More Than Words Can Say by Robert Barclay

full-time. But her greatest burden was constantly wondering whether her husband would survive the war. As a result of burning the candle at both ends, Brooke had become thin and pale, causing her parents to insist that she take some time off from everything.
    At first she had resisted the notion, until she considered going to the cottage. This visit to Lake Evergreen would be different, she decided, because she would spend the entire summer there alone. And once rested, she would return to her job and civic duties with even greater zeal.
    Brooke felt quite at home here, all by herself. Even so, she sometimes became lonely. In order to fight that feeling she would occasionally drive into Serendipity for dinner or to take in a movie at the small cinema there. She had recently seen a film called This Gun for Hire with some newcomer named Alan Ladd, and right there and then she had decided that he would become a major movie star.
    Leaning back in her chair, she sighed and took another sip of tea. She missed Bill desperately. He had been her rock, her lover, her best friend. She needed him both mentally and physically, and his continued absence stabbed at her heart. She was a young, healthy woman, and like so many women whose husbands had gone off to war, she had needs that weren’t being fulfilled.
    She of course knew that some military wives were finding illicit satisfaction in the arms of civilian men. But she loved Bill far too much to ever betray him. Some wartime wives were already asking their husbands serving in faraway lands for divorces and because it was so detrimental to morale, Congress had recently passed a law that made it far more difficult for military wives to petition for divorce. No matter to her, Brooke realized, because she could do no such thing to Bill. When the war ended, he would come home to a loyal and loving wife.
    Despite her own faithfulness, however, she couldn’t help worrying about his. How often was he granted leave, she wondered, and where did he and his friends go, when they could? And if so, would he . . . ?
    In an attempt to quash her doubts, Brooke closed her eyes and shook her head. No, she decided. He would not betray her. Short as it was, their time together had been wonderful. And besides, she and Bill had a plan. One day, Bill would run the paper. And they would have children—in their perfect world, one boy and one girl. That had been their dream, anyway, until the coming of the war. And when Bill returned they would take up their plan again. If he returned, she reminded herself.
    The war, she thought solemnly . Everything is always about the damned war. Right down to how much sugar I can use in my pies . . .
    After taking a deep breath, she stood from her chair to go and change her clothes. The pie would be ready soon, and she wanted to look presentable when she met her new neighbor . . .
    A SHORT WHILE later, Brooke was carrying her sumptuous offering across the sandy beach. She had chosen a yellow sundress and a pair of matching Mary Janes. She was glad to see that Mr. Butler’s gray Packard coupe was still there, but when she mounted the steps and rapped lightly on the porch door, no one opened. She knocked again and waited a bit longer, but still there was no response.
    Curious, she walked around the far corner of the house, looking for its owner. There, she saw a man kneeling in a freshly turned victory garden, planting seeds. From what Brooke could tell, he was tall and slim. His tan work shirt and matching trousers seemed a bit baggy on him. He was planting each seed lovingly, as if it were a small treasure.
    At last, Brooke cleared her throat. “Uh . . . excuse me?” she said.
    When he arose, he did so with a bit of difficulty. As Brooke looked at him, she realized that he was about her age and somewhat taller than she had first supposed. A smoldering cigarette dangled from between his lips. Before answering her, he took it from his mouth and stomped it into the