The Little Moment of Happiness

by Clarence Budington Kelland

The great vessel swung about and docked by the aid of snorting, grunting tugs, and after more delays and formalities they set foot on shore.... Kendall went directly to the Pennsylvania station to book a lower berth for Washington.

A week later he was in Detroit on furlough—in his old home, amid familiar surroundings ... under his own roof with his father and mother. It was very much the same. The war touched the life of the city but lightly. It was all as he remembered it, all as he had expected it to be ... and Paris and the distant war seemed to be matters that had occurred in a dream.... On Sunday he went to church with his mother and father and received the homage and congratulations of the vestibule....

That afternoon he went to his room to write—to write the promised letter to Andree. It was not easy ... for the decision had not yet been made. He wrote and destroyed and wrote again. He promised to return; he assured her of his love ... but when he read he was not satisfied.... He was in Detroit, in another world, and Andree did not belong to that world. He was surprised to find how well this world satisfied him and how unreal that other world he had known and loved had become.... This was his world, these were the things he was meant to do and the thoughts he was meant to think. This was America, and he was an American!...

He tried to think of Paris, to get back again into the spirit of Paris, but could not do so.... It had become unreal, distant, not appealing....

But Andree ... she was not unreal, not distant. She was very real, present in his heart—and yet she was of that other world, a stranger, an alien.... He loved her—but—There was always that but.

He wrote still another letter and read it. Yes, he had decided. He could not give her up. He would bring her here and let the consequences be what they might.... The letter was placed in its envelop and he drew out his note-book to look for her address.... It was there, those written words which should forever remove Andree from the land of lovely mystery.... But he did not open the book. It lay in his hand, but he dared not open it.... He went to the window and looked out upon the street, that typically American, typically Middle-Western street.... He stood so for many minutes, then walked toward the fireplace and tossed the note-book into the blaze.... The thing was done, the decision was made and was irrevocable ... and Andree would always remain a glowing mystery....

He went again to his desk and wrote another letter. It was brief:

Dear Maude—There is no woman in my life but you. When you come home I shall come to you for my answer.

He inclosed it, addressed it, stamped it, and went out to the post-box on the corner. Even now he hesitated a moment, but it was only a moment.... The letter dropped inside. It could not be recalled.

But he did not move from the spot. For a long time he stood staring before him with eyes that did not see the typically American street, with a consciousness that did not feel his typically Middle-Western surroundings.... What he felt was that something true and faithful and beautiful had found a place in his life never to be removed. What he saw was a vision of Andree, waiting ... waiting....