Grace House: The Trial of Obscurity

by Rob Summers

Chapter 17 The Cloud of Obscurity

  Although the power was out in that neighborhood, the snowplow driver had no trouble reaching Sandhill Street. But then began the difficult process of searching for 1422. The snowfall was so thick that even his adjustable spotlight did not show up house numbers. After some frustration, he got out and wallowed through drifts to check their progress. When he climbed back into the cab, he looked like a snowman.

  “Wrong block,” he said to Swella. “That house was 1370.” He drove forward, crossing an arctic-like intersection. “Hey, what’s this?” He had to stop because all visibility was suddenly gone. They had driven into a dense, wet cloud. “My golly, lady, I never saw nothing like this. I can’t even see the street. I can’t drive like this.”

  “Then get out and find the house for me,” said Swella.

  He muttered and got out. In a few minutes he climbed in and brushed himself off again. “Found it,” he gasped. “There’s a heckuva slope up to the houses on this block, and when I get to the top of it, it’s trees or hedges or something. So I feel my way around them, and then there I am on a doorstep and it’s 1422. Just come with me.”

  Swella struggled in his footsteps until he brought her to a front door. From somewhere not far off came the mysterious popping and rumbling of an engine, as if someone had turned on a generator.

  “Looks like somebody’s already been here,” said the driver, “but the tracks are almost filled in. They must have rubbed the snow off the house numbers. That’s how I knew I was in the right place.”

  “Knock on the door,” said Swella.

  “Sure, but now that I look at the place, I don’t think anyone’s at home. No lights. I mean there ought to at least be candles.”

  “They have to be home. Where would they go in a blizzard?”

  Swella herself knocked vigorously and waited. “Well, of all things! Make a special effort to get here, and they can’t even answer the door.” She knocked again. “Mr. Dignity! I have a contract for you to sign!”

  The driver took over and knocked until he dented the aluminum storm door with his heavily gloved hand. Both of them shouted.

  “Well, I like that!” Swella said at last. “He couldn’t even stay home in a blizzard, and here we are, perishing in the snow. The miserable ingrate!”

  “Let’s get out of here, lady.”

  “Yes, let’s go.”

  When they had returned to the snowplow, the driver backed out of the fog and into the intersection.

  “Where now, lady?”

  “Go around back,” she said determinedly.

  “Geez! Are you sure?”

  She was sure.

  The plow turned right, and then left into the alley behind the house. At once they were in the dense fog again and could hear the throb of the invisible engine. The driver stopped soon.

  “I can’t drive in this. 1422 ought to be about here.”

  He shined his spotlight to the left, but all they could see was an improbably high wall constructed of brick below and wood above.

  “There’s probably a gate here somewhere,” said the driver. He found it with the light. “Padlocked.”

  “Can’t you signal them with the light?” she said.

  “They can’t see us,” he said. “The wall’s too high. Are you ready to give up?”

  “Oh, all right, I give up!” she said.

  “All the telephones in the neighborhood are out,” Dignity reported to Humility, “so we can’t call the hospital.” He turned off the flashlight he had taken outside with him.

  Big, sandy-haired Humility paced the entrance hall. “What about Grace?”

  “He and Truth were supposed to be at the Embassy today. Looks like they won’t be getting home tonight. How is Reason?”

  “In a lot of pain,” Humility said. “They have her up in Grace’s room. It looks like it’s going to be a long labor. The worst part is that it’s getting cold in here.”

  Dignity was not constituted for emergencies. “So tell me what to do,” he said.

  “I don’t know what to do,” said Humility. He paused and listened. “We can at least turn off that machine Obscurity is running out back, making all that racket. She should be in here. We could use her help.”

  As Humility went off to find Obscurity, Dignity ran upstairs to the room the ladies had chosen for Reason’s labor. When he looked in, Faith and Old Conscience were close by the bed. Honesty was over by the fireplace, trying to open it up for use. She had pulled aside the heavy, iron cover and was peering in, holding a lit oil lamp.

  “This hasn’t been used in years,” she said. “I wonder if the chimney will still draw?”

  “It will.” Reason’s voice from the bed was tight and high. “I had a sweep clean them all in September.”

  Dignity went to the bed and saw that his cousin’s face was strained.

  She looked at him. “I guess Mrs. D’Ego never came?”

  He shook his head. “Reas’, I don’t want you worrying about that. That’s unimportant.”

  “I know it. I was just asking.”

  “Well, don’t worry about me. I don’t care.” He tried to concentrate on Reason’s face, but his vision blurred. “Hey, what are you doing to me, cous’? You’re going to make me all quiver lipped, looking at you. I guess it’s because you practically raised me. But say, we’ve got to get a fire going!” He went to help Honesty, crouching beside her in front of the hearth.

  “Where’s Obscurity?” Honesty said to him softly. “She should know about the chimneys.”

  “Right,” Dignity whispered angrily, “and she’d probably block this one up if she knew what we’re doing. She’s out back being a maniac with her fog machine. I think she wants to make sure nobody finds us.”

  “Nobody’s looking for us,” Honesty said evenly. “How are the kids?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Love was supposed to round them up into one room,” she said, “although she’s none too well. Still getting over the flu. As for Worry, she refused to leave her room. Of course, she’ll soon be an icicle.” She pulled the lever that opened the flue. “We could try burning something. Here, I brought some matches.”

  Dignity lowered his voice yet more. “Sure, we can test it with newspaper, but as far as something to burn for a real fire, we don’t have anything. What’ll it be, the furniture?”

  A movement occurred at the doorway, and they looked up. Humility and Obscurity entered with their arms laden and deposited their burdens by the hearth. Neither said anything to Dignity, and for once even Honesty held her tongue. Dignity picked up one of the items they had brought and examined it in the light of the oil lamp.

  “Uh, Reason?”

  “Yes?” she answered from the bed.

  “How cold are you?”

  “Pretty cold, Dig’. Look, I think I’m about to have some more contractions, so I can’t talk much.”

  “Just one thing, Reas’.”

  “What?”

  “Permission to burn our books?”

  A long pause.

  “Uh, yeah, go ahead.”

  At two in the morning Dignity walked the upper hallway with a candle, as he had done again and again while waiting for word that Reason had given birth. He came for the hundredth time to the closed door of the room where the children were gathered. He could hear within the crackle of burning Pride Stories on the hearth and the sound of Love’s guitar. This time he turned the knob and entered.

  As he closed the door behind him, he left behind the cold of the hallway. The room was small, relatively warm, and lighted partly by the fireplace and partly by candles. The children were bunched together on mattresses, some asleep and some awake; all covered with thick quilts and blankets. Some wore winter coats. The dog was sleeping among them, and Slice, the remaining cat, was prowling about.

  Love was sitting propped against the wall with a blanket around her
shoulders, another around her legs, and her guitar resting on her lap. Her teenage sister Faithfulness leaned against her shoulder with eyes half closed. Love played and sang softly.

  Nothing is moving but the stars

  That creep unnoticed by.

  Here in the stable Christ is ours,

  A child the world’s discordant powers

  Passed over in their wars.

  The child is quiet, Joseph nods,

  Now even Mary sleeps.

  Far off are tumults, fires, and floods

  Of Babylon, their whips and prods.

  Bethlehem is God’s.

  Little Bethlehem is God’s,

  But not by human plan.

  No eyes discern the Son’s descent

  In love for sinful man.

  Dignity sat down on the edge of a mattress, and little Peace, who was curled on her side there, rolled over and looked up at him.

  “Hi, kid,” he said to her.

  “Hi, Uncle Dig’.”

  “Has the blizzard stopped?” Love asked, still strumming.

  “Yes,” he said. “The sky’s clear. The snow plows have been down the street. Grace and Truth got here about an hour ago.”

  Love nodded sleepily. “What about Reason—the baby?”

  Dignity grinned. “It’s a boy. They’re both fine.”

  Peace laid a hand on Dignity’s arm. “Uncle Dig’, what are they going to name him?”

  “Oh, I think they’ve about decided on Wisdom.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Not yet.”

  Part 3 The Trial of Obscurity