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Widdemer, Margaret, 1884-1978

"The Wishing-Ring Man"

Joy liked it. The dresser,
flanked by a tie-rack, faced her as she came in. She ran to it,
jerked out a drawer and stuffed in the socks hurriedly, and turned
to go down again. In the middle of the room she paused for a moment.
It was all so intimately, dearly John, and she did love John so!...
And what was she, after all, with all her independences and
certainties, but an ignorant, unwise child whom two wise grown men
were using for a pet or a plaything--how could she tell which?
She felt suddenly little and frightened and helpless. The current of
mischief and merriment dropped away from her for a minute, here
where everything, from the class picture on the wall to the pipe on
the bureau, spoke so of John--of what everything about him meant to
her--about what going away from him would mean. She flung herself on
her knees beside the narrow iron cot in the corner, her arms out
over the pillow where his head rested.
"Oh, God, please make it all come straight and right!" she begged.
"I don't suppose I did what I ought to, and maybe I'm not now, but
please do let things come out the way they should! And if you can't
make us both happy, make John--but--oh, God, please try to tuck me
in too--I do want to be happy so!"
She knelt there a little longer, with her arms thrown out over the
pillow. Saying her prayers always comforted her. She waited till she
was quieter. Then she rose resolutely and dried her eyes, and went
downstairs again, to make her report.


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