Substitute Guest (9 page)

He felt ashamed of himself to find that he was so soft. In his college days he had been a lusty football player, a fleet runner, strong of heart and sinew, longwinded and light as a feather on his feet. But he was two years out of college and he hadn’t been practicing stunts just like this in his office since. He hadn’t even had time of late to play golf or get in a game of tennis. He was soft, that was it, and he might as well own it. But he did not intend to give up. Even if it lamed him for life he would keep up his end of this venture, and not hold back.

Then presently he stepped on some obstacle well hidden, lurched, and stumbled to his knees, floundering about to get his balance again and longing just to lie down in the snow and get a rest. He never knew that nerves and muscles could get as sore as this in so short a time.

But Lance was instantly at his side. Lance, who had been plowing and sowing and reaping all summer on the farm, and sawing and splitting wood for the winter; who had been keeping in the pink of condition by long nights of sound sleep, and long days of hard work and hearty eating, and whose young muscles knew not the word weariness. If this journey was hard for Lance he did not falter. He took it only as another hard thing that came in the day’s work, and he was out to win.

Lance stooped and helped Alan to his feet, gave him a cheery word he could not hear, and after an instant they started on again.

It was growing dark now, and Alan would have turned on his flashlight, for there was something exceedingly gruesome in this ghostly walk in the thick whiteness of the storm with the darkness like a pall over all. But Lance, before starting, had told him not to waste his flashlight until it was absolutely necessary, and he would not yield to any weakness. He could not forget that this expedition was his, not Lance’s. He must not in any way hinder the expedition by his own weakness or unpreparedness. He must keep up his end. So he toiled on in the white darkness and wondered, would it never end?

And then they came to a great drift looming out of the gloom, a drift as high as their heads, and extending interminably, it seemed. Lance flashed his light across it, and it seemed an impassable barrier. He began to realize that perhaps the woman to whose rescue he was hastening might die in spite of his efforts, and that it was not unthinkable that he and his guide might die even before her. The wind was cold and searching, piercing through all those garments that he had thought too superfluous when he started. He thought of how it would feel to freeze to death, and his mind went racing through the experiences he had read of explorers at the poles. He knew all this was ridiculous. He was probably not fifty miles from the warm, bright house party where he had expected to spend this day and evening, certainly not more than three from the farmhouse he had just left with its Christmas lights agleam and civilization all around him; yet civilization seemed as remote as if he had been in Alaska or Greenland.

But Lance was maneuvering his snow shovel out of its sling on his back, and attacking the wall of snow ahead of him. So Alan wriggled his shovel around and got it free, conscious that it was good to get it off his back for a while.

Together they worked, burrowing through the drift, until at last they had tunneled a way out of the maze of whiteness, and a flash of the light showed a dim outline of trees off to the side in two indistinct lines. Lance shouted that it was a road, their road, and with a sinking heart Alan plunged off into it after Lance, thankful for a guide-line around his waist that made it unnecessary to look where he was going. For now as they faced to the right the wind was directly in their faces again, and the sleet was more cutting than before, almost unbearable if one attempted to keep his head up and his eyes open. So he staggered on, wallowing in deeper snow, up to his waist at times, and almost losing his footing again and again. For this new road was rougher than the highway, and it was almost impossible to walk steadily.

The darkness seemed to bring with it a great dread, as if some monster were struggling with them to keep them from going on. Now and again the wind would howl as if the monster had them at his mercy and it was useless to try further. Then the wind would pass, and for a moment there would be surcease, and they could lift their heads and shoot their flashlights ahead, and go mounting up a few steps.

Lance signaled to Alan to use his torch now, for the way was up, and rough and winding. They kept close to the right now, holding to trees where the way was steep, and pulling themselves more than once out of a hollow filled so deeply with snow that it threatened to engulf them.

Now and again Lance would call a halt to rest, and sweep his flashlight upward, but there seemed no end to the high whiteness they were climbing. Would they ever get there? Would the medicine get to the woman in time? Hours…eons seemed to have passed since they started on this terrible journey, and still there was no sign that they would ever be done with it.

But at last Lance stopped by a tree and tied one of their lanterns to a sheltered branch far to the right of the road. Alan turned his flashlight to the left, saw a sheer cliff below him, and thrilled at its white declivity, crept closer to his guide and hastened on, taking comfort in that little flickering light they had left within its frail lantern globe.

Would they ever come back and meet that light again, and would it guide them aright? His head reeled and now he scarcely knew which way he was going.

A little farther up, Lance left the other lantern tied to another tree. They were traveling light now, for they had left their snow shovels at the foot of the mountain, cached at the side of a giant tree where Lance seemed to think he could find them again. But even so the way had been long and hard, and both young men were panting wearily when at last they attained level ground and Alan, exploring with his flashlight, discovered a looming house ahead and gave a shout of joy. It did not matter that the shout was snatched from his lips and cast inaudibly aside by the gale that whistled over their heads as they came up from the woods, which had partly sheltered them for a while. Alan felt they must be winning out, and though he could scarcely drag one foot after the other, they plodded on and suddenly came upon a driveway where there had been an attempt to shovel a path to the garage.

Alan almost felt he must sink down and kiss the roughness of that cleared space, as he stumbled into it and cast weary eyes toward the looming building. He saw to his joy that there were lights in the windows. It was really a dwelling, and there would be warmth and light and a place to sit down, cessation of this pitiless driving of the snow in their faces, and a chance to breathe, a place where motion would be no longer necessary, at least for a while. Rest! Blessed rest! In his longing for rest he had almost lost sight of the object of his coming. Just to have reached there, supposing it was the right place, was enough to have attained. What he was to do when he got there seemed to have ceased to exist.

But now at last they were standing within a spacious hall where light streamed forth in blessed abundance, and a winding stairway of noble lines swept upward. It was warm there, blessedly warm.

Alan staggered into a chair and dropped down, his face in his hands. The sudden warmth and light dazzled him, and almost took his senses from him. There were parts of him that suddenly seemed dead. He hadn’t been aware of it when they died; it must have happened somewhere out there on the mountain when they were so cold. There was a dull numbness in his arms and legs, especially his legs, and prickling sensations. He cradled his cold, cold face in his hands, and wished he might sleep then and there without waiting for further ceremonies. Then suddenly he began to be aware of Lance’s voice explaining, and it all flashed over him.

He lifted his head.

“Are we there?” he asked half bewildered, and Lance’s face as he remembered it back at the farm took form before his stinging eyes.

“Yes, we made it! Hear that?” said Lance triumphantly. “Listen to that!” And a great clock upon the stairs chimed out six long silver notes.

“You haven’t got some hot coffee, have you?” asked Lance suddenly of the servant in uniform who stood before them. “I think my friend here has had a little too much cold, and he’s bewildered.”

Kind hands brought coffee hurriedly, and Alan drank and came to himself as the hot liquid penetrated his chilled veins. Then a white-gowned nurse appeared eagerly.

“You’ve brought the medicine?” she asked anxiously. “I didn’t think you could possibly get here, but you have!”

Alan fumbled with the buttons of the alien garments he was wearing and found the little package he had come so far to deliver, and the anxious-eyed elderly man who had followed the nurse down the stairs, exclaimed fervently, “Thank God! It’s come!”

Then turning to Alan he put out his hand gratefully.

“Now, to whom am I indebted for this wonderful service in this tempest? It is nothing short of a miracle that anyone could make this place in a storm like this!”

“Don’t thank me,” said Alan, putting his hand in the old man’s, “thank Devereaux there! I had the will to come, but I would never have got here if he hadn’t insisted on coming along to guide me.”

But Lance only grinned when the old man attempted to thank him, and to say that he wanted to do more than thank, that he would never forget the service rendered.

“Oh, that’s all right! It wasn’t so bad when we got going, was it, partner?” And he looked keenly into Alan’s face.

“But now, what can we do immediately for you to make you comfortable?” asked the old man solicitously. “You should get those wet clothes off at once and get dry and warm, and have something more substantial than coffee. You’ll stay here tonight, of course, and tomorrow if the storm doesn’t let up, and perhaps by that time my chauffeur will be back and can take you to wherever you want to go.”

“Thank you,” said Lance quickly, “that’s fine of you to ask, but I couldn’t. I’ve got to get right back. Perhaps my friend here would like to stay, I can’t answer for him. But I’ve got to get down that mountain as fast as possible. All I ask is that I may telephone home. My mother will be worrying, I suppose.”

“Telephone, of course,” said the old man graciously, “but tell them you’re staying here till the storm is over. I couldn’t think of letting you go out again. It’s perilous!”

Lance grinned.

“Thanks, awfully,” he said again, “but you know we have a thing called Christmas down at our house, and they’ll be expecting me. I wouldn’t miss it for all the perils in the world!”

The stately butler handed him the telephone that stood on a little table in the hall, and Lance called his own number, his eyes alight with eagerness, his face wearing the look of a conqueror. He had come through so far and he meant to get back, God willing.

The old man turned to Alan to whose face the color was returning since he had swallowed the hot coffee.

“But you’ll stay with us anyway?” he urged cordially.

Alan arose with a lift of his nice chin and a smile, and shook his head.

“Thanks, but I couldn’t,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t let that man go down the mountain in this storm alone if it was the last act of my life. Not
that
man! He’s wonderful! We hang together!”

Then Lance’s voice broke in.

“That you, Daryl? Tell Mother we reached here safely, and we’re starting back immediately! Ruth get there all right? That’s good. Give her greetings from me. Don’t let Dad go out in this storm and shovel. We’ll tend to that tomorrow! Don’t wait supper for us. We may be slow, but we’ll get there. And
don’t
send out any rescue parties after us! We’re all right! Okay, so long! I’ll say ‘Merry Christmas’ first in the morning!”

Lance hung up with another grin and began to button up his slicker, but before he had finished it the butler arrived with two plates on which was something inviting and steaming hot; and briefly, hurriedly, they ate while the old man hovered around, took down their addresses, and heaped thanks upon their heads.

“And now,” he said as the two handed their plates to the servant and started to go, “we’ve got some snowshoes here. Would they help? You could cast them aside if you found they hindered.”

“Why, that might be a help,” said Lance. “Ever on snowshoes, Alan?”

“Once or twice!” said Alan ruefully. “I guess I could make a stab at navigating that way. It couldn’t be worse than my clumsy feet sometimes.”

So they took the snowshoes and started on their wild way down the mountain. The storm met them at the door, tore their breath from their nostrils, and menaced them, but the blessings of the old man rang in their ears as they plunged out of the driveway into the deep snow, making as nearly as they could guess for the place where they had come over the top.

Three miles away, down that awful mountain and over trackless wastes, was a Christmas tree with sweet-colored lights, a home waiting, and two girls with starry eyes. Would they ever make it on their weary limbs?

I
t was while they were washing the supper dishes and Mother was getting ready the table for the two whom they were tremulously expecting, that she suddenly remembered the other guest that was to have arrived, and chided herself for not having mentioned him before. Surely Daryl would have missed her apprehension about him. And Daryl had been strangely quiet and troubled all the evening. It was not alone apprehension for her beloved brother, she must be concerned for the guest also, whom she had said would likely get here around supper time. And there hadn’t been a mention of him. She had not seen Daryl even looking out the window since Ruth arrived. Could it be that she had forgotten him?

She cast a furtive, questioning looking toward her girl, but could not be sure just what her expression portended. Was her look just a polite attempt to put aside all her cares and worries and entertain Ruth, or did it hide deep pain and worry? She could not tell. If it was acting she certainly was doing it well.

So the mother thought the matter over and carefully arranged a casually pleasant look on her own face before she broached the subject the next time Daryl came to the china closet with her arms full of dishes.