Out of the Storm

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Benedict thanked the man and went out. He did not intend to wait until three o'clock to find out about Gail if he could help it.

  He sought the nearest telephone and looked through the book. Yes, there was the Ray-See Film Company. It almost seemed too good to be true. He looked at it hard as if it might vanish from his gaze if he did not fix it thoroughly in his brain. He took out his pen and wrote down the address and then went out and took a taxi to the door.

  The young woman with the abbreviated dress and the plastered hair was in her place, pounding away at the typewriter and keeping time with her jaws and a liberal portion of gum. She stopped and looked up alertly when the exceedingly interesting young man in the unmistakably fine clothes entered the door and inquired for the manager.

  She arose and came forward with a smile, her jaws suspending operation for the purpose, her round baby eyes fastened upon him with admiration.

  "You want Mistah Fahley? Well, I'm real sorry, but he's out of town. He went off with the comp'ny yest'iddy. They've went upstate to do a lot of special stuff, an' he thought he hadta go along. Bob's here. You like to see Bob? He'll be in presently. Bobby's next thing to Mistah Fahley. He's outta lunch. Guess he'll be in about one ur half past. Could I give him a message, ur will you wait?"

  Benedict drew a troubled sigh. There it was again, wait, wait, wait! How could he wait another minute?

  "Why, I don't know," he said, hesitating. "I wanted to inquire about a film; that is, I wanted to know something about it. I don't suppose you would know? I'm in a good deal of hurry."

  "Sure! I know all about the fillums," giggled the girl. "Ain't much goes on here I don't know. What you want to do? Rent? Ur buy it? I could tend to that for you. That's what I'm here for. I don't do much else except write letters."

  "Why, no; I didn't want to get a film at all. I merely wanted to inquire about one of the--the--that is, one of the ladies who appears in one of the films. She strongly resembles a friend of mine of whom I have lost sight, and I was wondering if I could trace her whereabouts. I saw this film this morning on Broadway while I took refuge from the rain."

  It seemed almost necessary to his dignity as Gail's friend and protector that he explain to this exceedingly fresh young person why he happened to be going to a Broadway movie in the morning. But he need not have taken the trouble. This romantic child of a New York tenement was on fire with interest at once, and she positively could not appreciate his apology.

  "What was the picture," she asked eagerly, "The Glad Hand?"

  "No, A Woman's Hand," he confessed awkwardly.

  "Oh, yes--that!" The girl's eyes narrowed excitedly. "Say, that's some picture, ain't it? It's made a great hit, that has. Say, ain't that girl got lovely hair, that one where she beats up Archie Charmer? It's real, too, every hair of it. I seen it the day she first come in to apply fer my p'sition, an' me not in it half an' hour. My, wasn't that good luck for me! But I felt bad when I saw how disappointed she was. She sure was up against it. And she was a girl that wasn't used to life. She took it hard, I could see. But Mistah Fahley took her all in with bells on the minnit he laid eyes on her, an' he put her inta that job. She's awful nice, but she's a reg'lar stiff. She ain't no baby doll, but she can act.

  "She raised Cain here in the comp'ny 'count o' her kind o' starrin' in that picture. Flossie Foss was so sore she almost quit. But say, which lady was it you wanted to find? Was it Kittie Cresco, ur Flossie Foss? I bet it's Kittie. She's got friends all over this globe. She's traveled a lot, an' she's awful popular. Did you take notice to the name on the 'nouncement? You didn't? Yes, they always have the names of the actors on our fillums, and they always have 'em out front the bills, too. Well, was she awful delicate lookin', with a lot of gold hair all flyin' like silk around her face? That's Flossie. Ur did she have long curls like Mary Pickford? That's Kittie. Kittie, she looks an awful lot like Mary Pickford an' she's proud of it. She makes money on that likeness an' takes lots of airs. It wasn't either of them?

  "Well, say, you couldn't possibly mean the lady with the hair, could you? Her name's Gail Desmond; swell name, ain't it? But she's one of these regular highbrows. You couldn't touch her 'nless you was an angel, and you couldn't speak to her 'thout knock-down. Say, yo'd oughta see her do up Archie Charmer. You saw that fillum? Well, that scene was just like it is in the picture. B'lieve me, it was real! I was up there an' seen it all standin' just outside the stoodio door. Bob put me onto it that there was gonta be somethin' doin'. Good night! You oughta seen it.

  "You see she didn't know what was comin'. They just told her a little, and they knew her kind wouldn't stand fer Archie, so they turned him loose 'thout tellin' her an' she fought fer her life. Good night! That was some fillum! Didn't you think it was dandy? It's gonta hav' a long run on Broadway, I bet. It's just out.

  "But say, she don't know that part's in. You mustn't tell her. Mistah Fahley would fire me fer tellin' you. You won't gimme away, will you? No, sir, she don't know that scene's in at all. She thinks the whole thing's cut. He knowed she wouldn't stand fer it a minnit. He's awful anxious to get her back. He thinks she's somethin' great. He says you can't get that there real natural actin' like she does every day, an' he's willin' to pay her a big salary."

  The girl was chattering on, saying anything to detain the handsome young man. What did it matter that her letters were waiting and her overseer would soon be coming back? She didn't get a chance at a man like this one every day.

  But the young man was thinking, and at the last sentence as she came to a pause, he asked pleasantly: "Do you happen to know where she is now? Is she working with your company?"

  "Oh, no; she left as soon as A Woman's Hand was finished. I heard her tell Mistah Fahley that she wouldn't come back if he gave her a thousand dollars a day. You see, he thought I wasn't there, but I hadn't gone home yet; I sensed there was goin' to be fireworks and I wanted to be in on 'em. She certainly did tell him what she thought of Archie Charmer and the whole company in general. An' just after he offered her double pay, she quit on him cold an' sailed out of the office like a queen an' left him starin'. Whaddya think o' that? My stars! If I'd the chance she had I'd have snapped at it, b'lieve me. But I can see her point, an' a girl like her don't belong with this gang anyway. She oughta get a job as a swell governess or, what's better, she oughtn't to hafta work fer her livin' at all. She's kinda frail and she oughta be taken care of. I'm real fond o' that girl, though some o' the comp'ny couldn't see her at all. They was all sore at the way she treated Arch Charmer, an' then besides, she was way beyond them any way you look at it."

  Benedict began to beam. Here was one after his own heart. Surely he could get some valuable aid from her, if he could ever stop her talking long enough to make her answer his questions.

  "I feel exactly as you do about Miss Desmond, Miss--er--"

  "Dodd's my name. Terrible, ain't it?"

  "Miss Dodd," went on Benedict, ignoring her remark. "I think you are right in your opinion of Miss Desmond. She is a girl in a million and should be taken care of. That is why I have come. I want to find her."

  As Benedict took her into his confidence, Miss Dodd's powdered face began to light up. Here, indeed, was a fitting climax to the romantic scenes that had been occurring in the office since the memorable day when Miss Desmond stepped in and that memorable picture of A Woman's Hand had been filmed. It was right and according to all the rules of romance that a hero should be found for the lovely young actress who had been pursued by the villain in the play.

  "My stars! You don't mean it! No kiddin', are you really goin' to marry her? Say now, ain't that great! Well, she certainly needs you right now, I guess. She's at the hospital with a bad case of pneumonia, and I don't know whether they think she's gonta live ur not. Here's the address. Arch Charmer left it layin' around, and I thought I might need it sometime. Good-bye and good luck to ya. Let me know how she is, if ya get a chance."

  At the news, Benedict's heart felt as if an icy hand clut
ched it, and with hurried but sincere thanks to the kindhearted girl who had helped him, he shook her hand in a grip like iron and hastened away.

  In the taxicab, Benedict found himself praying over and over again, "O God! Save her! Save her!" And he added the new prayer that he had learned in the last weeks after faithful study in his new Bible and many long nights spent in agonized struggle on his knees: "Thy will be done."

  In the hospital, the brisk young doctor welcomed him with grave relief, looking him over with satisfaction that at last the lovely patient had a friend, and one who seemed in every way right for her.

  "Come this way," he said. "We have moved her from the ward to this private room. It was empty and she needed the quiet."

  Benedict followed, cut to the heart to think that his beloved one should have to suffer in such a place when he had the finest of everything in his illness thanks to her loving sacrifice.

  As he looked again on the sweet face motionless on the pillow, he almost gave way, for his nerves had been strained to the utmost. He knelt beside the bed and hid his face that the doctor might not see what he felt. But his soul was in his eyes as he looked up again, hungry for a glance of recognition from the dear face on the pillow.

  The doctor gently motioned him away. In the hall they had a long talk. Two special nurses were installed, one for day and one for night duty, for the dreaded crisis would be passed that night. Everything possible to be done for the patient was arranged for. Benedict sent a telegram to Mrs. Battin to let the two loving hearts know that the search was over. And then he set himself to wait and pray.

  It was not until long after midnight that the doctor touched Benedict on the shoulder and with a smile gave him the glad news that Gail had come through safely. He sent the exhausted young man to a nearby hotel and bade him sleep as long as he could. In the morning he might come into the patient's room again for one glimpse of her. It might be that she would know him.

  With a heart overflowing with thankfulness and eagerness for the morrow, Benedict almost ran to his hotel, sending another telegram on his way upstairs to ease the hearts of the anxious women.

  As he lay down to sleep, the noise of the traffic outside seemed to sing a tune like a lullaby.

  "I've found her at last. Thank God, I have found her.

  I'm going to see her and tell her my love."

  He fell asleep with the words chanting sweet in his heart.

  The nurse met him with a smile the next day. She was pleased that her lovely patient belonged to this distinguished-looking man.

  As Benedict knelt again beside her, Gail slowly opened her eyes. Bewildered, they rested upon him, and then she smiled. And in the glory of her smile was the reflection of all the happy days they had spent together beside the sea. As she closed her eyes again, too weary still to hold them upon him, her beloved buried his head in his arms beside her.

  Only a moment they let him stay, but he went out into the early spring sunshine as if he were walking on clouds. Did that smile mean that she really cared? Should he dare to go now and buy her a ring? So happy and carefree he was that, almost without his volition, his feet carried him into Tiffany's. A pure blue diamond he bought her, which reminded him of the blue sea they had watched together. And then in his happy eagerness he joyously picked out a dainty circlet with delicate tracery of orange blossoms. With these in his pocket, he stopped at a florist's shop on the avenue. A new thought had come to him. He would send a thank-offering to the only two people in the city who had been unselfishly interested in his finding Gail. The thin little governess with the sad eyes, and the voluble maiden at the office of the film company. He had a feeling that Gail would like him to do it. Besides, he had more business with the second young lady.

  So he selected a wealth of roses, masses of them, pink and crimson, gold and white. About their stems were laid sweet peas and lilies of the valley in sweet profusion. He did not ask how much they cost, but just picked them out and laid them in the box beside the roses with his own hands. He asked for a card and envelope and wrote: "I have found the way to my friend. Please accept these for the trouble I caused you yesterday. I am very happy and hope you will find a way out of the dark someday."

  He signed his name but slipped a ten-dollar bill into the envelope with the card, sealed it, and tied it to the valley lilies. This box he sent to the governess.

  Then he selected a great sheaf of American Beauty roses for the other box, putting in a card with these words: "For the girl who helped me find my friend, from Gail Desmond."

  He left also an order with the florist for flowers to be delivered daily to the hospital, and with a light heart went on his way.

  His next errand was more difficult. He had determined the night before that the picture of his beloved should not be flaunted around the streets of New York, nor any other city. That if it was at all possible, he would prevent its being shown again if it took every cent he had.

  His interview with "Mistah Fahley" was a long one, but with the skillful aid of the grateful secretary and after much persuasion and more money, he left the office in triumph, the sole owner of the film and with the surety that it would not be shown anywhere after that week.

  That afternoon, the doctor let him see Gail again but still only for a few seconds. It was two whole days before he allowed him to speak to her.

  It was a sunny morning, and Gail was feeling stronger. She seemed to live only for the little visits he made each day. This morning when Benedict came, the nurse felt that it would at last be safe for the patient if she left them alone together for a little while.

  Gail was waiting for him this time, a glorious light in her eyes. Gently, not to frighten her, Benedict sat beside her and pressed his lips to her hand. She feebly returned the clasp, then slowly lifted her hand and put it to her own lips.

  "My darling! At last!" Benedict whispered as he drank in the light in her eyes. Gail was too weak to speak, but her look of joy was enough for him as he gently slipped the beautiful ring on her finger.

  The weeks that followed were even more beautiful than those they had spent together by the sea. There were plans to be made and all the events of the terrible weeks of separation to be talked over.

  "It was all my fault," said Gail sadly as they sat together one day in the little sun parlor of the hospital. "I should never have got into that terrible picture. Honestly, I don't know whether I was more frightened that night on the raft than I was when that awful man looked at me in that way. I felt as though I were in the depths of wickedness and there was no way out."

  "But no harm came to you, for the Lord was able to bring you out as He brought us out of the depths of the storm. And I have come to realize in these last few weeks that He has brought me out of worse depths than I even dreamed I was in. For now that I know Him, I can see how hopeless and unhappy I was without Him. Just today I was reading that He 'raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus.' It may be that He had to let us go through the depths of death before we would care enough to call to Him to raise us up."

  When the days of convalescence were over, a simple little wedding was held in Mrs. Battin's home. Corinne was very much in evidence those days, and when she stood on the porch, her hands on her ample hips, watching the two drive away to spend a week in Mrs. Battin's little cottage at the Point, she turned to her mistress with a puzzling question.

  "I d'clare it do beat all, how de good Lord wo'ks. Now here them two chilluns wouldn't never have known each other ef it hadn't 'a' been fer dat boat accidemp. Now all my life I has prayed, 'O Lord, don't let me neveh have to go on no boats!' Now Mis' Battin, honey, do you s'pose ef I had 'a' tooken a boat trip de good Lord would have give me a grand man like dat ar?"

  GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL (1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote over one hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died, leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a livin
g, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.

  Also Available from Grace Livingston Hill

  Amorelle

  April Gold

  Ariel Custer

  Astra

  Beauty for Ashes

  Beloved Stranger

  Blue Ruin

  Brentwood

  Chance of a Lifetime

  Christmas Bride

  Coming Through the Rye

  Crimson Mountain

  Crimson Roses

  Duskin

  The Flower Brides

  GI Brides

  Girl of the Woods

  A Girl to Come Home To

  Gold Shoe

  Happiness Hill

  Head of the House

  Homing

  Honor Girl

  Job’s Niece

  Kerry

  Ladybird

  Love Endures

  Man of the Dessert

  Matched Pearls

  A New Name

  Not Under the Law

  Patricia

  The Prodigal Girl

  Rainbow Cottage

  Ransom

  Re-Creations

  Sound of the Trumpet

  Spice Box

  Story of a Whim

  Strange Proposal

  Street of the City

  The Substitute Guest