April 6, 1918. One year ago to-day the United States declared——
I had written only that far last Saturday night when I looked up to see Tippy standing in the door holding out the evening paper. I felt as I heard her coming along the hall that something was the matter. She walked so hesitatingly. Something in her face seemed to make my heart stand still, and stopped the question I started to ask. She didn't seem to be able to speak, just spread the paper on the table in front of me and pointed to something. Her finger was shaking. The four black words she pointed to seemed to leap up into my face as I read them:
"Lieutenant Richard Moreland, Missing."
Those four black words have been in front of my eyes ever since. They were in the official announcement that "Cousin James" brought down next day. He had been notified as next of kin.
At first they seemed more bearable than if they'd said killed or seriously wounded. I didn't quite grasp the full meaning of "missing." But I do now. I heard "Cousin James" say in a low tone to Tippy, out in the hall, something about death being more merciful than falling alive into the hands of the Germans. He told her some of the things they do. I know he's afraid that Richard has been taken prisoner.
He keeps telling me that we mustn't be down-hearted. That we must go on hoping as hard as we can that everything will turn out all right. The War Department is doing its best to trace him, and if he's a prisoner we'll spare no expense and effort to get food through to him. They always treat aviators with more consideration than other soldiers, and I mustn't worry. But he doesn't look one bit the way he talks. His face is so haggard that I know he's frightened sick.
Barby is, too, or she wouldn't have come all the way home to tell me the very same things that he did. She wants to take me back to Washington with her till we have farther news. She's cabled to Father. I know they all think it's strange that I take it so quietly, but I've felt numb and dazed ever since those four black words leaped up at me from the paper. I wish they wouldn't be so tender with me and so solicitous for my comfort. It's exactly the way they'd act if Richard were dead. I'm glad "Cousin James" went right back. He looked at me the way Tippy does, as if she pities me so that it breaks her heart. She doesn't know what her face shows. None of them realize that their very efforts to be cheerful and comforting show that their hopefulness is only make-believe.
