Time of the Singing of Birds

by Grace Livingston Hill

Stormy sat down.

  “These are your papers, and I have prepared this little wallet that you can strap beneath your garments where they will be safe. Now, listen, and set it all down clearly in your mind, for it should not be written lest it fall into enemy hands and do harm, either for yourself or for our cause.”

  “I understand,” said Stormy gravely.

  “Tomorrow night you go out from here under escort. You will be taken to a certain point on the river where you will be met by a man in a boat, who is supposedly fishing. You will wait till the dark of the moon when he will draw up to the bank, and you will get into the boat and lie down. He will cover you with a dark piece of cloth and will take you down the river to an airport where you will present this first set of papers, and you will be hired as an assistant radio operator. Did you ever do anything in the radio line?”

  “Yes, I’ve fooled around with radio quite a good deal when I was a kid.”

  “Good! That will help! And in due time you will be assigned to radio work on an airplane. When this plane reaches its second landing airport you will get off and take the train, and you will find all the data for that trip in this second little envelope. If anything happens that you fall into the hands of the enemy, you must quickly destroy all these papers, tickets and so on, and from that time you’ll be on your own. But I have tried to forestall any trouble of that sort, except for some unforeseen occurrence. Try to hang on to your passport if possible, of course. Now that was as far as I was able to arrange for you, but that will carry you entirely out of enemy-occupied territory, if all goes well. Can you make out from there, either to your outfit or to your homeland?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can. Yes,” said Stormy. “But this is wonderful. I have God to thank for this as well as you, for I could never have worked all this out. Every step would have had to be an adventure, an experiment, and an exceedingly doubtful one.”

  “I hope that this will not be that now, not in any stage of the trip. But—will you let me know when you reach a place of safety?”

  “I sure will,” said Stormy, relapsing into his army dialect.

  “You’ll have to write in code,” said Pierre, “else it might do us harm. We must not be found out for others’ sakes. But I have written down an address to which you can write, which will be forwarded to me, and you must memorize it. Will you do that?”

  “I will do that, my friend,” promised Stormy solemnly. “And if in the days or the years to come there should be a time when I might do something for you to repay you for this great thing you have done for me, will you write to me? I will give you an address that will always reach me sooner or later.”

  “I will promise,” said the man. And so with a “God keep you” they parted for the night, Pierre promising to see him the next day before he left.

  Next evening when it had grown quite dark and even the stars were hidden behind clouds, Stormy prepared to leave and sat waiting for his escort.

  Out across the world his friend Barney Vance fairly haunted the office of the admiral, seeking permission to look for him, and his own regiment solemnly prayed in secret that he might be found. And over in America two girls, one golden haired and one dark haired with a face like an angel, were praying for him. So in a little while Stormy Applegate went out of the cavelike maze of corridors into the night and an untraveled way, trusting in the strength of the Lord.

  He went out, not having seen very far into that underground maze, not knowing its exact location, nor hardly any of its inhabitants, and unable to make known its deepest secrets even if he wanted to, which he did not, of course. But he went out with a profound reverence and admiration for the brave people who would not yield and who were strong enough to stand out against the enemy, against all odds.

  He thought about that underground company a great deal during that first adventurous night, and it definitely registered in his mind as one more great reason why he ought to go back to his own outfit and help fight the rest of that war to the finish, just for those brave, valiant men who were defending their rights and the rights of poor captive prisoners at the risk of their own lives. Always he could feel that Pierre was one of his most valued friends.

  There might be perils on his way back, doubtless would be, but he felt that he was not trying to save his own hide but seeking to convey vitally needed information to his officers that in the end would save lives and principles and promote peace in the future world.

  So Stormy Applegate was once more on his way to unoccupied territory, and a great thankfulness grew within his heart. God had saved him once again, and he must go on feeling that every step of the way was directed by an unseen hand.

  Chapter 15

  “Who is the female snob at Kimberlys’?” asked Hortense as she slammed into Amelia’s hall and frowned at the girl who was usually so willing to lie down and let her walk over her. Therefore, when Hortense was in an ill-humor she went to Amelia’s house and took it out on her.

  “Oh,” said Amelia, with a sparkling face, “that’s Mrs. Kimberly’s niece from New York! She’s come to visit her aunt. Isn’t she lovely? I thought we might run in there and get acquainted and invite her to join our crowd.”

  “Not on your life!” said Hortense contemptuously. “She’s not my type. Any girl who can afford to wear a mink coat like the one she had on her arm when she got off the bus this morning, and is so stingy or so unsophisticated that she doesn’t buy lipstick, is definitely not my type.”

  “Oh!” said Amelia with a sudden gloom over her pleasant morning smile. “But—Hortense, I read somewhere that it’s going to be fashionable pretty soon to wear your face natural, and likely she knows it and has started doing it. They probably don’t use lipstick in New York anymore now, not among the very high-class people.”

  “What do you mean, you little ignoramus? Where did you get all that stuff? On the radio I’ll bet with some old maid crank talking that wants to make all pretty girls look as drab as she does. I can’t abide people like that.”

  “Well,” said Amelia thoughtfully, “she seemed awfully nice. I think maybe you’d like her if you’d meet her. Mrs. Kimberly introduced me this morning when I was passing the house, I wish you’d go over there with me to call.”

  “Not I!” said Hortense fiercely. “I want nothing to do with that type of person. And can’t you see that we should be undoing all our plans if we took up a girl like that? She would make straight for Barney and absorb him. Literally absorb him, if you know what I mean, and then where would we be? As few young men as there are in town anymore we can’t afford to do that.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose you’re right,” said Amelia ruefully. “I said practically that to Jan Harper yesterday when she suggested asking that Roselle girl.”

  “What do you mean? That little schoolmarm? The perfect idea! As if we would mix with her. Besides, she’s years younger, isn’t she? Just a mere baby. Jan must be crazy!”

  “Well, she says she had Barney over singing at church Sunday night. You know she’s playing the organ over at the Old First now. And they say he can sing. Really sing!”

  “Do you mean he sang a solo?”

  “Yes, Jan said so. She said everybody was crazy about it.”

  “Well, he used to have a good voice when he was a kid, but if they get him roped in with that church crowd it will spoil everything. They’re awfully straitlaced, almost as bad as Barney’s mother used to be. They don’t approve of anything that’s any fun. They call it ‘worldly’! Can you imagine it? We’ve got to get to work as quick as Barney gets back and put a stop to that church business. Did you call up Roxy this morning? When did she say he was coming back?”

  “She didn’t know. She said he had to see somebody in the service about when he might have to go back overseas, or something.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake! Are they going to send him back again so soon?”

  “She didn’t know. She said he wanted to go hunt for a buddy of his that was missing.”

 
“What folly. Barney would do a thing like that. That’s the way his mother brought him up. We’ve got to get to work in a hurry. Although I don’t believe the army would allow him to go off on a fool errand like that. If a fellow is missing it means he’s missing, that’s all, and they better give him up and concentrate on somebody else. Just suppose everybody who has somebody over there they admire should take it into their heads to run over after their friends. Why, there wouldn’t be any room left for war! Imagine it! But no, we certainly don’t want that little schoolteacher-child, nor that other important-looking Kimberly girl, either. Forget it, Amelia, and let’s call up our guests and postpone our parties till Barney comes, and then we’ve got to get going without delay. Now I’m going around to that Roxy person and get it out of her where Barney is and how long before he is coming back. This is all bunk that she doesn’t know. I’ll make her tell.” Hortense gave her henchwoman a contemptuous look and marched out of the house.

  On her way down the street she passed the Kimberly house, and there was Cornelia Mayberry out in the yard picking white violets. Hortense studied the cut of her pretty dress and resolved to get one like it if she could. She hurried on her way, not even glancing again toward the beautiful girl who looked up as she passed.

  Hortense found Roxy out gathering eggs from her chickens, giving her a bad half hour but getting not one atom of information from her. Roxy was canny, and Roxy certainly did not like Hortense.

  “It’s a pity you didn’t have several children to look after,” was Roxy’s parting shot as Hortense swung indignantly off toward her gate. “If you had some children you wouldn’t have half so much time to run around after young men.” But Hortense strode on pretending not to hear, and Roxy, enjoying the scene, especially as she saw two women approaching down the road within earshot, grinned mischievously.

  “Hortense!” she called clearly, as if she had forgotten to tell her something, and Hortense paused and looked around haughtily.

  “Do you know what you ought to do? You ought to go around to the community center and look after some of those refugee children they’ve undertaken to care for. That would be a real heartwarming task and give you good practice for the time when you have some children of your own. I’ll speak to the committee about you if you’d like the job.”

  “Oh, shut up!” said Hortense in her most disagreeable tone and swung around to open the gate and march on.

  “Still,” continued Roxy to herself, grinning amusedly, “I’d be sorry for the children if you had charge of ’em.”

  Hortense, as she pranced on her way, was thinking bitter, frustrated thoughts. An old playmate, a returned soldier, highly spoken of for his bravery, had returned for a furlough and she was being kept entirely in the background. Her frantic efforts for his notice had been futile. She hadn’t been able to get him to do anything she planned for him, and that little lighthearted schoolteacher had carried him off to church in triumph. Made him sing for her. For, of course, she had been the one who had done it. “Sunny” he used to call her, just a child! And she was presuming upon that old acquaintance when she was a mere baby! Bah. She had to get even with that girl. Teach her where to get off. Show her that she wasn’t even in the picture with her and her group of friends. A public reception in the town hall would be a good idea. She would start that going right away. Barney could be made to sing at that, too, some army song. And a speech about his experiences could be demanded by the whole crowd. That would be popular enough. Everybody liked Barney, and those that didn’t know him had loved his mother, anyway. It wouldn’t be hard to pull off such a thing. And really, the town ought to recognize what he had done in the war, of course. She had heard some of the women of the women’s club suggest it, but why shouldn’t she get ahead of them and start it herself, thereby getting all the glory?

  She walked on well pleased with herself and decided that she would begin by putting that Margaret Roselle in her place.

  To that end she mounted the steps of the schoolhouse when she came to it, clattered down the bare hall on her high spindly heels, opened first one door and then another, slamming them resoundingly behind her when she found them empty, until she came to the big sunny room where Margaret Roselle was hearing the history class recite.

  Without knocking, she flung the door wide open and stepped into the room, and all the pupils turned and looked at her wonderingly.

  The teacher looked up in surprise.

  “Oh, did you want something?” she asked in her gentle voice.

  “Yes, I did,” said Hortense. “I came to find you. I’m giving a dinner at my house Saturday night of this week. I expect to have several servicemen and some girls, and I wanted to know if I could hire you to wait on the table. You’d be well paid, of course.”

  Sunny looked at Hortense, astonished, and then she laughed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed about me. I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “Oh really? I thought you would do anything to earn a little money,” she said disagreeably. “But surely you would do it for the cause of patriotism. There are to be some servicemen there.”

  Sunny gave her a distant smile and answered firmly, “That would be quite impossible.”

  Then turning back to her class she said, “Now, Mabel, you may recite. What was the great question that came up before Congress at that time?”

  And to Hortense’s amazement the young teacher went calmly on with her work, ignoring the outsider in the room, and all the children astonishingly did the same. Were they trained to such utter concentration on their work, or were they simply indignant at the insult given a teacher who was evidently a great favorite of theirs? Hortense was not so dense that she could not sense this feeling of the children through her own chagrin. She had even failed in mortifying the girl she disliked so much. Disliked without any reason, too, except that she was younger and prettier than herself.

  The end of the matter was that Hortense finally went home and retired behind locked doors to have one of her terrific sick headaches.

  Amelia, calling up later to ask some trifling question and being told that Hortense had a headache and had gone to bed, got herself together and went over to call on the interesting Miss Mayberry, taking care that this visit should not come to the ears of her former mentor. But she did not invite Cornelia Mayberry to join their group. She wouldn’t have dared, not after what Hortense said. But she did admire Miss Mayberry, and somehow she felt that Hortense was getting a trifle too much what the more conservative people called “ultra.” Somehow Amelia’s natural bent was toward things more quietly conventional.

  Amelia went home very thoughtful, and even much more intrigued by Cornelia Mayberry.

  High on the fifth floor of the office building where he spent a great deal of his time, the admiral sat in his comfortable desk chair across from Barney Vance, whom he had just welcomed warmly.

  Out the open window they could look off down the silver winding of the river and see a busy steamer puffing on its way. Down below there somewhere was the beautiful whiteness of the lovely Lincoln Memorial, and across from it the ethereal beauty of the famed cherry-blossom walk, not so far away but that they seemed somehow related, as if like lovely funeral blossoms they marked the passing of a great, powerful soul.

  Barney had waited some time for this interview, and now that he was within the presence of this, his father’s old friend, he almost shrank from making known his request. For suddenly it had become to him something presumptuous that he should ask permission to go on a special search for the one for whom doubtless the army had already made all the search that was necessary. And yet it was Stormy, his Stormy who had saved his life, and therefore Stormy could in no way be so important to anyone else as to himself. Even though Stormy had rendered notable service to his country.

  But now the time had come and he must speak.

  “I’m here in behalf of a buddy of mine who saved my life and brought me on his
own wounded shoulder back to my outfit. If he hadn’t done it I would have died six months ago. The doctors all said so. And while I was still in the hospital he got well and was sent on another special important assignment to get facts about the enemy that were needed. Well, he didn’t come back before I left, and I have reason to think he hasn’t come back yet. Meantime, I’m invalided home somewhat indefinitely, under doctor’s order. But, Admiral, I want to go back now and search for my friend. Or at least to find out somehow whether he is alive and I can save him. Admiral, I wonder if you could tell me whether what I want to do is at all permissible, or possible, while I am still in the army; and if it is, whether you can help me to pull the right strings to get permission? I’m still in the army, you know.”

  The admiral sat staring at Barney with his heavy white eyebrows lifted and his eyes keen and earnest, studying the young soldier before him. He sat with his elbows on the arms of his mahogany chair and his long white fingers just touching their tips. And then he began to ask questions.

  “I suppose you know that this is a very unusual and irregular thing you are asking?” he said gravely.

  “Yes, I was afraid so,” said Barney, “but somehow I had to come. I knew you could advise me. You were the only one I knew to turn to, and I feel this very much on my heart. I must know whether my buddy is alive and needs help. I must give it if I can.”

  At last the admiral spoke. “Well, my dear fellow, that is very commendable, of course. I do appreciate your feeling for your friend, and especially as he helped to save your life, but I’m not just sure whether what you want can be done or not. It is quite out of the ordinary. I should think, as you are still in the army, it is your duty, of course, to ask about the ruling in such a case. I understand you did some very commendable work yourself. You seem to be wearing a good many ribbons and medals of honor, and your present proposition is quite within the character you seem to have established while in the service. But now, I will not say what can be done. I will, of course, be glad to help you in any way allowable I can, but I should say that the very first thing would be to ascertain, if possible, just how much is absolutely known of your friend and whether he is still missing. There are ways, of course, to get that fact established beyond a doubt, and it is good to do so before the question of your going after him is gone into, also to find out your own status with regard to health. I will make it my business, of course, to find that out. If you can be around here for the next twenty-four hours I may be able to tell you just what the prospects are, and by that time I shall have looked into the ruling about what you want to do, and perhaps can then let you know what is possible. But there is one question I would like to ask just for my own curiosity. Just why did you think you would be able to find your friend when the whole army has failed in doing so? Have you any inside information that you could not pass on to another? It seems a pity for you to have to use up your leave time and strength going on a long journey like that, that could be more economically accomplished by one nearer to the place where he disappeared. Had you a special reason beyond your own obligation for what he did for you?”