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Updated: May 3, 2025
Then the voices grew louder, there was a rush of feet to the door, a "Hush!" from Lillian, and then, pale, emaciated, showing the effects of the terrible ordeal through which he had gone, my brother-cousin, Jack Bickett, who, until Katherine came home, I had thought was dead, stood before me. "Oh! Jack, Jack. Thank God! Thank God!"
Miss Sonnet's face brightened again. "Is Mr. Bickett in this country? " she asked, her voice carefully nonchalant. "I have not heard anything about him for two or three years." "He sailed for France a week ago," I answered slowly. "He intends to join the French engineering corps." There was a long moment of silence.
I schooled my voice to a sort of careless surprise: "Why! Isn't this Jack Bickett?" She started perceptibly. "Yes. Do you know him?" "He is the nearest relative I have," I returned quickly, "a distant cousin, but brought up as my brother." Her face flushed. Her eyes shone with interest. "Oh! then you must be his Margaret?" she cried.
"'I know you now, I said. 'You are Mark Earle's little sister, Katherine." So they had met at last, Jack Bickett, my brother-cousin, and Katherine Sonnot, the little nurse who had taken care of my mother-in-law, and whom I had learned to love as a dear friend.
Indeed, I would never have known he had met her, save for the accidental opening of her scrap book to his picture when she and I were searching for chafing dish recipes. "Oh! No, indeed. I have never seen Mr. Bickett myself." A rosy embarrassed flush stole over her face as she spoke. Her eyes were starry. Through my bewilderment came a thought which I voiced. "That is his loss then.
Good-by, dear friend, until the next time. Lovingly yours, Jack Bickett." I laid the letter aside with a queer little startled feeling at my heart. Those two little words, "and yet," at the end of Jack's letter gave me much food for thought.
RATIFICATION. The Legislature of 1919 had instructed Governor Thomas W. Bickett to call a special session in 1920 to consider matters connected with taxation and it was understood that the ratification of the Federal Woman Suffrage Amendment would be considered at that time.
I stared back, frankly, for her face was familiar to me, although for the moment I could not tell where I had seen her before. "Then, half-shyly, she spoke, and her voice matched her eyes. "'You are Mr. Bickett, are you not, Mrs. Graham's cousin? "For a moment I did not realize that 'Mrs. Graham' was Margaret. But that gave me no clue to the identity of the girl. Then all at once it came to me.
He would think so if he could see you now." She laughed confusedly while the rosy tint of her cheeks deepened. "I must explain to you," she said simply. "I have never seen Mr. Bickett, but my brother is one of his friends. They used to correspond, and I enjoyed his letters as much as Mark did. I think his is a wonderful personality, don't you?" "Naturally," I returned, a trifle dryly.
Underwood, a friend of my husband's," I said hastily, hoping to save the situation. "Mr. Underwood, my cousin, Mr. Bickett." The two men shook hands perfunctorily. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Bickett," Harry Underwood said, in his effusive manner. "Have you lost anything valuable? Can I help in any way?" "Nothing of any consequence," I interrupted desperately.
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