Substitute Guest (19 page)

Over and over he had to tell himself that he must stop thinking about her, must wipe out the memory of that moment when he held her close in his arms and felt that he would like to hold her forever. He must forget it or all self-respect would be gone. But just as soon as he turned over, resolved to go to sleep, back would come the thought of her so close to his heart, her hair touching his face, her breath upon his cheek, and thrill him anew.

“I am a fool!” he said wearily, staring into the quietness of the room. The fire had died down, the snow outside had ceased to fall, and tomorrow would be another day. The roads would clear up, and he would have to go home. Perhaps he would never see her again! And that fellow Harold would hang around, likely, and marry her someday, and make her miserable ever after. Why hadn’t he found her first? He’d be willing to devote his whole life to trying to make her happy. He’d even be willing to give up his worldly ambitions if he could have a home with her in it!

He tried telling himself that this was infatuation, that he had known her only a day, and it was ridiculous for him to feel as if he had lost the whole universe and life was not worth living. This was the middle of the night, and he had eaten a huge piece of mince pie the last thing before he went to bed. That was all it was of course. Things would be sane again in the morning.

Ruth was asleep long before Daryl, though Daryl lay tense and still, not stirring. The developments of the day seemed to sweep over her as if she were experiencing them all over again. Slowly she went step by step from one thing to another, taking note of little things she had not had time to take in thoroughly while they were happening, seeing them now in the light of later happenings. Until she came fully upon that moment when Alan had looked into her eyes in the kitchen after they had come up from the cellar. There had been something in his look that called to her, something that her heart had leaped up and answered in spite of all her admonitions to the contrary. And it was this thing that she was really set to examine before she slept. It was as if by that look he had said to her, “You and I have suddenly been set apart from others by something deep and sweet and breathtaking. What are we going to do about it?” That was what she had to face and answer before she slept.

Over and over she had to go, trying to explain away that bliss that had come to her as he picked her up in his arms and held her for that instant. Again and again she told herself that it had not happened at all, that she would not acknowledge it, only to feel anew the thrill of joy at the thought of this stranger whom she had known only a day.

Perhaps her struggles were made even worse by the arrival of those Christmas roses from the recalcitrant Harold. Minute by minute she tried to rouse a hope that Harold would come tomorrow and be able to explain it all away and make things right between them. But somehow joy had departed from that thought. She blamed herself and shed a few silent tears at her own state of mind. Then for the first time she had a chance to really face what Harold had done; to shudder over his drunken voice as he talked to her over the telephone, to recall his very words and phrases, and to feel the hot waves of mortification and despair and shame pouring over her face at the thought of it. Harold, to whom she had imputed nothing but strength and fineness and honor. Harold, who had promised her he would never touch another drop of liquor if that was her desire, that he didn’t care for it anyway. She remembered his light, airy promise: “Certainly, sweetheart, if that will be any comfort to you, I’ll give it up. I never cared in the least about drinking, only did it because everybody I knew drank. No, it won’t be the slightest trouble for me to go on the water wagon. Of course I think you’re a bit fanatical about it, but anybody as lovely as you are has a right to a few whims and fancies. But just to prove it’s nothing to me, I’ll never drink again!”

How easily she had believed him—because she wanted to so much. She saw that now. He had seemed so noble and self-sacrificing to her when he promised so easily. It had only seemed to prove to her how much he cared for her. And he hadn’t drank since! Four months ago!
Or—had
he? How did she know? He had taken care that she shouldn’t see him drinking anyway. The few times that he had taken her out among his friends where they were drinking he had waved the waiter away with a breezy hand and said comically, quite openly, where all could hear him: “No, I’m on the water wagon!” And they had laughed at him, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. Now, she wondered—! Were they only laughing
with
him or
at her?
And again the blood rolled hotly over her weary young face as she lay there in the dark and faced the possibilities ahead of her.

But at least while she was thinking about Harold she was not thinking about this interesting stranger, who did not belong to her in any sense, and whom she just must not think about nor be interested in. It was all her foolish imagination anyway. Likely he hadn’t noticed anything. She would consider it that and just go on facing her own problems. She
must!
What a horrible mess this Christmas was making of itself! When she had thought it was going to be so wonderful! And yet, suppose the stranger had not come? How desolate it would have been with Harold acting that way!

And suddenly all quietly, the tears poured down on her pillow! Oh, God, why couldn’t Harold have been all right? Why did he have to go off with another crowd? He didn’t even have the grace to blame it on the storm. He had gone still farther than the distance to Collamer.

But at last she slept, worn out with trying to straighten out her little world.

They all slept late the next morning, the world was so still and white outside, so well padded from all sounds. Even the dogs on the next farm seemed to have their howling voices muted, or perhaps the world was too well insulated with snow to let the sound travel properly.

Father and Mother Devereaux woke first, and Father Devereaux stole a march on Lance and got the milking done, and quite a space cleared from the side porch to the garage before Lance awoke.

The sun was shining brightly with such a blazing glory that it was amazing when Daryl opened her eyes and found Ruth nearly dressed. Somehow the perplexities of the night had vanished and hope stood there smiling. It was morning, the storm had ceased, the sun was shining, and Christmas was still here. No telling what delightful things might happen!

She sprang up and began to dress hurriedly, putting on a hand-knit dress of bright, cherry color that she had knit herself. It was not new, but it went on quickly and always looked good. It gave her somewhat wan cheeks a little reflected color and the tiny line of black edging around the neck and cuffs and pockets set her off to advantage, although she didn’t even know it. She was too intent upon getting down to help her mother with the breakfast.

Ruth came down with her, all in dark blue with a little trimming of squirrel fur around the neck and sleeves. Alan thought how nice both girls looked as he came out to breakfast at the call of the bell, and thrilled again at the sight of the girl he had resolved last night not to think any more about. What lovely girls they were! What made them so different from the girls among whom he had been mingling recently? He did not realize before what a difference makeup made in the character of a face. And yet there was no lack of loveliness here without it. He had a passing wonder how Demeter Cass would look without her lipstick? Did she have a clean, healthy complexion of her own underneath all the decoration? One ought to be able the better to discern the character of a girl by seeing her without an artificial mask.

There were buckwheat cakes and sausage for breakfast, and Alan felt he had never tasted anything quite so delectable in his life. Then the three men hurried out to deal with the snow.

“I’ve phoned down for some more snow shovels,” said Lance as he left with a grin for the girls. “Bill Gates will bring them when he gets up with the plow sometime this morning. When they come, you girls can come out and help if you want to.”

“You needn’t think we are going to wait for shovels,” said Ruth with a toss of her head. “There are plenty of brooms, aren’t there? Well, when we get these dishes done we’ll be out and show you what the broom brigade can do. You break down the big drifts and we’ll do the fine fancy work on the walks.”

So they went out into the wonder-world of whiteness and spent two gorgeous hours doing real hard work in the snow. And it was no child’s play either, for the snow had packed itself firmly down and settled into impenetrable walls.

Alan worked away with an old long-handled coal shovel, and Lance improvised a snow shovel from boards hastily nailed together. They made the father take the only real snow shovel they had.

“After the snowplow goes through I’ll take the car and ramble up the road and retrieve the shovels we left at the foot of the mountain,” said Lance, as he plodded on with his unhandy tool.

By the time the snowplow came through they had the front path and sidewalk cleared, and the driveway to the garage in fairly passable state. But they seized on the two new shovels Bill Gates brought with him and went to work again with renewed vigor.

They had paused in their actual work for a little to make an enormous snowman at one side of the path, with a clothes prop for arms. They dressed him in an old red sweater and put a cap on his head, then took time to engage in a game of snowballs. Suddenly the sound of sleigh bells smote the air cheerily, and looking up in astonishment they saw coming down the road an old-time double sleigh packed with people wrapped to the eyebrows with handsome furs. The fact that the brightly caparisoned horses were only farm horses and not used to all this hilarity did not detract from the impression of the sleigh. There were red paper Christmas bells tossing merrily on the ancient harness as well as a string of real silver bells, and they came on as majestically as a circus parade and stopped with a flourish before the Devereaux house.

“Do you know where a family by the name of Devereaux lives?” asked a supercilious passenger from the backseat, peering condescendingly out under golden lashes from her gorgeous furs.

Just then Alan Monteith came around the house with a broom in his hand and a pair of red mittens that Mother Devereaux had sent out for the snowman. He stalked gravely over and adjusted the additions to the effigy before he turned to see what had appeared in the road. Then he suddenly heard a familiar voice and turned sharply, seeing the horses and sleigh for the first time.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alan! Is that really you? What on earth are you doing? Hurry up and brush the snow off and get in! We’ve come to rescue you. Where is your luggage? Get it quick and make it snappy! We’re half starved and want to get back to lunch!”

Alan Monteith stood still for a full second and stared until he had identified Demeter Cass and some of her friends, and a strange guilty feeling came to him as if somebody had caught him stealing, as if it was all up with him now.

The other three young people stood and stared also, blinking at the sudden appearance of the strangers.

Daryl recognized the voice at once as the one that had come over the telephone so petulantly. So that was the girl that would have it appear that she owned Alan Monteith!

Daryl had almost forgotten her fears of the midnight watch. They had had such a good time out in the snow, like a lot of children, throwing snow in each other’s faces, trying to take each other unaware, doing real work at making paths. Alan was as good fun as if she had known him always. And now this!

“Gosh!” said Lance in dismay to Ruth who was never far from his steps. “Now I suppose this is the end of our good times! Can you beat it? A lot of high-hats!”

“For heaven’s sake, Alan,” called the imperious voice of Demeter Cass again, “this is a rescue party come to take you off your desert island. Don’t you know a rescue party when you see one?”

Then Alan grinned and called back jovially, “But suppose I don’t want to be rescued? What then?”

A
lan came forward then genially, pulling off the red woolen cap that Daryl had hunted out for him and greeting them all in his free, friendly way. The hearts of his three former companions sank as they watched him.