“Engaged?” said Blythe’s mother, lifting a haughty chin. “Of whom are you speaking? Who are engaged?”
Mrs. Corwin rippled out a musical little laugh.
“Why, I’m speaking of Dan Seavers and your charming daughter, of course,” she said with a daring little smile. “I understood the engagement was to be announced in a few days. Isn’t that so?”
“Engagement?” said Mrs. Bonniwell severely. “Between my daughter and Daniel Seavers? Certainly not! They have no idea of being engaged, and never have had. Where in the world did you get that idea?”
“Why, my dear, I have heard it everywhere. Everybody has been saying what a delightful match it is and how simply perfect for you to have your daughter marry a young man you have known so long and so well and one who is such an admirable fellow. Simply everybody is saying that. You certainly surprise me.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Bonniwell. “It is quite amusing how people can make up stories out of whole cloth with nothing to go on but a few scattered appearances in public together. They are good friends of course, have been for years, but nothing more. I am afraid Blythe would be quite annoyed if she knew that her world was parceling her off in this wholesale manner, without even asking her if it is true.”
“But Alice! You surprise me! I had no idea I was speaking of affairs that were not yet in the open. I do hope you will pardon my speaking beforehand. Of course I felt you were an old friend, and I would be expected to congratulate you. I didn’t understand that something must have happened, and the engagement was off.”
Mrs. Bonniwell gasped.
“But, my dear, you don’t understand yet! There never has been an engagement, and nothing has happened, and therefore there is nothing to ‘be off,’ as you say. Now, forget it, please, and shall we get to work?”
“But my dear, I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t think you’d be so secretive with me!”
“Why, Clarice, the idea! I’m not being secretive. I have nothing to be secretive about. There is nothing in this at all. I can’t understand who could have told you a thing like this. But please, please put the matter entirely out of your mind and let us plan this drive.”
After much persuasion Mrs. Corwin stiffly agreed to drop the matter, but her manner retained its stiffness, and she had the air of having been deceived about something. Deceived, and intentionally left out of something important.
So, amid an undertone of hurt and suspicion the two ladies went to work, and perhaps even more was actually accomplished than would have been if there hadn’t been a dignified restraint in the atmosphere.
The work had progressed to the stage of two very neat complete lists of names, two sets of programs finished, and two notebooks with various items listed that must be attended to later. Suddenly they heard Blythe coming lightly down the stairs humming a bright little tune, and Blythe’s mother rejoiced that her child sounded happy and lighthearted. Mrs. Corwin couldn’t possibly go out and tell people that Blythe was wasting away because Dan Seavers had jilted her. But there was no telling. Mrs. Corwin had certainly proved herself this afternoon to be capable of getting up almost any story out of nothing.
“Blythe, is that you, dear?” called her mother suddenly. “Are you going out this afternoon?”
Blythe appeared promptly at the door, her cheeks beautifully rosy and what looked like stardust in her eyes, a letter in her hand.
“Why, Mother, I’m just running down to the post office with a letter I want to get off in a hurry. I think it will go more quickly if I take it down. Can I do anything for you?”
“Why no, dear, I think not. Will you be going out after dinner?”
“Yes, Mother, I’m on the evening shift at the hospital tonight, but I shall be done by eleven. Would it be convenient to send the car, or are you using it somewhere else? I can come back on the bus if you are.”
“Why no, dear. You don’t need to do that. I have to run over to Mrs. Haskell’s a little while to get her ideas about this War Bond drive, and suppose I stop at the hospital and pick you up. Eleven, you say? All right. Do I go to the side entrance? Very well, you can plan for that. Now run along with your letter, dear, and leave us to our work. We’re almost done, and we simply must finish this and get the lists off to the printer.”
“Well, I’ll say good-bye, Mrs. Corwin,” said Blythe, pleasantly. “So nice to have seen you.” She smiled on the lady and flitted away like a bright bird of passage.
“She certainly looks happy,” said Mrs. Corwin provocatively.
“Yes, she’s a very happy child,” said Blythe’s mother. “She seems so glad to be at home again. Her father asked her this morning if she wouldn’t like to take a trip somewhere, but she said no, she wanted to stick by her war work in the day nursery.”
“Well, that’s certainly commendable,” said the lady stiffly. “And now about the list of people who are to work the suburbs. Do you have Mrs. West’s suggestions for the district around the northwestern part of the city?”
“Yes, here it is. I looked it over and it seems very good to me. See what you think.” And so the work went rapidly on to the finish, Mrs. Corwin presently went away, and Blythe’s mother drew a long breath of relief. Was this kind of thing what Blythe had meant? Well, it was most annoying. Nothing bad, nothing that would do any harm to her dear girl, of course, and yet it was most trying. No girl liked to have her affairs settled by a committee of the town, nor pried into. And if Blythe stopped going with Dan abruptly, everybody would say he had deserted her. But there, what was the use of worrying? So long as Blythe could bring such a happy face around, no amount of gossip could really hurt her. Her mother smiled indulgently and went slowly upstairs to her room to snatch a few minutes’ rest.
What would she have thought or said if she had known about that first real love letter her daughter had received and answered that day? What would she have thought about Charlie Montgomery?
Back in her own room Blythe was standing by her window staring out across the lawn with a look of distance in her dreamy eyes. She was feeling as if she had just been talking with Charlie, and was reflecting that it was only a few hours ago that he was actually with her and now he seemed so far away. She must not lose sight of that wonderful first visit of his. And now, as soon as her mother woke up, she probably ought to go and talk it all over with her. She must not have the blight of any burden on the joy of her heart. It was burden enough that very soon Charlie was going into awful danger, and how she was going to bear that when the time came, she did not know. But she simply must not let her present happiness be spoiled. It was something so perfect that it must not be touched by gloom.
And then, just a few hours apart, Charlie’s other letters began to arrive, a dear procession of them, and she seemed to be living in his company, all the way of his journey, although of course she had no idea just where he was going.
Chapter 9
As Charlie Montgomery went from the train into the camp where he had been given to understand he was to await further orders, he looked about him at the men who stood watching the newcomers, and then suddenly he heard a voice calling out.
“Hello, Charlie Montgomery!”
He turned sharply and looked into a young face that seemed familiar even in the army outfit. Eager gray eyes searched his face, and he heard a doubtful, hesitant voice.
“You are Charlie Montgomery, aren’t you?”
“Sure!” said Charlie, in turn searching the boy’s face.
“Lieutenant, I mean,” said the young soldier, turning red and saluting apologetically.
“Why, sure, but—who are you?” said Charlie. Then his face broke into a grin. “Walter Blake, as I live! You don’t mean to say you’re in the army already?”
“Oh, sure,” said the lad, straightening up and trying to look old and experienced. “I’ve been in this camp two months already. I think they’re sending me off somewhere worthwhile pretty soon.”
“You don’t say!” said Charlie, astonishe
d. “But surely you are not old enough yet?”
“I was seventeen three months ago, and Mom signed up for me,” said the lad. “She said there was no use trying to hold me any longer, and both my brothers are in.”
“Well, I am surprised. Why, kid, I don’t see how the home ball teams are going to get along without you. You haven’t finished high school yet, have you?”
“Sure!” said the lad. “I took summer school, and then they gave some of us examinations and allowed us to graduate. We could either go into college, engineering, or the service. I chose the army.”
“Good work, kid. Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s swell! I like it a lot, but I’m about ready to get into some real work.”
“I see,” said Charlie, smiling. “Well, I suppose that’s what we all feel.”
Walter looked up wonderingly.
“But you’re in!” he said with a glance at the insignia Charlie wore. “You’re a lieutenant. Do you feel that way?”
“Sure I do,” said Charlie. “What do you suppose I’m here for? Amusement?”
There was new respect, almost adoration in the lad’s eyes. “You are wearing—wings!”
Charlie smiled.
“Where are you going?” He breathed the words eagerly. “Or must I not ask?”
Charlie smiled again.
“I wish I could tell you, but—”
“It is a military secret?” the boy asked. “It is, then, something quite important. I was sure you would have something of that sort. Oh, if it might be that I could go with you!” The boy’s words were almost like a prayer.
But when Charlie Montgomery spoke, his words were quite commonplace.
“I wish it might be, lad,” said the former football star, smiling down on the younger man most kindly. “I would like nothing better than to have you for my companion. But I’m afraid that would be out of the question. Mine will probably be a solitary way. But I’ll be thinking of you. I hope you’ll have some great needful part in this war, and I’m sure you’ll do as good work, whatever it is, as you used to do on the field in the old days.”
The younger man flushed, and there was a pleased light in his eyes as he marched in step with Charlie.
“It seems to me I used to see you at some of our college games,” said Charlie.
“You sure did!” said young Walter. “I used to come to all the games in our city whenever your college played the university. I stuck by you and cheered you for all I was worth.”
“Good work!” said Charlie. “I guess that’s why we won so often when we came to the home city. But it seems to me you came to one or two other places where we played, too. Wasn’t that so?”
“I sure did. I used to work overtime to get money to follow you around wherever you were playing, if it was at all possible. You were always my hero. That’s why I’d like to get transferred to your outfit if I could.” The boy’s tone was wistful.
“Well I certainly appreciate that, Walt, and I wish it could be managed, but I don’t see any chance at present. Maybe we’ll run up against each other again.”
“I sure hope we do!” said young Walter sadly. “Say, are you thinking of going over to the meeting tonight? Ever heard that Silverthorn? He’s swell! All the fellows like him. I’d like to go with you if you do.”
“Silverthorn! Why yes, I’ve heard about him. All right, I’d like to go with you if I find, after I check in, that I am free this evening. It’s nice to see somebody from the hometown, you know. Where shall I find you? What time?”
“Oh, I’ll stick around and show up when you’re ready.”
The two parted and Charlie went in to make his arrangements and get his orders. A little later, after mess, he came out to find Walter Blake waiting for him shyly, and together they walked over to the auditorium that was already filling up fast.
The place was brilliantly lighted and a burst of song greeted them as they stepped inside and found seats.
There was something heartening and thrilling in the music from so many men’s voices. For an instant it almost seemed to Charlie as if it might be a church service at home where he used to go with his mother when he was a youngster, and something constricted his throat and brought a sudden mist to his eyes as he remembered the past. Only this singing had more volume and power, more enthusiasm than they ever had in those old days at home. He gave a quick look around and noticed with how much fervor most of the men sang, as if they loved it. As if they meant every word they were singing.
It was an old hymn they were singing, and presently Charlie, noticing that Walter was joining in with a clear voice, found himself singing, too.
“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee:”
He could almost hear his mother’s voice quavering through the words. Those last weeks when she was with him, after her long illness, her voice was soft and unsteady. And sometimes she could not sing very loud, just a sweet little quaver, a tremble. She hadn’t really been well enough to go to church, but she had insisted upon doing so. She said she needed the strength she drew from the service. He was glad that the last few times they went he had managed either to borrow a car to take her, or to get a taxi. That was just a few weeks before her last illness and death, and as Charlie sat there with that old song his mother had loved surging about him, he felt the tears stinging into his eyes, and a great longing came into his heart that he might find his mother’s refuge, which he was sure she had.
“Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save from wrath and make me pure.”
That part of the song didn’t mean much to Charlie. He wasn’t conscious of being a sinner. At least not much of a sinner. He had been taught to be clean and true by his wonderful mother, and had always been too busy to break laws and carry on the way most boys did, which was what sin meant to his mind. But this was the good old-fashioned Gospel, of course, that his mother had taught him, and he had accepted it without a thought. So it wasn’t sin that was troubling Charlie. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that troubled him, only that he was presently going out alone to meet death, and he felt he needed something.
The singing went on. Many old hymns, new choruses, too, in a little red book, and he enjoyed using his voice and being a part of the swelling melody that was filling the hall.
Then there came upon the platform a young man in uniform walking easily, assuredly.
“That’s him,” murmured Walter in his ear. “That’s Lincoln Silverthorn.”
“But—he’s in the service?”
“Sure! He’s a chaplain, s’posed to be! But he’s different from a lot of them. He’s real!”
And now Lincoln Silverthorne was speaking.
“Good evening, fellows,” he said in his clear, pleasant voice that seemed to be speaking personally to each one in the room. “I’ve got a pleasant surprise for you. Just a few minutes ago a good friend of mine who has worked with me for several years walked in on me. He has a great voice that can sing to your heart, and he’s going to sing for you and strike a keynote for my message tonight. Fellows, this is my buddy, Lieutenant Luther Waite, and he’s doing a very important work for our war. Go ahead, Lutie!”
And then a big redheaded fellow, also in uniform, came forward, grinning.
“Glad to meet you, fellas,” he said, and then began to sing.
It was a rich, full voice, and it held the audience from the start, every note clear, every word distinct:
“I was just a poor lost sinner,
Till Jesus came my way.
He smiled into my eyes and said,
‘Come walk with me today.’”
Probably some fellow who was reformed in some mission or other, thought Charlie, as he settled back under the spell of the song.
But as the song progressed, the singer’s eyes seemed to seek out Charlie and tell his story directly to him. There was some
thing about the way those true fine eyes held his attention and made him listen to every word, on through several verses, that made the singing a story of the man’s life, the story a testimony of what the Lord Jesus Christ had done for him.
And when he came to the last four lines, those earnest eyes, which seemed to have been piercing Charlie’s soul, looked deep into Charlie’s eyes again as if they were alone and were having a conversation.
“Me! A sinner! A poor lost sinner!
I’m telling you it’s true!”
The singer’s manner was most impassioned.
“He died upon the cross for me!
He’s done the same for you!”
Charlie was startlingly aware of being charged with something that he had never before felt was true. “He’s done the same for you!” seemed to be aimed directly at himself, as something that had been done for him, of which he had never been aware before, and for which he never made any acknowledgment to the Donor. He was filled with a sudden compunction, a kind of new shame.
And then at once his self-esteem began to assert itself, that he wasn’t a sinner. Not a sinner like that, who needed saving!
It was strange that almost upon that thought came Link Silverthorn’s words, announcing his theme.
“All have sinned and come short of the glory of God…. The wages of sin is death.”
There was a tense silence that gripped every listening heart. Even the protest that was beginning to form in Charlie Montgomery’s heart, the outcry against being called a sinner, was silenced, as everyone waited for the next word about this hopeless situation in which they had all found themselves to be.
“The greatest sin, all sin, is not believing in Christ, who took all our sin on Himself, and paid the price with His own blood. Unbelief is not accepting what He did, not accepting it for ourselves.”
The speaker was very still for a moment, letting them take that in. Then he went on.
“Some of you think you are not sinners, don’t you? But you are. That’s not my idea. You look pretty fine to me. But God says you are. Ever since Adam sinned we were all born sinners. God told Adam that there was but one law to keep. He must keep that one law or death would come into the world. Adam broke the law, took the forbidden fruit, and since then we are all born sinners, and are all under condemnation of death for our sin. But God loves us, and He made a way for condemned sinners to be saved through accepting what Christ His son did for them.
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