CRIMSON MOUNTAIN

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Good evening,” he said in his smooth, insinuating voice. “We’re fellow boarders, so I assume that makes us acquainted. My name is Byrger. Carl Byrger. What is yours?”

  Laurel stiffened haughtily. She did not want to tell this man her name, but there was no point in being disagreeable.

  “Sheridan,” she said coldly. “Miss Sheridan.”

  “Glad to meet you, Miss Sheridan. How about a little walk this evening? I understand there are some pleasant views around this town. I’m on a new government project up on a mountain nearby. I thought we might walk up there and look the ground over. Would you like to go?”

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” said Laurel severely, “I have work to do this evening.”

  “Oh, well, then tomorrow evening?” he said. His gimlet eyes had a mocking look in them.

  “It’s quite impossible any evening,” said Laurel with finality. “My evenings are otherwise occupied,” and she swept upstairs in a hurry. And then, after she had locked her door, she stood for a moment with her back against it, her hand on her heart, puffing as if she were out of breath, and her eyes blazing.

  After a little while she calmed down. “Silly!” she said to herself. “I’m just silly. He’s only a poor, stupid ignoramus who thinks he can barge in anywhere and make friends. Maybe I was too hard on him. I could have been a little pleasanter about it. I could have smiled when I said no. Probably that’s what a real Christian was meant to do. I don’t need to accept his attentions, of course, if that’s what you call them, but I can be gracious about it. Maybe that’s how you live up to your glory in your life—try to keep everything clean and fine about you so the glory can shine through. Well, I’ve got to study about that. Perhaps there’s more to it than I’ve seen on the surface. Perhaps you have to get to the place where you find you can’t do it of yourself. You’ve got to have Christ’s help for it. I’ll have to investigate.”

  Laurel calmed down at last and went over to her desk to examine the books she had brought home from school. It was most necessary that she go over the lessons she must teach the next day. The books were all new to her. So she settled down to work.

  But she hadn’t been at it more than a half hour when there came a knock at her door. She jumped up, annoyed to be interrupted, and found it was only the boy from the office saying someone wanted her on the telephone. Now what could that be? None of her friends as yet knew where in Carrollton she was located, so it must be the principal of the school. Maybe some suggestion about tomorrow. Perhaps he hadn’t liked the way she had done things today and he was going to dismiss her. She half wished it were so, that she could get out of this town and most of all out of this boarding place at once. Only where could she go? Not to Cousin Carolyn’s again. Not ever!

  She hurried downstairs, annoyed to see Byrger sitting slumped in a big chair over in the corner behind the evening paper, quite near to the telephone, his gimlet eyes peering interestedly at her as she appeared. There! There it was again! She was in need of patience moment by moment, and she had none of her own. Would God supply it? It wasn’t like polishing up a dirty engine room. Her own vigilance couldn’t ever keep her spirit in check. She must ask God about it.

  She went to the telephone and spoke in a subdued tone, conscious all the time of the avid listener across the room.

  And then suddenly her heart leaped up at the sound that came to her over the wire.

  “Is that you, Laurel?” It was Pilgrim, and her voice broke into a lilt in spite of the listener.

  “Oh—yes! Where are you?”

  “I’ve reached camp. I promised to let you know.”

  “Oh thank you! Thanks a lot!”

  “Are you all right? ”There was tenderness and yet restraint in his voice, a voice that showed he knew there must be strangers about who might be able to hear him.

  “Yes, I’m all right and hard at work, getting ready for tomorrow. Did you have a pleasant trip? Oh, I’m so glad. And it was so nice of you to let me know that everything is all right. I—would have been worrying about it.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Oh no,” said Laurel brightly. “There is always someone around. But they are very kind. They generally stop talking when anyone is telephoning. Of course it would be pleasant if they had a phone in each room, but if they did I don’t imagine I’d be able to pay their price.”

  “Yes, I see. It’s hard lines, but you always take everything like that cheerfully, don’t you? By the way, around five thirty tomorrow would you happen to be anywhere near Mark’s?”

  They were talking enigmas now, and both of them knew it, but just the sound of each other’s voices was enough to satisfy.

  “Why, I imagine so,” answered Laurel cheerfully. “Yes, I think that would be possible.”

  “Okay. I might be able to give you an answer to one of your questions, you know.”

  “I see! Well, that will be satisfactory to me, I guess. Sorry we couldn’t make it tonight though. It’s always hard to have to wait.”

  “Yes, I know it,” agreed Pilgrim. “I see what you mean, and I sympathize with you. I’m sorry I can’t do anything about it tonight. If I were there, I might be tempted to wring somebody’s neck, but since I’m not, perhaps it’s just as well for the other fellow. But, by the way, have you still got your glory?”

  “Oh yes, indeed, I have. I wouldn’t want to part with it, would you?”

  “Not for all the kingdoms of this world. And say, doesn’t it seem rather trivial to be considering the daily things of life when there are so much more important things going on? I hadn’t thought of that before, had you? But I’m beginning to understand. It’s probably best to let the matter take its course.”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure!” agreed Laurel with a giggly laugh. “You’re so amusing, you know. But, by the way, before you hang up, are you expecting to see Uncle Sam very soon? You are? How nice! And would you remember me to him? Give him my warmest love, please. He is such a dear! And I know he’ll be glad I thought to send my love to him. He’s always so appreciative!”

  “You’re not by any means kidding me?” said Pilgrim.

  “Oh no, Mr. Stranger, I’m perfectly serious. If you can just get this order through before that Crimson Mountain affair gets done, it will make the biggest difference in the world.”

  “I’ll see,” said Pilgrim. “By all the signs, it looks as if I might make it after all. Well, so long! And I hope to have better news for you tomorrow night.”

  “And say,” said Laurel, “what did you say that number was that I should call if I need any special service?”

  He mumbled a number and a word, and then, “Make it snappy! So long till tomorrow. And come alone if possible. We don’t want any others in on this deal.”

  “Of course not,” said Laurel indignantly, with an assumed grin. “Well, good night. I must get back to work. I’ll be seeing you.”

  She hung up and vanished upstairs like a flash, not even looking toward the eager listener who had abandoned his newspaper and was watching her. It gave her great pleasure to turn her key in the lock so that the rattle of it was distinctly audible downstairs.

  Then Laurel sat down and laughed, laughed till the tears came to her eyes, just to remember some of the silly things they had said to cover up the lilt in their voices. And then she pressed her fingers over her eyes, squeezing the tears away, and smiled over the great thought that had been conveyed through all that covert language they had used. “I love you! I love you,” every tone of his voice said it to her heart and filled her with a deep, sweet joy.

  She had tried not to think too much about him all day, lest her heart would be too disappointed if he went away and forgot her. It hadn’t seemed that he would be like that, of course, that he would forget, but in spite of herself at times she had been reasoning with herself, trying to show herself that she had trusted an utter stranger too much. That he might get among the other fellows and forget all about their wonderful meeting, and the f
lashes of wonder that had passed from eye to eye. But he hadn’t forgotten, he hadn’t forgotten! He had called, and he had understood that she was trying to tell him someone was listening. And now she had something to look forward to tomorrow! Oh, it was not all hard and bleak, even if Phil Pilgrim had gone back to camp and she did not know yet what was coming next.

  But down in the office the strange stolid man was sitting in the big chair staring off speculatively at nothing, trying to figure out what that telephone conversation might have meant. Was this beautiful girl possibly a spy or something, and had she been talking to a fifth columnist? Were they planning something that he must look into? It wasn’t going to be a simple proposition to judge by the way she acted when he asked her to take a walk. She wasn’t easy bait for a harmless flirtation. Perhaps she thought she had bigger quarry somewhere. He must take pains to find out who this girl was and, if possible, what she was doing here. Here in this boardinghouse to which his mentor, Mr. Dexter, had ordered him to come. She had mentioned Crimson Mountain. What did that mean? Was she aware of what was going on? He must look into this.

  To that end, he sought out the landlady, when a little later she came in from the dining room and went behind the desk.

  “Mrs. Price, who is that very attractive young lady you have boarding here? I think she said her name was Sheridan. Where is she from, and what is she doing here? She’s not trying to get a job as secretary, is she? Because I’d like to get in on the ground floor on that proposition if she’s in the running. She looks to me quite capable, and of course, she’s easy to look at.”

  The cunning look came into Mrs. Price’s eyes. “Oh, Miss Sheridan, you mean! Yes, She’s quite attractive. She’s real aristocracy, she is. She used to live around here when her father was living. They were wealthy people and lived in one of the best houses in town. Yes, she certainly is smart, and she oughtta be. She’s had advantages, she has. Her folks were real socialites, and she went ta college herself after her pa died. They tell me he lost most of his money before he was took, and I guess she ain’t got so much now. Anyways, she took a job. she’s teaching in the high school. Ain’t it awful the way changes come to the best of folks, and you can’t tell from one day ta the next where you’re gonta be hit! I always say it’s best ta save when ya can. But then, most any bank can break. It’s hard ta know what ta do. But she is an attractive girl. I don’t blame ya fer admiring her.”

  “And you don’t think she’d like ta be a secretary?”

  “I don’t know nothing about it,” said the landlady.

  “Does she understand shorthand and typing?”

  “I don’t know nothing about it, I tell ya,” said Mrs. Price, “and I can’t be bothered like this. Ef ya wantta know, why don’t ya ask her? I got my work ta do.”

  Byrger went out a little later and walked around the block, taking in a good view of every side of the boardinghouse and observing that there was a light in the window of the room that Miss Sheridan occupied, but the shade was drawn down tight. He could not even see if she was moving around the room. Then he stood for a long time at the gate, looking off toward Crimson Mountain and seeing in imagination the scene of his coming activities.

  And up in her room, Laurel was sitting at the crude little golden oak desk, writing a brief note to Phil Pilgrim.

  Dear Philip:

  I hope you understood my peculiar conversation this evening. The telephone is in the office, and the stupid-looking man with eyes like gimlets, who came in that car with the other two that night, was sitting only a few steps from me, listening with all his ears. You certainly were a good sport to understand the situation.

  It was good to hear your voice so soon. Thank you for keeping your promise.

  May our heavenly Father guard you and keep you and give you comfort.

  Your friend,

  Laurel

  Chapter 13

  By Tuesday morning of that week, trucks were rolling up Crimson Mountain carrying lumber and brick for the new munitions plant, and workmen were hurrying into town in response to announcements posted on highways and in newspapers, and special notices in many places. A great many came to Mrs. Price’s boardinghouse to secure rooms and board, though many found the price there too high for the wages they were not yet receiving or might not receive at all. Many went about the town searching for other places to live, some of them traveling to a nearby city and returning with tents in lieu of more permanent dwellings.

  Thursday evening about eight o’clock there came another telephone call for Laurel, and the man Byrger was at his usual post, on watch again behind the evening paper. That paper made a convenient shelter for his watchful operations.

  But it was not Phil Pilgrim’s voice that answered Laurel this time when she gave her grave, quiet “Hello!” It was, nevertheless, a voice she knew.

  “Hello! Hello! Laurel, is that you?” There was haughty reproach and annoyance in his voice.

  “Yes, this is Miss Sheridan.” Laurel’s voice was cool and composed. There was no intimate recognition in it to give the listener a clue.

  An offended laugh followed. “Why the formality, Laurel? Don’t you know me?”

  “Why surely, Adrian. But it happens there are others in the room. I was only being a bit dignified. How are you? Oh yes, I’m quite well and very busy. I was sorry not to see you before I left, but it couldn’t be helped. Circumstances spoiled my plans, and I didn’t even succeed in calling you up as I promised. I did try once, quite early, but you weren’t back yet, they said. And I’ve been meaning to write a note of apology, but I’ve been so busy since I came that I just didn’t have time. I was sure you would understand. But how in the world did you know where to call me?”

  “Oh, I have ways of finding out when I want to very much,” said Adrian loftily. “But what I called you for tonight is that I have something very special to show you, and I’m coming over there in my car around one o’clock tomorrow and get you. So please be ready. Just street clothes will do. We’ll go somewhere for lunch, and then I’m taking you to see something I am sure will please you immensely.”

  “Well, that’s very nice of you, I’m sure,” said Laurel, trying to speak interestedly, “but I couldn’t possibly go anywhere tomorrow. I’m busy all day every day except Saturday. I have a job, you know.”

  “A job! But that’s absurd! I’ll soon finish that! Be ready, please, at one o’clock!”

  “That’s quite impossible!” said Laurel coldly. “And I don’t want my job finished, thank you. I like it. I’m afraid you’ll have to come when I say if you wish to see me.”

  “Well, this is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. You with a job! What do you think you are doing? Trying to get something back on your cousin for something that doesn’t fit in with your straitlaced notions? Well, then, when will your highness come?”

  “I tell you I have no day sooner than Saturday. If it’s a mere drive somewhere, not too far away, I’ll be glad to go with you Saturday afternoon. I can be ready by one thirty Saturday.”

  “I will call for you at ten o’clock Saturday morning!” said the haughty voice.

  “Oh, very well,” said Laurel coldly, “I can arrange to go in the morning instead.”

  She was speaking sweetly, with no sign of the annoyance she was feeling. She didn’t want to go riding with Adrian Faber Saturday at any time. she would much prefer to visit Mrs. Gray and get information about the Bible class next week. But she had promised Adrian that she would call him up when she got back to the city after having failed him at his hunt club party, and she must be honorable and polite and make up for that breach of etiquette, of course. Well, perhaps it was as well to get her position with regard to this young man thoroughly defined at once and not be annoyed by him all winter. She must make him understand once and for all that she was a schoolteacher and could not see him every time he chose to call her.

  So she listened to his haughty reproving and condescending babble sweetly and let him talk.
Meanwhile, the stolid face of Byrger watched her every move from under half-closed eyelids and puzzled over that name “Adrian” that she had spoken. Could that by any means have been Adrian Faber to whom she was talking? But of course not, for that did not fit in with the rest of the picture. Or did it? Not as he had worked it out. It couldn’t be possible that Faber was interested in a girl who appeared to be—well perhaps she wasn’t. He would have to watch her. What time was that she promised to be ready to go somewhere with him? Saturday afternoon? He must make it a point to be where he could watch the house then. Could it be possible they were going up Crimson Mountain? Trying to pry into some government secrets? How much did that girl know, anyway? It certainly was odd he couldn’t get anywhere with talking to her. She must be pretty sharp.

  But Laurel, all unaware of the espionage that was being set over herself, went annoyedly up to her room again. Adrian! Why did he have to come on the scene now? Oh, why!

  Then suddenly she began to think into her heart and see what was the matter. She was disappointed that the call had not been from Phil Pilgrim. In spite of the fact that she had been talking with him Tuesday night from Mark’s garage and he had told her that he would not be able to call her again that week as he was on duty at the hours when she was free, she had unreasonably hoped that she would hear his voice when she took down the receiver. And then suddenly she laughed at herself. What would Cousin Carolyn say if she knew that she was actually preferring a poor, young soldier boy to the great Adrian Faber? Disappointed because she had to go with him on a ride instead of with Phil Pilgrim!

  Well, it was true.

  And only last week she had actually asked herself whether she could ever bring herself to marry Adrian if he should ask her. Though she owned honestly to herself now that she never really had answered yes to her soul’s query about it. Wasn’t that plain enough when she actually went away that Saturday morning to think things over, not sure whether she was coming back for that wonderful party or not? Well, the question was answered for her now. She would never marry Adrian Faber. She couldn’t imagine any thrill coming to her if Adrian should tell her a thousand times that he loved her. In fact, Adrian would not be likely to say those same words. He would put it in some more stilted language. Some less fervent sentence. He would say, “I’m really quite fond of you, my darling, and I am convinced that you would make a marvelous hostess for my home. I could be proud of you going anywhere. And I’m sure you would grace any situation where I might be placed.”