New Name (28 page)

“Don’t be blasphemous, Jane,” said Anita crisply. “He’s not a god, or he wouldn’t have gone around lying for weeks.”

“Oh now, Anita! There you go! I think that’s unchristian! I thought you stood up to say you were willing to forgive him.”

“Forgiving’s one thing, and worshipping’s another, Jane. Don’t be a fool! That’s the one thing about you I can’t abide, Jane. You will be so awfully silly! Why don’t you say you’re glad he found out what a sinner he was? Why don’t you rejoice a little in the Lord, and worship
Him
for His saving power? We don’t have miracles like that every day. It’s really something worth talking about and worth giving God a little extra worship and adoration.”

“Oh, mercy! Anita! You’re always so long-faced! I think you talk a little too intimately about God—I really do! Of course
I
understand you, but some people mightn’t think you were a Christian, you are so free talking about religion.”

Anita’s answer was a hearty, ringing laugh as she turned into her own gate.

“Oh, Jane, you’re unspeakable! Well, good-bye! See you at Sunday school!” And Jane went on her gushing way, thinking how handsome the hero of the hour had been that morning, and losing the real significance of the occurrence entirely.

The minister had been detained with a messenger, who askedhim to come at once to the bedside of a dying woman, and Murray had slipped away without a word from him, but later he came back across the lawn to Mrs. Summers’ cottage and took the young man by both hands.

“Dear brother,” he said, “I want you to know how glad I am that you gave that confession and testimony this morning. Aside from your own part in it, and the joy you have set ringing in heaven over a sinner that repents, you did more in that brief confession to show my people what sin and true repentance means, and what the communion service stands for, than I could have done in a year of sermons. I’ve come over to congratulate you on your new birth, my boy, and to offer my services in any way I can be a help to you in the further reconstruction of your life, and the hard things you have to meet from your past.”

There with the minister and Mrs. Summers, while the dinner waited in the oven, Murray told them his story. Briefly, with very few details of his home, beyond the fact of his name, and that he had been the means of killing a girl in an automobile accident and had run away from justice to protect the family name from being dragged through the criminal courts.

“But I’m going back at once,” he said firmly. “It was all as plain as day to me while I sat in the service this morning. I asked God to show me what to do next, and that was what He seemed to tell me. I’m afraid I made a mess of your service, not understanding just what came next and where would be the proper time to interrupt you. But I just couldn’t go on and take that communion with that on my soul!”

“You did right, brother. I’m glad you did just what you did,” said Doctor Harrison sincerely.

“Well, I’ve got to make everything clean and clear, and then I don’t care what comes to me. I’ll have to suffer the penalty of the law, of course—that’s right—but now I know I’m not going into it alone. I’ve got to go to the girl’s mother and confess and ask her forgiveness, and then I’m going to give myself up. It’s the only right thing, of course. I ought to have seen that before. But first I’ve got to hunt up that Allan Murray and make things right with him while I’m free. And that reminds me. Mrs. Summers, there’s a letter upstairs among those you laid on my bureau that seems to be from him. I’ll run up and get it.”

He was gone up the stairs with a bound, and the minister sat and smiled at Mrs. Summers indulgently.

“Well, Mrs. Summers, he’s a dear boy, isn’t he? And our Lord is a wonderful God. He worketh mighty miracles and wonders. Now, I wonder what can have become of that man Murray! I feel responsible for him. I wrote his pastor that he was here, and he was all they had said he was and more. I wonder if we shall like the real man as much as his substitute.”

“I wonder!” said Mrs. Summers sadly. She was looking ahead and knowing that this boy, too, she must give up.

Murray came down with the letter, and Mrs. Summers tore it open and read it aloud:

“My dear Mrs. Summers:

“You will have been wondering why I have not written you before, but since the first word that my nurse says she sent you I have been quite seriously ill. There was some kind of a pressure on the brain, and they had to operate
.

“But I am getting on finely now, and hope soon to be up and around again. I am writing Mr. Harper tomorrow. They won’t let me write but one letter a day yet. Of course he has probably had to fill my place with someone else, and if so, there will likely be no further chance for me in Marlborough. In which case I shall have to ask you to forward my trunk to me, and to send me the bill for whatever I owe you. I hope you have not had to lose rent on my room all this time, and if you have I shall want to pay for whatever you have lost through my illness
.

“If, however, it should prove that there is still an opening for me in Marlborough, the doctor says that I may promise to come around the first of the year, if all goes well, and I certainly shall be glad to get into a real home again, if such be the Lord’s will
.

“I shall be glad to hear from you about the room and my trunk, which I am not sure ever reached you. I am a little puzzled that I have heard nothing from any of you, but I suppose you have been busy, and perhaps there has been some mistake about my address, and my mail has been forwarded to you. If so, will you kindly send it to me, as there may be
something that needs immediate attention
.

“I am taking it for granted that you know all the details of the wreck which changed all my plans, even better than I do, but thank God, I am told that I shall be as good as new again in a few weeks
.

“Hoping to hear from you at your earliest convenience, and thanking you for any trouble you may have had with my belongings
,

“Very sincerely,
“Allan Murray”

There was silence in the cheery little parlor as she finished reading the letter. Each one was thinking, perhaps the same thoughts. How very strange that this letter should have arrived just at this time!

“But it came several days ago,” said Mrs. Summers, looking at the postmark. “I must have taken that up and put it on the bureau with the rest of the letters the morning you left for the convention. Strange I didn’t notice his name!”

It was as if she had read their minds and was answering their thoughts.

“Hmm!” said the minister thoughtfully. “The Lord never makes a mistake in His dates. He meant this should all come about for His glory. Where was that written from, Mrs. Summers?”

“Why, it’s Wood’s Corners! That’s not far away! To think he has been there so near, all this time!”

“How far is that?” asked Murray gravely.

“Between twenty and twenty-five miles,” said the minister. “He will have thought it strange that none of his father’s old friends came over to see him. Did you never get any word from him before, Mrs. Summers? He says his nurse wrote to you.”

“Nothing at all,” said Mrs. Summers thoughtfully.

“I must go at once!” said Murray, rising hastily. “You will excuse me, I know. There is no time to waste to make this thing right. Something might happen to stop me!”

“You must have your dinner first!” said Mrs. Summers, hurrying toward the kitchen. “Doctor Harrison, you had better stay here and eat dinner with us. Just telephone your wife that I’ve kept you.”

But Murray was at the door already.

“Wait, young brother,” said the minister, placing a detaining hand on his arm. “You’ve a duty here not yet finished, I take it. You’ve a Sunday school class to teach in a few minutes, and it is a very critical time for those boys. They will have heard of your confession this morning, and their hearts will be very impressionable.”

“Doctor Harrison, I can’t teach a Sunday school class. I never
did
teach!
They taught me!
You surely would not have me go before them again, now that they know what a fake I am! I have nothing to teach them!”

“You can teach them how to confess their sins, can’t you? You can show them the way to Jesus, I’m sure, now that you have found it yourself? You have not finished your confession here untilyou have met your class and made it right with them, my boy. I’m counting on your testimony to bring those boys to the Lord Jesus.”

Murray’s face softened.

“Could I do that?” he asked thoughtfully, with a luminous look in his eyes. “Would you trust me to do that when I will in all probability be in jail next Sunday?”

“You could do that, my son, and I will trust you to do it. I want you to do it. It will make the jail bright around you to remember that you had this opportunity to testify before the opportunity passed by forever. You have made an impression on those boys, and you must make sure that it is not spoiled. Tell them the truth. Show them how Jesus forgives. Show them that it is better to confess soon than late.”

So Murray taught his Sunday school class, taught it in such a way that every boy in the class felt before it was over that he had been personally brought before the judgment seat of God and tried. Taught it so well that several boys went home and took out personal and private sins that had been hidden deep in their hearts and renounced them in boyish prayers, in dark rooms at night, after the rest of the house was sleeping. Taught it so powerfully that the superintendent nodded toward the class and said in a low tone to the minister, “What are we going to do about that young man? Isn’t there some way to keep him here? The real man can’t possibly take his place now. Those boys will resent his presence, no matter how fine he is.”

A moment later the minister stood behind that class for amoment and noticed the sober, thoughtful faces of the boys. The usual restless merriment was not present. The boys had been in touch for a half hour with the vital things of the soul and had no time for trifling. He watched them a moment as the closing hymn was announced. Then he laid a hand on the shoulder of the teacher.

“Now, Murray,” he said, using his first name familiarly with a fatherly accent, “I’m ready to take you over to Wood’s Corners. We’ll just slip out this door while they’re singing. We’ll have plenty of time to get back for the evening service. Mrs. Summers has prepared us a lunch we can eat on the way back, and so we needn’t hurry.”

Chapter 25

I
t was very still in the small gloomy room of the little country hospital where the sick man had been taken when it had been determined to operate on him. The woman down the hall who had been having hysterics every two or three days had been moved to the next floor, and her penetrating voice was not so constantly an annoyance. The baby across the hall was too desperately ill to cry, and the other patients had dropped off to sleep. The hall was almost as quiet as night.

The patient lay with his eyes closed and a discouraged droop to his nicely chiseled mouth. His red curls had been clipped close under the bandages, but one could see they were red. He had long, capable fingers, but they lay pallid and transparent on the cheap coverlet, as if they never would work again. His whole attitude revealed utter defeat and discouragement. As he lay there, still as death and almost as rigid, a tear stole slowly out fromunder the long, dark lashes. A weak, warm tear. He brushed it away impatiently with his long, thin hand and turned over with a quick-drawn sigh. Even the effort of turning over was a difficult and slow performance. He felt so unacquainted with the muscles of his heavy, inert body. He wondered if he ever again would walk around and do things like other people.

As if she had heard him far out in the hall, the nurse opened the door and came in. It annoyed him that he could not even sigh without being watched.

“Did you call, Mr. Murray?”

“No, Nurse.”

“Did you want anything, Mr. Murray?”

“Yes, I want a great many things!” he snapped unexpectedly. “I want to get up and walk around and go to my work.” He had almost said, “I want to go home,” only he remembered in time that he had no home to go to. No one to care where he went.

“I want my mail!” he added suddenly. “I think it’s time this monkey business stopped! I suppose the doctor has told you I mustn’t have my mail yet. He’s afraid there’ll be something disturbing in it. But that isn’t possible. I haven’t any near relatives left. They’re all dead. I suppose I’ve lost my job long ago, so it can’t be anything disturbing about business, and I haven’t any girl anywhere that cares a cent about me or I about her, so you see there’s really no danger in letting me have it. In fact, I
will
have it! I wish you would go and get it right away. Tell the doctor I demand it. There would surely be something to interest me for afew minutes and make me forget this monotonous room and the squeak of your rubber heels on the hall floor!”

He had red hair, but he had not been savage like this before. He had just reached the limit of his nerves, and he was angry at that tear. It had probably left a wide track on his cheek, and that abominable nurse, who knew everything and thought of everything and presumed to manage him, would know he had been crying like a baby. Yes, she was looking hard at him now, as if she saw it. He felt it wet and cold on his cheek where he had not wiped it off thoroughly.

The nurse came a step nearer.

“I’m real sorry about your mail,” she said sympathetically, “but your suspicions are all wrong. The doctor asked me this morning if I couldn’t find out someone to write to about your mail. There truly hasn’t been a bit of mail since you came here. And the head nurse wrote to that address you gave her, I’m sure, for I saw her addressing the letter. Isn’t it likely they have made some mistake about the address? I wouldn’t fret about it if I were you. You’ll forget it all when you get well. Wouldn’t you like me to read to you awhile? There’s a real good story in the Sunday paper. I’ll get it if you want me to.”