Substitute Guest (14 page)

So, the ash trays, vanity cases, decks of cards, and cigarette cases went into the discard pile and narrowed down the lot quite considerably. Among those that were left he had much ado to please himself. For he suddenly discovered that he would like to give something very nice indeed to everyone in the house. There were among his collection two handsome wallets with key cases to match, one in pin seal and one in hand-tooled leather. Those would do for the two men of the household. He drew a breath of satisfaction, tied them up carefully in the wrappings that had been provided by the store, and wrote the names of Lance and his father on them. But the women would be harder.

He knew which of all his gifts he would like to give to Daryl, but of course he couldn’t. She wouldn’t likely accept it if he did. It was a lovely pearl pin of exquisite workmanship, set in platinum, the pearls flawless. It was quiet and lovely, yet very distinctive. He had selected it half tentatively for Demeter Cass, knowing it could be returned if he decided against giving it to her. It was in a way symbolic of what he would like to think the handsome Demeter was like, and yet all the while in his heart he had known she wasn’t. He had had a passing thought that perhaps he might make it a test of her. If she liked it she must have the true fineness of soul he had sometimes fancied he saw behind the veneer of sophistication that the times demanded. If she did not, then she wasn’t what he wanted. He had almost come to the point of letting that pin make his decision about Demeter, whether or not she was the girl he wanted in his life. He was still doubtful as to whether Demeter as he knew her would ever count it a treasure among her possessions. That was why, now, he could consider the pin as a gift to another.

Strange how he felt about that pin. As if it were a thing with a personality that needed to be appreciated. Now take this other girl—or either of the two girls in the house for the matter of that. There would be nothing incongruous about either of those girls wearing a pin like that. Even on a plain dress it would seem at home, though it would grace a royal garment anywhere.

And how he would like to give that to Daryl. But he mustn’t, of course. Girls like Daryl and Ruth did not accept jewelry from strangers. Not even from strangers who had played some small part in saving a brother’s life—after he had put it in peril for his own needs. And besides, a gift like that might likely make trouble for her with that Harold person, through he found himself wishing fervently that it might.

But then a pleasant thought came to him. There was no reason why he couldn’t give it to Daryl Devereaux’s mother, nor why she shouldn’t accept it. She had put a motherly kiss upon his forehead that he would never forget. He would like to give the pin to her! It would be lovely fastening the lace around her neck; it would set off her sweet face under her wavy white hair. He would give the pin to the mother, of course! What a pleasure that would be! And now he suddenly saw that to subject that pin to the test of a Demeter Cass was being unfair to it. He liked the pin for itself, because it was something he would have liked to give to his own beloved mother if she had been alive. And he suddenly knew definitely that Demeter never would have liked it, and probably wouldn’t have even taken the trouble to dissemble enough about it to make him think she liked it. It wasn’t unlikely that she might have screamed out with merriment, in that half-childish way she had sometimes, and called the crowd to laugh over the gift, saying he had gone puritan on them—yes, and kept it up all day as a good joke, and then asked him at night to please take it back and exchange it for jade. He knew now that he had never really meant to try her out with that pin, not unless some miracle occurred that would put her to the test before she ever saw the pin. He couldn’t have exposed that pin to ridicule. It was too exquisite.

Yes, he would give it to Mother Devereaux! That was settled. Sometime perhaps Daryl would borrow it and he would see her wear it, and that would give him pleasure, too.

So he wrapped it carefully and labeled it.

He looked over his remaining property, perplexed. What could he give the girls? He finally decided on two lovely scarfs, made of some rare wool, soft as kittens’ ears. He had bought them dubiously, as he had bought all the things he really liked, feeling that in a mixed company such as a house party there would surely be one or two people who would appreciate their beauty. Also the salesman had assured him that they were exceedingly smart. He might have to return them, but he had enjoyed buying them.

He decided that he would give the blue one to Daryl. Blue and white it was, with exquisitely blended colors, and it seemed like the blue of the girl’s wonderful eyes. The crimson and white and black one would be gorgeous on quiet little Ruth with her brown hair and dark eyes.

He drew another sigh of relief as he finally folded them and put them back in the pretty gift boxes and wrote the girls’ names on them.

He gathered up the other things that he had discarded—“junk” he called it as he stuffed it grimly into the suitcase—and registered a resolve never to be guilty of buying anything like those again.

He opened the door most cautiously and tiptoed across the hall into the living room. All was quiet in the house. He hoped no one was around yet, though there was such a comfortable air of living and peace in the room that it hardly seemed possible, and that was certainly the aroma of coffee he smelled.

He went over to the fireplace where a brisk fire was crackling, giving good evidence of somebody having been on the job since last night, and there he carefully inserted his packages into the right stockings, or tied them on the outside when they were too large to go in. Somebody else had been to the stockings before him. Every stocking was lumpy and bulging. Even his own was filled to the brim and didn’t need the newspaper he had promised it to keep up appearances. It touched him to think of their kindness. This was a great family. How they took a stranger in! And a stranger whom they didn’t know about beforehand!

He turned away and looking toward the tree saw packages there piled beneath the branches. Ah! There was another chance! There must be more things among his collection that he could add. There was some fine perfume, he knew, and a lot of handkerchiefs, pretty ones. He had bought those afterward for fillers in case there were more people at that house party than he knew about. He could put several in a box. Perfume and handkerchiefs, a gold pencil, a small pocket compass. Oh, he could do very well and hold his own with this dear family.

So he hurried back into his room and tied up and labeled a few more things, feeling like a boy again, and having the time of his life.

A
lan had just finished placing his second installment of gifts under the tree when he became aware that someone was standing in the doorway, and turning he saw Daryl in a green dress that matched the holly leaves, and a white apron with little red bows of ribbon like holly berries. She was smiling and called out, “Merry Christmas! We were keeping still, hoping you would have a good sleep, but it seems you have stolen a march on us.”

“Oh, I had a wonderful sleep!” said Alan. “There must be some magic about that room and that bed. The morning came all too soon.”

“But why did you get up? Why didn’t you sleep later? We told you to sleep as long as you could.”

“I know,” he said, “but I was like a child! I never could sleep on Christmas morning. I wanted to see what had happened to the stockings. I should say a good deal has happened!” He grinned as he looked toward the mantel, and then glanced down at the motley array of packages under the tree.

“Isn’t it fun?” said Daryl. “I just love Christmas! Even when we were little kids Mother always let us make things for each other, and we always enjoyed the surprises so much. It didn’t matter what they were. I made Father a pair of woolen gloves one Christmas out of a piece of brown flannel. I ripped up his old ones and got the pattern. They were all crooked and cut the wrong way of the cloth and the stitches were funny and uneven, but Father made a big fuss about them, said they were the best gloves he had ever had, and wore them every cold day that winter, though I know they were awfully crooked and misshapen. Oh, some of the dearest memories I have are connected with Christmas. It is the best day of all the year.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since my mother died ten years ago,” said Alan wistfully. “That’s why I’m so pleased that fate dropped me down here and shut me in so that I could decently stay a little while and get a glimpse at one.”

“Don’t say ‘fate,’ say ‘our Father,’” said Mother Devereaux, appearing in the doorway. “We are glad to feel He sent you to us. Our Christmas is going to be happier because you came. Now, will you come out and have a bite to eat? We’re not having a very elaborate breakfast this morning because it is so late, and the children are in a hurry to get to the stockings.”

They went out to the dining room and Alan was surprised to find Lance there ahead of him, coming in from the woodshed with his arms full of wood.

“What, you up?” he said. “I thought you would play the part of invalid this morning, and I should have all the honors. How is your ankle?”

“Fine!” said Lance, smiling. “Mother did it up in arnica last night and it seems to be all right this morning. Of course I’m saving it a little, but it doesn’t pain me anymore. I think we came out of that scrape pretty well last night. Are you all right?”

“Fine!” said Alan. “Only a little stiff in places, but I fancy I’m not in training as much as you are these days. However there were times last night when I thought we had come to the end of this life down here, and I must own I was ready to give up. If it hadn’t been for you I would have.”

“Boy! You were great!” said Lance with kindling eyes. “You feeling as low as that, and then bucking up and taking me on, too!”

“Well, you needn’t praise me too much. I can tell you it was some power beyond myself that helped me keep going at the end. I am sure it must have been your mother’s prayers.”

“Of course!” said Lance with a reverent glance toward his mother.

“Well, I certainly am glad you’re able to be up this morning,” said Alan as he pulled out Daryl’s chair for her at the table.

“Up!” said the father, coming in just then. “Lance beat me up for once. He fixed all the fires, and then he went out and milked Chrystobel.”

“And who, pray, is Chrystobel?” asked Alan, mystified.

“Chrystobel is the cow,” explained Daryl with a twinkle.

“Oh,” said Alan sorrowfully, “then I’ve missed that! All my life I’ve wanted to milk a cow, and I never had a chance! And now to have come as near as this and have missed it. How often do you perform that rite, Mr. Devereaux?”

“Twice a day,” said the old man, smiling. “I’ll let you have a try this afternoon along toward dark.”

“Delighted, if you’ll let me stay that long.” And Alan cast an anxious eye toward the window still white with snow.

“I rather think you’ll be compelled to stay,” said the elder Devereaux, “unless you want to hitchhike home. They told me they couldn’t do anything about your car until Christmas was over, so many of the men are off celebrating. And we hope you’ll be a good sport and stay by us through our good time here. I know the whole family feels as I do, that it will be a great privilege to have you with us.”

“Well, you are wonderful!” said Alan. “Just wonderful! You may be sure I’ll stay. Nothing could drag me away till I just have to get back to my work in the city. I feel as if I had found the first real home since my mother died.”

Daryl lifted her beautiful eyes and looked at him as if she were trying to be sure he meant it, and that look stayed with him. His eyes met hers, and he wondered if she really wanted him there or was only hiding a deep trouble of her own and wished he were away. Suddenly she smiled, a shy sweet smile, and something happened to his heart. It gave an odd little twinge and seemed to turn over. He told himself it was the unusual exertion yesterday that made it behave so strangely, but he really knew that it was Daryl’s smile that had started it.

Simple breakfast, Mrs. Devereaux had said.

There was wonderful oatmeal, steamed all night until each grain stood out softly and separately, with Chrystobel’s cream to eat on it, cream almost as thick as the oatmeal. Eaten in old Haviland china saucers with sprigs of forget-me-not on them, and a silver spoon so old it was almost paper-thin. Then there were hot rolls and doughnuts and coffee! Simple breakfast indeed!

After breakfast there was family worship. That was an entirely new experience for Alan. His father had been dead a good many years, and while his mother had taught him to say his prayers when he was a child, she had been a shy woman, and had never established the habit of family worship in their small broken home. Alan listened to the scripture reading, and then the prayer with reverent bent head, and thought he began to see some of the reasons why these children had grown up to be so unusual. He knelt with the rest and heard himself prayed for. Heard the Lord thanked for sending him here, and for what he had done toward saving the son of the house, and for all the wonderful ways in which the Lord always worked and made the wrath of man and devil to praise Him, and then heard himself numbered with them as “beloved,” not only to them but to God Himself. Alan had never thought of himself before as being beloved individually of God. He wondered as the prayer went on whether that wasn’t going to make some difference in the way he lived, if he found he really could make himself believe that God loved him in any personal way.

And then in just a sentence he heard the whole way of salvation mentioned as the fact of all others for which to be thankful: that the Son of God had laid aside his kingly estate and come down to earth to bear in his own breast the death penalty with which all were condemned, that all who would accept His death and life as their own might be free to live forever in the presence of God.

Alan Monteith felt when he rose from his knees as if he had been in the very presence of the Most High. Never before had he realized that God could be as real to any human being as He seemed to be to the old man who had prayed that most unusual prayer.