought with a pinprick of anxiety.
The anxiety didn't come from having second thoughts about marrying him, she acknowledged, it was just that he'd been strangely reluctant to talk about wedding plans in his recent letters and hurried phone calls. When she'd question him about a specific detail, he'd become evasive, always finding a way to neatly sidestep the issue and distracting her so well that she often didn't notice he hadn't answered her question until he'd hung up or his letter had drawn to a close. His frustrating behavior was puzzling at best and she'd found herself wondering more than once during the last two weeks if he'd changed his mind.
She sighed in frustration, irritated with herself for even thinking of such a possibility. The last thing in the world she should be doubting right now was Scott's love for her. The strain of the past weeks, and her recent sleepless nights, were taking their toll on her emotions and she was probably reading more into Scott's evasiveness than was warranted. He was probably like most men- virtually uninterested in planning a wedding- even if it was their own.
"Betty, far be it from me to rush you, but your cab is awaiting you downstairs and I'm sure there's a certain Lieutenant Sherwood who wouldn't mind seeing you at the train station." Victor leaned casually in the doorway of the writer's room, an amused grin on his face.
With difficulty, Betty forced herself to look up from her script. "Oh, I didn't realize how late it was. I've just got one more line . . . There," decisively she punched out the last line of the script and ripped the page from the typewriter, laying it on top of the other completed pages. "Four days' worth of scripts, all ready to go. I'll just come in early tomorrow morning to finish up the accounts."
"Betty, I don't want you coming in here on your wedding day," Victor protested at he accepted the scripts from her.
"It's no problem. I have nothing else to do except sit around and be nervous. Believe me, I'd much rather be here with something to do. Well, the cab driver won't wait forever," she started to brush past him, but he laid a detaining hand on her arm.
"Betty, I haven't taken the time to say it before, but I want you to know that I'm happy for you- and for Scott. I think," he paused, then nodded with gaining surety, "I think everything turned out for the best. You two are very right for each other. I just hope someday I can find someone who's as right for me."
Betty smiled at him gratefully, tears gathering in her eyes. "Thank you, Victor. And thank you for postponing your trip to Washington so you could be here tomorrow. It means a lot to both of us."
Victor shrugged. "I admit, the general was generally dismayed when I told him I wouldn't be in Washington in time for his briefing, but I figure they owe me a day. You'd better go catch your taxi," he said, at last releasing her arm.
"I will," suddenly, she stood on her toes and pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Victor, for everything," she whispered before making her way to the exit.
Victor remained standing there for long moments after she left, feeling a peculiar sense of loss. The events of tomorrow would change so many things and he wasn't sure he was prepared to face them all. Betty and he had always been a team, sharing an affinity of mind so acute that verbal communication had often been unnecessary. Together, they'd kept the station afloat, stopping at almost nothing when the situation called for it. And, for a time, she'd held his life in her hands and he'd felt immeasurably secure, knowing that there was no one else in the world he could trust as much.
The connection was so close that for a while, they had mistaken it for a deeper emotional attachment. She'd realized their mistake first; he'd been surprised to find on his return from Washington some months ago that Betty was in love with Scott. He'd felt an odd sense of displacement then, but nothing like the anger or jealousy that should have been there if he'd truly loved her. Besides, he could see the connection between the couple, the air fairly reverberated with it when they were in the same room. Not only were their minds attuned, but they also communicated at emotional levels he'd never reached with Betty. From that moment on, she'd slipped imperceptibly further and further from him. Things definitely had turned out for the best: Scott would make her happier by far than he ever could. But Victor felt a pang at the thought that his connection with Betty might become faded and blurred as her connection with Scott became deeper and more textured.
Victor sighed heavily. Yes, things had turned out for the best, but he'd lost something intrinsic that he valued deeply and knew he might never find again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Betty peered anxiously through the milling, khaki-clad crowd at the train station. She'd arrived in her taxi at almost the same moment as the train was pulling into the station and by the time she'd made it to the platform, the area was swarming with soldiers both arriving and departing. It seemed as if the entire world had joined the army and converged in a swirling mass in this one small part of Pittsburgh. Frantically, her gaze darted from face to face, seeking the only one that mattered to her. Suddenly, she heard his voice.
"Betty."
She whirled around, then stopped when she saw him standing a few paces behind her. A joyful smile lit her features as every trace of anxiety disappeared and he abruptly dropped his duffel bag to hold both arms out to her. She flew to him and found herself dragged against him in a bone-crushing embrace that left no room for breath, let alone speech. A happy tear trailed slowly down her cheek and when he at last loosened his grip on her, he kissed it tenderly away.
"Don't cry, Betty," he said huskily, bending to take her lips for a long moment, heedlessly ignoring the jostling crowd.
"I can't help it, I'm so happy you're home!" she clasped her arms more tightly around his neck, hugging him fiercely. "I missed you so much."
"I know. I missed you, too," his forehead rested against hers briefly and he wished they could stay as they were forever, that he wasn't being shipped out in a matter of days and that he didn't have to talk to her about something that he was afraid would destroy their relationship forever.
"Come on," Betty said, pulling away from him and tugging on his hand. "We have a cab waiting. You can't imagine how excited everyone is to see you. It was all I could do to convince them all not to come here to meet you with a brass band," she laughed back at him gaily, but he stopped her by pulling on her hand.
"But it's just us tonight, right Betty?" he asked, his voice soft and anxious.
Concerned, she stepped closer to him. "Of course, I told everyone you'd be too tired to see them tonight. Is something wrong?"
"No," Scott did his best to muster a carefree smile. "I just want to be alone with you." He reached out to softly stroke her cheek.
Disconcerted, Betty searched his eyes, feeling that he was holding something back. His gaze remained unreadable and she struggled to quell the chilling fear that had crept in next to her heart. She barely managed a smile. "Well, then, I guess you have what you want."
She turned and led the way to the waiting taxi and as they climbed inside, silence settled over them, each feeling constrained by the presence of a third party. During the short trip, Betty could feel Scott's eyes on her, but she kept her gaze resolutely ahead, afraid of what she might see if she looked into his eyes. Scott continued to watch her nonetheless, trying to memorize once again her every feature, feeling as if she would suddenly be snatched away from him, never to be seen again. The thought left him short of breath, but he couldn't be selfish enough to bind her to him when there was no guarantee he'd ever come back.
As they left the taxi, Betty turned to him, a forced smile on her face. "Well, here it is, our new home. Do you want to come up for a few minutes before you're banished to your bachelor's quarters at the hotel for one more night?"
He only watched her silently and she could feel an unfathomable sadness coming from his eyes. "Scott, you're not yourself. What is it?" she demanded, feeling as if she'd reached the end of her rope.
For a moment, he couldn't speak and when he did, his voice was low and rough. "Betty, I love you so much, more than anything in the world. I can't ask you to do this."
"Do what? Scott, what are you talking about?" completely puzzled, and very worried now, Betty stepped closer to him, grasping one of his hands in both of hers.
"It was wrong of me to ask you to marry me now. I don't want you to make a mistake you'll regret for the rest of your life. I won't let you do it," he finished, with an emphatic shake of his head.
"You won't let me do it?" completely outraged, Betty suddenly dropped his hand, crossing her arms angrily over her chest. "Scott Sherwood, of all the harebrained ideas you've ever had... what makes you think it's a mistake?"
"Betty, we don't know what's going to happen. I could be overseas for years or I may never come back at all. If that happens, you'd be a widow almost before you were a wife. I don't want you to feel like you're tied forever to a man who never came back," he said earnestly.
"And what if I want to be tied to you? Don't I have the right to make that decision?" she demanded.
"No!" the word burst out before he took the time to consider it. He drew a ragged breath and his hand raked through his hair before he continued in a much calmer voice. "Betty, you don't understand..."
"No, I don't understand. Do you love me or not?" she asked, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
He moved towards her, grasping her upper arms in his hands. "It's not a question of whether or not I love you; you know I do. I have to protect you, too, and that means I probably shouldn't marry you now."
"Protect me from what? Scott, you're not making any sense," Betty shook her head helplessly.
"I know, but you just have to accept that I'm right," he looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to understand.
"No, I don't have to accept it. You're not being rational..."
"Betty, you don't have a choice," he broke in harshly. He struggled for control, wanting to escape from the feeling that his heart was being ripped from his chest. He needed to end this before he completely lost his nerve and folded her against him, kissing her and begging for forgiveness. "It's freezing out here. You should go inside."
"Don't tell me what to do," she said, her voice lethally quiet. "You just gave up any right to do that," angrily, she twisted away from his hands and made her way up the stoop. Scott watched her go, feeling a cold sense of isolation settle over his soul. He remained frozen to the spot, knowing that going after her now would only hurt her more. She paused before stepping inside the door. "Good night, Scott," she said, a catch in her voice. Then she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness of the building, and Scott felt more alone than he ever had in his life.
Far From Pittsburgh
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