Substitute Guest (8 page)

It was slow progress after the snowplow, however, and a bit roundabout, because Bill Gates was obliged to look after certain spots in the borough before he went out on the highway, but eventually they crept out toward the farm, and Ruth, keeping her car close in the wake of the snowplow, and worrying her windshield wiper to make it do a little better with the blurring, driving snow that blinded her way, finally arrived in sight of the glinting colors on the Christmas tree that nobody as yet had thought to turn off. If she had known that a mile and a half ahead of her at that moment Lance and an unknown stranger were struggling along, shoveling their way through a drift higher than their heads, at the worst curve of the road below the mountain trail, she would certainly have plowed ahead herself, no matter what the risk, and tried in some way to help them out. But she didn’t know.

Bill Gates, however, knew the possibilities of the drifted driveway, and he ran his big plow a little ahead of the Devereaux gate and stopped, jumping off and running back to her as she was about to venture the turn.

Father Devereaux was out with the coal shovel from the furnace, endeavoring to make the entrance a little safer for her, but Bill Gates wasn’t taking any chances. He made Ruth shove over, and he took the wheel, turning the small car with extreme care and slowly plunging it through the billows of snow that had furrowed themselves up since the storm began. Father Devereaux hurried ahead to open the garage door, but Bill Gates stopped at the kitchen door, and lifting Ruth out bodily before she realized what was happening, he bore her up the steps and set her down at the kitchen door under the porch roof comparatively out of the storm. Then he drove on into the garage and housed the car safely before he hurried back to his snowplow.

It wasn’t the reception she had hoped for, but she was glad to be here at last. What a terrible storm! How had any of those children got to the church at all? She hoped in passing that they were all safely home. Then she wondered where Lance was and why he hadn’t hurried out to greet her. But of course the storm was so loud he might not have heard her arrive. Still, wouldn’t he have been watching?

The sleet was biting her face and she tried the door, found her way into the kitchen shed, and so on into kitchen and dining room. Nobody seemed to be around. Had they all gone upstairs? Then suddenly in the dimness of the corner of the dining room she saw Lance’s mother kneeling by the old rocking chair praying quietly.

She paused a moment startled. She knew that Lance’s mother was a wonderful Christian woman, and took everything to the Lord in prayer, but she sensed an unusual atmosphere. Of course Mrs. Devereaux had not heard her come in. The wind was roaring so around the house that it drowned all but very clear sounds. And darkness was settling down around the house. There was only the soft light from the Christmas tree in the living room. After an instant Ruth went softly by the kneeling figure on into the other room, and then she saw Daryl standing by the window with her face pressed against the pane looking out into the blinding snow. Daryl must be watching for her, and the snow was so thick that she had missed her.

She stepped over softly and slipped her arm around Daryl’s waist.

“Daryl, dear!” she whispered. Daryl turned sharply toward her and she saw that there were tears glistening on her cheeks.

“Why, Daryl, darling! What is the matter?” she said, her heart filled with sudden alarm. “You’ve been crying! Christmas Eve! What can be the matter?”

“Oh, Ruth! Everything is so mixed up!” cried Daryl softly, trying to brush the tears away and hold her head up bravely. But her lips were quivering, and her eyes were full of trouble.

Ruth unfastened her snowy coat and dropped it on the floor behind her, putting out her arms to Daryl and folding her in a loving hug.

“What is it, dear? Tell me, please,” she said softly.

Daryl yielded for an instant, and then, her face coming in contact with the snowy particles on Ruth’s hair, she lifted her head.

“Oh, my dear! I’m letting you stand here in all your wet things! But you don’t know how glad I am you have come! I was worried about you, too. I telephoned the garage, and when they said you were on your way in all this awfulness I just trembled. It seemed to me there were just too many things to worry about all at once. I’m glad you are here safe and sound. Here, let me take your hat, and sit down till I pull off your galoshes. I thought if Lance should get back and find you lost that would be the last straw. Thank God you are here safely!”

“Lance?” said Ruth with sudden fright in her voice. “Where is he? He didn’t start out after he promised me he wouldn’t, did he?
Where
is he?”

“He didn’t start after you,” said Lance’s sister with a catch of her breath like a sob, “but he’s out, he and a strange man. They’ve gone on foot to take some medicine up the mountain the Farley house on the cliff, where there is a woman who will die if she doesn’t get it by six o’clock. They’ve been gone half an hour, and it’s the longest half hour I ever lived through!”

“But why did he go on foot, Daryl?” asked the distressed Ruth. “Oh, if Lance hadn’t left the car down in the village for me he would have had it here to use! But he knew I would be here in a short time. Why didn’t he wait and take it?”

“No, Ruth, it wouldn’t have done any good. They had to go on foot. The river road to the cliff is impassable, a twelve-foot drift. No car could get through. They had to take to the trail.”

“But if the car had been here they could at least have driven to the foot of the trail. Why didn’t they wait?”

“They couldn’t wait, Ruth. The woman is dying and every minute counted. And besides, Lance said the car wouldn’t do any good. The snow was too deep, unless it was broken by the plow, or shovels. You mustn’t blame yourself, Ruth. You did just what Lance asked you to do, and besides it had to stay in the garage till it was finished. It couldn’t be used till it was fixed. Now lean back and rest, do, and I’ll get you a cup of something hot. Would you rather have tea or coffee? You look tired to death! I know you have had a terribly hard day. If I had had anyway of getting down there I would have come to help you. But forget it now, and just rest.”

“Oh, I don’t want anything to eat, Daryl, really I don’t. Please tell me more about this. Who is the woman Lance has gone to help, and what is the matter with her? Did he know he had to go when he talked to me on the telephone?”

“No, he didn’t. It was just after he hung up that the man came along.”

“Man, what man?”

“A stranger! His car stalled right in front of the house. He stripped the gears or something. I didn’t pay any attention to what they said about it, and he was on his way to take some medicine to the Farley house, said he’d staked his life on getting there by six o’clock and he had to take it even if he had to walk. He wanted to get his car fixed, or hire a car, and when Lance told him he couldn’t get there in a car tonight in this storm, he just shut his lips and said he had to go anyway, even if he died in the attempt. Of course when Lance heard it was to save a life he said, ‘Oh, that’s different. Then I’ll go with you.’ So Father got them some ropes and lanterns and things, and Mother made coffee, and got flannel things for them, and they went right off. It was rather awful, seeing them go into the storm, and the darkness beginning to come down!”

“It is awful!” said Ruth, shuddering. “If you haven’t been out in it you can’t possibly know! I don’t see how they can live long in it. Don’t you think we ought to go after them? I wouldn’t mind driving. I can’t bear to think of him out there freezing to death perhaps!”

“No!” said Daryl, taking a deep breath. “They won’t
freeze
to death. They are so bundled up they couldn’t for a long time. No, and you would only get stuck in a drift yourself and have to be dug out, or walk back. By this time they’ve likely reached the foot of the mountain trail, and you couldn’t climb the trail in a car. Besides, Lance would be furious. No, we’ve just got to wait and bear this till—till—they come back. Mother’s in there praying. I guess maybe that’s the best thing we can do.”

“Yes,” said Ruth. “We will! I’ve been doing it in my heart ever since your first word. But oh, I’d like to be doing something more! It’s provoking to be only a girl at a time like this. You know perfectly well if we were out there struggling along in that storm Lance would come after us!”

“Yes,” said Daryl, “but you know he wouldn’t want you to come after him. Besides, it’s impossible!” Daryl shut her lips and drew a deep breath of resignation.

“But it seems as if somebody ought to do something.”

“Where is that friend of yours you said you were expecting? Hasn’t he come yet? Perhaps he would go after them and make sure they are all right. It seems as if there would be more safety in numbers.”

A sudden shade passed over Daryl’s face. She caught a quick breath and said in a sad, decisive voice, “Harold isn’t coming.”

“Oh! Couldn’t he get here? Well, that shows you how dangerous the going is. And up that mountain, too. It seems so awful! Don’t you think we ought to telephone the police in town, or somebody? If Bill Gates knew about it he would go after them with the snowplow, I’m sure.”

Daryl shook her head.

“Lance wouldn’t want us to do that,” she said decidedly. “And Bill Gates couldn’t run the snowplow up the mountain! No, Ruth, if anything ought to be done Father’ll do it.”

“Oh, yes, you have a father,” said Ruth, drawing a breath of relief. “What did he think about it? Why did he let Lance go?”

“He told Lance he must go, of course, and he prayed for them when they started out. Prayed for both of them. He’s probably praying now.”

They sat quite still for a moment or two thinking, while the room seemed to grow darker in the corners, and the firelight flickered and glowed. A stick collapsed with a soft plush sound and scattered lovely rose coals in the ashes, and then flared up golden and flame colored again and went on burning the stick above.

“What was he like, the stranger?” asked Ruth suddenly. “Was he a Christian, do you suppose?”

“I don’t know,” said Daryl thoughtfully. “I didn’t look at him much. He bowed his head when Father prayed. They were at the table to drink coffee before they left, and Father came and asked a blessing on them—” She paused gravely. “He had nice eyes. That was all I noticed about him. I was rather upset, you know.”

“Of course,” said Ruth sorrowfully.

Then suddenly Father Devereaux came in with Ruth’s suitcase.

“Well, you got here safely, little girl, didn’t you? Thank God for that!” he said cheerfully, setting down the suitcase and coming up to shake hands. And Mother Devereaux appeared from the shadows of the other room just then and took Ruth in her arms and kissed her.

“It is good to have you here safely,” she said gently. Ruth noticed that there was a calmness about her, and a peace upon her brow, and suddenly she took heart of hope. Of course, Lance was safe in the hands of the Lord! Why should she doubt?

“It’s time we had something to eat!” said the mother practically. “Come, girls, let’s get to work and get supper. It’s getting on toward six o’clock, and Ruth looks worn to a frazzle.”

“Oh, Mother, aren’t you going to wait till—till—?”

“Wait till the boys get back? Why no, of course not. We’re going to be sane, sensible people and eat now when we need it. Then we can be free to wait on them when they come back hungry as bears.”

“Yes,” said Father, “they’ll be hungry all right. But it will be some time before they get back, and it’s much better to be busy and happy and not sit around holding your breath. We’ll just put the matter in God’s hands, and then trust Him. Mother, what can I do after I’ve tended the fires? Do you want that big kettle of soup brought in from the cold room and put on the fire?”

“No, we’ll keep the soup for the boys. I’ve got scalloped oysters in the oven and potatoes roasting, too. They’ll be done by the time we get the milk and butter and things on the table.”

“Oh, Mother,” said Daryl sorrowfully, “and Lance is so fond of scalloped oysters! It seems a pity not to wait for him.”

“Soup will be better for him when he is tired. It’s easy to eat, too, and won’t spoil by waiting. Get to work, girls, and let’s have supper! It’s Christmas Eve, you know!”

In spite of their heavy hearts, the mother put the new life into them, for they remembered she had been talking with her Lord, and they felt her assurance and faith.

Father went out into the cold room and brought things in from the refrigerator before he took his overcoat off, and they could hear him singing in his sweet baritone:

“God’s way is the best way
,

God’s way is the right way
,

I’ll trust in Him always
,

He knoweth the best!”

A
fter the first dash into the storm, which took his breath and bit at his nerve and lashed his already weary body, Alan Monteith seemed to get his second wind, and with his head bent to the gale to shelter eyes and tender cheeks unused to such blasts, he plodded after his guide with a feeling of courage and purpose. Right here it wasn’t unbearable. The snow was deep, to be sure, and required long strides and high lifting of feet, but it was possible to make a slow progress. After he had gone about a quarter of a mile he felt that they must be almost at their destination and his hopes grew high. He was making it after all.

He had no means of judging time, for he could not see his watch even if he had time to stop and look, but he plodded on hoping that in a few more steps they would be climbing the mountain. But the relentless clothesline fastened around his waist drew him on, and his strength presently began to flag. His limbs ached excruciatingly. He longed to sit down in the snow, if only for an instant, just to relax and take the terrible ache out of his back. But Lance was so far ahead of him that the only way he could attract his attention was by pulling the rope, and he was too proud to halt the march and own that he could not keep up with the young giant ahead who was going on and on and on as if he wore seven-league boots. So he lifted his feet higher and strode on, though it seemed as if each step must be his last, and his breath began to come in quick, short gasps.