For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.
Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer of this world? Hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?
For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe.”
What was this he was reading to a man who had never listened to things of this sort? Was there any message in it for him? His father rarely went to church, nor heard preaching. He had heard him sneer at preaching! And would he think—if indeed the poor locked mind was able to think—would he think that he was trying to mock him for the past? Oh, that must not be. Quickly he turned to a familiar passage that seemed the foundation of all faith.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.
He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.
And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.”
Again Revel turned the pages and read a verse he had marked a little while ago. Perhaps not one he would have chosen if he had given much thought to what would be the best. But he read smoothly.
“But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost: In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.”
The searching, steady, listening eyes were still open, upon him, and Revel turned to another verse.
“But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.”
And again another.
“While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.”
The doctor came in just then and looked curiously at Revel and then keenly at the patient.
“Will it hurt him for me to read?” Revel asked a little later when the doctor had gone out in the hall and was telling him about something to order at the drugstore.
“No, I think not,” said the doctor, lifting his eyebrows. “But I doubt if he understands much. Of course, at that, he may. I don’t know! Go on. Read him anything you think he would be interested in. He might not be keen on the Bible. But do as you think best. I doubt if it matters much.”
The doctor went away, and Revel went to his knees and asked for direction, and his father had a longer, steadier, more natural sleep than he had had since he was taken.
Revel’s heart was lighter that night than it had been since he came. He had put the matter of his father into the hands of the Lord. And now he could allow himself to be glad about that letter from Margaret.
What a woman that aunt must be, that she would let a package lie in a drawer for two whole years without delivering it, or even remembering it!
Revel didn’t understand why he cared so much about this, but it was a happy thing to get his girl of the woods back again, and he was going to have grand times writing to her.
So that night he sat in his room writing Margaret a letter.
Dear Margaret:
Don’t be surprised at the postmark. I’ve come home to be with my father while he needs me. He has had a stroke and is entirely paralyzed. His wife is not here. I don’t know yet what happened, nor where she is, so we won’t talk about it tonight. Let’s just talk about us.
I don’t think you can know how greatly pleased I was when I got your letter. I have been looking so long for one, and it didn’t come, and it didn’t come, and then I thought you were done with me and didn’t want to bother writing anymore. So I got proud, too, and said I wouldn’t write till you did. I’m sorry now. I could have spared myself a lot of worry and pain, and maybe even have found your package for you sooner. But now it’s over, and I am all kinds of glad. Because you’re the nicest girl I ever met, and I didn’t want to lose you for a friend. Besides, I felt as if we were sort of pals, and that means a lot to a fellow who hasn’t got any mother living down here. I guess you know what I mean. Of course I’ve got Grand now, and that is great, but I wanted you, too.
I’m glad you liked the bracelet. I thought it was pretty and looked like you. I’d like to see it on your wrist. You have pretty hands to carry off a thing like that. But, you see, I’ve thought so long that you didn’t like my sending it to you, that I’m kind of daffy about it now, to find out you are pleased. But, please, don’t let’s get separated again. You won’t let that happen again, will you? Promise? So do I. No little old pride is going to stop me writing even if you do stop.
Now I’ve got a pretty sad proposition on hand. I’ll write you more about it when I know more. My father is lying like a dead man, except for his eyes, which open and shut. And sometimes I find him looking at me with the saddest look you ever saw.
Grand told me before I came away that I must remember there might be a chance for me to bring him a message, but I couldn’t see how. It doesn’t seem to me possible that my father as I knew him would ever stand for any kind of a message. But Grand said I mustn’t limit God, so I’m putting it up to my heavenly Father to show me the way if He wants me to do or say anything. Won’t you help me pray that I may know how, if there is any chance?
Today, though, I was sitting in his room reading my Bible, and I looked up and found his eyes on me. Then he seemed to be looking at my Bible, so I began to read aloud. I didn’t have any special selection, I just read where I had opened the book, and he kept watching me.
I don’t know what’s become of the steplady. Mandy thinks she may have gone to Reno, but Mandy is only surmising. Mandy doesn’t like her one little bit. I presume some explanation will come soon. At present it is like reading the end of a serial story without the beginning. Something must have happened to make father have a stroke. But my job is to help him to know God. You’ll pray, won’t you?
Good night, Girl of the woods, I’m so glad I have you again as a friend.
Revel
Chapter 21
Then into the midst of the dreary monotony of those sad days there came an announcement in the paper of an accident on a highway out toward the west, in which a number of people were killed and several severely injured. Among the dead was listed the name of Mrs. Hiram Radcliffe. Later down the column it said that one of the smashed cars was owned by Herbert W. Grandison.
It was Irving who brought in the paper that morning and who was the first to read the news. Appalled, he hesitated whether to tell anyone about it, even Mandy. They had trouble enough in that house. But as he thought it over, he saw that it must eventually be told, and it would be his part to talk it over with Revel and decide what to do, before the world should get hold of the story and give it a lurid aspect.
So he went with the paper to Revel. Poor Revel! How he wished for his dear Grand to give advice. But gradually, as he thought it over and asked questions about the people he did not himself know, he came to the conclusion that it was up to him to do something about this. She was his father’s wife at least. “Wasn’t she?” he asked Irving. “There hadn’t been a divorce or anything, had there?”
“No, Mister Revel. Not that I ever heard, and I always read the newspapers. But I have heard that there was talk of her going to Reno, though I couldn’t say rightly who told that. One thing is certain, she and your father never got along together, not even while Mandy and I were here. She wanted to build the house over, and she bought a lot of new dishes and furniture that your father didn
’t like. She wanted to sell the house and move away, and they had words all the time. Then she had those drinking, carousing people here every night almost, till he was wild. He couldn’t abide them. Oh, yes, there was plenty of reason for those two to get a divorce, but they hadn’t done it yet, not to my knowledge.”
“Well, then,” said Revel, “I think it must be my duty to go out and attend to this. But—how could I know—how would I identify her, Irving? I never saw her.”
“I’d have to go, Mister Revel. I could identify her all right.”
“Yes,” said Revel, “but that wouldn’t do. For my father’s honor, it should be one of the family. There would be a lot of arrangements to make, too. I’d have to be there to say what.”
“Then I better go with you, Mister Revel,” said Irving.
“Do you think we could be spared here?” asked Revel.
“You go ask the doctor,” said the old servant. “He’ll know what to do.”
So Revel gravely went to ask the doctor.
“Well, of course you’ll have to go,” said the doctor. “Sure, you can be spared. I doubt if your father’ll know you’re gone. And I’ll be right on the job. I’ll come in more often and look after everything till you get back.”
So Irving got his brother Henry to come up from the city and take his place while they were gone, and Revel talked to his grandfather over the telephone and got his advice. “Yes, go, Revel, boy! That’s your job of course.”
The two caught the next plane and went to the tragic duty.
It was not a long task. It was over in a day, and the two were on their way back, but Revel felt that it had been ages since he started. He felt like an old, old man with the griefs of the world upon him.
But his father was too ill to know what had happened. He would never likely know this side of death.
Revel had decided that for the present at least, it would be better to lay the crushed body in a simple grave in the little town where it had met its death. There seemed to be no near relatives. At least Mandy said “the missus” had told her she had no one left in her family, and Revel had no data by which to trace any. So the homecoming was very quiet and not noised abroad much. Revel allowed the undertaker to put a notice of Natalie’s death in the paper, and beyond that there was nothing to do but nurse the sick man and await the outcome. He would probably never be any better, and the end might come at any time.
But little by little the town came to know something about it all, and there were a few callers. Hiram hadn’t many close friends. He wasn’t a man who made friends. Emily Revel’s old minister called, but saw only Revel. Then one day Mrs. Martin arrived, pompously, in her old jalopy.
Mandy let her in and greeted her sourly. She knew the bitter tongue the woman wielded.
“I would like to see Mr. Radcliffe,” she said sweetly. “I’m an old friend and well-wisher,” she added.
Mandy glared at her, and her eyes said plainly, “Oh, yeah?” She opened her mouth to say that Mr. Radcliffe was too ill to see anybody and the doctor did not allow visitors, no matter how old friends they might be. But a sudden thought came to her.
“Sit down,” she said and turned to go upstairs. “I’ll see if he can come.”
“Oh,” said the caller, “I understood that he was confined to his bed. I can just as well go upstairs. I’m not one who has to save herself.”
“Sit down!” commanded Mandy and padded off to mount the back stairs and call Revel.
“There’s a woman downstairs wants to see yeh,” she announced and then slid on down the back stairs again.
Revel was tired. He was resting and trying to write an account of things in a very few words to Margaret, but he arose with a sigh. There seemed to be so many new things required of him since he had come to man’s estate, for he was within only a few days of his majority now.
He went downstairs slowly and into the living room. Then he paused as he recognized his old enemy.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked politely, hoping she wouldn’t recognize him as the little boy he used to be who had so offended her about a poor dead fish that wasn’t hers at all.
Mrs. Martin arose and faced him, and then her countenance changed.
“Oh, it’s you again, is it? No. I didn’t want to see you at all. I never want to see you! It was your father I came to see. I want to express my sympathy to him in the death of his wife!”
“Oh,” said Revel, “I’m sorry. I suppose you have not heard. My father is not able to see anyone. He is too ill even to be told that his wife has died.”
There was a certain dignity about Revel’s bearing that astonished Mrs. Martin. She looked at him again.
“Well,” she said firmly after an instant’s pause, “I think you’re making a grave mistake not to tell him. He has a right to know.”
“Yes?” said Revel. “Well, the doctor thinks otherwise. Besides, I doubt if he would understand.”
“What do you mean? I think you are taking a great deal on yourself to decide a matter like that. Why don’t you ask him if he wants to know what has happened?”
“Mrs. Martin, you evidently don’t know my father is unable to move or speak and is much of the time unconscious. He has had a stroke.”
“Yes? And who but yourself is responsible for that? A son who wouldn’t come to his father’s wedding and made him go through the shame of having that known. Dragging him through the muck of common gossip.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Martin, you evidently have been misinformed about a good many things. I was staying with my grandfather, who was at death’s door at the time of the wedding. My father and his wife were aware of the facts. That was all that was necessary.”
“Yes, well, when you keep facts so close, they are apt to get twisted. Suppose you answer a few questions for me, and I’ll try to do your father the favor of seeing that the truth goes out instead of lies.”
“The truth?” said Revel.
“Yes, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That is the only thing that can prevent wild stories going around that can so easily injure a good man’s name and character. Suppose you tell me first, was Mrs. Radcliffe on her way to Reno to get a divorce when she was killed?”
Revel quivered with anger but kept his voice steady as he answered.
“Not that I know of, Mrs. Martin. But I cannot see how that concerns you or any of the townspeople.”
“You can’t? You can’t understand that it would bring reproach upon your father to have it known that she was intending to get a divorce from that good man?”
“Mrs. Martin, you’ll have to excuse me from any further discussion of this subject. I am quite sure that if my father were able to know about this he would consider your questions an impertinence.”
“H’m!” said Mrs. Martin, pressing her thin lips together. “I see you still have an impudent tongue, even if you have grown up and gone away to college as some suppose. But it is quite plain that your stepmother was on her way to Reno to get a divorce, or you would deny it at once, and I shall see that people understand it is a fact. You have as good as said so.”
“No,” said Revel coolly. “I said nothing of the sort. I do not know anything about Mrs. Radcliffe’s intentions, and I think that is a matter with which we have nothing to do. That is between her and the Lord.”
“Oh! The Lord!” sniffed the caller. “I call that blasphemous, talking about the Lord in that flippant way! Well, I suppose that was to be expected, too, with all the rest. And now, if you’ll tell me one more thing, I’ll go. I want to know where your stepmother is buried.”
“Well, that is a matter with which neither you nor the neighbors have anything to do!” said Revel with dignity, and he bowed the woman out gravely then closed and locked the front door.
Mr. Radcliffe’s condition continued about the same for weeks. Sometimes the vise that seemed to hold his muscles bound tight would relax a little and there would be less contortion in the twisted face, les
s anguish in the tortured eyes, and sometimes, almost, it would seem he was making an effort to speak or to move one hand a trifle, a motion almost of protest or beseeching. Then the next day his face would be a set mask again, worse than ever, and the doctor would say he had had another slight stroke in the night.
One night after this had happened, Revel was holding his father’s hand and the stiffened fingers feebly tried to press on his, to cling. There came a slight sound of great urgency, as born of a deep desire for something, a cry for mercy!
Then Revel dropped upon his knees, the inert hand still held close in his, till his own hand’s warmth seemed to bring a warmth almost of life in the other one. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and prayed aloud.
“Oh, my heavenly Father, please make my earthly father understand that You love him. Help him to accept Your Son as his own Savior, and get ready to go home to live with You and Mother and all of us forever. Please do this for my father, and forgive his sins in Jesus’ name and for His sake, Amen.”
A long time he knelt thus, with that other hand warm in his, until at last he heard the labored, regular breathing and knew that the man was asleep.
Letters were a great comfort to Revel in these days. Margaret’s were deep with sympathy, warm with heartfelt wishes, and the two young souls grew closer as the days went by.
And Grand’s letters, though they were brief, were full of loving advice and trust in God and his grandson.
And then, almost nine months after the stroke had laid him low, Hiram passed gently into another world in the night, after an evening in which Revel had been near him all the time, talking quietly to him, begging him to call in his heart on Jesus. And who shall say but that the imprisoned soul had heard God’s call and answered it? God does hear prayer, Revel was sure of that.
The simple service with which they laid Hiram Radcliffe to rest was filled with trust and hope for any listening ones who would take Christ as their Savior.
There were only a few present. The old servants, Revel, the faithful Jim from the front office, a few others who had worked for Hiram. There were none of those unwelcome guests that used to swarm to that house in the lifetime of its second mistress, for most of them had gotten out of town as soon as possible after the accident. They shuddered and spoke to one another about their previously unwilling host with haughty contempt, and said they thought that this strange death must be a judgment upon him for the way he treated his pretty wife and spoiled all her pleasures.
The Girl of the Woods Page 21