Tomorrow Is Forever by Gwen Bristow

argued. “What they really fight about is property and power. They always talk pretty while it’s going on, and then when it’s over they get realistic. But as soon as a new war starts they say, ‘Oh yes, we know, all the other wars were fought for crass reasons, but this one’s different, boys, this one’s different.’” He became vehement. “Well, this one’s not different and I’m thankful we know it. I’m plenty tired of everybody pretending to believe what everybody knows isn’t true.”
    â€œI wonder what your mother and father would say,” Julia suggested, “if they could hear you talk like that.”
    â€œOh, they wouldn’t mind,” said Cherry. “They’re very intelligent people, really.”
    â€œThey’ve got some old-fashioned ideas,” said Dick, “like everybody their age, but generally speaking they’re very liberal for older people. They don’t go around being always shocked about things.”
    Outside, on the balcony, Elizabeth stood with her hands gripping the rail. She was thinking, “Every word they are saying is my fault, mine and Spratt’s. They’re our children and we taught them to think this way. Or at least, if we didn’t teach them to be cynics, we didn’t do anything to stop it. We ran away from the last war as fast as we could. In what Spratt called the world’s hangover, we didn’t say anything but ‘never again.’ And now there’s another war, and Dick will have to fight it—and listen to him! Is that how they all feel? If it is, their children will have to do it again. Oh my God, what have I told him? What can I tell him now?”
    Little as she liked to admit it, she knew she had been a coward and that she was still a coward. She had refused to face what was there, and she still lacked the courage to face it. Could she go into the house right now and say to Dick, “This war is a glorious crusade, and you must get into it now. Why wait till next year? They will take you at seventeen. Oh yes, I know, thousands of men have already been killed, but go ahead. What are you waiting for? It’s worth it.”
    No, she could not say it. If she believed this war was worth winning, that was what she ought to say, but the truth was that she simply did not believe it that much. That was what had held them all back during the accumulating horrors of the past twenty years. They knew what war was like, they could let anything happen in the world if only they could keep out of another. She need not blame herself, Elizabeth thought, as though she was the only one. She stood there on the balcony, epitomizing her country.
    Turning around, she walked into the house, entering through a hall so as to avoid meeting the children in the den. With the disappearance of the sun the air had grown chilly. A fire might be welcome. She stood by a window in the living room, looking at the darkness as it gathered swiftly over the lawn. A maid came in to turn on the lights.
    â€œDon’t you want me to draw those curtains too, Mrs. Herlong?” she asked.
    Elizabeth turned. “Why yes, I’d forgotten them. I’ll do this window.” She pulled the cord that drew the curtains together, and as the maid went out she turned from the window. How well-ordered everything looked, and was. Nothing had happened this afternoon. Nothing had happened except within herself. Everything that had made her feel so strong and happy as she drove home through the canyon was still there. A voice in the doorway startled her.
    â€œSay, mother, we’re getting famished. Isn’t the boss home yet?”
    â€œNot yet, Dick. He’s very busy these days, you know, on the new picture.”
    â€œI know, but I’m starving.”
    â€œIf the boss isn’t here by seven-thirty, we’ll sit down without him,” she promised. “It’s getting cold, Dick,