The Silent Harp

by Gilbert, Morris

  “We won’t worry about that, sweetie. We got plenty of time,” the big man said, winking at the other. “Ain’t that right, Ed?”

  “Right you are, Jake. Ain’t nobody around for miles. Looks like we can have ourselves a party.” He pulled a flask from his inner coat pocket and took a hefty swallow before shoving it toward Sharon. “Here, I hate to drink alone.”

  “No thank you. I need to get help,” Sharon said, trying to keep her voice steady as she smelled the raw alcohol on the big man.

  Suddenly Jake reached out and grabbed her arm. “We can take you to get help, but first we gotta have ourselves a little fun.”

  Fear raced through Sharon like a live wire as she frantically thought of how to escape these men. “Let me go!” she cried, trying to jerk her arm away. But Jake held on tight and laughed at her effort.

  “Now, that ain’t no way for you to behave. You oughta be grateful you weren’t stuck out here all alone after dark. Ain’t that right, Ed?” Jake said, leering and pulling her close.

  “Sure, sure,” the weasel-faced man laughed and tilted the bottle again. “We got us all night to have a good time together, ain’t we, sweetie?”

  Sharon had never known such terror. She was petrified, but she fought with all of her strength. The big man was as strong as a gorilla, and he held her tight, laughing crudely at her attempts to escape. He pinioned her against the truck and whispered vile things in her ear while she twisted and jerked, trying to get away. When he tried to kiss her, she managed to turn her face away, which only amused him more. He started pulling her off the road toward a grove of trees when a sudden roaring startled them all. They turned to see a motorcycle stopping in the road.

  “Help!” Sharon cried as she struggled. “Please help me!”

  The man shut off the engine and got off the bike. He was very tall and lean and wore blue jeans, a denim jacket, and a low-crowned Stetson. He deliberately removed his hat, revealing a full head of silver hair, took off his goggles, and carefully laid them both down on the seat of the bike. “You boys better scratch for it!”

  Sharon staggered as Jake suddenly released her and put himself squarely in front of the newcomer. “Buster, I’ll break your face if you don’t get back on that bike and scram!”

  “Let’s not make a production out of this.”

  The man moved forward in a loose-jointed way until he stood in front of Jake.

  Jake cursed and threw a punch that would have demolished the other man if it had connected. But the tall stranger simply jerked his head back, then whipped a tremendous blow that caught Jake in the jaw, driving the big man backward onto the ground. He started to get up, and without hesitation the newcomer kicked him in the jaw. There was a cracking sound, and Jake fell back and lay utterly still.

  The tall man turned to Ed and said, “You want me to help you put him in the truck?”

  Ed cast a frightened glance at the prostrate Jake and stammered, “Y-yeah, I guess so.”

  “All right—you take his feet. You’d better get him to a hospital. I think his jaw is busted.”

  Sharon watched her rescuer with growing relief, but she was still trembling as the two hefted the big man over the side of the pickup and rolled him in.

  Without looking back, Ed got into the truck, slammed the door, and departed with a roar.

  She watched the truck disappear over a hill, then turned toward the tall man as he ambled back to her. Now that the violent episode was over, he smiled calmly and said, “You all right, ma’am?” He spoke with a pronounced southern accent.

  “Oh yes, I am . . . now. But if you hadn’t come . . .” Her voice broke.

  “I’m glad I happened by. What are you doing out here by yourself, anyway?”

  “I was taking a shortcut to my home when my car broke down. My name is Sharon Winslow, by the way.”

  “I’m glad to know you, Miss Winslow. I’m Temple Smith. What seems to be wrong with your vehicle?”

  Sharon turned to stare at the Ford. “I don’t know. It made a loud bang and rattled and then wouldn’t run.”

  Smith walked over and looked at the engine briefly. “It’s a little hard to tell with it starting to get dark, but it sure sounds like you might’ve slung a rod out. Probably busted the block. I reckon you’ll have to have a new motor.”

  “Oh my!” Sharon exclaimed. She felt helpless and was still not over the shock of the attack. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Smith shrugged his shoulders. “I can go get help if you want to wait here.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t do that!”

  Smith grinned, which made him look much younger than Sharon had thought he was at first. He did not speak loudly, but there was a strength in his voice. “The only other thing I can offer you, miss, is havin’ you get on that motorcycle with me. Do you live close by?”

  “Not very far, but I . . . I can’t get on that thing!”

  “Then we’ll have to sit here until somebody comes.”

  Sharon hesitated, feeling trapped. “But I’m wearing a dress. I can’t straddle a motorcycle.”

  “I don’t reckon there’s anybody out here who’s gonna notice. I’ll be in the front, so your modesty’s safe. It’s the best thing to do. Better lock the car and get your purse.”

  While Smith closed the hood, Sharon grabbed her purse out of the car and made sure the doors were all locked. When she turned she saw the man was already seated on the motorcycle. He kicked the starter, and the engine broke into a roar. “Get on behind me,” he shouted over the raucous noise.

  Feeling more like a fool than she ever had in her life, she hiked up her skirt and threw her leg over the machine. As she settled down behind him, Smith shouted, “Put your feet on the bars,” he said, kicking with his heel. “And put your arms around my chest.”

  Sharon gingerly found the place for her feet on a pair of rods that jutted out and put her arms loosely around him, feeling absolutely ridiculous. “Now where do we go?” he asked.

  “You go straight down this road for several miles. Then we’ll turn off. I’ll tell you when.”

  “All right. Here we go.” The cycle moved forward, then picked up speed. “Better hold on tighter.”

  The wind was tearing at Sharon’s hair and blinding her. She turned her head to one side and of necessity held the man tightly. She was embarrassed to have to be so close to a man she didn’t even know, but this was an emergency.

  Sharon directed Smith to her house and finally cried out against the wind, “There’s the drive that leads to my house.”

  “Right!”

  Sharon began to relax as the bike slowed down. “This is it,” she said, and Smith stopped the motorcycle in the driveway. An unfamiliar man stepped out of the house, and she wondered who it could be. Before she could get off the bike, there was a blinding flash.

  “I guess that there feller got a good picture of us.”

  Sharon felt her face burning. Her dress was hiked up, exposing her leg, and she knew her arms were still around Temple Smith when the camera went off. She dismounted quickly and awkwardly as she heard her father’s voice.

  “Sharon, what in the world!”

  Sharon was more embarrassed at what had just happened than at her strange appearance on a motorcycle. “Who was that man, Dad?”

  “Oh, a reporter from one of the Hearst papers, trying to get a story about you. I had just sent him away and here you show up like . . . like this!” Leland was looking wild-eyed from the motorcycle to the tall cowboy.

  Sharon quickly explained. “My car broke down, Dad, and Mr. Smith came along just in time to help me.”

  “I’m very much in your debt, then, Mr. Smith. Please come inside. My wife will want to thank you as well.”

  “That’s not necessary, sir,” Temple drawled.

  “Oh yes, it is. Please come in,” Sharon insisted.

  She started for the house, and Smith fell in beside her father. When Leland asked him how he had happened along, he simply said
, “I was just eatin’ the breeze when I saw your daughter having trouble.”

  “Well, I’m very glad you did. I thank you for taking the time to stop.”

  As soon as they were inside, Sharon found her mother waiting. “I was looking out the window watching that horrible reporter leave. He took your picture.”

  “I know it, Mother, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” She turned toward Temple and said, “Mother, this is Mr. Temple Smith. My car broke down, and he came to my rescue.”

  Lucille was looking the man over, obviously noting the cowboy clothes and high-heeled cowboy boots that made him appear even taller. “We can’t thank you enough, Mr. Smith.”

  “Why, it was nothin’ at all, Mrs. Winslow.”

  “Look, we’re about to have supper. Why don’t you join us, and you can tell us all about this little adventure.”

  “Be proud to. I’m hungry as a bear.”

  After Sharon and Mr. Smith had a chance to wash up, Sharon directed her guest into the dining room, where the table was already set. Sharon and Mr. Smith sat across from each other, which gave Sharon a chance to observe the man more carefully. His silver hair was very attractive—glossy and slightly curly. His eyes were a blue that Sharon had never seen, almost electric. She saw that his hands were scarred and showed signs of hard labor, and she also noticed the tip of his little finger on his left hand was missing. His face was quite unusual. His skin was tanned to a deep mahogany, which made his teeth appear very white. His nose had been broken, and deep vertical creases surrounded his lips. He did not speak like an educated man, but neither did he seem to be ignorant.

  After the cook brought in a platter of roast beef and several bowls of vegetables, Sharon said, “I ought to tell you a little more of the story, Mother and Dad. When my car broke down, I was accosted by two men who were drunk and threatening me. Mr. Smith came and stopped just in time to keep me from harm.”

  “Did they give you any trouble, Mr. Smith?” Leland demanded.

  “One of them put up a little argument, but we thrashed it out.” Temple lowered his right eye in a wink at Sharon.

  “It was more than that,” Sharon supplied. “He had to use force.”

  “Against both of them?” Leland asked.

  “Aw, they weren’t really all that tough, Mr. Winslow. One good blow and they hightailed it outta there.”

  Sharon’s parents were greatly relieved at Mr. Smith’s rescue, which in their eyes was nothing short of heroic. They had a few words of admonishment for Sharon, however, telling her that this was why they didn’t like her out “gallivanting around” by herself and that she was never to venture off the main highway again. Sharon took their words stoically and without argument, for in truth she was quite shaken by the incident and had inwardly vowed never to be alone on that road again.

  The rest of the meal went off in a relaxed and pleasant manner, but Sharon was aware that her father was trying to find out more about the stranger who had done them such a service. Smith was not terribly forthcoming with details of his life, however, and all that Leland could determine was that he had apparently traveled extensively around the United States and to some foreign countries as well.

  After the meal, Smith rose and said, “That was a fine meal, folks. I appreciate it.” He turned to Sharon. “If I were you, I’d get that car hauled in soon. Otherwise, you might find it stripped clean. If you like, you can call a wrecker and I’ll go meet them at the car and take care of the details.”

  Sharon said, “Oh, that is so nice of you! But I hate to trouble you.”

  “I’ve got nothin’ better to do.”

  Sharon said, “Wait here, then.” She called a wrecking company, then ran to find her purse. Coming back, she pulled out some bills. “You’ll have to pay for the wrecker, and here is something for your trouble. This doesn’t cover what it’s worth, of course, but please accept it as a token of my appreciation. I’m so grateful to you.”

  Sharon expected Smith to argue against taking money, but he quietly accepted the bills, folded them without looking, and stuck them into his pocket. “I’ll have them take the car to the nearest Ford agency, and you best call them in the morning to explain what the trouble was.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith. I can never thank you enough.”

  “Don’t mention it, Miss Sharon.” Smith nodded, put his Stetson on, and stepped out of the door. She watched as he mounted the motorcycle and roared out of the driveway.

  When she got back to the dining room, Leland said, “If that fellow hadn’t come along, you would have been in terrible trouble. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to be driving around all alone.”

  “I can’t do that for the rest of my life, Dad. I’ve never had a problem before.”

  Leland knew he wasn’t going to win this argument with his daughter, so he changed the subject. “He’s an odd-looking man, isn’t he, with that silver hair?”

  “But he doesn’t seem all that old,” Lucille mused.

  “No, and he’s very strong and quick,” Sharon added. “Well, I think I’ll go relax in my room now. It’s been a tiring evening. Good night, Mother. Good night, Dad.”

  Sharon went up and showered and then tried to read, but she could not concentrate, for the experience had shaken her. She knew exactly how close she had come to terrible disaster. Finally she went to bed, and as she lay there, she thought about Temple Smith. What an unusual name. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. A part of her wanted to see him again, but he was obviously a workingman and outside of her social circle. Still, she owed him so much. She eventually drifted off, but it was a broken sleep, troubled by disturbing dreams.

  ****

  When Sharon came downstairs in the morning, she found her father waiting for her with an odd look on his face and the newspaper in his hand. “Bad news, daughter.”

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “Look at this.”

  Sharon took the newspaper he handed her, and her heart sank when she saw the picture. There was Temple Smith in his Stetson and goggles with her right behind him on the motorcycle, her skirt pulled up to her thigh and hugging the man with what appeared to be great enthusiasm. The caption read: “Miss Sharon Elizabeth Winslow, noted sculptress and heiress of the Winslow fortune, arriving home last night from an escapade with an unidentified companion.”

  “Oh, Dad, this is terrible!”

  “Yes, it’s pretty bad. I’ve called the newspaper to complain, but of course, it’s too late to do anything about it. That Hearst bunch will do anything to sell papers. They aren’t much interested in the truth.”

  Sharon knew that her life would be miserable for a time at least. She’d had her picture in the paper before, but there had always been some dignity to it. Now, however, her heart sank as she foresaw the snickers and covert whispers that would follow her wherever she went.

  “Well,” Leland said, “you’re all right. That’s the main thing. And this will pass in time.” His face was grim as he waved at the newspaper. “It ought to be against the law for a man like Hearst to print pictures and a false story like this. But it’s not. It’ll sell a few papers, and what does he care how it hurts someone?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Love Is People

  Sharon entered the Calvary Baptist Church in Manhattan—the church she had attended all her life—and felt that everyone was staring at her. In truth only a few were staring, and these few Sharon tried to ignore as best she could while she sought out conversations with friendlier acquaintances. She knew the stares had to do with her picture in the paper, and for this reason she had stayed home for the past couple of weeks, avoiding any social contact and unwanted questions. But on this Sunday morning she had decided it was time to show her face and ignore the gossips.

  Most of the people she greeted kept a discreet silence about the embarrassing photo, but the same couldn’t be said for the church busybody, Mrs. Susanna Parker, who had never left a thought unspoken in her life. Mrs. P
arker rushed over to say, “Oh, I saw that dreadful picture of you in the paper! I know you must be sick over it.”

  “I’ll survive, Mrs. Parker.”

  “You poor thing! These newspapers! Someone ought to put that man Hearst in jail!”

  Sharon made her escape as quickly as possible and entered the sanctuary, where the service was about to begin. She made her way awkwardly past several worshipers to reach an empty seat in the middle of a pew at the back of the crowded church. When she sat down a shock ran through her as she saw she was sitting next to Temple Smith. He was not wearing a suit, as most of the other men were, but simply a white shirt with no tie and a denim jacket. Sharon nodded and faced resolutely away, wondering if he had come to church just to see her. How did he know which church she attended? she wondered. Perhaps they had mentioned it at dinner the night he had rescued her. She could not say for sure, but she was so accustomed to thinking in terms of people trying to get something from her that her mind was naturally suspicious. She had not seen Smith since the night of her rescue. She had expected him to call but never heard from him. She had only heard from the Ford agency, which had called the next day to say that the car had been brought in and would be repaired under the terms of the warranty.

  The pastor preached an eloquent message on Matthew 25:40, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” He stressed the dire needs that existed in parts of New York City. “The Depression has been going on for over five years now,” he said soberly but with great intensity, “and the Church of Jesus Christ is not to sit idly by. This beautiful building we are in is wonderful indeed, and I love to worship here. But we must decide once and for all if the church is to be a window display with everything in order—or if it is to be a field hospital, going out to where there are hungry, hurting people.”

  Sharon listened to the sermon intently, though aware of Temple Smith to her right. She loved the pastor, for he was a fine man. Dr. Thomas Snyder, a man with a national reputation as a writer and speaker, had been her minister for ten years, and she trusted him implicitly. She listened attentively as he said, “I intend to go out to the streets and do what I can for those who need help. I’m sure some of you will want to join me. If this is a ministry you’d like to be involved with, I’ll ask you to meet me in the prayer room after the service.”