Happiness Hill

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Oh yes,” said Sherwood lightly, “he told me to keep it all the afternoon and evening. He’s not sending for it till ten o’clock this evening. The chauffeur is away all day and they don’t drive their own cars, you know.”

  “How wonderful!” said Betty Lou, her cheeks rosy with delight. “It will be a real holiday, won’t it?”

  “Yes, little sister, won’t it?” said Sherwood, patting her round cheek.

  So Jane and Sherwood went off in state, Jane wrapped in the furry robe again, and the day seemed to have taken on a new glory for that time of year. The air was crisp and cold and the sky was blue as summer, with not a cloud to suggest bad weather. Like a perfect photograph. Everything looked as if it were pricked out bright and clear by the sharp air.

  “Well, shall we go up to our hill first and see if it is there yet?” Sherwood grinned as they started off.

  “Oh yes,” said Jane eagerly, “I want to see it under this sky. There’ll be little brown branches against it like a picture, and a leaf or two on the old oaks, rustling their fingers like dried ghosts in the wind.”

  “Poet!” said Sherwood with his eyes upon her in a way that brought the color suddenly to her cheeks.

  “Oh, but this air smells so good!” said Jane irrelevantly. “It seems as if I shall never get enough air again!”

  “Don’t!” said Sherwood sharply. “Don’t think about it! Sometime I want to ask you a few questions, when it’s further in the past, but not just now.”

  “No,” said Jane sobering, “I would rather talk about it now. I want to tell somebody just how it was while it’s all fresh in my mind. It seems as if I must. And I can’t tell Mother. It would worry her always to have me go back.”

  “Tell me then, if you are sure it won’t harm you to go over it.”

  “Why should it?” asked Jane with an uplifted light in her eyes. “It was dreadful, of course, at first, but something beautiful has come to me out of it and I want you to know about it.”

  Sherwood looked at her in wonder.

  “Of course I didn’t realize what was happening when the door went shut. It was rather dark in the office anyway, and I hadn’t thought it necessary to turn on the light, for I knew exactly which shelf my papers belonged on, but when everything suddenly got black and then I heard those bolts turning, I knew and I tried to scream. I tried to make myself say ‘Mr. Gates! I’m here! Don’t shut the door!’ but the sounds came back to me like dead things and seemed to drop at my feet! Then I tried to scream in earnest, and I beat on the door, but it was like taps of a velvet pad on that great door, and there was no sound at all but the sound of awful shut-in silence!”

  The young man beside her shuddered involuntarily, his heart in his eyes as he watched her.

  “When I found I couldn’t hear a thing nor make myself heard it seemed awful! But minute after minute went by and nothing happened, and I began to think what it must mean. I would have to stay there all night till nine o’clock in the morning before that safe was open! I tried to think what I had heard said about the number of cubic feet of air one needed to maintain life, and all at once I felt stifled already. The feeling was dreadful, like those nightmares little children have when they think they are crawling through a tunnel and it gets smaller and smaller until finally they get stuck and can’t go forward or back. Well, those walls seemed to be coming nearer and nearer to me, and I remembered those awful tales of the inquisition when they put martyrs in a room with moving walls that came closer and closer to them until they were crushed to death. I felt dizzy and sick and I realized that if I didn’t do something about it I was going to faint. I never do faint at things, but I knew I was going to if something didn’t happen.”

  “You poor child!” said Sherwood, his tone very gentle and low.

  “Well,” went on Jane, trying not to be stirred by the gentleness of his voice, which somehow made her feel like crying, “I remember the light, and I groped around until I found the switch and turned it on, but that seemed almost worse than the dark, for there were those rows of steel drawers and shelves, and there was that terrible steel door, so thick and impassable, and those grim-looking bolts. I remember that somebody had said something once about those bolts opening from inside. Mr. Gates showed one of the girls how to adjust them so it could be opened, but I hadn’t time that day and never bothered. I wondered if I could find out what it was they did, and I fumbled and fussed with them, but they wouldn’t budge. I suppose I was too nervous to understand it. He said there were things called tumblers that you could take out, but there didn’t seem to be a thing that looked like a tumbler or anything else that would move, and suddenly it came over me again—that sick awful feeling that I was shut in and the air was running out. Then I thought I remembered somebody saying that electric light would exhaust the air in a little while, and so I turned it out and sat down on the floor in the dark. Every little while I would get up on my knees and work at that door, trying to feel around and find something that would move, but it was no use, and by and by I felt so tired I lay down for a minute to rest.”

  Sherwood put up his hand and brushed it over his eyes quickly and looked straight ahead in the road as he guided the car quietly.

  “Then I began to pray, and I realized that I wasn’t going to live long. I reasoned it all out that no one would think to look for me till too late, maybe not till morning. I could feel my head getting heavy and drowsy, and sometimes it seemed as if I couldn’t keep on breathing, and I said to myself, ‘I’m going to die now in just a very few minutes. I might faint any minute and that will be the end. I must get ready somehow.’ And all of a sudden I saw my whole life go before me like a panorama, and I was prancing along through it having a good time, knowing I was on my way to this ending, knowing that I did not belong at all to this world that I was so keen about, yet never doing much about getting ready for the next, where I was to live forever.”

  “But you are a Christian,” said Sherwood, unexpectedly.

  “Yes, in a way,” answered Jane musingly, “but when you come face-to-face with death you find you were not the kind of one you wish you had been. I’ll never forget that. And here I was caught right out of my busy life without a minute’s warning to meet death! Well, perhaps you’ll be surprised, but the thing I thought about was that talk we had down on the sand last summer about how you can know that you’re saved. And I remembered that verse we read, ‘Verily verily, I say unto you he that believeth on him that sent me hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation, but is passed from death unto life.’ Well, I knew I believed. But I realized that that was about all, and that when it came to that judgment of works, I was going to be among those who were saved, yes, but ‘yet so as by fire,’ and not a reward coming to me. It wasn’t that I cared so much about rewards then. I was glad enough that I was sure of being saved. But—you don’t know what anguish suddenly came over me to think what my salvation had been meant to be—a living witness for Christ and how it hadn’t been a thing!”

  “Oh, but you are mistaken!” said Sherwood. “It has! You’ve done a lot for me!”

  “For you?” said Jane incredulously. “How could that be? What have I ever done but hunt up a few verses you asked about?”

  “You started me thinking by what you said and by what you were, by the very fact that you went to church in an age when other girls are off having a good time somewhere. And you weren’t afraid to say what you thought. I saw you had something other girls didn’t have!”

  “Oh, but I had so little,” said Jane sadly.

  “You started me studying the Bible!” persisted Sherwood. “I got one of those Bibles like yours, and I’ve been reading it all hours. And—well—I may as well tell you, though I don’t suppose I amount to much—but last Sunday night I went down on my knees and accepted Jesus Christ as my own personal Savior!”

  Jane turned a face suddenly radiant with joy toward him.

  “Oh John! I’m so glad! I think that is wonderf
ul! I’m happier about that than almost anything I ever heard!” And she put her hand gently on his arm with a soft little pressure.

  Quickly he pulled off his glove and laid his bare hand over her gloved one for an instant, and then as if he had received some kind of a blessing, he put his glove on again and gave his attention to his wheel. He could hardly speak for a moment.

  “I don’t know why you should care so much,” he said huskily. “I’m—not—much—!”

  “Oh, but you do care about others who belong to Him!” said Jane softly. “I’ve just found that out. It—sort of brings you—nearer to each other.”

  Sherwood turned quickly into the drive that led through the woods up to their hill and stopped the car, sitting resolutely back in his corner of the car and looking at her as if she were very good to look at indeed.

  “But I interrupted your story. Tell me the rest of it quick. I can’t stand it much longer thinking of you shut up there alone!”

  “Oh, but I wasn’t alone after that! That’s the wonderful part of it! I suddenly remembered that if I believed, that made me a child of God, and all at once the Lord Jesus was there beside me!”

  Her voice was low and shy and very sweet. All at once Sherwood reached out and caught her hand in his, folding it and holding it with a strong pressure of sympathy. And so they sat with their two clasped hands lying on the seat between them through the rest of the story.

  “I knew Him at once. I wasn’t afraid anymore, and I began to speak to Him. It wasn’t like any prayer I ever made before. I said, ‘Lord Jesus, if You are here, I’m not afraid. I’m Your child, and You got out of a tomb in the rock once, and You can get me out of here if You want to. But if You want me to die here and then go up now to my heavenly home, it’s all right. Just what You want. I’m trusting You! But if I ever get out of here I want to give You my life in a different way. I can see now I didn’t belong in the world I tried to get into, and I want You to keep me separated from all things that separate me from You.’ And then I thought He smiled at me, and the place wasn’t so dark as it had been, and it didn’t hurt to breathe anymore, and I heard words like a sweet voice singing, ‘I have loved thee with an everlasting love,’ and I knew I was safe, however it came out. And there were other voices, away off, singing verses I had learned when I was a little girl in Sunday school. I can’t remember them all, but one was ‘I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep, for Thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.’ And then I don’t remember anything more till I felt the air in my face and opened my eyes and saw you….”

  Her voice trailed away softly, and Sherwood sat holding her hand in his with that strong pressure. Finally he said huskily, “Do you know, I think, somehow, we ought to pray. We ought to thank Him! I—don’t know how, very well—but—I will if you will!”

  And sitting there in the big Dulaney car, in the quiet of the hillside wood, with their hands clasped, they each prayed a few broken shy words of thankfulness and consecration.

  The winter wind went crisply through the brown fingers of the branches, rattling the dry silken leaf ghosts, and the pines whispered blessings softly. It seemed a hallowed spot.

  They were silent till the car stopped on top of the hill and they looked around on the lovely familiar view.

  “Oh, there’s a bluebird!” cried Jane. “Look at its wings! They are like jewels. A bluebird stands for happiness, doesn’t it? Perhaps that was sent here this afternoon as a kind of a sign of God’s blessing over us.”

  Sherwood gave her a quick tender smile, and once more she had that strange sense of his suddenly being so much older and wiser than his years.

  They got out of the car and walked around.

  “Suppose we go to work and stake out our house for these people who own this place,” suggested Sherwood whimsically. “I don’t believe they know how to build it right or they’d have done it long ago. I’ve got a knife in my pocket, and I think I ought to be able to find some stakes to sharpen. We can drive them in with that big stone, even if the ground is frozen. You get some sticks and mark out where you think the front line of the foundation ought to come. It will keep us warm, anyway.”

  So laughingly Jane set to work. Here should be the west corner of the house, with a great arched window in the end looking out over the valley, there the east end, with windows along three sides, here a wide tiled porch overlooking the terraces down to the swimming pool. The sunken gardens should be banked with lilies and delphinium against the dark hemlock background.

  They worked away eagerly, Sherwood measuring distances with long strides. They entered into details like two children playing.

  “If the owner comes here someday and sees this, what will he think?” said Jane straightening up and looking about on their work.

  “Nobody ever comes here but us,” said Sherwood, “but if they did, we haven’t hurt their old ground. Maybe we’ve given them an idea, who knows? They don’t know what to build here or they would have built it long ago.”

  “It’s lovely!” said Jane looking over their plan and imagining a castle rising to noble proportions. “I’d like to see it built!”

  “So would I!” said Sherwood emphatically. “There wouldn’t be any house around to equal it. Perhaps someday I’ll build it, who knows?”

  Jane laughed happily and let him help her into the car, for it was getting late and they could barely get back to Flora Street and pick up Mother and Betty Lou before it was time to meet Tom and Father.

  The Dulaney car was a seven passenger and Betty Lou was delighted with the two little middle seats for her and Tom. She might have been Cinderella in her pumpkin coach, so happy she was as they rode away into the country again after picking up the rest of the family.

  “Dinner’s on me tonight!” announced Sherwood as they skirted the park and came out into a long smooth road. “I’ve found a quaint place where they have the most wonderful chicken dinners, and I thought we’d all go on a picnic. I don’t suppose it will be as good as Mother Arleth’s dinners, no matter how hard it tries, but at least you will let me return a little of the hospitality I’ve received this way.”

  “But you oughtn’t to spend your salary this way feeding a mob of hungry folks like us, young man,” said Father indulgently.

  “No hungrier than one hungry person ninety-five times over,” said Sherwood, “and anyhow, now I’ve got you in the car and can kidnap you all and you can’t help yourselves.”

  Such a happy time they had, riding over the frozen roads, into bypaths, and past great estates, schools, and colleges.

  “I’d almost forgotten how lovely our surroundings are!” said Mother quaintly. “And isn’t this car almost too comfortable for a plain person to ride in?”

  “Not too comfortable for you, Mother,” said her husband fondly. “Some of these days we’re going to have one just like it!”

  “Now Father, don’t go to getting notions,” said Mother. “We’re thankful and happy just as we are!”

  “Nothing is too good for you, Mary!” said the low tones of Mary Arleta’s beau; and Jane, overhearing, smiled tenderly to herself, and thought indignantly of the man who had tried to win her to leave a father and mother like this and go to live by herself so that he might “have a fitting spot” in which to come and see her!

  When they reached Flora Street that evening, happy and a little tired, they all voted it a wonderful afternoon and evening.

  Jane found Lauderdale’s letter under the door but did not stop to read it until she was up in her room with the door shut.

  After she had read it she tore it into little shreds and stuffed them into an envelope in the wastebasket to be burned the next morning. Then she sat down and wrote stiffly with flashes of indignation in her eyes:

  Mr. Lauderdale,

  I meant what I said yesterday afternoon. I shall have nothing further to say. It is time that our friendship should cease. We are of absolutely different worlds and standards. I shall not meet you on Friday evening
anymore.

  She signed her name J.L. Arleth.

  Then she went to bed and lay thinking of Sherwood’s face on that afternoon as they talked together about the things of the other world, and she wondered why she had never noticed how good- looking he was. She found herself thrilling over his prayer and over the clasp of his hand on hers, and joking over the beautiful day they had spent together. How good God had been to let such things come after that terrible experience last night! She fell asleep in a prayer of thankfulness.

  Christmas came with snow that year, a real blizzard. Tom and Sherwood came in Christmas Eve with a tree and a lot of balls and tinsel and lights, and they spent a happy evening decorating it. The little house on Flora Street rang with happy voices, as all hands participated in putting the house in gala array.

  A band of brave carolers from a nearby church trooped by in spite of the storm and sang, and after they were gone Jane sat down at the piano and they all sang, carol after carol, and a few old hymns for Mother.

  They hung up their stockings to please Betty Lou and found them full to the brim in the morning. Sherwood had remembered everyone: books for Father and Tom, politics and biography for Mr. Arleth and thrills of adventure with a mystery story for Tom; a tilt-top table in lovely old wood for Mother; a great box of candy and a set of delightful storybooks for Betty Lou; a wonderful little hand-bound, hand-tooled notebook for Jane with a dear little gold pencil accompanying it and dozens and dozens of Christmas roses in a box tied to the toe of her stocking.

  “You have done too much!” said Mother, laying her hand softly on the lovely tabletop. “You ought not to have afforded all this, I am sure.”