THE CHRISTMAS BRIDE

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Margaret, with her grandmother’s warning in her ears, and her own conscience alert to warn, yet felt the joy of his touch and the strength of his arm beneath her own and could not but think how wonderful it was to walk thus with a companion so attractive.

  Then when that great thrill of joy would rush over her as they walked close together through a narrow pass and he seemed to be guarding her so carefully from the roughness of the way, she would reproach herself and remind her heart that he was just a nice boy on an outing and that she was really his secretary, just his secretary and nothing else, entertaining him in payment for his having brought her home for Thanksgiving. And they would walk demurely into the house, with only the shine of her eyes and the rose of her cheeks to tell tales to the sharp, old eyes of the grandmother who watched her beloved child so anxiously.

  That evening Greg told them of Rhoderick Steele and his friendship and then of his own business and how it had grown out of a talk that they had. The old man listened and nodded approval, added his word concerning prophecy and the signs of the times, and prayed again that night at worship for Greg and his work and for the part their precious grandchild had in carrying out such a wonderful testimony for the Lord Jesus Christ.

  “And now,” said Greg, as they were about to retire for the night, “I’m inviting you both to a Christmas party! Will you come?”

  The old people beamed on him lovingly. They thought he was joking.

  “But I mean it,” he said, “I’m throwing a party for Christmas. It’s a house party, and it’s going to last quite a while. I’m going to try to get Rhoderick Steele to come to it, too. I want you to know him.”

  “Well, that would be wonderful, son,” said the old man, smiling wistfully, “but I guess that’s impossible. Maybe you can bring him up here to visit us someday when summer comes and it’s nice and pleasant here. You know Mother and I are old people, and we aren’t much at traveling around anymore. Beside, we haven’t the money. We may as well tell the truth. We’d enjoy it, I know, but it wouldn’t be possible.”

  Grandmother said nothing, only just stood wistfully smiling and trying not to let tears show through the smile.

  “Oh, but,” said Greg, “you know Margaret and I are coming up after you. Aren’t we, Margaret?” He had not been calling her Margaret before, and it made her cheeks rosy to hear it. “We’re driving up a week or so before Christmas, and we’re going to take you back with us. We’d take you down with us tomorrow, only I haven’t got my place fixed up yet, and perhaps you’d want a little time to put away your things and park Sukey down with Sam Fletcher.”

  “Oh–h–h!” breathed Grandmother in a kind of awe.

  But Grandfather continued to smile as if at an impossibility.

  “Well now, my dear fellow! That’s a wonderful offer for you to make, but of course we couldn’t let you do it. What would you do with two old parties like Mother and myself? We’re antiquated you know, and as shabby as if we came out of the ark. We haven’t even money this winter to buy suitable clothes for a visit to the city. We thank you with all our hearts—don’t we, Rebecca?—and appreciate your suggestion, but we’ll just have to wait till you can come and see us again, and we hope it will be mighty soon.”

  Grandmother’s eyes grew suddenly clouded with the old question that troubled Eve in the Garden of Eden. She looked down at her seedy black alpaca dress and realized that she was unfit for house parties.

  But Greg was not to be put off this easily. He sat down again and began to explain.

  “You see, this isn’t a regular house party. It’s not a fashion show, and we want you just as you are. We’re not inviting people who have fine clothes. My friend Steele I hope can come, but he’s quite hard up himself, so you needn’t mind him, and if we have anybody else there, it will be sure to be somebody who is poor and needs a little cheer at Christmas, and we want you to come and help make it pleasant for them.

  But most of all, we want you for yourselves. I’ve not had any Christmas myself for ten long years, and I want one. You are necessary to my plans for a real home Christmas. I’ve never known a grandmother and grandfather of my own, and now I want to adopt you if you’ll let me.”

  They argued for nearly an hour, and Margaret had to add her pleadings before the old couple finally gave in and gave a tacit consent to at least think about it. But the last thing Greg said as he took his candle and went up the winding, old stairs to his room was, “Then that’s settled. We’ll come up for you. And we’ll come in plenty of time to have a few days of real snow in the mountains. It must be great here in the winter!”

  Grandmother was up early, having plotted silently the night before to have a good, hot breakfast. She already had a wonderful lunch put up, and she was bustling around, trying to smile and keep back the tears, when the rest came down.

  They made a merry time of it getting off, though Margaret and her grandmother had to keep from weeping.

  “It won’t be long,” said Margaret, smiling brightly as she got into the car at last. “We’ll be coming back after you very soon, you know, and we’re going to be together Christmas!”

  So they drove off into the dawn, and the old people stood at their mountain door shading their eyes and watched them drive away. Then they turned back to their empty house once more and tried to get back the sense of contentment they had had together before those two young things came to surprise them.

  “He’s a fine young man,” said Grandfather, sitting down to drink another cup of coffee, for he had been too excited to really eat much breakfast. “He’s going to do a great work. He’s left me a lot of his little books that he’s circulating among ministers and church members, trying to give a real message to people who have been lulled to sleep by the modern preaching. It’s a wonder, too, for the dear fellow hasn’t known much of the truth very long himself. That man Steele who brought him to the light must be a great fellow. I’m looking forward to meeting him at Christmas myself.”

  So Grandmother knew that Grandfather really was contemplating the Christmas party, and she hugged the hope to herself, and the house no longer seemed desolate. She would go to work that very morning getting ready. She had thought of a way in the night that she could turn her black alpaca, put one breadth upside down, and make it quite wearable again. And there were some of John’s shirts that needed to have their collars and cuffs turned to make them respectable. She would sponge and press his suit, too, and mend his overcoat. Oh, they would make out! And there would be some little things around the house that she could hunt out and burnish up that would do for Christmas gifts. That little leaved table that Mr. Sterling had admired so much. Perhaps they could manage to take that along. Or some of the old books. Oh, there would be ways to find Christmas gifts, and Grandmother cleared off her table quite happily, even humming a little tune softly. Grandfather smiled as he came in from the barn. Mother wasn’t going to grieve after her girl after all. And she seemed to have forgotten the mortgage was due. Should he take what money he had, the twenty-five dollars Margaret had sent, and the thirty she had left her Grandmother at leaving, and go down to Elias Horner today, or should he wait another day? It wasn’t half enough for the interest, and he had very little hope that the man who wanted Sukey was going to be able to pay for her, or that the woman who had wanted the furniture was going to respond to their offer, but perhaps he ought to wait another day.

  So he sat down with the old Bible and opened it to the one hundred and twenty-first psalm they had read before the children left, and there to his surprise was a long manila envelope lying between the pages! He took it up and turned it over curiously, wondering how it got there. He had seen Greg looking again at the psalm after they had finished worship. He had told him it was the psalm of the traveler, and Greg had said he wanted to remember that.

  “Why, Rebecca, what’s this?” said the old man in great excitement. “Here’s an envelope addressed to me. Did you put it here?”

  “No,” said the old lad
y coming quickly to look over his shoulder. “What is it? Is it something Mr. Sterling left behind?”

  But even after his trembling hand had opened it and taken out the contents, it was some minutes before the old man took in just what it meant, and the old lady gazed at the legal document in bewilderment.

  “Is it something important?” she asked. “Should we get Sam Fletcher to see if he can ride down and telephone somewhere to stop him?”

  “Rebecca!” said the old man, suddenly reaching out his arm and drawing his old wife to his side. “Rebecca! Do you know what this means? It means our mortgage is paid off! It’s paid! Rebecca! Every cent! We don’t even have to pay the interest! The farm is saved! Praise the Lord. Let’s kneel right down and thank Him!”

  So down they got, and the old man thanked his heavenly Father with tears in his eyes and a song in his voice.

  “But I don’t understand,” said the old lady as they got up from their knees. “Who did it? Who paid it?”

  “Why, our heavenly Father, of course.” The old man smiled. “All the silver and the gold are His, and the cattle upon a thousand hills!”

  “Yes, of course, but how did He do it? Who did He work through?”

  “Well, I suppose through that dear young fellow,” said the old man, brushing the mist from his eyes and studying the paper again. “His name isn’t on it, but he’s the only one who could have done it. Margaret was as much troubled as you and I. She didn’t have the money.”

  “You don’t think she got it fixed with a new mortgage, do you?”

  “No,” said the old man, “she couldn’t. I’d have had to sign a new mortgage, because I’m the owner. No, it’s paid off all right, and I don’t believe Margaret even knows it yet!”

  “You don’t!” said the old lady. “Well, he is just a precious young man. How wonderful! And he knew he’d done that all the time he was urging us to visit him at Christmas! Well, we’ll have to go now, won’t we, John?” she asked eagerly.

  “Well, yes, I guess we should go,” he said thoughtfully. “In fact, he really seemed to want us, and I guess it is God’s leading.”

  “I wonder why he does it,” said the old lady. “Do you think he’s getting fond of our Margaret? Is he doing it to please her?”

  “I don’t know, Rebecca,” said the old man cautiously. “I wouldn’t get that idea in my head. It might bring disappointment. Our girl is a good levelheaded girl. She won’t let her heart get her into any trouble. Don’t you worry. And they just seemed to me like a pair of sensible young people. I think that young man is just trying to be kind. But I’ve been thinking, Mother: if we go down to visit him at Christmas, maybe I could find some kind of a clerical job and make enough to pay him a little every month till we get it paid off.”

  “Maybe you could!” said the old lady. “Margaret would help, too! That would be wonderful! But you ought to sit right down and thank him.”

  “That’s just what I was going to do.”

  So the old man sat down to write his letter, and the old lady went about her housework with a song on her lips. It was an old tune of her childhood she sang, but the words her heart fitted to it were these:

  He was better to me than all my hopes,

  Better than all my fears

  He made a bridge of my broken works,

  A rainbow of my tears

  Chapter 19

  The two young people driving down the mountain had another glorious day together. To Margaret it was like draining the last luscious drop of a marvelous vacation. She had advised herself in the watches of the night that she simply must not presume upon a thing that happened while she was in Vermont. There had been quiet intimate talks, glances of sweet intimacy, a touch of hands now and then that had thrilled her, little dropped phrases that seemed to mean so much to her eager thoughts and yet might just have been casual friendship. They were friends, that was all, she told herself severely. When she got back to the office, she must not act as if any of them had happened. Particularly that last night when he had called her Margaret! How that had gone to her heart to hear him speak it, and how cross she had been to herself afterward that she had let it matter so much. Why should he not call her Margaret? Likely he didn’t even realize he had done it. He was hearing her called that all day, and he likely just misspoke himself.

  He had called her that one other time, too! That day he found her in Rodman Street! He had called out, “Margaret!” but he had not acted afterward as if he knew he had done it. He was just under the excitement then of finding her. Well, likely he had only called her so last night playfully. Still, it brought the bright color to her cheeks to remember it. So she had resolved to take the beauty of this one day and not let it cloud the more formal days that she knew must come afterward in the office when they should return to the world of real work.

  So they rode down the mountain happily and continued their friendship throughout a happy day, eyes meeting in sweet understanding of mutual likes and dislikes, happy awareness of each other.

  Once when they came to a long stretch of smooth quiet road where there was little likelihood of meeting anyone, to her great delight Greg put her at the wheel and began to teach her to drive. His hands over hers now and then, his strong guiding presence, his foot touching hers occasionally. Once when he leaned over to show her just how to step on the clutch, his hair brushed her cheek. But he did not seem aware of it. She drew long deep breaths and refused to think of it. He had to put his hand over hers to show her how to turn the wheel. So she took it all calmly and just enjoyed the day to the last minute.

  A few slow, lazy snowflakes were zigzagging down as they neared the city, with a promise of more to come, and the street had a slushy dismal look. Margaret glanced out and suddenly realized that her beautiful interval was over. Tomorrow and the rest of the days she must go back to considering herself an employee in a reserved and dignified atmosphere.

  “A man is coming for me tomorrow,” said Greg in a sudden businesslike tone as they drew up at Mrs. Harris’s house. “He wants to take me out to a place ten or fifteen miles from the city and introduce me to a little group of ministers and Christian workers. I probably shall not be back till late Sunday night. I’m supposed to go to one church in the morning and another in the evening. So I shan’t be seeing you till sometime Monday. If anybody comes in Monday morning, you’ll know what to say to them. If I were going to be at home, I’d ask you to go to church somewhere with me.”

  He helped her out and carried her suitcase in for her. Mrs. Harris and the niece who was still with her came out to meet them, and there was no chance for a parting word. Just a “good night” and a smile before everybody, and Margaret felt suddenly the let-down after the wonderful day of companionship. Well, it was just as well perhaps. No lingering delusions to take her mind off her work.

  With a somewhat dreary feeling, she ate the nice supper that Mrs. Harris had prepared for her, told cheerful pleasant anecdotes of her visit at home, gave Mrs. Harris the messages her grandmother had sent, and then went up to her room and put away her things.

  Outside the night had settled into thin, sharp crystals of snow, halfheartedly coming down and coating the ground with white. She thought of the mountain and dear old people alone in a storm and wept a few tears. She thought of the dearness of the last few days and turned her mind away from it.

  Finally, she sat down and wrote as cheery a letter to the home folks as she could write—a brief one—then went out to the postbox on the corner and mailed it so they would know as soon as possible that she was safely back. She then shook the snow out of her hair and went to bed. But she did not go to sleep. She lay there for several hours and tried to think of the mortgage and work some way out to pay it. She prayed about it at intervals and resolutely turned her mind away from memories that would keep haunting her.

  She wrote another long letter to her grandparents on Sunday, went to a strange, little church where the worship was most formal and didn’t seem to help he
r, came home and read some of Greg’s little books, and was glad when the day was over and she might go to sleep again.

  Monday morning she went to work. There was a great stack of mail orders to fill, letters from ministers asking about literature, letters from people asking eager, puzzled questions about the literature they had received, and one personal letter for Sterling. Strange he hadn’t thought to look the mail over Saturday night. But he hadn’t likely expected anything that required immediate attention. It was postmarked Virginia and written in a strong hand. That must be from his friend Steele about whom he had talked so much.

  Greg didn’t come in until after eleven. He had met some men at the hotel who had been interested in his work, and he had been talking with them. He came with a brisk, businesslike way, and though there was a pleasant light in his eyes when he greeted Margaret, there was nothing more to remind her of the friendship they had shared those delightful few days. It was just as she had told herself it would be, and she was glad she had herself well in hand. He would see that she had no intention of presuming upon his kindness of the past week.

  She handed him the mail with the Virginia letter on the top, and he tore it open eagerly. She watched his face for a second as he read. How it lighted up! How much he thought of his friend!

  Then suddenly he swung around to her.

  “My friend Rhoderick Steele is going to be married tonight. He wants me for best man, and the only way I can possibly make it now is by airplane. That’s my fault. I should have got his mail Saturday night. Well, it can’t be helped. Will you call up the airport and find out what time a plane goes? I’ll sign those letters while you do it and make out a check for you in case there should be need for you to pay for literature that may come.”

  He had scarcely finished the letters before she brought him the memoranda. He glanced at it and then at his watch.

  “I can make it,” he said, “if you will telephone him I am coming. I’ll have to run over to the hotel and get some evening clothes. They may not be needed, of course, if it’s a quiet affair, but a best man would have to be ready, I suppose. If you get him at once, phone me at the hotel, but if you have to wait, I’ll be gone, and you can just leave a message for him that I’m on my way.”