In the two weeks following Thanksgiving, Betty was in a veritable whirlwind of activity as she prepared WENN for its holiday shows: special musical guests, 'Tell It to Santa', and Christmas episodes of all of the regular programs consumed huge amounts of her time. Scott was helping out wherever he could since Victor was on yet another mission in Washington, but it wasn't enough to keep her out of the office on that Sunday. She sighed heavily. Normally, she loved all the extra preparations for Christmas, but it was difficult to concentrate today.
Her mind constantly traveled back to those moments that she'd spent with Scott in the yard of her parent's home. Ever since then, there'd been an inexplicable distance between them that she'd been unable to cross. He was holding something back, trying to protect her when he should have been confiding in her. It was frustrating; especially since she felt she knew what he wasn't saying.
A door slammed distantly, causing Betty to jump. "CJ?" she asked tentatively, wondering if he was looking for her. CJ had recently been assigned to weekend broadcasts, so he could teach classes during the week. Today he was monitoring the broadcast of a football game and making periodic station identification announcements. When her only answer was the forbidding silence of the otherwise empty offices, she stepped out of the writer's room and headed for the main hallway, trepidation guiding her steps. She remembered to lock the front door, hadn't she?
Her steps slowed, then stopped altogether as she reached the corner and realized that brisk footsteps were coming her way, sounding confident of their direction. She continued then, realizing it must be someone she knew.
"Oh!" she cried as her nose made solid contact with a man's breastbone. Her hand flew to her nose and she looked up, involuntary tears coming to her eyes. "Scott, you scared me!"
His hands grasped her upper arms and he bent to look in her eyes. "Are you all right? Let me see your nose," he ordered.
Slowly, Betty lowered her hand. "It's fine. I was more surprised than hurt." She looked up at him, puzzled. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, let's just say I knew of a certain beautiful girl who was spending her Sunday at work instead of with me, like she should be, and I said to myself, 'Scott,' because that's what I call myself," he grinned confidentially at Betty who rolled her eyes and did her best to suppress a smile. "'Scott, I'll bet Betty didn't even stop for lunch yet, and here it is, only December 7, and she has plenty of time before Christmas to get ready for all the holiday shows.' So here I am. Was I right?"
"About lunch, yes. About having enough time, no. But I was almost done here so-"
"Good," Scott grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway. "We'll get your hat and coat and go down to the Buttery."
"But I just have to finish-" Betty's stomach gurgled noisily and Scott smiled. "All right, all right, you win. I can just as easily finish tomorrow. And I am starving."
Scott shrugged. "I knew you would be."
He knows me so well, Betty thought as they continued on their way, pausing to wave to CJ in the control room. But she knew him, too, and once again she found herself wishing he'd tell her what was on his mind, rather than carrying the burden alone. She held back a frustrated sigh. He'd tell her when he was ready and it was no use asking him before then. He could be so stubborn sometimes!
As they entered the Buttery, one of the waitresses, Maureen, looked up at them in surprise. "What are you two doing here? Don't tell me our meatloaf sandwiches are so irresistible that you had to come all the way down here on a Sunday," she joked.
Betty smiled, delighted to see Maureen who was a favorite with the whole crew at WENN. "Actually, I was just trying to catch up on some work. You don't usually work Sundays, do you?"
"No, but Gladys called in sick- again," Maureen rolled her eyes. "Between you, me and the fence post, her days here are numbered."
Scott found himself wondering briefly if he was the fence post. "I guess we're just lucky you're here today."
"Oh, I don't mind at all. I could use the extra money to send to Ma. My oldest brother's in the military and he helps out as much as he can, but she needs all she can get- there's still five kids at home. C'mon, I think your favorite booth is open," she motioned them to follow her to their seats in the far corner, then left them with their menus for a few moments.
After they'd placed their orders, they talked about WENN's holiday programming. Betty found herself telling Scott about the innumerable headaches it was causing her and was amazed at how much better she felt through just telling someone else about them. Scott was even able to suggest some ideas she hadn't thought of that would probably make the whole thing a lot less complicated.
Betty sat back with a relieved sigh. "You really are good at the radio business, Scott. What would I ever do without you?"
"Hopefully, you'll never-" Scott's reply was lost as a resounding crash echoed from the kitchen area, followed by several loud exclamations of dismay. After a few seconds, a dazed-looking Maureen came through the swinging door that separated the kitchen and dining areas and headed for their table.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her eyes huge and dark in her too-pale face. "We'll have to re-make your lunches because I dropped them."
"That's all right. We're not in a hurry," Scott reassured her.
"What happened, Maureen? Do you feel okay?" Betty asked with concern.
Maureen turned her ashen countenance to Betty. "We just heard it on NBC. The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor. My brother's stationed there. I have to call my mother. Please excuse me," distractedly wiping a tear from her cheek, she moved away from their table.
The shocked waitress never heard Betty's softly murmured, "Of course."
Betty's eyes sought Scott's. For a long moment, they stared at each other wordlessly, each knowing what the tragic news meant. His hand slid across the table to grasp hers and she clung to it, drawing from its warmth and strength. Tears gathered in her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak.
"We have to get this out. We have to get you on the air," she spoke with quiet urgency.
Scott nodded his silent understanding before reaching for his hat and coat and sliding from the booth.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Oh, that Scott Sherwood! How could he do this today of all days?" Betty demanded of Gertie in frustration.
"I know, dear, I'm sure it isn't his fault," Gertie said reassuringly, hoping to slow Betty's frantic pacing. "The whole world's a little off-kilter this morning."
It was the morning of December 8 and everyone at WENN was doing their best to carry on normally while they anxiously awaited the president's address. They all knew what had to come now, and that knowledge made itself felt through an underscore of tension to which no one was immune. Hilary especially was affected, as Jeff had announced to her this morning that he was enlisting immediately. He hadn't even come to the station yet, but had phoned her, hoping the news might soften her pent up emotions towards him. It had apparently been effective; Hilary was despondent and Betty knew she was hoping that, through some miracle, the military wouldn't take Jeff.
"At least Jeff had the decency to call and let us know he wouldn't be here in time for 'Bedside Manor'. Scott just disappears right when I really need Simmons the gardener!" Betty frustratedly waved her hastily rewritten script, knowing all the while that the disruption in the broadcast was the smallest part of her worries. She suspected she knew what Scott was doing this morning and she realized Hilary wasn't the only one hoping the military would turn away a WENN cast member. "If only Mackie wasn't on vacation-"
She was cut off in mid-sentence as the front door opened and she found herself face to face with a man in a military uniform. Her eyes widened as they met his and she felt as if a frigid bucket of water had just been emptied over her head. Her breath stopped in her throat as he captured and held her gaze, pleading for her understanding. Betty opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again. The words would have been the wrong ones. The station had to come before her personal feelings.
"Jeff isn't here. Hilary needs you in the studio," she choked out as she shoved the script blindly in his direction, then turned to head for the writer's room. It was the most she could manage; anything else and she may have- what? Cried, screamed, begged him not to go? She couldn't be that selfish, especially not in the face of the selfless thing he was doing. Ashamed of her near loss of control, she closeted herself in the writer's room, hoping the familiar, unchanged room would help her regain some semblance of her usual calm.
Scott crumpled the unread script in his hand as he watched Betty walk away. To Hell with it; Hilary could manage on her own for a few more minutes.
"Scott..." the almost inaudible word had come from Gertie. He looked down, saw fear and pride mingling in her eyes, though she didn't say anything else. He only smiled at her, a ghost of his usual smile before striding down the hallway in Betty's wake.
He rapped smartly on the writer's room door, knowing she would seek sanctuary there. Without waiting for a reply, he stepped inside. She looked up from her chair behind the typewriter at which she'd been staring blankly when his knock had startled her.
"Shouldn't you be on the air?" she questioned him quietly, hoping that she could remain in control if she didn't acknowledge what his uniform signified.
"Betty," Scott closed the door and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her chair. "I think there's something more important I should be doing right now. I'm a lot more concerned about you than I am about 'Bedside Manor'."
"I'm sure Hilary wouldn't agree," there was a catch in her voice. "Scott, why did you- Without even telling me first-" she let the words trail off, embarrassed to be saying something she felt was petty.
Scott smiled sadly. "You must have known already. I was wrong- I know I should have talked to you first, but somehow it just never seemed to be the right time. I guess I just hoped that you might be- proud of me," he spoke softly, unsure of her response.
"Oh, Scott, I am," she exclaimed, then continued apologetically, "I'm saying everything wrong today. I'm just scared and worried and I'm going to miss you so much," her arms found their way around his neck and she hugged him fiercely.
"Good," he said, with a little smile when she pulled slightly away.
"Good?"
"Well, if you didn't say you were going to miss me, I'd start thinking maybe you didn't love me. And then where would I be?" he asked her teasingly.
"You'll never have to know the answer to that one. When do you leave?" she asked him, dreading the answer.
He quickly sobered. "Three days from now."
"Three days?" she echoed, aghast. "That's so soon."
"I know. That's why we're having dinner at Carlton's tonight. Eight o'clock." He kissed her forehead and her nose before finding his way to her lips, placing a lingering kiss there that left her a little breathless.
"Eight o'clock," she echoed again, her eyes still locked with his.
He stood then and headed for the door. A thousand questions thundered in Betty's brain, but one was uppermost. "Scott, why are you a lieutenant?"
Scott shrugged uncomfortably. "You know, the merchant marines, the Spanish Civil War. Oh, would you look at the time? I'm sure Hilary needs me by now." He left the room hurriedly.
"Oh," Betty answered uncertainly, still puzzled. He hadn't used that line on her for a long time and he really hadn't answered her question, but she was given no further time to wonder as the pressures of the day closed in around her through the portentous ringing of the teletype.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scott kept Betty's arm pressed tightly to his side as they walked towards the Barbican that night, needing to keep her as close as public decency allowed. It would be many weeks before he had her to himself for any length of time and he was hoping that somehow, the evening would never end. By tacit agreement, they hadn't mentioned the war or his impending departure during dinner. Instead, they talked of the past, laughing over his schemes and her solutions to them, and recalling in great detail each stage of their often rocky courtship.
He grew nervous now, knowing this was the time when he should bring up the other subject he'd been avoiding all night. She'd been quiet for several minutes, unwilling to end the idyllic evening by asking one of the questions that had been teeming in her mind all day. As the Barbican Hotel loomed on the horizon, she knew time had run out.
She took a deep breath, preparing herself to break the silence. "Do you know where you're going to be?"
He roused himself from his own thoughts with difficulty. "Fort Mead. It's in Maryland, not so far away."
"How long will you be there?"
"About twelve weeks, give or take a week," he estimated.
Betty's heart sank, but she tried to smile. "It sounds like such a long time. What will WENN do without you?"
"You'll probably be bored within a week or two. No more of my messes to clean up, no more trying to keep me honest, no more trying to keep the peace between Hildy and me. Hmmmm, now that I think about it, you'll probably be a lot happier there without me," he laughed.
"Not a chance," Betty reassured him. "I'm missing you already. Will you be able to come back here before they...ship you out?"
"Maybe for a few days. Three or four at the most."
Betty looked up at him, tears gathering in her eyes. "That's not enough time."
Scott stopped in front of the Barbican and turned to face her. He took both of her hands in his, looking into her eyes for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice low and the words coming slowly. "I wish it was more, but I was hoping you might find the time to marry me when I come back."
"Scott," the word was little more than a whisper and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, a single tear dropped onto her cheek, reflecting the yellow light of a nearby street lamp brightly.
"Betty," his hand reached up to brush away the tear. "I'm sorry, I didn't want it to happen this way. I was going to do this at Christmas when your whole family could be there. You could have had all the time you wanted to plan a wedding here or in Elkhart. I just couldn't wait..."
Betty stopped him by gently pressing her fingers over his lips. "Twelve weeks is more than enough time to plan a wedding. And I'd be just as happy to marry you here as in Elkhart. I'll be ready whenever you come back."
Stunned, Scott stared into her sparkling eyes. "Really?" he asked, not daring to believe his own ears.
"Yes," Betty replied with a little laugh and a nod of her head. Scott threw his arms around her waist and suddenly her feet were spun off the sidewalk. For a moment, the world around her whirled crazily, a blur of bright lights with dark recesses in between. Finally, laughing and breathless, they slowed to a stop and Betty's feet landed lightly on the pavement once again, though Scott kept her body tightly pressed against his.
"Don't forget, we have a date in twelve weeks," Scott reminded her with a grin.
"As if I could forget a thing like that," Betty said as she stood on her toes to kiss him. "I love you, Scott Sherwood."
"I love you too, Betty," he bent towards her for a prolonged kiss, leaving her breathless when he pulled away. "Who knows, Betty Roberts- married to you, I just might turn out to be a stand up guy after all," he smiled roguishly.
"You already are," she laughed. "Go home and get some sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow."
He nodded. "Good night," he said softly, his eyes locking with hers.
"Good night," she whispered, laying a hand against his cheek.
After a final kiss, he left and Betty paused on the stoop, watching his beloved form disappear in the dark distance of the street, pain constricting her heart. She'd never felt so cold and alone and for a moment, panic engulfed her. She resisted the urge to run after him only by gripping the cold metal railing that lined the stairs. Desperately, she tried to calm herself with the knowledge that she still had three more days with him. It wasn't much, but for now it would have to do. With a shaky breath, Betty released her grip on the railing, wincing at the deep impressions it had left on her skin. She turned to go inside then, doing her best to ignore the ache in her heart and the persistent fear that she was beginning to suspect would never ease until Scott came home forever.
Far From Pittsburgh
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