Where Two Ways Met

by Grace Livingston Hill

  It was a strange, foolish feeling of course, a part of his embarrassing position perhaps, but he felt as if he had met God in a new way, and there was a tacit understanding now between himself and God that he would have to come back after this was over and have it out; have this matter between himself and God settled forever. A strange outcome indeed to have followed a mission like the one upon which he had been sent.

  A good many people had come into the room now, and there were tears in evidence and softly murmured speech from one to another. Paige presently roused to the fact that he was in the way and that a great many other people were wanting to stand where he was and wanting to look again upon their old friend for the last time. Paige looked around to see whether he could get out of the house now, or at least out of the room, or certainly out of the way, but a kindly old man, who very much resembled the man in the coffin, touched him on the shoulder and led him to a vacant chair. He sat down quickly to get out of the public eye. Of course it wouldn’t look right for him to leave the house now before the service. It would make him all the more conspicuous.

  A young man stepped up near the coffin at last and began to pray. Paige bowed his head with the rest, realizing now that the room was full. The wide hall was crowded with people sitting and standing, and the room beyond the hall—that was probably the dining room—was literally packed full. He had come to foreclose a mortgage on that home where death had taken the head. Intruding into their sacred sorrow! And when he closed his eyes and bowed his head, there stood God beside that coffin, as if He were waiting to take His beloved saint away with Him. He could see Him clearly, even with his eyes shut.

  Paige had never experienced such a sense of being searched, accused. He had the same feeling he remembered from his school days when he was being called to account for some omission of duty. Yet he had not been actually conscious of wrongdoing. But now everything seemed wrong. His very presence in this strange house seemed more than an intrusion. It seemed the outward mark of something that he was beginning to see in his own life. Possibly not his job, but more his own attitude toward life as a whole.

  All this was pressed upon him as he sat there with bowed head. He seemed to hear his own sins brought out before the God who stood so close.

  The prayer over, there followed a wonderful collection of verses from scripture, making so clear the way of salvation and life that the wayfaring man, though a fool, could not err therein. For the first time in his life, Paige saw what he had been taking casually and not giving real heed to, though he had known the facts well from his infancy.

  And God was still there. He was standing so near that, though his own eyes were looking down, he could feel His presence pervading the room and looking into his own soul.

  Then the speaker began to mention a few things in the life of the wonderful, gentle old man who was departed, to tell of little incidents in which he had witnessed to some soul about Jesus, and to say how “Our brother Washburn was one who had unquestionably experienced what Paul meant by being crucified with Christ. He had continually lived in that resurrection power that Christ brought out of the tomb when He rose from the dead, that power that is made available to such of His own as are willing to be crucified to the things of the flesh and the things of the world.”

  Paige’s mind went back at once to that last talk he had had with June. There were others then who believed this and preached it. Perhaps for aught he knew, his own father and mother had thought that they had taught him so to believe.

  Sharply it came to him now that he was here in the capacity of an agent to bring sorrow and loss and distress to this saint of God, this man who had lived in a lofty place with Christ by the power of His resurrection.

  And now he, Paige, had the definite feeling that he had been sent up here by God to this funeral to meet the Lord and find all this out, understand it as he never could have understood it in any way except in this startling presence of the Lord. It was as if the Lord were waiting to take away His saint with Him to glory.

  Paige lifted a haggard face at last and looked at that placid face again lying in the coffin, so still, so calm, so satisfied, and knew that here was proof that a life lived in the resurrection power brought joy and not sacrifice, eternal riches and not spiritual poverty.

  Then came the young minister’s voice again, strongly, with a ring of triumph in it.

  “ ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ ”

  And it came to Paige as he listened, that the deep meaning of that verse was to assure him that if he was willing to surrender all in death with Christ, he would be losing nothing worthwhile, for there was a greater life that he would gain, even here on earth. Why had he never understood that before? Why had he been so reluctant, even when June tried to make it plain to him? What was it he was trying to cling to? His lucrative job? He almost shivered at the thought that it was possible he had been willing to risk a life in close company with God, empowered with the strength of Christ, for a job such as he was now out upon.

  There was no question in his mind now about the job. It was not his idea of a place for a crucified Christian. But the question of just what he should do about it, just what came next, and how far he was already involved in it, could not be decided now. He had first to settle things with God, the God who was standing by him now and looking into his heart.

  There was a soft general stirring as a voice invited all who would to come forward and take a farewell look at the face of their friend, and Paige rose and moved back out of the way. Then he realized that this was the time for him to get out of the house and try to plan what he should do next about his errand. Should he abandon it, or call up the home office and ask for instructions, or what? But before there was a way for him to slip out, the white-haired man, who looked so much like the dead man, laid a kindly hand on his shoulder and said in a low tone, “You will ride in the car with me to the cemetery.”

  “Oh!” protested Paige. “I have no right there.”

  “Yes,” said the other, “you were my brother’s friend. I want you with me.”

  “No, you don’t understand—” protested Paige again.

  But the man had gone into the crowd with the parting words, “Yes, I want it that way. You stay around with me.”

  Paige, bewildered, scarcely knowing what to do, retreated into a corner near the hall door. Now was a time to slip away, of course, as soon as the crowd in the hall thinned, yet he scarcely liked to be so discourteous after the man had been so gracious. He had probably mistaken him for someone else, but still, if there was an opportunity, he ought to explain who he was, and of course, this would likely be the only opportunity he would have to find out where he could contact Mr. Washburn’s executor, or whoever he should see about this matter of the mortgage. He hated to intrude matters of business now, at a time like this, yet he ought to get back home as quickly as possible, whatever he was going to do eventually. He must somehow manage to explain to this man before they intruded him into the funeral train. It was impossible that he should carry out this farce any longer, for while he knew in his heart that unspeakable good had come to himself through that service, still he had had no right whatever there, and there seemed no apology worthy to excuse his stupidity.

  And now the people were moving away, the coffin was covered, and Paige moved out onto the porch with a quick look around. He could slip away and come back toward evening to explain.

  But the kindly hand lay on his shoulder again, imperatively.

  “Come now,” the man said, “they are waiting for us.”

  And suddenly a number of people swept him along. And though he did his best again to get the attention of his pleasant-minded host, there was no opportunity.

  There were two other people already in the car, and Paige hesitated at the door, beginning, “I must explain—”

  The older man only smiled and said, “Yes, just a minute. I must speak to someone over there,�
�� and the undertaker urged Paige to take the seat in the corner.

  So Paige, much against his will, went to the cemetery, and it was not until the two people in the backseat were dropped at their home after the service that he had an opportunity to explain.

  The other Mr. Washburn, for Paige had now discovered that that was his name, turned to him at last.

  “Now,” he said, “I’m sure you will understand how I had no time before this to talk. I was sure you would see how involved I was.”

  “Yes,” Paige said, “but you gave me no opportunity to explain to you that I am not Mr. Washburn’s friend, or even acquaintance. I never saw him before until I saw him lying in that coffin. I came to see him on business. I had no idea that he had passed away until someone ushered me into the room where he lay. I am merely a businessman, sent up to look after some business with Mr. Washburn, and I had no intention whatever of barging in on a private matter like a funeral. I tried to get out, but everybody misunderstood, and I could not manage it without creating confusion.”

  The old man had been watching him earnestly as he talked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were Joe’s friend from Chicago. I am sure no one intended to involve you in a matter that couldn’t possibly interest you.”

  “Of course I understand that,” said Paige. “It was wholly my own blundering. But you are mistaken that I had no interest in what went on. I was much touched and helped by the service. I feel that I should thank someone for having let me in on it. But that is wholly apart from the business I came up to transact, and perhaps now it will not be out of place for me to ask where I can find Mr. Washburn’s representative? I really ought to get the midnight train back to New York, if that is possible, though if I can better get my business transacted tomorrow, I could arrange to stay overnight. This is scarcely the time to talk business with a member of the family. Is there any business representative of the family whom I could see?”

  “Just what was the nature of the business you had with my brother?” asked Mr. Washburn, watching the young man gravely.

  “It is a mortgage foreclosure,” said Paige firmly, finding that of all the missions of his journey, this one seemed to him to be the hardest to execute.

  “Foreclosure?” said the other man. “But I understood that that was already attended to. At least, I talked it over with my brother, and he told me that it was his intention to pay in full the principal on that and have it entirely out of the way.”

  “Yes? But he didn’t. And the interest is some time overdue. I don’t know whether you understood that a failure to pay the interest on time necessitates a foreclosure. In this case it is quite over the legal thirty days.”

  “That seems strange,” said Mr. Washburn. “My brother talked about that with me a few nights before he was taken sick. Are you sure that wasn’t attended to?”

  “I’m positive. I have all the papers with me. Several notices were sent on this matter, and no attention was paid to them.”

  “Do you know the dates?”

  “Yes, here they are. The first was sent on the usual date, of course; the second a week later, and others after that. Here they are.”

  The older man studied the dates for a moment before he said, “Oh, well, then you see, the first reached here about the time my brother was taken ill. It is possible he did not even see it, as no one dared to trouble him with his mail. That is a pity. It makes you a lot of unnecessary trouble, too. But suppose you come back to the house with me now. I can look through my brother’s papers. His checkbook might tell something. We will see if the notices are there. He always attended to such business matters himself, but of course, he often consulted with me.”

  At the house again, the two men went to the neat little study where the dead man had his desk, now piled high with unopened letters.

  The brother sat down, glanced hastily through the pile of mail accumulated, and selected the envelopes bearing the Harris Chalmers return address.

  “Yes, here they are,” he said as he laid them on the desk, studying the dates on the postmarks. He knit his brows over them a moment then unlocked a drawer and drew out his brother’s checkbook, turning over the leaves rapidly and suddenly exclaiming, “Yes, here the check is! The date of the first notice and the check, all made out and signed. That must have been the last thing he did. We found him fallen forward on his desk, the pen in his hand, the night he was taken sick. And he was desperately ill from then on until now! None of us thought to look into his private affairs to see if there was anything that needed immediate attention. Joseph was always so methodical, it seemed as if nothing was likely to go wrong.”

  Paige looked at the man, bewildered, wondering what should be his procedure now? Would these people want the mortgage foreclosed? Then the other man spoke.

  “This check would not be good now, of course, on account of Joe’s death, and the natural process of the law would bring it under the jurisdiction of the managers of the estate. But since that would take some time and you are in haste to return, and since it was our fault, in a way, that this was not paid before, would you be willing to accept my check at once for this whole matter and give me a receipt? Of course, allowing for the interest of the delay? I can give you a certified check.”

  “Oh!” gasped Paige. “Would you be willing to do that? I suppose that would be much simpler for us. But it is imposing upon you.”

  “Not at all,” said the old man, with a sigh. “Joe and I were very close brothers, and I think he would like me to do this for him. I would not want my sister-in-law to be disturbed by knowing of this, nor to have any idea that her home might have foreclosure proceedings on it. We are trying to have life go on as normally for her sake as possible. She had been through a great deal during the weeks of my brother’s illness, and I’ll be glad to finish this matter up definitely at once, if you are willing to arrange that, and there need be no further question about it in the settlement of affairs.”

  Paige breathed a sigh of relief when he received the certified check for the full amount covering the entire remaining mortgage. This was not what he was supposed to have come after, but surely his boss would be more than pleased at the outcome of his mission. So, in a little while he was free to hurry away to his train.

  But he grasped the hand of Charles Washburn warmly and thanked him again for all he had done, and more than all for making his presence at that service possible. Then he looked back at the simple white house where he had spent such a strange and unexpected afternoon, and thought he would like to come back there sometime and remember.

  It was not according to his custom when riding on railroad trains, but Paige spent a large part of that night in prayer, and it seemed to him that the Lord Jesus Christ had come with him and was very close, ready to help him understand.

  This would be something that he would not tell about in his report to Mr. Chalmers. Something all between himself and God. He might not even tell his mother. There was only one person he felt would understand, and that was June Culbertson. She would understand. Strange, and he had known her so short a time! But she had spoken of these same truths that had so stirred him at the funeral service.

  Chapter 10

  June’s brief letter was waiting for him the next morning when he got home to breakfast. It lay by his place. He tore it open and was filled with a strange disappointment when he read that she was away. He hadn’t known that he was looking forward to seeing her and talking with her. And suddenly he knew that he had been going to tell her about that afternoon at the funeral. And now she was gone! Perhaps he would never see her again. She did not say how long she was likely to stay.

  He turned to the poem and read it through. Almost he could hear her voice saying the words.

  Then his mother came in with fresh coffee, and he folded the letter and enclosure and put them in his pocket. Somehow he did not feel ready to part with them yet. He wanted to read them over again. Meantime, he was going to meet his boss,
and perhaps they would be a sort of talisman to guard him from making any mistakes. For he felt a misgiving about how his boss would think he had handled this important business.

  He swallowed his coffee, gave his mother another brief kiss, and darted out to his car, his hand on the folded letter in his pocket, taking comfort from it. He was cheered by the thought that June had remembered to send the poem. And somehow he felt, even just from the single reading, that it would chime right in with his experiences with his new Lord.

  Back in his office he found a pile of mail that had to be attended to at once, and he and his secretary were deep into dictation when there came a call from Mr. Chalmers.

  “Madison come yet? Send him in at once!” and the receiver slammed into place. Somehow the very click of the instrument sent a shiver through Paige’s shoulders. How silly, he told himself as he swung out of his chair and went toward the boss’s office.

  “Well, Madison, I see you have returned. I hope you had a successful trip.”

  “Why, I think so, Mr. Chalmers. I would have been in here with a report before, but I thought you would be busy the first thing in the morning with your mail, so I waited to get a few important letters out of the way.”

  “Well, I came down a little early this morning. I was anxious to hear your report. Did you have any trouble? Served all three foreclosures?”

  “No,” said Madison, “I only served one. The others both paid up.”

  “Paid up!” gasped Chalmers, springing up from his chair. “But I thought I gave definite orders that all three must be foreclosed! What business did you have to go against my orders?”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Chalmers. I do not recall your having told me not to receive the money if it was given to me. I supposed, of course, payment was the most desirable.” Paige’s tone had a new dignity, and Mr. Chalmers cooled down and looked at him, realizing that by his blustering he was actually giving away one of the secrets of his business that he had not intended to make known to him at this stage of the game. His intention had been to go cautiously with this young man who was inclined to be so overconscientious, leading him gradually to see the necessity of the more subtle and clever ways of managing business affairs in order to be greatly successful.