CRIMSON MOUNTAIN

by Grace Livingston Hill

  She ate the delicious supper and enjoyed every bite. The tender chicken that had been simmering all the afternoon. The delicate dumplings, rows and rows of them around the big generous platter, in the sea of delicious gravy. Could anybody have a better supper? Little white onions that had been growing on the garden lot behind the house, creamed now, and sweet as honey. Delightful pickles that had come out of Mother Gilbert’s big kettle that very fall, made from tender little cucumbers grown in that same garden. Fluffy white potatoes, also garden products. If that same dinner were being served in a grand hotel or some fine restaurant, it would be at a fabulous price.This simple boardinghouse where things were crude, and cheap, had yet the most delicious food that Laurel had ever tasted. Not fancy, but very fine and wholesome and delicious. Oh, she wouldn’t go back to Mrs. Price’s house, not even if she had it all to herself.

  Later in the evening, Mrs. Gilbert talked about how pleased they were to have her with them. “My man has made up his mind that we are doing wrong to give up our parlor to board another man. He says we are to put the things back. He doesn’t like it that we have no place for us to gather after supper. He says you, a real lady, have no place to take your friends when they come to see you, so you have to take them out to ride.”

  “Oh, my dear!” said Laurel. “I don’t need a parlor. I seldom will have visitors. This man who came today was only bringing me a message from a dear friend of mine and had to go on his way by the afternoon train. You must not feel you have to give up a room that you could use for another one or two boarders. Please, I wouldn’t like to feel that I had done that to you. I would feel I had to go away if I were hampering you in what you felt you ought to do.”

  “No!” said Mrs. Gilbert. “You are not hampering us. Pop feels the children have a right to a parlor. He didn’t like it after we took the parlor things out and put them in the loft of the barn. He’s going to bring them back tonight. And what’s more, he says you haven’t got a fitting room for a real lady like you. We want you should take the big room over the parlor. The children are there now, but we got them places fixed, and they want you to have the big room.”

  “Oh, but Mrs. Gilbert, I wouldn’t give up my little room for anything!” said Laurel. “I love it! Why, you don’t know how I feel about my view of Crimson Mountain. I wouldn’t give that up for anything. No, don’t tell me the next room has the same view. It doesn’t! I tried it the other day, and I couldn’t see the same trees. I want to stay right where I am if you please. You may fix your parlor if you feel you want it for yourselves, but I’m perfectly satisfied without one.”

  “Well, my dear, then we want it for ourselves, if you’d rather we put it that way.”

  So they settled it at last, and Laurel went up to her room and lay down on her hard, little cot, looking out on old Crimson, watching till the moon went down like a great gold piece and old Crimson was dark, except for those watch lights around the plant. She smiled in the darkness as she thought of her beloved who had first shown her the heart of Crimson Mountain, who had made her see the story of his hard young life just by pointing to an old gray farmhouse and two gleaming white headstones. She felt close to him tonight because the man who admired and trusted him had been with her. She lay there thinking over all that he had said about Phil Pilgrim and wondering if his predictions would really come true. Her heart throbbed with a sweet thrill, and she realized how she loved him. How short a time she had known him as measured by the calendar, but how sure she was that he was all she believed.

  She no longer worried now about that plant with its dynamite and the two quiet graves. She had put the whole matter into the hands of that quiet man who had taken over, and she need not think of it anymore. Something would be done by the government if it really needed doing.

  So the days went by and everything went calmly on. Mrs. Frisbie and Mrs. Gilbert were attending the Tuesday Bible classes now and loved them. Mrs. Gray had been to call on them and loved them. Laurel was beginning to feel that she had a very nice circle of friends, although to tell the truth, they were not many of them her age, unless she could count the adoring Nannie and the devoted Sam. She had almost forgotten Adrian Faber and the crowd who followed him.

  And then one night at supper, after an exciting day in which rumors ran riot that more dynamite had been stolen, one of the male boarders who worked in the plant reported they had finished their first consignment of work. It was a lot of strange gadgets that belonged to the much-discussed “mysterious invention,” which was going to do something great for aviation. They were ready for shipment to the plant that was making the planes they were to complete.

  Then the next morning, Sam came back to breakfast from his morning route and announced that the government was sending a special detachment from the army to protect the plant on Crimson Mountain. He said that the three old farmhouses in the region of the plant were to be used for barracks for the army men, and they were to stay up there and look after things. This announcement was of such importance that even Mr. Gilbert couldn’t object to its being told, so Sam had full freedom for the time to report all he knew. It was a great thing that real soldiers were to be established on their mountain, and the town began to take on importance.

  Laurel wondered and pondered and prayed about it, but she said not a word, of course, to anybody about the momentous visit of Colonel Brown, nor whether his visit had had anything to do with placing the soldiers there, but she couldn’t help thinking that it had.

  Laurel liked to think there were soldiers on her mountain. She hoped they would protect the graves of the two old people who were so dear to Phil Pilgrim. She wondered if the soldiers would be told about those graves and the discovery that they had been used as a place of concealment for stolen explosives. Then she wondered who those soldiers were. Probably very young men who had to be put through an easy job before going into more serious war work. Yet if the things they were making in the plant were important and a secret, it seemed as if the people who protected them should be people who understood the seriousness of the business.

  Laurel was getting quite in the habit of making old Crimson a sort of confidant at night, after she had retired, and thinking a lot about Pilgrim, too. He hadn’t written much since the colonel’s visit. Just brief notes saying how busy he was and that things were still uncertain for him yet, though he thought he would be moving soon.

  Late one afternoon, Laurel was at the garage getting her car serviced for morning when she saw a bunch of men coming down the road from the plant. Winter was marching ahead of them, talking angrily to the man behind him.

  She slid back as far as she could behind the wheel and was diligently studying a road map as the men came by, and they did not seem to notice her, but she could hear every word they said. She had had one or two just such narrow escapes in nearly meeting Winter, but so far he hadn’t recognized her.

  “Yes, and do you know who they’ve put in charge of the most important part of the plant? Over us, mind you! Over me, the manager! They’ve put a young guy in uniform! Imagine that! He probably wouldn’t know the front of a machine even if you gave him lessons. I’m going to send in a protest. Dexter ought to know about this. I intend to see that he gets a complaint. And it’s time those soldiers had a little lesson in keeping out of the way. He’ll get his, you’ll see, and I don’t mean maybe.”

  They passed on, and again Laurel had that feeling of distrust. How could you tell just by a voice whether you could trust a man or not?

  And after them came Byrger, his little gimlet eyes hurrying from side to side, watching all ways at once, a sly look in them, a cringing attitude, a look of hate and belligerence on his narrow face. She drew farther back in her car, turning her face away from him. He must not see her now. She felt a great dislike for him. Why was it? Just because she had heard him talk that night in the boardinghouse?

  And then as they turned into the village street, she noticed that Winter and Rainey drew near together talking earnestl
y and casting black looks back toward Byrger.

  That evening in her room, Laurel looked at old Crimson. It had lost its garland of yellow leaves at last and taken on a wintry look. Little gray twigs made a gray lace pattern against a wintry sky, and the mountaintop had that barren look that comes when decorations are gone. Laurel looked out sadly at it and thought of those young soldiers up there in a strange place, in the cold and dark, boys from nice homes probably, and not in the least interested in the gadgets they were protecting. She sighed, however, with relief to know they were there. Would she ever see any of them at all?

  And then she fell asleep.

  She was awakened roughly by a tremendous explosion, so loud it seemed that all the foundations of the earth had been rent asunder and cast up into the air. It shook the house and the bed on which she lay, and brought her upright, staring straight ahead of her. Was that an earthquake?

  And then there were more explosions and a sound of rending rocks, shattered window glass, falling debris. Looking up, she saw a crimson glow in her room, lighting the walls. Crimson Mountain itself seemed to be burning! Just as she had dreamed in her imagination that it would do, so it seemed to be on fire. A great red flame shot up to heaven, showing all the fine sharp branches of the old bare mountain trees that had borne such glowing foliage just a little while before. It flared and spread, trickling in hungry tongues of flame down the mountainside.

  The glare lit up the heavens from one end of the sky to the other. And now she could see figures up there, running back and forth, and she could hear shouts and screams and groans. Had the great plant been blown up? Had anything happened to the secret gadgets that had been made and were to have been sent out today to begin their work in the war? Was this sabotage? And where were the soldiers? Were any of them hurt? And now the fire engines from Carrollton and other nearby towns began to arrive, and the people of the town arose and went to the rescue of Crimson Mountain.

  Chapter 18

  The morning went on, but the whole town was filled with excitement. Many homes had men working in the plant, and as yet little was known of the result of the disaster. Rumors kept drifting down from Crimson of this one and that one hurt or killed, but no one knew anything as yet.

  Laurel, white and shaken, went to school, but there were so few children there that it seemed useless to try to carry on the classes. At noon the superintendent dismissed the school for the day. None of the older boys had even come. They were all up on Crimson Mountain helping to put out the fire, helping to rescue injured men and get them to the hospital, caring for the dead and dying.

  One of the first reports that came down from the mountain was that some of the soldiers had been killed, and some were missing. But no one knew anything definitely, and because she had a soldier of her own, Laurel was full of sorrow for the people who loved these young soldiers.

  Then there came more definite word. The man Winter had been killed. Rainey was badly burned. They were not sure he would live. Bryger had not been found yet. In all, they reported twelve men dead and more missing or badly injured, but the count was not all in yet.

  Sam came rushing home early in the afternoon, blackened almost beyond recognition, calling for food. He wanted some sandwiches, too, for the boys who were working with him. And while he was eating and his mother and Nannie and Laurel were making sandwiches as fast as their fingers could fly, he talked.

  “Say, who d’ya think is up there in charge of those soldiers, Mom? Phil Pilgrim, Mom, our Phil Pilgrim! And he’s a captain now. Captain Pilgrim. I heard ’em say it. I saw him once, not very near though. He was carrying that man Winter to the ambulance. Winter is dead, ya know. But I guess Phil Pilgrim musta been burned ur something. He had a rag around his arm, and it was all blood. They say he was in charge of the plant since he came, and it was through him those things they been making in such a hurry to ship away got saved. Whoever did this thing was figuring to finish the works—sabotage ya know. They think it was Byrger or mebbe Winter, too, and they double-crossed each other, for Winter is dead and Byrger is gone. So they think Byrger did it and then beat it. Rainey’s unconscious, so they can’t ask him if he knows. But anyhow, Phil Pilgrim—Captain Pilgrim, I mean—when he got up there after the men had gone home to supper, he ordered his men to take those big boxes out of the building—you see the things were all packed for shipment and in the building where they were made, and he had ’em taken out and placed where they could be picked up early in the morning when the trucks came by on the road, and so he saved them. They didn’t mean they should be saved, but he saved ’em. Some said he went in where the fire was still burning as soon as the explosions stopped and pulled the last of the boxes out himself at the risk of his life, and that’s how he got burned, but nobody seems to really know. But anyhow, he saved the stuff. And Mom, can’t I bring him home to dinner if he can get off?”

  White-faced, Laurel listened to the tale. Phil Pilgrim here? Phil Pilgrim up in that terribly fiery furnace! Oh, dear God! And he was alive yet and safe? Oh, if she could but go to him and find out.

  Sam was off with what sandwiches they had had time to make, and then Mrs. Gilbert sent the children to the store for more bread and butter and canned meat and eggs and set them all to work.

  “We’ll make some more sandwiches,” she said with a sad smile. “There’ll be others hungry, too.”

  So they worked nearly all afternoon, sending Nannie and the boys halfway up the mountain with the basket, where Sam was to be on the lookout for them.

  Laurel, while she worked, was praying.

  About the middle of the afternoon, Mrs. Gray came walking over. She had been making sandwiches, too, and put hers in with theirs.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said to Laurel. “You seem so near to the mountain over here, I was afraid your house would suffer. Only two windows broken! That’s wonderful! And have you heard anything definite about the soldiers? I am told that Phil Pilgrim was in charge of them. Is that so?”

  “Oh, I don’t know anything more than Sam told us. We haven’t heard again,” and Laurel repeated what Sam had said.

  There were tears in Mrs. Gray’s eyes as she listened. “Oh, but we’ll be praying for Phil,” she said softly. “He is the Lord’s own. I’m sure he’ll be cared for!”

  It seemed as if that afternoon stretched out to age-long lengths after Laurel heard that Pilgrim was on Crimson Mountain. Her soul was tortured with questions that could not be answered. But she found her comfort in letting her heart cry out softly to God.

  They were just sitting down to a hastily cooked supper when the men began to come home.

  “There’s Dad!” said Sam. “I guess he’s good and tired. He’ll wantta wash before he eats. Some of you children take him up some warm water.”

  Then the men who worked in the plant began to come. They were good, conscientious men who had stuck by the work when the explosion came. One of them was badly burned and had been taken to the hospital, two of them had been on night duty, but all had been working all day. They did not say much. They were grave and sad and silent. One cannot be as near as they had been to horror like that inferno without having a changed attitude toward life.

  And then, while they were all eating and Sam was explaining why he didn’t bring Phil Pilgrim home to supper, the doorbell rang.

  “I couldn’t find him,” Sam said. “Some said he had gone up where the fire was still burning to see if he could find any more bodies, but that was beyond the line where they would let us boys go, so all I could do was send him a message by Pete Rafferty. He was going up there, and he said he’d give it. I told him you all wanted him to come to supper, no matter how late!”

  Laurel got up quickly from the table.

  “I’ll go to the door,” she said. She wanted a chance to get her breath after hearing that Pilgrim had gone up to where the fire was still burning.

  But one of the little girls got up and opened the dining room door into the hall so she co
uld see who was at the door.

  Laurel opened the door slowly, after taking a deep breath and preparing herself for anything that might be waiting for her behind that door. And there stood Pilgrim!

  She looked at him for an instant, and then her face bloomed into joy. “Oh, my dear!” she said, and there were sudden tears of joy in her eyes. “Are—you—all right?” There was almost a sob in her voice as she spoke.

  And Phil Pilgrim, black and grimed and disheveled, one sleeve torn away, one bloody shirt sleeve showing, a look of utter weariness and sudden joy upon his young face, gazed down on her as if it were the greatest sight he had ever looked upon. Then he put his arms out and gathered Laurel into them and stooped and kissed her, long and sweet upon her lips, holding her close to that torn, wet, dirty uniform, and it seemed to her the dearest place she had ever been in her life.

  “It’s Phil Pilgrim!” announced Nannie in the most sibilant of whispers, which the whole table could hear.

  “Yes, it’s Phil Pilgrim,” said the little sister Daisy, with wide astonished eyes, “and he kissed our Laurel Sheridan! Does he know our Laurel?”

  “Yes, it’s Phil Pilgrim, of course,”proclaimed Sam triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell ya he was coming? Who else would it be, I’d like ta know.”

  “But—he—kissed—our Laurel Sheridan, right on her mouth, he kissed her!” objected the littlest sister. “I saw him! Mom, that isn’t nice, is it?”

  But nobody was paying attention to her now. Everybody was up and coming toward the door, and there stood that tired, dirty soldier with his dear girl in his arms and a look of heaven in his face.

  They gave the guest a chance to wash his hands and face, and then they brought him to the table and gave him of their best, while Laurel sat beside him and waited on him. And when at last the room was quiet for an instant, little Daisy who had not taken her eyes off the two while they were in the room, found her voice again and said, “But, Mom, you always told me it wasn’t nice for girls to let boys kiss them. Not on their mouths. And not anyway if they didn’t know each other!”