Silver Wings (12 page)

The service in the dim old historic church the next morning seemed strange to him. The empty pews, the distant music as the organist played softly in preparation for the day, the few solemn-faced strangers who assisted the minister, the stately words that were pronounced, some of which he recognized from the night before out of Amory’s little book, the drops of water on his brow, his name “Gareth” and “Child of God, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!”

Saved! Was he saved? Had this ceremony somehow mysteriously put upon him the mark of God?

He went out into the street in a kind of awe, trying to realize that some mysterious change had taken place. He was God’s now. His seal had been put upon him. He did not in the least understand what nor why, but he was willing to believe it was as the minister had said and as he had read in the book in several places. He believed because he had met God out there in the air and had made a covenant with Him—he called it a bargain—and He had accepted that covenant and brought him safely to New York. That part was simple enough. The rest was spiritual, and he could not understand it. He did not know why anyone thought he understood it. But he was glad the matter was settled so far as he could settle it.

He went straight to the office where he had met the four men yesterday who were his sponsors. There was yet an hour to high noon when he was supposed to set sail. He was keeping his appointment while church chimes were ringing on the Avenue and the world was just beginning to waken.

But the barometric conditions were not favorable for starting yet. He must wait. Perhaps at midnight. He went back to his hotel impatiently. Now that he had done his best to fulfill his promise, he was anxious to be off. He wanted to get back and talk with Amory. But since he must wait, it was necessary that he sleep and store up strength for his flight. So to sleep he went and did not waken till almost sundown. After a light supper he went out for a walk. The weather seemed to have changed for the better. His thoughts leaped up with relief. Probably he could get off by midnight after all. How he longed to get this trip over with. He had never been so impatient before over anything he had ever tried to do. And yet, somehow, it was as if an unseen hand was detaining him, holding him back from starting, even if the barometer had been right. It was as if there was still something left undone, some condition not yet complied with.

He did not notice where he was going, turning a corner here or there, wherever the traffic was least congested. There were bells ringing again, Sabbath bells, evening bells, calling across a work-worn, sin-harried city, a call of prayer. Something wistful in his soul was listening to them, answering, longing to find the satisfaction and sense of safety of which he had never before felt the need in his self-satisfied young life.

Suddenly he halted before a great sign in front of an old gray church. The sign stood out level with the sidewalk and announced in mammoth letters that there was a Bible conference inside that church. But it was not in the Bible conference that Gareth was interested. It was in the two lines that stood out in still larger letters below the heading: “What shall I do to be saved?” and below it: “Ye must be born again!”

It startled him to have his own question staring at him in great red and black letters. And that strange answer, “Ye must be born again!” What did it mean? How could a man be born again? But perhaps it was not an answer. Why shouldn’t he go in and see?

The door of the church stood open. It was early and there was no one inside but the janitor. Gareth approached him and asked about the service and what the sign meant. Was that the speaker’s subject?

The janitor assured him that it was and that the speaker was most unusual.

“It’s early,” he said reassuringly, “but you was wise to come early. This morning every seat was full, and some sat on the pulpit steps. It’s liable to be worse tonight. Everybody’s crazy about this preacher.”

Gareth sought out a seat under the balcony and sank into it with relief. There was something restful about the very atmosphere in here away from the din of the street. The lights, except one by the door, were not yet turned on, and he sat looking about in the dusk at the rows of pews and the great stained glass windows, which gave forth faint colors from the twilight outside.

Gradually, people stole in and sat down, bowing their heads in prayer. Gareth sat with a new kind of awe stealing over him and a sense that there were other people seeking God as well as himself.

Presently the lights sprang up and the church began to fill. The organ played softly, and brisk men walked into the pulpit, several of them, all with strong faces, who looked as if they knew how to deal with real life. The singing, pushing along like a strong tide, surprised him with its earnestness and thrilled him with its sweetness. There was a tender, heartfelt appeal in it.

The man who finally stood up to speak, with a much-worn open Bible in his hand, had a face that arrested Gareth’s attention at once. It was alert and true, with a settled peace about it, and he spoke like one with authority, in a cultured, scholarly voice, yet quiet and most arresting. Gareth was not fond of listening to addresses, yet this man held his attention from start to finish, and it seemed when he was done as if he had been speaking only about five minutes.

Gareth learned for the first time that because of Adam’s sin, all men were born spiritually dead and could not understand spiritual things until they were born again. He learned that salvation was not to be bought, nor won by anything that a man could do, that it was a free gift of grace. He was much astonished by this. He learned that the only thing a man had to do was to accept that gift by believing on the Lord Jesus Christ and His atoning death on the cross to cover his own sin and that the moment he believed, he was born again and became a child of God.

The speaker substantiated every statement he made by reading from the Bible. The simple explanation, the beauty and easiness of the plan of salvation, was startlingly within the reach of the most ignorant. Several times the preacher quoted the verse, “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life!” If that was true, he could leave this church knowing that he was a child of God, and his salvation was secure. Was this what Amory had meant?

The prayer that followed the sermon seemed to set his own immediate case before the eyes of the Most High God, and he found himself with bowed head as it were, standing before the God who had met him in the air, listening to the plea of Jesus the Savior, who had given His own life that this salvation might be his.

When the service was over, Gareth stood for an instant looking at the strong face of the preacher, wishing he might ask him a few questions, but there was already an eager crowd around him, so he went out into the street and made his way to his hotel.

It was growing late. If conditions were as he felt they were likely to be, there would be nothing in the way of his starting soon. There was a strange peace upon him. The restlessness of the morning was gone. A new exhilaration had taken its place. There were still things he did not understand, things he was taking for granted, but something strange and wonderful had been done for him, and he walked the city streets like one who had just been introduced to God.

When he reached his hotel room he walked over to the telephone and stood for some minutes looking at it. Then he called up long distance and got his aunt’s home in Briarcliffe.

When the butler tapped upon Amory’s door and told her someone wished to speak to her on the telephone, she arose with such haste that she dropped the book she was reading and almost tripped over the rug as she reached the door. What was wrong at home? Was Aunt Hannah worse? Surely nothing short of something tragic would make Aunt Jocelyn waste the price of a long-distance telephone call? Money was too precious just now.

It seemed a mile down the stairs and down the long hall to the telephone, and she felt weak as she slid into the seat, with the receiver in her hands.

“Hello! Is that you, Miss Lorrimer?” came a strong voice with a lilt in it.

Now who could that be? It wasn’t any of the boys at home, nor was it the next-door neighbor, who was the only near neighbor that had a telephone and whom Aunt Jocelyn would be likely to resort to in time of stress.

“Hello!” she said, in such a weakly little voice that the question came again.

“Is that you, Miss Lorrimer? Amory?”

And then she knew, and a thrill came to her heart. It was Gareth! Gareth, for whom she had prayed all day long. He was alive then! He had not flown as the family had said he was to do!

“Oh, yes,” she said, but still her voice was husky with feeling. “Yes, this is Amory.”

“Speak a little louder. I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, this is Miss Lorrimer. This is Amory!” She found her lips were trembling and her voice was laughing out in triumph. “Shall I—shall I call someone else?”

“Not on your life, little girl!” came back the hearty answer. “It’s you I want to talk to. This is Gareth.”

“Oh-h!” rippled Amory happily, “Yes—Gareth!”

“That’s the talk, little girl. Well, I’m hopping off, and I had a sneaking notion you wouldn’t mind if I said good-bye once more!”

“Oh!” said the girl, with suddenly frightened eyes. “Oh, then you’re really going?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In a couple of hours.”

“Oh!” There was a choking sound in the girl’s voice.

“You won’t forget what you promised?”

“Oh, no—I … have been … remembering!”

The words came hesitantly.

“I thought so!” he said reverently. “But that’s another story. I just wanted you to know that if anything happens, it’s all right with me the way you said. In any case, I’ll meet you again in the morning!” There was a little satisfied ring of a laugh in his voice, yet it was a reverent laugh.

“Oh!” she said, with a choking sound to her voice again as if the tears were coming. “Oh, I’m glad! But don’t you want me to call someone else?”

“I certainly do not! This is just for you, see? Keep it absolutely under your hat. Understand? Good-bye, dar—” His voice trailed off, choking.

Was that “darling” he had said? “Good-bye, darling!” A beautiful pain stabbed through her heart, and the tears were dropping on her hands. She stared around with wide eyes, the receiver shook in her hand, and her senses seemed to have deserted her. Then a sudden wild fear seized her, and she cried, “Oh—are you there?”

What she had been going to say if he was there she did not know, but the silence frightened her.

“Are you there?” she repeated, trying to control her voice to its natural sound. But there came no answer over the wire. The other end had hung up!

Presently she gathered strength to hang up her receiver and slip guiltily up the stairs, thankful that no one came in her way and that she might get back to the sanctuary of the darkness and her own room without having to speak to anyone.

She locked her door and dropped on her knees beside the window with only the stars looking down, put her hands on her hot, hot cheeks, and then buried her face on her folded arms.

“Darling! Darling!” came the echo of that soft last word, so low she was not sure she had heard it at all. Oh, how bold, how dreadful she was to even imagine it. What should she do with her heart to keep it from leaping in this unnatural crazy way! And why should she think about whether he had said it or not, when he had told her before the most wonderful thing in the world? He had told her that he was safe—whatever came, he was safe! That meant that a wonderful change had come to him somehow. That meant that her prayers had been answered.

A wave of gladness surged over her, made up of fear and joy and hope, and still that soft word chimed over in her heart, “Darling! Darling! Darling!”

Gareth had hung up the receiver quickly and stood, his eyes full of starry lights, a smile of daring on his lips! He had not meant to say that—darling! He breathed it softly again and was glad he had said it. Perhaps she had not heard it. He had hung up quickly, because he had not meant that word to be heard. But now he was glad he had said it.

He stood a moment staring down at the telephone, smiling. Then with a grave look coming over the smile on his lips, he stepped to the middle of the room and looked up.

“God, I’m depending on You to see me through!”

His eyes were wide as if he were looking straight into the face of the Almighty, and the light on his face was good to see. Then he turned and went out of the room and downstairs to his taxi.

An hour later he stood on the runway beside his plane, ready for his trip. Everything had been gone over, his engine was in fine trim, nothing had been forgotten. The moon was high and bright, the barometer promised good weather, and he was impatient to be off.

Around him, gathered in a group, were the reporters, a couple of enterprising photographers who had just snapped a few flash pictures, and the four men who were backing him. A bunch of mechanics eyed him jealously, and he flashed them one of his smiles that the newspapers raved about, but his thoughts were with a little girl whose voice had sounded choked with tears. He had just thought of something. She wouldn’t cry if she didn’t care, would she? She wouldn’t, would she? Darling! The darling little girl! Why hadn’t he met her sooner? If he had, he might not be trailing off on this fool expedition now. Who cared whether a plane could go to Siberia by way of Alaska or not? Why should anybody care? Darling! Darling! Darling! A chime of bells in his heart!