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Back The Fall of Valor Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Introduction by Michael Bronski
  2. BEGINNING
  3. II
  4. III
  5. IV
  6. V
  7. VI
  8. VII
  9. VIII
  10. IX
  11. X
  12. XI
  13. XII
  14. XIII
  15. MIDDLE
  16. II
  17. III
  18. IV
  19. V
  20. VI
  21. VII
  22. VIII
  23. IX
  24. X
  25. XI
  26. XII
  27. XIII
  28. XIV
  29. XV
  30. XVI
  31. XVII
  32. XVIII
  33. XIX
  34. XX
  35. END
  36. II
  37. III
  38. IV
  39. V
  40. VI
  41. VII
  42. VIII
  43. IX
  44. X
  45. XI
  46. XII
  47. XIII
  48. XIV
  49. XV
  50. XVI
  51. About the Author

“My name is not Grandin,” she said, “it’s Cameron. It’s always been Cameron. It always—it always—” She fled to her bedroom and closed the door behind her, frightened through and through.

XI

XI

John Grandin idled at Dune House as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He was only too conscious of the distress Ethel was probably going through at home, but he purposely put it from his mind: it was the last thing he wished to think of. All he wanted to do, in his new acceptance of his fate, was to daydream about Cliff Hauman—dwell sensually on the improbability which could never come to pass.

Fortunately, the Howards were preoccupied with themselves and their tours of the island and had little time for him; now when they met, briefly, Bill Howard was cordial and sympathetic though somewhat strained, and Sarah was aloof. This was understandable enough in view of the fact that they had formerly been two married couples together; but his status now was the equivalent of a bachelor. The Haumans were busy with their bicycle riding or spent long hours on the beach—where, for some reason, John Grandin did not care to go now. One evening during their usual awkward session at the dinner table, Cliff suddenly announced—with an ecstasy of happiness that made John Grandin’s heart turn over: “I got my wire, Johnnie. I report in Brooklyn Monday morning bright and early for my physical! We’ll be leaving tomorrow. This is it, Johnnie!”

Billie ostentatiously paid no attention. She had brought to the table a package of considerable size—her wedding pictures, she explained happily. She spread the large photographs on the tablecloth and John Grandin examined them one by one, while Billie commented on each group or pose. The pictures showed the bridesmaids in their long frocks, arranged on either side of Billie and Cliff on the lawn; the modest, smiling, rather stout parents, wearing glasses, looking curiously alike, and a little nonplused by so much grandeur occasioned by their offspring. There were several poses of Billie alone—cutting the enormous cake, waving at the camera with a grin, descending the staircase with her white-­gloved hand resting with self-­conscious grace on the banister and her left foot on the step above, standing against a bower of smilax with her arm upraised in the act of tossing her beribboned bouquet; and one of Cliff. He was buttoned to the chin in his resplendent white tunic and looked so worried that John Grandin almost laughed with pleasure at the awkward charm of the picture.

Nevertheless, a strange depression fell upon their table as Cliff drew the telegram from his pocket and opened it—a depression shared even by Cliff, though on his part there was a new and happy tension, a restlessness and eagerness to be off.