“I can’t go away,” he said, “not till I’m sure Margaret won’t need me. If I find her and find she is well fixed and has no use for me, well then I can come. But not now.”
Rhoderick looked at him tenderly.
“You must follow His leading,” he said.
On the train, he thought of the look in his friend’s eyes and said to himself, “I wonder!” and then rested his head back, closed his eyes, and began to pray for Greg and the little, lost girl.
Greg turned back to his hotel after seeing his friend off with a strange desolateness upon him. And yet it was not like the loneliness that had been his before Rhoderick came. He had a Savior, he had a Bible, an utterly new book, and he had been given the key to unlock it. He knew there were wonders hidden there for him, for he had had glimpses of some of them. So he went to his room intending to begin his study.
He had not been long at the strange new employment when his telephone rang and there was the voice of Nurse Gowen!
Nurse Gowen had gone back to her hospital work and was put on a nervous case that required her constant attention. She had not been able to do much to help in the search for Margaret. She had not called up for several days. She had her living to earn, of course, and though Greg had paid her more than she felt was right for the brief nursing case and for the help she had given him the first day of the search, her pride had sent her back to work.
Now her voice was full of eagerness.
“Have you heard anything yet of Miss McLaren?” she asked. “I’ve had some pretty bad days with this nervous case and couldn’t get a chance to get to the phone, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you and hoping you had found out something.”
“Nothing yet,” said Greg sadly. “I’ve sort of given up trying. There wasn’t anything else to do, though I did plan to go down to Rodman Street tomorrow and ask again if she had been there. It seems strange that she hasn’t gone for her clothes yet. She has the receipt for her back board. She wouldn’t have to wait for that.”
“Maybe she hasn’t discovered it yet. Maybe she didn’t understand what you said about putting it in her purse. Where did you put it? In the outer pocket?”
“No, inside with a letter from her grandmother that was in a little strapped compartment. She could easily miss it if she didn’t know. By the way, you don’t suppose, Miss Gowen, that Miss McLaren could have gone back to her home in Vermont, do you?”
The nurse was quiet for an instant, and then she said, “Well, that’s an idea. I don’t know why we never thought of that before. That would be the natural place for her to go, wouldn’t it? And since she had money in her purse, probably she did. But what about her things? It does seem strange that she didn’t go for them immediately after you told her that her board was paid.”
“She’s probably afraid of me, don’t you see?” said the young man forlornly. “I suppose she’s perfectly justified in her feeling after what that nurse must have said. But good night! It doesn’t seem as if I could stand it to give this thing up! She never talked to you about where she lived in Vermont, did she? You don’t remember the name of the town or the name of her people, do you?”
“Why, yes,” said Miss Gowen thoughtfully, “she did give me the address. I wrote it down on an old envelope. I told her I ought to have it in case she got worse or anything, and I wrote it down after you left on Sunday afternoon. Now, whatever did I do with that envelope? Strange I never thought of that before in all our searching! It must be somewhere among my things. I’ll go and look it up right away and call you again. Are you going to be there all the evening?”
“Right here!” said Greg.
Greg sat for the next fifteen minutes trying to put his mind on his study but found he could not. Finally, he put his head down on his book and began to pray: “Oh God, let me find her if you don’t mind. If it’s all right, let me find her and help her! Show me the way.”
Suddenly the telephone rang again and he sprang to answer it.
“Well, I’ve found the address!” said Nurse Gowen.
“Yes?” said Greg, eagerly.
“It’s Mrs. John Lorimer, Crystal Lake, Vermont.”
“That’s all?” asked Greg as he wrote it down.
“Yes, that’s all. I’m dreadfully sorry I didn’t think of it before.”
“Don’t worry,” said Greg. “I think I’ll find her now!” His voice was throbbing with excitement. “I’m not just sure how I ought to go about it, but I think I could telephone them and say she spoke to me about a job and I failed to get her address. That wouldn’t startle her grandmother. You know she was terribly afraid I had telegraphed them when she was brought to the hospital.”
“Yes, I know,” said Nurse Gowen, “but I can’t see how it could possibly alarm her, telephoning her that way. I think that’s a good idea. Well, I hope you find her. I certainly do. I took an awful liking to that little girl. She was sweet! Well, I must get back to my patient now, but let me know if you get any news; and if there’s anything further I can do, just call me up.”
“I will!” said Greg, eager to have her off the wire. “Thank you so much for getting the address. Good night.”
Greg lost no time in getting long distance and putting in his call for the Lorimers of Crystal Lake. While he was waiting to be called back, he thought of what he would say, working it most carefully lest he alarm the good old grandmother. It thrilled him to think that in a few minutes he would be speaking with someone near and dear to the girl who had so stirred his interest.
But suddenly the bell rang, and he found his heart beating very rapidly as he took up the receiver. Suppose she had gone home and it should be she who answered the telephone? What should he say at once to reassure her?
But it was only the long distance operator talking.
“Are you the party calling Crystal Lake, Vermont, name Lorimer? Well, that telephone has been disconnected.”
Dismay entered Greg’s heart.
“Are you sure?” he asked eagerly. “Perhaps it’s only listed so because the bill wasn’t paid. If so, I’m willing to pay the bill at once right here at the telephone office in the hotel. This is an emergency call. It is most important!”
“Wait a minute!” said the voice.
Finally came a chief operator and then a district superintendent, and Greg turned heaven and earth, metaphorically speaking, to induce the telephone company to annul that disconnection, but all to no purpose. They told him the telephone had been disconnected for six months and the wires were down.
Then Greg begged to have the number of some neighbor of the Lorimers. But when they asked for the address, he could give no street and number, and an hour passed away without his getting anywhere. All the patience and prowess and initiative that he had used in getting possession of his wilderness home and holding on to it, he brought to bear upon that telephone company but could not get them to give him a number in Crystal Lake unless he knew the name. At last he asked if there wasn’t a public telephone office or pay station there. He suggested a drugstore, but here was no regular drugstore. Finally, it was disclosed that there was a telephone located in the postmistress’s home, and Greg asked them to give it to him.
There was a moment’s delay, and then a big, loquacious, interested voice, tipped with curiosity, twanged vivaciously over the wire.
“Hello!”
“Is this the postmistress at Crystal Lake?” asked Greg, hoping his voice did not sound too anxious.
“No, this ain’t the postmistress. This is her Aunt Carrie Pettibone. My niece Lyddy Rice is postmistress. I’m just visiting her. I live over the other side of the mountain.”
“May I speak with Miss Rice?” asked Greg.
“Why, she ain’t here. She’s down to the Baptist church.”
“When will she be back?”
“Well, I can’t exactly say. You see, they’re having protracted meetings over there, and she goes every night. She was pretty late last night. They had a long-winded preacher
. He’s awful interesting. I’d be there myself if I hadn’t sprained my ankle in the woodshed this afternoon, and I’m right hefty on my feet, so I had to stay at home tonight. Was there anything I could do for you?”
“Why, I’m not sure, if you’re a stranger there.”
“Oh, I ain’t a stranger. I’ve lived around here all my life. I was raised down to Crystal. I know everybody in this county.”
“Well, then I wonder if you know Mr. and Mrs. Lorimer?”
“I should say I do!” triumphed the voice. “My mother and her mother used ta go ta school together. She was a Russell, and they were old settlers round here. I remember I used ta hear my father say they was about the first folks around here that had a fine house. Their house was built over a hundred years ago. Has real oak beams. She inherited it from her folks, Rebecca Lorimer did, and that makes it all the harder for her now ta lose it. You knew they was going ta lose it, didn’t ya?”
“Is that so?” said Greg patiently, with a troubled frown. The pencil that he had prepared to take down Margaret’s address poised in the air an instant, then wrote “Foreclosure” on the pad beneath his hand.
“Yes, I guess there’s no doubt about it! Elias Horner himself is giving out that he’s given the Lorimers notice they got ta pay up the whole mortgage this time. It comes due four days after Thanksgiving, and he wants his money. It seems a shame, doesn’t it? Only three thousand dollars on thirty acres of land and that nice old house she was born in!”
Greg wrote quickly, “Elias Horner, three thousand, four days after Thanksgiving,” and frowned heavily into the telephone. He was getting more information than he had bargained for, but it was all valuable. It made it all the plainer that Margaret needed him.
“Are you there?” challenged the garrulous voice.
“Yes, I’m here,” said Greg.
“Oh, well I thought you mightta cut off. Well, as I was saying, Elias Horner, he’s calculating ta make a resort outta the house and the lake. The folks down in the village, some of them likes it and some of them don’t. Of course it’ll bring a lotta trade ta the store and mebbe raise the price of land, but the settlers around here don’t care fer having their ways broke up. They’ve lived here mostly a good many years just like the Lorimers. Mebbe I shouldn’t have mentioned their troubles. My niece thinks I talk too much, but you asking for them made me remember about the mortgage. What was it you wanted ta know about the Lorimers?”
“Why, I wanted to speak with one or the other of them if I could. They tell me at the exchange that their telephone has been disconnected.”
“Yes, that happened several months ago. About the time Mr. Pettibone’s father passed away. I remember we had ta send somebody up the mountain ta tell them about it, them being old neighbors for so many years, only four miles apart, but the valley between, of course. It makes it unhandy in these days not having telephones, especially in winter, but what can ya do when ya can’t afford it? The Lorimers certainly have been hard up since the bank went up. They lost every cent they had, and they was counted well off in these parts.”
“Well, I wonder if you could tell me,” said Greg hopefully, “of someone who lives quite near them who would be likely to be willing to send for them to come to the telephone? You’re not near enough are you? I have an important message for them.”
“Mercy no,” said Aunt Carrie Pettibone. “It’s five mile if it’s a foot up the mountain from here. And the onliest neighbor they got at all is Sam Fletcher, and he ain’t got a phone. He never did have none, and it’s a good thing I guess, too, fer his wife would be at it all the time and never get her work done. But you said an important message. It ain’t any bad news is it? It ain’t about Margaret McLaren is it? ‘Cause I know they’re terrible worried they ain’t been hearing from her so often. They’re afraid she’s sick. They ain’t had a letter at all except the telegram that come and hadta be sent up by mail ‘cause there ain’t no delivery around here. I guess she musta heard about the foreclosure, ‘cause she telegraphed something about money. That’s how I come ta know the date four days after Thanksgiving. You see, it come through by telephone, and I happened ta answer the phone. I mostly do when I’m here—it saves my niece a lotta trouble. You ain’t got bad news for ‘em about Margaret, have ya?”
“Oh no,” said Greg, “I merely wanted to inquire about her present address. You see, she asked me a few days ago about a position, and I promised to get one for her, but I failed to get her present address. I wanted to speak to her grandparents tonight and see where she is so that I can let her know about this opening. I think it will be greatly to her advantage and she will want to know about it at once. I thought perhaps I could get in touch with her family through another telephone and so find her address and telephone her tonight. I thought the postmistress would know someone near them. Of course I know the post office is not allowed to give addresses.”
“Yes, that is a rule, of course, and my niece Lyddy is awful closemouthed. She took an oath, of course, about their rules and regulations, and she takes it awful serious. So you wouldn’t get nothing out of her. But me, I ain’t took an oath, and I’m glad ta tell ya what I know, only of course it won’t do ya much good, as it happens, ‘cause the last time her folks wrote her, they just addressed it ‘General Delivery.’ I know that fer a fact, because I was helping distribute myself the day it come down, and I took particular notice.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you would know whether Miss McLaren may be coming home for Thanksgiving?” he hazarded suddenly.
“She couldn’t,” said the garrulous voice decidedly. “She wouldn’t have the money ta come. They’re awful poor. I heard say her gram’ma cried when she went away and said would she ever see her again. And you’d know by the size of the money orders she sends home. Sometimes only two or three dollars. Oh, I’m not supposed to know, of course, but I find out!”
“I see. Well, thank you,” said Greg. “I guess I’ll just have to depend on writing. Sorry to have troubled you.”
“Now ain’t that a pity!” began Aunt Carrie Pettibone and then stopped disappointed and gazed into the receiver.
“He’s hung up!” she said aloud to the post office cat. “I declare, some folks is hasty. I meant ta tell him she had a new job, but I suppose he’ll find that out. I ‘spose mebbe he thought the bill was getting too big. He didn’t say where he was. It musta been long distance, of course. Well, I’m sorry I didn’t find out. I didn’t even ask his name! Now, how can I ever tell M’s Lorimer about it? Well, it’s just as well, mebbe. Lyddy might find I’d answered the phone again. It beats me how she thinks mortal woman can set and listen to that bell ring and know someone’s on the wire, and not go answer it! I can’t figure out why Lyddy don’t trust me. I never tell people’s private affairs. My mother always usedta say I had the best judgment of any of her children. Well, I suppose that’s that! Mercy me, I do wish I’d asked him ef he didn’t want I should send a message up ta the Lorimers tamorra. Mebbe he’d a opened up a bit more and left his name and address.”
So Aunt Carrie sat down with a thump in the rocking chair that was a little too low for her bulk and her lame ankle and, picking up the county paper that she had filched for the evening from the Fagan post box, went back to her perusal of the county social column, which had been interrupted by the telephone ring.
Miles away at the other end of that telephone wire, Greg sat staring at the little tablet he held in his hand, studying over the words he had written down while talking on the telephone. But at least he had learned one thing. Margaret had not yet gone home, or this person would have known.
So, there was danger of the Lorimers losing their farm! Not quite two weeks away the time was, and what could he do? Of course he knew their location now and could go up there and look into things, gain an acquaintance with the old folks perhaps, but would they not resent his intrusion into their affairs? And if he went away, suppose that Margaret were to need him here? Oh, where was Marga
ret? He must find her first. And the time was so short! Not quite two weeks till Thanksgiving.
The trouble seemed suddenly to thicken around him too much for him to bear, and then he thought of his new friend and began to pray again. Some help would come. He was leaving it with God, and there would be a way!
Then suddenly he sprang up, went to the desk, and wrote rapidly. He had just remembered that he could at least try to communicate with Margaret McLaren through the General Delivery. Perhaps she would be too afraid of him to answer, but at least he could try. So he wrote:
My dear Miss McLaren:
I do not blame you for having run away from me, since I know what was said to you by that blundering nurse, but I am distressed that I have lost you. I have searched everywhere for you. Please be kind enough to let me prove to you that what you think of me is not true. That head nurse had just returned from her vacation and did not know what had been done in her absence. I am so sorry that you had to bear such a humiliating experience
I am hoping also that you will be interested to know that your new job is awaiting your coming. Work is waiting to be done as soon as you come. I would greatly appreciate an immediate reply
Very sincerely,
Gregory Sterling
Greg addressed his letter and looked at it wistfully.
“I’ll mail that the first thing in the morning,” he said to himself.
And then he went to bed.
Chapter 13
Greg had been investigating the qualities of various automobiles for the last few days. Rhoderick Steele had assisted in the discussions. They had even tried out a couple. And one came that next morning for Greg to drive himself.
He was not an amateur driver, for before he went west, he had worked as a delivery boy after school hours for a couple of years and full-time summers driving delivery trucks, and had often made a dollar or two driving ladies’ cars for them for an afternoon, so that he took to the wheel quickly again. Somehow it eased his troubled mind that morning to be starting out with a vehicle of his own, not just a chugging taxi panting around corners and always having to be told where to go.
THE CHRISTMAS BRIDE Page 15