Betty giggled as the bristly hair on Scott's cheek tickled her skin and his tongue lightly explored her ear. She snuggled a little closer to him from her perch on his lap, enjoying the warmth his body afforded her. The rain beat a lazy staccato on the window across the room, feeding their indolence and the warm coziness of the room. The radio played softly in the background; something by Gershwin, Betty recognized remotely as her hand traced a circular pattern on the back of his neck.
Three long, blissful days had passed since their wedding, all of which, save today, had been unusually warm and sunny for an early spring in Pittsburgh. They'd taken full advantage of the beautiful weather, and their unwonted free time, by spending lazy mornings lying late in bed and taking long walks in the afternoon sunlight. In the evenings, they'd dine out, dancing afterwards into the late hours of the night, enjoying the new freedom of Betty's curfew-free life.
By tacit agreement, neither had mentioned the war, avoiding radio news broadcasts and newspapers as much as possible. Especially taboo was Scott's impending departure. Instead, they spoke of their future as an immediate thing, as if it would begin tomorrow, not at some indeterminate time neither could foretell. They both felt the looming shadow of the war, however. It was difficult to completely ignore it in wartime Pittsburgh where they were surrounded by constant reminders like recruitment posters and blackout curtains.
For the moment though, the war was the furthest thing from their minds as they cuddled together in a soft, oversized armchair. The gray light from the window grew progressively dim as the sun sank in the west and Betty's arms tightened around Scott as if she instinctively sensed that their time was growing short. Scott ignored the vague anxiety that gnawed at the outer reaches of his consciousness, as sure as Betty that their idyllic days were drawing to a close, but wanting to deny the inevitable until it grew impossible to do so.
Betty sighed happily now, her forehead resting against his. "Hasn't this been the most perfect day?" she asked him dreamily.
"Mmmhmm," Scott agreed, his fingers twining into her hair. "All we need now are a couple of thick, juicy steaks."
"You're hungry, aren't you?" Betty asked him with a laugh. "Is that your subtle way of telling me I should be making dinner?"
Scott nuzzled her cheek. "No, then you couldn't stay here with me. I like you just where you are. I'm not sure you should ever get up."
"Mmmm, that's a nice thought. Although, I guess we'd starve to death eventually," she observed archly.
"I can think of worse ways to die," Scott said before kissing her deeply.
They were interrupted by a sharp rapping at the door.
"Now who could that be?" Betty asked in puzzled disappointment.
"Maybe if we ignore it..." Scott was interrupted by more insistent knocking. "I should have known that wouldn't work," he sighed. He stood up, carefully depositing Betty on her feet.
"Well, I guess now I have no excuse not to start dinner," Betty grinned and kissed him before heading to the kitchen.
The pounding on the door increased. "All right, all right," grumbled Scott. "I'm coming." Abruptly, he pulled the door inward, startling the man on the other side. Recovering quickly, the other man thrust a thin yellow envelope at him.
"Are you Lieutenant Scott Sherwood?" he asked tersely.
Scott nodded grimly, knowing what the telegram would contain.
"Telegram for you, sir. Just sign here, please."
Scott signed and accepted the flimsy paper, tearing it open before he'd even closed the door. The message was succinct, but vague, about what he'd expected.
"What is it, Scott?" Betty came up behind him, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and trying to keep the tremor of fear in her stomach from being revealed in her face.
"My orders," he answered simply, attempting a smile.
Betty folded her hands in front of her. "What are they?" she asked with false brightness before lapsing into an expectant silence.
"I'm to report to my point of embarkation the day after tomorrow. New York City," he clarified. "I guess that means I'm heading for Europe."
The tremors in Betty's stomach increased tenfold. "London?" she asked, the word conjuring up dark memories of the days during the Blitz when she'd believed Victor was dead.
"It's not that specific," Scott shrugged. "It's all highly secret; you'll probably never really know exactly where I am. I don't even know where I'm going at this point."
Betty moved into his arms, holding him close. "I hate the idea of not knowing where you are," tears trembled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Ruthlessly, she blinked them back, pulling away slightly to look into his face. "But if we only have a few hours left, I think we should make the most of them." Rising on her toes, she kissed him passionately, hoping that somehow, one kiss could encompass everything she was feeling: her love, her fear, and her hope.
"I know I've said this before, Betty, but I have to say it again. I love the way your mind works," he grinned roguishly as she clasped his hand and drew him towards the bedroom.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Good morning, can I help you?" Gertie intoned from somewhere behind the slightly-wilted wedding flowers on her desk.
Scott and Betty exchanged amused glances. Disguising his voice, Scott said, "It's customary to salute a superior officer when you meet one, Miss Reece."
Startled, Gertie glanced up, her hand half raised in an involuntary salute before she realized she was being teased. "Scott!" she exclaimed happily, running around her desk to embrace him. "What are you two doing here? I thought you had today off, Betty."
"I do, but Scott wanted to come in to say good-bye to everybody," Betty greeted the receptionist with a subdued smile.
The happiness instantly vanished from Gertie's face. "So soon? When do you leave?"
"There's a train to New York early this afternoon that I have to be on. Then I'm bound for parts unknown," Scott told her with something like his usual brashness.
"Hey, big guy, what's this about New York?" Maple asked as she came upon the scene to give Scott a hug.
"It's where I'm shipping out from. I report there tomorrow," he explained. "I just dropped in to say good-bye."
"Well, sure. Come into the green room, I think most everybody's in there," Maple led the way down the hall.
For several minutes, chaos reigned in the green room as everyone clamored for information and struggled to have a private word with Scott. Mr. Eldridge warned him cryptically about long underwear and bedbugs. Mr. Foley was too overcome by emotion to speak, but offered a heartfelt handshake along with a forlorn shake of his head. Eugenia dabbed at her eyes and pledged to play the first movement of Beethoven's fifth every day for a week in his honor before being led from the room by an equally tearful Maple. Hilary came next, carefully embracing him, much to Scott's surprise.
"Take care of yourself, Scotty. It's not the same around here without you," she admitted. "Life has become quite pedantic. Do hurry back," a gloved hand ghosted across her suspiciously wet cheek.
"Thanks, Hildy," he returned, no trace of malice in his tone.
She smiled briefly before joining the rest of the cast in the studio.
Jeff planted himself firmly in front of Scott, holding out his hand. "I wish I was going with you, Sherwood."
Scott took his hand. "I know. I wish you were, too. But I'm sure there'll be plenty for you to do around here."
"Yeah, but it's not the same somehow," Jeff answered, bitterness lacing his words. "Be careful over there, Scott. We'll keep the microphones warm for you," with a final smile, Jeff took his leave.
"Betty, there's a call for you in reception," Gertie poked her head into the room.
"I'll be right there," Betty called out. She hurried after her, leaving Scott alone with Mackie.
"I guess I envy you in a way, Scott, being able to fight for your country. I've done it before, so I know what it's really like, but still, I'd like to be going with you," Mackie offered regretfully.
"I know you would but, Mackie," Scott glanced quickly at the door, "I wonder if you'd do something for me."
Mackie nodded readily. "Sure, anything. Just tell me what it is."
Scott heaved a sigh before speaking earnestly. "Take care of her for me while I'm gone. I know she's independent and she'd hate it if she knew I was talking to you, but if something happens to me..."
Mackie was already nodding. "Of course, I'd do it even if you'd hadn't said anything," a sad smile lit his features. "You need only ask."
"I'm asking," Scott said, returning his sober smile, both knowing it would be a long time before they'd share the old joke again.
Mackie clapped a hand on Scott's back, leading him to the door of the green room. "Well, time, tide and troop trains wait for no man. You'd better be on your way."
"You're right. I just want one last look," Scott crossed the hallway to peer through the studio door. The cast sent one last wave before Eugenia triumphantly began Beethoven's Fifth on her organ, thinking it a fitting send off. With a wistful smile, Scott turned away to find Betty and the taxi that would take them to the train station.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You have the address I gave you?"
Betty nodded mutely, smiling bravely against her threatening tears.
"If you use it, your letters should be able to reach me no matter where I'm sent," Scott ignored the crowd milling around them and focused solely on the woman he held tightly in his arms.
"I won't forget it. I'm going to start using it right away," she assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He covered her hand with his, bringing it over to tenderly kiss her palm. "Good, because I'm going to miss you so much. Betty, I've never been very good at letters," he began apologetically.
She arched a quizzical brow at him. "Well, then I guess you'll just have to get better at them. Everyone will be waiting to hear from you, especially me. I'm not sure I could get by otherwise," she admitted softly.
"You won't have to. I promise, I'll be the best letter writer you've ever seen," he pledged with mock-solemnity. "I do love you, Betty Roberts," a lop-sided grin appeared. "I mean Sherwood."
"Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?" she smiled up at him, tears making her eyes unusually bright.
"Yeah, but at least we have the rest of our lives to get used to it." He bent to kiss her tenderly, savoring the way her lips felt against his, wanting to be able to recall the exact feeling when months had passed and he was thousands of miles away.
"There's just one thing I want you to do for me, Scott Sherwood," Betty announced fiercely.
"Anything. What is it?" he asked softly.
"Come home safe to me- that's the only thing I want in the world," she clung to the lapels of his overcoat.
"Piece of cake," he said, a nonchalant smile on his face. "But you have to do something for me too. If things go very badly and it looks like the Germans are going to start bombing the east coast, go stay with your parents. There's nothing important enough in Pittsburgh for you to risk your life over and with all the factories here the city might be a target. Promise me you'll leave if you even think that might happen," he waited, earnestly looking into her face.
Betty nodded. "I will. I promise, but do you really think..."
Scott shrugged. "There's no way to know right now, but I need to believe you're safe while I'm gone, it'll make everything easier for me."
"All aboard!" the conductor called from further along the platform.
Scott pulled Betty against him for a prolonged kiss. "Oh, would you look at the time?" he asked, his old smile back in place. "I've got to go. I love you, Betty," swiftly, he bent to retrieve his bag, then moved off toward the train.
"I love you, too," Betty called after him, a tear at last escaping her eye. "Oh please keep him safe," she whispered fervently, hoping her prayer wouldn't be lost among the thousands of similar ones being uttered at the same moment.
Betty watched as the train slowly pulled away from the station, feeling isolated on the now nearly khaki-devoid platform, though she was surrounded by friends and relatives of other soldiers. She wiped away another tear and clutched her coat more tightly in front of her, trying to ward off the icy chill that had crept unnoticed to all the most vulnerable parts of her body.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
An hour later, Betty was working doggedly at her typewriter in the writer's room at WENN. She'd felt incapable of returning to her apartment, afraid even, of the cold desolation she might find there in Scott's absence. She sought refuge here and her co-workers, understanding this, tactfully left her alone to grieve. The keys of her typewriter had been flying for the past half hour, but her mind remained cloudy and unfocused and her scripts were coming out the same way. She sighed deeply, knowing the pages she'd produced were unusable. What she needed was a cup of the coffee she'd seen Maple brewing on her way in here. If the coffee was as strong as Maple usually made it, it was just the thing Betty needed to jolt her mind back to it's normal activity.
She pushed away from her desk and attempted to assume her accustomed brisk pace into the hallway, though her feet were loathe to cooperate. As she exited the room, she became aware of voices in the reception area. One was Gertie's, as dispassionate and implacable as ever, the other was not so familiar, however, and the speaker was sounding increasingly agitated. Curious, she rounded the corner and found the owner of the voice was Mr. Berger, the sponsor of "Footsteps in the Dark" and the man who had been so desperate to speak with Scott on the day of the wedding. Momentarily she wondered if she was up to dealing with his chauvinistic attitude today, but then decided it might be the ideal way to get her mind running in a new direction. Determined now, she continued down the hallway.
"Mr. Berger, what a nice surprise. What's going on, Gertie?" she spoke as cheerfully as possible.
"Miss Roberts, it's charming to see you again, but I simply must speak to Mr. Comstock or Mr. Sherwood," the harried, usually jovial, sponsor ran a hand over his head.
"I'm afraid neither one of them will be here for quite some time. Mr. Comstock is detained on business in Washington and my husband is going overseas with the army. I'm Mrs. Sherwood now," she corrected him, unconsciously playing with the ring on her finger.
Mr. Berger raised a hand to his face. "I'm sorry, I've been so forgetful," he advanced on Betty, his right hand extended. "I heard of your wedding. Congratulations, Mrs. Sherwood."
"Thank you, Mr. Berger. And let me assure you that in the absence of Mr. Comstock and my husband, I'm fully capable of handling your account with us and helping you with any problems you might be having," Betty waited, hoping her most professional air might win over his trust.
Max Berger regarded her seriously for a moment, carefully weighing his choices. A heavy sigh escaped him before he spoke. "It seems that in these unusual times we'll have to accept as normal things that seemed outside the natural order before. Very well, I'll speak with you. Is there somewhere we might talk privately?"
"Of course. If you'll just come this way..." Betty ushered the nervous man towards the manager's office, casting a questioning glance over her shoulder at Gertie, who only shrugged in response.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Berger?" Betty asked once they were settled comfortably.
For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words and gazed off into the distance, seeming to see another place or time. When he at last spoke, his voice held a dreamy, far-off quality and his eyes still did not meet hers. "When I first came to your country thirty years ago, Mrs. Sherwood, I had nothing more than the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my pocket," he began unexpectedly. "I also had a wife who was expecting our first child. That was why we left Germany; we wanted opportunities for our child that only America could offer. When I was young, I never imagined that I would leave my home country. It was in my blood, part of my soul. When we learned our son was coming, we knew we had to get out if we wanted him to have the kind of life we dreamed of. Ever since we stepped off the boat in New York, we've been Americans: patriotic and loyal, believing this country was the best one on earth. And look at what I have accomplished," his eyes suddenly met Betty's, startling in their intensity. Spellbound by his story, she silently nodded, urging him to go on and mystified as to why he should confide this story to her.
"I'm a business owner, a successful one. I have no reason to be disloyal to this country that has been so good to me, but in the present conflict people have grown suspicious, the government is paranoid and my loyalties are being questioned." His shoulders slumped in defeat and his gaze slipped away from Betty's.
Betty shook her head in puzzlement. "I don't understand. Why are they questioning your loyalties?"
In frustration, he rose to his feet and paced the room. Betty watched him warily. "My cousin arrived from Germany two years ago. He'd been persecuted by the Nazis for speaking against them. It became impossible for him to remain there so he came here for freedom. It's ironic, really. He fled Germany because of the Nazis and here he's accused of being one." His pacing stopped abruptly and he leaned towards Betty across the desk. "They're coming for us, Mrs. Sherwood, and we don't have much time."
A frown creased Betty's forehead. "Who's coming for you?"
"The military has begun the systematic internment of Germans whom they suspect of having Nazi loyalties. Because of my cousin's recent immigration, they've been investigating us for the last two weeks. They have no real proof against us. How can they? There's nothing to find, but they feel they can't be too careful, so every aspect of our life has come under scrutiny. Next week, they're shipping us out to one of their camps in the midwest. That's why I had to speak with you today. I have to cancel my show; after next week, I'll have no business with which to sponsor it. I'm sorry for the inconvenience it will cause you..."
"Oh, Mr. Berger, don't worry about us. Surely the government can't do this if they have no proof against your family. War or not, this is still America..."
"Alas, Mrs. Sherwood, most people don't see it that way. They see only the name 'Berger' and immediately I am no longer American. It breaks my heart, but I must do what the government asks," he paused and Betty felt he had aged decades before her eyes. "I must take my leave now. My time grows short and there is much to do."
Betty rose from her chair, struggling to find words that could express all the emotions that felt strong enough to choke her. "Mr. Berger, I hardly know what to say. I'm sorry doesn't seem enough. I wish there was something we could do," she broke off, helpless.
He clasped her hand appreciatively. "There is nothing you can do, but the offer means much to me. I'm glad to find not all my fellow Americans distrust me. Thank you for that." He paused reflectively, then shook his head with amusement. "The Nick and Nora Charles of international espionage. I loved that concept. Perhaps someday, we can start again. I must go now. Hopefully, I will see you again, after the war."
"Good-bye," Betty said. "Take care of yourself." Once again, she felt tears spring to her eyes as she watched him walk disconsolately down the hallway and out the front door. Frustration welled up inside her; she felt small and powerless, an inconsequential bit of flotsam in the vast tide of world events. The war was turning everything familiar upside down, making her life an unrecognizable place. She chafed against it, yet knew that it was beyond her control. Fleetingly she wondered if anything would ever be the same again.
Far From Pittsburgh
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