Treasures of the Snow (16 page)

W
ell,” thought Annette, “I’ve done it, and now I know what’s got to happen.”

She found her heart beating very fast, and she looked up at the vast starry sky and the great mountains to steady herself. How big they were, how old and unchanging! They made her and her fears feel very small and unimportant. After all, it would soon be over and forgotten about, but the mountains and the stars would go on and on forever.

A small black figure appeared, running around the curve in the path, dragging a sled behind him. He had found another coat, and was so out of breath with hurrying that he could hardly speak.

“Come on, Annette,” he gasped. “I’ve brought the big sled so there’s plenty of room for you to stretch out your leg. We’ll be home in a few minutes.”

He held out his hand to help her get up, but she drew back. “Just a minute, Lucien,” she said in a hurried, rather shaky voice. “I want to tell you something before we go home. Lucien, it wasn’t the cat that knocked over your horse that day. It was me. I did it on purpose because I didn’t want you to get the prize—because you hurt Dani. I’m sorry, Lucien.”

Lucien stood and stared at her, too surprised and, strangely enough, too happy to speak. For instead of feeling angry, he felt tremendously relieved. Annette had done something wrong as well as him, and if he had to forgive Annette, perhaps it would be easier for Annette to forgive him. Of course a little smashed horse was nothing compared with a little boy’s smashed leg, but even so, it seemed to bring them somehow nearer together.

But he couldn’t put all that into words, so he just gave a gruff little laugh and said shyly, “Oh, it’s all right, Annette. You needn’t worry. Get on the sled.” Then he tucked the coat around her, sat down in front of her, and together they sped down the mountainside and arrived at the Burniers’ front door, powdered all over with the snow that flew up from the runners.

Annette climbed the steps on her hands and knees and stood on one leg in the doorway. Then she looked at Lucien, who was turning away slowly with the sled.

She had opened the door of her heart to the love of the Lord Jesus, and that meant opening the door to Lucien as well, for Jesus’ love never shuts anyone out.

“Come up, Lucien,” she called. “Come in and see Grandmother. She will be so pleased that you found me.”

She opened the front door as wide as it would go, and she and Lucien went in.

Grandmother jumped up with a cry of joy at the sight of Annette. They had been very worried, and Papa had gone up the mountain to search for her. Grandmother was opening her mouth to be cross when she noticed the lame foot, so she shut her mouth, helped Annette onto the sofa, and went to look for cold-water bandages.

As she turned, she noticed Lucien standing shyly in the doorway, wondering what to do, and for a moment they stood looking at each other. She could see in his face how much he wanted to be accepted, so she put both hands on his shoulders and drew him to the warmth and blaze of the open stove.

“You are welcome, my child,” she said firmly. “Come and sit down and eat with us.”

The door opened again, and Papa entered, shaking the snow from his cloak. He had guessed Annette was safe, for he had seen the sled and the forms of two children whizzing across the fields. When he had heard her story and scolded her a little for going so far alone at night, he too sat down by the open stove, and Grandmother served out hot chocolate and crusty bread thickly spread with golden butter. On top of each hunk she placed a thick slice of cheese full of holes, and everyone sat munching in silence.

A sleepy, contented silence! The warmth of the stove after the night air made them all feel drowsy. Lucien sat blinking at the flames and wished that this moment could last forever when suddenly the silence was broken by a strange scratching noise at the door.

“It’s Klaus,” shouted Annette, and she sprang forward. But her bad foot held her back, and it was Grandmother and Papa and Lucien who all opened the door at once.

Klaus marched into the room with her tail held proudly high and in her mouth she carried a perfectly new, blind tabby kitten. She took no notice of any of them, but walked straight across to the little bed where Dani lay sleeping and jumped up onto the feather quilt. She dropped her precious bundle as near as possible to Dani’s golden head, and then hurried back to the door and meowed.

“She’ll be coming back with another,” said Papa, letting her out.

“Then we had better leave the door open,” said Grandmother. They all sat shivering in an icy draft until Klaus reappeared in a great hurry and dropped a white kitten with tabby smudges in the same place, and streaked off back into the night.

“Let’s hope that will be the last,” murmured Grandmother, thinking partly of the draft and partly of life in a small chalet with Dani and more than three kittens. But nobody else said anything at all because their eyes were fixed on the door. Dani’s Klaus could do exactly what she liked, and no questions asked.

Back she came around the corner of the barn, but this time she walked slowly and grandly. Her work was done. She carried in her mouth a pure white kitten, exactly like herself, gathered all three between her front paws, laid herself across Dani’s chest, and started licking and purring for all she was worth.

“Shut the door, Lucien,” said Grandmother with a little sigh of relief. “Pierre, you had better find a basket for all those cats. The child will suffocate!”

Papa chuckled. “In the morning, Mother,” he replied. “Tonight they can stop where they are. Klaus knows where they’re welcome, and Dani won’t mind.”

Very gently he moved Klaus’s right paw from Dani’s chin, then he went off to lock up the cowshed.

Lucien got up to go. He went over to Grandmother and held out his hand.

“I must go,” he said simply, “but thank you for letting me come in. I hope Annette’s foot will soon be better.”

Grandmother, looking down into his face, held his hand for a moment in both of hers. “Yes, you must go,” she replied, “but you must come again. You will always be welcome.”

Annette said nothing about waking Dani because Grandmother might have said no, but after all, a promise was a promise. She waited until Grandmother was washing up the chocolate cups and then she hopped to his side.

“Dani,” she whispered, smoothing the damp hair back from his forehead. Dani sighed and flung his arms above his head but he did not wake.

“Dani,” said Annette more loudly, and this time she pinched him. He opened his eyes, bright with sleep, and stared at her.

“Look, Dani,” said Annette, “she’s come … and she’s brought you a present!”

Dani stared at the jumble of fur in his arms, too half-asleep to be astonished, and not quite sure whether he was dreaming or not.

“She’s found three rats,” he remarked.

“No, no, Dani,” cried Annette. “Those aren’t rats. They are three dear little kittens. She had them in the barn and now she’s brought them to you. They’re yours, Dani—a present from Klaus.”

Dani blinked at them. “I knew she’d come,” he murmured. “I asked God.”

Annette knelt by the bed and gathered the whole bundle of Dani and Klaus and the kittens into her arms.

“I asked the Lord Jesus to come in,” she whispered. “And He did. That’s two prayers answered in one night!”

But Dani did not hear. He had fallen asleep again, with the tip of Klaus’s tail in his mouth.

G
randmother’s cold-water bandages were so successful that when Annette woke next morning the pain and swelling in her ankle were almost gone. It had snowed in the night, too, and the snow drifts were so deep that Papa had to dig a path to reach the cowshed, so it was not a day for going out.

But Annette and Dani and Klaus and three kittens were just too much for Grandmother, and by afternoon she suggested they should all go over to play in the hay barn.

Dani carried the kittens across in a basket, and Annette lay comfortably on her tummy in the hay with Grandmother’s big Bible propped up in front of her.

She wanted to find the verse about Jesus knocking at the door, and she found it quite quickly, as the pastor had said it came in the last book of the Bible. It was Revelation, chapter 3 and verse 20:

“See, I stand knocking at the door. If anyone hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come in and eat with them, and they with me.”

Annette learned it so she could say it without looking, and wondered what the last bit meant about eating together. She must remember to ask Grandmother when she next got a proper chance. Then she lay and watched Dani with his kittens.

She had opened the door to the Lord Jesus and He had come in and was living in her heart, and it had turned out just as Grandmother had said. The hard, angry thoughts had gone away like shadows before the light, and it had suddenly not seemed difficult to forgive Lucien. In fact, the Lord Jesus had shown her how selfish and unloving and untruthful she had been, and what she was really worrying about now was whether Lucien would forgive her.

She had told him about the horse, and he had not seemed cross, but after all, he had lost his prize, and Annette knew now that there was still something more she could do about it, if she really wanted to.

There were the Noah’s ark animals. If she took them to the schoolmaster and told him all about it he would see how beautifully Lucien could make things. He would probably give Lucien another prize even now, if he really knew what had happened.

She was so afraid of what the master would think and what the other children would say that she decided not to do any more about it. But as soon as she decided that, she found she did not want to think about her new book anymore. It had stopped making her happy.

Darkness came early, and the children went in to their evening meal. There was a lot of fuss at bedtime because Dani wanted the kittens to sleep in his bed, and Grandmother wanted them in the barn. In the end they both gave way a little and the kittens ended up sleeping under the bed. Grandmother felt quite tired and sank into her chair with a sigh. As Annette drew up her stool beside her, there was a knock at the door.

Annette got up to open it and Lucien was standing in the doorway, twisting his hands together shyly. Annette felt shy, too, and they both stood there rather awkwardly waiting for each other to say something.

Grandmother looked up, surprised at the silence. “Come in, Lucien,” she called. “We are glad to see you.”

They sat down obediently and Lucien said he had come over to see how Annette’s foot was. Annette said, “Much better, thank you,” while staring at the floor. Grandmother looked at them both very hard over the top of her glasses.

“Annette and Lucien,” said Grandmother suddenly, “you must stop this quarrel and behave like sensible children. Lucien, you did a terrible thing, but you did not really mean to do it, and you have suffered for it. It’s no good thinking about the past.

Now you must be brave and start again. Annette, you must learn to forgive and be kind, and stop thinking that you are better than other people.”

“I don’t,” said Annette, rather surprisingly. “I have forgiven him—out on the mountain last night. It wasn’t very difficult to forgive, because I did something nasty to him as well, and when I told him about it, he said he’d forgive me too, didn’t you, Lucien? So we’re as bad as each other.”

“Yes,” replied Lucien simply. “But it wasn’t such an awful thing as I did. I can make another horse, but I can’t make Dani new legs. And anyhow, everyone says you’re good, and likes you, but nobody likes me.”

“Perhaps,” replied Annette, “it’s because they all know what you did, and nobody knows what I did. This afternoon I was thinking I ought to tell the schoolmaster, but somehow I don’t think I should ever dare.”

They were talking to each other, and Grandmother sat listening, but because it was Grandmother, they did not really mind. Now she spoke.

“Annette,” she said suddenly, “how did you come to feel that you could forgive Lucien? Two nights ago you told me you never could.”

“Well, Grandmother, I opened the door, like you said, and then it all happened just like you said. When I asked Jesus to come into my heart, somehow it didn’t seem so difficult.”

“Yes,” said Grandmother, “I knew it would be like that if you would only open the door. When Jesus with His great love comes into our hearts, there just isn’t room for unkindness and selfishness. There is something else He can get rid of, too. Fetch me my Bible, Annette.”

Grandmother turned the pages slowly until she arrived at 1 John, chapter 4, verses 18 and 19. Annette read them aloud, slowly and clearly:

“There is no fear in love; perfect love drives out all fear… . We love because God first loved us.”

“That’s right,” said Grandmother. When Jesus brings His perfect love into our hearts, it drives out unkindness and selfishness, and it can also drive out fear. If He loves us perfectly—and He does—He will never let anything really bad hurt us, so there is nothing to be afraid of.”

Annette and Lucien sat thinking for a moment, then they smiled at each other. Annette went to the cupboard and fetched her Christmas bear, broke it in half, and gave half to Lucien as a peace offering. They sat on their stools, Lucien munching happily, but Annette still thoughtful and worried. She knew more clearly than ever now what was right, but still she didn’t want to do it.