Silver Wings (24 page)

Caroline noticed it and looked in wonder. Doris saw it and spoke right out.

“Great cats! Diana, are you really going to Africa? What’ll you do if a cannibal comes and tries to eat you?”

“I’ll send for you to come and visit me,” said Diana, looking up with pink cheeks that no longer needed any rouge to make them beautiful.

“But you don’t mean that you are going to stand for that missionary stuff, do you?” asked Doris in amazement. “You won’t have to, you know. I heard Daddy say he was going to get John a big church in New York this winter.”

“John doesn’t want a big church in New York, Dorrie dear, and neither do I. We are going to Africa to do some work for God, and I’m proud that John thinks I can help him!”

“Great cats! Diana, how you have changed!” said Doris and sat and stared at her for a full five minutes without speaking.

“Well, there must really be something in it after all, if it can do that to you,” she said at last with a sigh and taking her tennis racket, went off to the country club, pondering.

W
hen the knife fell from Gareth’s nerveless fingers it struck against the cover of an empty biscuit tin and went clattering inside, the cover rattling noisily after it, but Gareth lay still and did not move.

All day long there had been loud, violent sounds like cannon booming at intervals, but Gareth had not heeded them, perhaps he had not heard them, so intent was he upon his work. And why should he hear that knife rattling into the empty biscuit tin, now that he had passed beyond such trivial things?

But out beyond that pile of splitting ice, beyond which Gareth had not had the strength to look for many a day, there rode a little boat of walrus skin, and in it two Eskimos with sharp ears attuned for strange sounds in their wild, still, blue and white world.

The two looked at each other questioningly, and one pointed. The other nodded and turned the boat swiftly, skillfully, in the treacherous tide. Silently they paddled their boat, finding a pathway where the ice had broken and cut great lanes like black rifts. Swiftly they slipped between big cakes of ice, as easily as one walks down a quiet hall, and without a sound the walrus boat arrived with its two fur-clad occupants beside the great ice island where inside the dead plane lay a prisoner.

Obeying a stealthy paddle, the boat came to a standstill while the two stood up, openmouthed, and gazed at the great bird lying there with its silver wings outstretched, helpless.

The younger of the two Eskimos began to speak in a low growl under his breath. He had heard of an airship. Perhaps had seen one. He was telling his comrade about it.

The other nodded slowly, still gazing, awestruck.

They stood for a long minute more gazing, with heads cocked in a listening attitude, then the young one spoke in a low tone again and stepping softly from the boat, climbed up the bank of frozen snow to the side of the plane. Almost at once he discovered Gareth and coming close, watched him intently for an instant. Was he dead? He climbed closer and bent his head, listening, watching this strange birdman cautiously. Then suddenly he straightened up and called something to the other man, who anchored the boat and came swiftly, going through the same process of listening, watching, caution. There ensued an argument, but the end of it was they pulled and hauled at Gareth till they got him up and out of the cockpit and down on the snow. Then they carefully went through the cabin and picked up all they could find, nodding knowingly when they came to the knife in the biscuit tin, their quick eyes taking in the newly cut letters on the wood of the cabin.

They made a trip to the walrus boat with all the trifles they had found and then picked up the big man. Puffing, pulling, lifting, at last they managed to get him down the bank and into their boat. There he lay on the bottom, inert and unconscious. He looked like a dead man.

There was scarcely room for the owners of the boat when they were ready to start, but they managed to get in and began their long silent journey back to land, the elder man occasionally looking stolidly at Gareth, lying so still and white. He said something to his mate, shaking his head and pointing.

After perhaps an hour’s hard pulling they reached a white stretch of coast that was scarcely distinguishable from the sea of ice and wended their way expertly into a cove, where they beached their boat with some difficulty. Turning toward a hut covered over with snow, the older man called out in loud, raucous voice.

There was a tiny thread of smoke coming out of the top of the snow mound that was a house, and presently from a small door beneath, out came a young man and an old woman, and they hurried down to the boat.

They carried Gareth between the four of them and got him inside the hut. They laid him on a kind of mat on the floor. They felt his face, listened to his heart, and chattered above him, and then the old woman brought a cup of something hot and began to try to feed him.

He could not swallow, and at first they were not sure that even a drop had gone down his throat, but they kept patiently at their task, and at last they began to hope that a little of the warm fluid had been taken.

They chafed his hands and feet, they plied him with all their native remedies; and at last after three hours they were rewarded with a slow, quivering sigh.

They took off his helmet and unfastened the coat that seemed so heavy. They piled logs on the fire that was built on the floor in the middle of the room, and they did their best to make him comfortable.

Every hour they fed him a few more drops of the warm broth and were glad when they found he was trying to swallow. But he did not open his eyes, nor seem to know anything, and now he was growing hot, very hot, and beginning to toss and moan.

There was not doubt in the minds of the anxious men and one woman but that the sick man was very ill indeed, and they did not relax their vigilance for a moment, even though it looked for days as if there was no hope. Day after day the fever held Gareth in its clutches. Day after day, hour after hour, his life hung in the balance, and sometimes it seemed to the old woman who hovered over him that his breath was gone.

And all this time Amory was bearing him up in the arms of prayer, knowing not if he was yet alive. She prayed continually, “Lord, if he is alive, keep him safely, bring him back!”

One day the fever left him, and he was very weak. They thought he was gone more than once, as they tried to make him eat. They tried to make him more comfortable and then sat in a solemn little circle around their smoky fire and watched him, wondering if he would ever open his eyes. They discussed who he was and where he came from and then went patiently on caring for him.

Only his splendid constitution kept him alive from day to day and brought him finally to the day when he opened his eyes and looked around the room.

The old woman with her cup of broth hovered between his vision and the roof of snow, and he focused his dazed eyes on her round face framed in its scraggly fur fringe, and wrinkled his weak lips into a grin. The same grin that the papers had broadcasted from coast to coast he gave to the old woman in the snow hut who was bringing him back from death’s door.

That grin was all he did that day. He swallowed the spoonfuls of broth they put into his mouth, but he did not open his eyes again until the next morning. Perhaps he preferred to dream he was still back in his ship waiting for help to come.

There was great excitement the next morning when he opened his eyes again and gave another grin, looking from one to another of them.

They bustled about him, murmuring, and he only grinned.

It was several hours later that he began to try to get something across to them. They stood around him and tried to puzzle out his meaning.

His voice was very weak, not at all like the big, hearty cheer that used to be his natural tone. He said something to them that had they understood they could not have heard because it was so faint and far down in his throat. They talked to him, and he gestured, but they got nowhere at all, and he was weak, and so tired. At last, he managed to lift one finger and turn his sick eyes toward his coat, which was hanging on a pole that stood against the wall of snow.

Their eyes gleamed, and they brought him the coat, and he tried to reach to the pocket when they laid it beside him. With weak fingers that would not obey his direction, he touched the breast pocket and was thrilled to feel the Testament still there. They saw what he wanted, took the package out, and gave it to him. He smiled, a tired grin, and then with almost superhuman effort he motioned them to take the envelope, and made a feeble sweep with his arm to indicate far away. “Post office!” he whispered faintly and dropped his eyelids shut over the effort. He thought that he was dying, and Amory would not get her Testament.

The Eskimos took the package and studied it curiously. Then the elder man pointed to the younger men and motioned far, handing one the letter.

Gareth opened his eyes with worry in them and saw one of the men preparing to go out, fixing up as for a journey. They nodded to him and motioned to his letter. Perhaps they understood. Anyhow, he could do no more. He grinned a feeble thanks and closed his eyes again. What an effort that had been! How nearly detached from his body he had become! Think how he used to fly in the air, to drive a car, and play polo! Soon he would be gone!

He thought he heard a chanting over his head. “Child of God—Name of the Father! Name of the Son! Name of the Holy Ghost—Gareth—Child of God!”

He slept, and murmured in his sleep, “Amory, darling!”

The old woman hovered, gave him something to swallow, and he slept again.

Four days later the two younger men returned, and Gareth was still alive. He followed them with his eyes, but it was too much trouble to try and find out what they had done with his package. He must just trust that to God. He had done the best he could. How long it took him to die! Almost as long as it had taken to wait for flying time to come.

When Amory received that package, she studied it in astonishment some minutes before she opened it. Who would be sending her a package addressed in an unknown hand?

It looked as if it had been on a long journey. It was worn almost through on the corners, and the writing blurred in places as if it had been rained upon, and blistered. It could not belong to her, and yet, there could not be two Amory Lorrimers. That was an unusual name. And Briarcliffe, too! But it bore a New York hotel address at the top of the envelope, and the blurred postmark at last gave out the word Alaska!

Then with trembling fingers she tore it open, a wild hope leaping into her heart!

When she brought to light her own little Testament, the tears were filling her eyes—glad tears; for whether he was dead or alive, it meant that he had thought of her. Or did it? Perhaps he was dead and someone had found the Testament and sent it back to her. But no, he must have addressed it, or at least dictated the address, for no one else would know that she was at Briarcliffe unless he told them.

She sat down and turned the pages one by one and saw where they had been read the most; noticed a turned-down corner here and there as if to mark a special place, and finally just beyond the words “The End,” she saw a faint impress, like a signature, “Gareth,” and a date! How startling! That date was many days after all hope of finding him had been given up. What did it mean?

She compared the writing in the Testament and the writing on the envelope and was assured they were the same. She sat for a long time with the Testament in her hand, thinking it all out, and then she knelt in thanksgiving.

When she rose her eyes were shining.

“I am sure he is alive!” she said aloud.

But it was several hours after that before it became quite clear to her just what she ought to do about it.

She thought first of consulting John Dunleith, but that would mean telling everything to Diana, and she could not do that.

She waited until Mrs. Whitney had gone out to the country club to meet some ladies for tea and she knew it would be at least two hours before she would return. Neddy and Diana and the minister were down in the woods. They were usually off together somewhere, for Neddy had taken Diana into his heart and was teaching her how to fish.

She knew that Mr. Whitney was somewhere about the house, and quietly she took the Testament with its wrappings and went to seek him.

She found him on the east porch by himself, surrounded by a sheaf of newspapers and puffing at one of his big black cigars.

It took a good deal of courage to interrupt him, but when he saw her approaching, he looked up pleasantly.

“May I bother you a minute or two with something, Mr. Whitney?” she asked shyly.

“No bother at all, Miss Lorrimer,” smiled Whitney genially. “Sit down. There’s a chair. Just as easy to sit as stand!”

Amory sat down, her cheeks very pink and her eyes very bright.

“Something has happened,” she began, “that I think perhaps someone ought to know, but I shouldn’t like everyone to know.”

He looked at her keenly.

“I see,” he said in a low tone. “You want me to keep it under my hat. I don’t blame you in a house like this, whatever it is. You may trust me. What is it? Some of the servants been doing something they ought not to? Someone been bothering you?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Whitney,” said Amory, trying to get courage to say what she had planned. “It’s nothing like that. It’s not about me at all. It’s about Mr. Kingsley. You see I—knew him—a little!”

Amory had thought this over carefully and decided that this at least was a truthful statement.

But the master of the house frowned a bit anxiously.

“You mean Teddy?” he asked, flinging down his paper and watching her. “You knew him?”

“Yes,” said Amory, hurrying on, “and when he went away he took a little Testament of mine with him.”

“The dickens he did!” exclaimed Gareth’s uncle in surprise. “Ted with a Testament! Well, that’s news, anyway! Well, what about it?” He shot her another glance, wondering what this mysterious revelation was, anyway. “Well, you see, today it came back!”