Substitute Guest

  Then suddenly the crisp, clear voice in the other room said, “Why should you especially want me to meet that man?… Oh, of course I’m always glad to make new contacts…. Well, of course I’ll be glad to listen. Suppose you come into my office some morning next week….No, not the apartment, my office, I said. I imagine I’ll be pretty well tied there next week after my vacation. I’ll be very busy….Yes, I’m sorry to have disappointed you all, but I’m sure you’ll have just as good a time without me. Please remember me to all the party. Good-bye!”

  He came back to the table looking thoughtful, a little frown between his pleasant eyes. Was it disappointment that he could not be with his own friends, or annoyance, or what? Daryl studied his face furtively and wondered what kind of girl this Demeter Cass was. She hadn’t received a very good impression of her last night over the telephone.

  For a little time after Alan came back to the table there was a quietness over them all, as if that telephone call had somehow reminded them that they were of different worlds. But presently Alan seemed to come out of his pensiveness, just as if he had willed to shake off whatever it was that was perplexing him, and was his merry self again. After all, whoever this stranger was that she wanted him so much to meet, who seemed to be important both to his business career and to Demeter’s happiness, he didn’t have to face that question for at least two or three days, and he was going to enjoy this Christmas time to the very limit of every moment. So his eyes were soon full of light again, and his remarks kept them all in a gale of laughter.

  Lance secretly drew a breath of relief. He had been afraid Alan was going to change on him and he didn’t want this happy time to be spoiled that way. He wanted Daryl to see that there were young men besides that flip Harold Warner. Also his experience yesterday in the storm had taught him that here was a prince among men, and he didn’t want him to fail in anything. Neither did he like to think that any girl anywhere had the power to dim the light in those pleasant eyes, and silence the merriment on his lips.

  But the generous helpings of turkey went their rounds, and warmth and good cheer in the old farmhouse soon were uppermost. Everybody was hungry and everybody ate heartily. Alan took second helpings until he was ashamed of himself, and told Mother Devereaux he never had eaten such wonderful cooking.

  And then came the dessert. He and Daryl took out the plates and brought in the pies, mince and pumpkin. And though they had thought they couldn’t eat another bite they managed the pie nicely.

  There was something cozy and homelike in all hands washing the dishes afterward. Alan enjoyed it. He felt as if he were a boy again in a big, nice, loving family of his own.

  He watched Daryl deftly wiping a pile of plates, polishing glasses, and setting them in rows on the shelf. She seemed to make a fine art of dishwashing. And yet this girl had a college education, and could hold her own among intellectual people. Still, she didn’t seem to be trying to get out of the round of daily household duties that so many girls shirked.

  He tried to fancy Demeter Cass wiping dishes and washing out nice linen dish towels as this girl was doing and almost laughed aloud at the thought. Demeter with her languid airs and well-polished crimson fingertips. Demeter with her too-red lips and her pearly complexion accentuated by faint blue shadows under her eyes. Why couldn’t he have met a girl like this Daryl Devereaux before he ever saw Demeter Cass and her crowd? Before Daryl knew Harold.

  He felt a sudden distaste for all that Demeter represented. He wished he had never involved himself in her social circle. He recalled invitations ahead to which he was half pledged, which would involve him still further, and a wave of dislike rose in his heart. He wished he could stay forever in his present environment and not go back to the world of fashion and folly, of chasing the latest will-o’-the-wisp fad. Of course he had never done that. He had only stood on the outer edge and looked on, so far, and thought to lure the girl who had tried to fascinate him back into a sane, sensible path. But he recognized that from his position of looker-on it was only a step inside that clique to where he would be a part of it. This house party to which he had not gone had been in a sense the dividing line. An invitation to it was equivalent to being accepted and sought after. Good for his business, perhaps, but not so good for himself, for his inner self, the part of him that lived and moved and had a spiritual being.

  If he had only known a girl like Daryl Devereaux when he first came to the city how different things would have been. But as he watched her he felt more and more that there couldn’t be many girls like this one. And she was interested in that insufferable cad whose voice he had heard drunkenly on the telephone last night! He was sure she was. He had watched the shadow in her eyes all day. Well, he thought wistfully, he was glad he was having this little glimpse of a real Christmas with real folks, anyway. It had acted like a sort of mental bath, or a spiritual one, perhaps, to cleanse his soul from the mad whirl of follies toward which he might have been drifting. Perhaps his eyes were open now and he would know better how to make decisions. Perhaps the spell that Demeter Cass had been casting over him was broken by the vision of this other clear-eyed girl. Girls! For there were two of them, of course. He could see that the girl Ruth was lovely also, and he took pleasure in seeing her with his new friend Lance. What a couple they would make, interested in the same things, deeply devoted, each finding joy in the presence of the other! It somehow restored his faith in life and love and true simple living just to watch them. He was glad he had come. Even if he had not seen Daryl, even if she was entangled somehow with a person who had the power to bring sadness to her lovely eyes, he was glad he had come.

  When the last dish was in its place, when Mother and Father had slipped away to their room for a bit of a Christmas nap, and Lance and Ruth were bent over some plans of their own for a little log cabin they meant to build for a summer home sometime in the far sweet future, Alan looked at Daryl brightly and put out a comradely hand.

  “Come on, let’s go read my new book of poetry,” he said. “I have a fancy for reading it the first time with you.” He smiled and she gave an answering smile, and slipped her hand in his, letting him lead her over to one of the big chairs by the fireplace. Then he drew up another nearby and brought the book.

  “Now,” he said as he settled back to watch her, “read me the one you like the best. I’d like to start with that.”

  As he sat there watching the sweet face of this cultured, lovely girl, listening to her pleasant voice as she read, noting her eyes light with appreciation of some of the beautiful thoughts she was reading, he tried to picture Demeter Cass reading poetry to him. He was not able to conjure up such a scene with Demeter as the center. In his mind he could hear her peals of laughter at the thought.

  “Oh, darling! Poetry! How Victorian! Just fancy anybody today stopping to read sweet stuff like that!”

  He turned from the thought impatiently. Why did Demeter Cass have to intrude into every pleasant thing today?

  They had a rare time for over an hour discussing the poems, Alan marveling at the clear, logical mind of Daryl, enjoying every moment of their talk together.

  Then Father and Mother Devereaux appeared with the coming of the dusk, looking like two fresh daisies, and the talk grew more general. The Christmas tree broke out in its lights again, and the fire was built up afresh.

  “How about getting out a jigsaw puzzle, son?” suggested the old man. “I wouldn’t mind taking a hand in one myself after I get done with the milking.”

  Lance sprang up from his corner of the couch.

  “I’m going to milk tonight, Dad,” he said. “I was just going out. No, I’m all right. My ankle doesn’t hurt at all now.”

  “And I’m going also—not that I’ll be much help,” Alan said, laughing, “but at least I can cultivate the acquaintance of Chrystobel. I really don’t know many cows, and I think it would be a pleasant experience.”

  So the boys went out to the barn, and Daryl and Ruth got out two low tables and ar
ranged the lamps so the light would be good, and when the boys came back the place looked so cozy and pleasant that Alan’s heart suddenly thrilled again with joy at being a part of this dear home for a time.

  Lance went to the old chest of drawers in the dining room and got out a large puzzle, which had been one of his Christmas gifts, and as he opened it and emptied the pieces out on one of the tables he said, “The wind is changing, Dad. I think it will be clearing before morning. The snow is much lighter already.”

  Alan had a quick passing shade of sadness. When the storm cleared this pleasant interval would be over and he would have to move on. But he would not think of that. He would just enjoy every minute while it lasted.

  So they settled down around the tables, turning over and sorting the colored bits of polished wood and parceling them out, a color to a person.

  Daryl was sitting next to Alan, and all the blue sky was handed over to them. They worked away together, Daryl showing Alan how to hunt for outside edges, and how to tell by the grain of the wood which pieces would be top and which side. They talked about the quaint shapes into which the pieces were cut. Alan was new at them. He hadn’t had much time for such things since the days of his childhood when jigsaw puzzles were scarce and expensive.

  “Am I to believe that this jumble of pieces will eventually become a picture?” he asked comically, gazing hopelessly at the clutter on the table.

  “Of course,” said Daryl enthusiastically. “It does look hopeless though, doesn’t it? But you’ll see it will come out beautifully when it is done. The name says it is a picture of Washington at Valley Forge. It seems just like the Bible.”

  Alan looked up in astonishment.

  “Like the Bible? Well, that’s one on me, young lady. Since when was Washington a Bible character?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Daryl said, giggling. “I mean that sometimes, at first reading, the Bible does seem like a jumble of unrelated writings, especially to an unbeliever. But if you believe it is the Word of God, and so have patience to go on and learn how to divide it and put it together, you soon see that each part fits into the rest without discord or contradiction and the whole presents a perfect portrait.”

  Alan had stopped working and was watching Daryl intently, obviously amazed.

  “Well, that’s about the most surprising statement I ever heard!” he said. “It’s rather sweeping, too, and yet you speak with conviction. May I ask where you got this information?”

  Lance glanced up quickly, alert to catch any note of scorn on his new friend’s face, hoping it was not there. He was relieved to see only genuine interest and thoughtfulness in Alan’s face.

  “In the Bible itself, of course,” said Daryl. “But not all by myself. We had a wonderful teacher before we went to college. And there are textbooks to help you study. I have one we studied if you would like to see it. But I do think that if a person went to the Bible patiently and believingly, he would soon be convinced, even without a teacher, that it is the Word of God.”

  “Yes, believingly!” said Lance suddenly, as he swung a finished tree across the table and slid it into place in the sky Alan was working on. “That is the point—believingly!”

  Alan looked up again astonished, noting that Lance evidently held the same view as his sister. Was it the Bible, then, that made these people so different from others he knew?

  “Well, that sounds interesting to me,” said Alan seriously. “I’d like to see that textbook sometime. It would be worth a great deal to me to know without a doubt what you seem to know.”

  Then suddenly he held up a little piece of puzzle and said half jokingly, “Now here, for instance, is a fish! Am I to suppose that this picture we are doing contains a portrait of Jonah entering the whale?”

  They all laughed, but Daryl suddenly sobered.

  “There!” she said. “That’s just what I’ve been trying to tell you. You think that’s a fish, but it’s only the shape of a fish. See where it fits? Right there in that pink cloud at your left. It isn’t a fish at all; it’s just a part of the highlight on a cloud. And that’s just the way people make mistakes when they read the Bible. They pick a verse out from its context and go out and say the Bible says so and so, and that that is a contradiction of something else it says. But if you keep the verse in its setting, and compare it with others, you see what it really did mean. Look at your fish now in its own place. See! The fish itself, though still a fish, is no longer important as a fish. It is lost sight of as you look at the picture as a whole.”

  “Well, that’s astonishing!” said Alan, staring at the fish, which had taken its place in a cloud.

  “Well, if this picture we’re doing is going to turn out to be a picture of George Washington, who then is the Bible a portrait of?”

  He asked the question almost idly, hardly expecting a definite answer.

  “The Lord Jesus Christ!” answered Daryl reverently, and a little hush fell on the group.

  “Wonderful!” said the young man gravely. “I never thought of the Bible as that.”

  After an instant Daryl went on quietly.

  “And it is marvelous how every story and even every Jewish sacrifice and ceremony is needed to make it a complete picture of Him! Take that incident of Jonah, for instance. Did you know that it is referred to by Christ in the New Testament and used to present a picture of His death and resurrection? He said that no sign that He was the Messiah would be given to unbelievers except the sign of Jonah.”

  Daryl stopped breathless, suddenly embarrassed that she had done so much of the talking. But Alan kept on with questions for some time, Daryl giving keen answers that amazed him.

  “Well, perhaps I begin to see,” he said at last, holding up two small pieces of the puzzle. “Here for instance are a cat and a fiddle. I in my uninstructed state would naturally suppose that our whole picture was to illustrate ‘Hey-diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle,’ and I would immediately begin to look around for a cow and a moon to finish it with; but since according to you the things in the Bible that sound like nonsense to the uninitiated are heavenly truths, I begin to grasp the idea. Look here!”

  He fitted the fiddle neatly into a delicate green tree, and found a place for his cat right in the middle of another cloud.

  “An A plus for you, Johnny, you’re learning fast!” Daryl said with a laugh.

  “It’s due to my excellent teaching!” Alan bowed dramatically.

  They all laughed with Alan, but he soon grew serious again.

  “Go on, please! I want to hear more,” he said.

  “Oh, you should ask my brother about it,” said Daryl, suddenly flushing consciously as she realized that the room was very still, and everybody had stopped talking but herself and Alan. “Lance has been to a wonderful seminary where they make a specialty of studying these things. He can tell you all about it much better than I can.”

  Alan looked at Lance surprised.

  “You don’t say! Are you getting ready to be a clergyman, Lance?”

  Lance looked up smiling.

  “Oh no,” he said, “I’m just getting ready to be a Christian farmer, like Dad. But I want to be able to give my Christian testimony in the very best way, and I think every Christian should understand his Bible, and be ready to tell anyone how to be saved.”

  “But he does preach, though,” said Ruth shyly, looking at Lance with proud eyes. “He preaches in the mission in Collamer every Sunday night.”

  “Just talk,” said Lance crisply. “Say, you folks are getting your sky done in great shape, aren’t you?”

  “I want to hear you,” said Alan, studying the strong young face across the table from him. “I’m coming to hear you soon. And I want to talk with you more about this Bible. It sounds interesting.”

  “It is,” said Lance quickly, “the most interesting study in the world. Say, Daryl, how about a little food? Weren’t there some doughnuts? I seem to forget all about that turkey we had this afternoon.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, I’ll get some,” said Daryl, getting up, and Alan promptly rose to follow her.

  “Get some apples, too,” called Mother Devereaux. “And Father, where are the butternuts?”

  “Yes, I’ll get those. I cracked a lot of them yesterday.” And he, too, rose and went to find his big wooden bowl of butternuts.

  Daryl filled a platter with big, sugary doughnuts and got out some plates and napkins.

  “The apples are down in the cellar. I won’t be a minute,” she explained to Alan. “You can carry in the plates.”

  “Oh, but I’m coming down with you. I’m sure I can get the apples if you will tell me where to find them.” And he smilingly possessed himself of the willow basket she had picked up from the pantry shelf.

  Daryl snapped the cellar light on, and they went down into the wide, clean space that was as tidy and uncluttered as if it were a parlor. Alan saw the rows of shelves filled with canned fruit and vegetables, the bin of potatoes, and barrels of apples—Northern Spy, Grimes Golden, Baldwin. Daryl pointed them all out.

  “Why, you could stand a regular siege if you had to with all these stores,” he said, looking around him in admiration. “I certainly picked my place to get stranded!”

  Daryl smiled up at him happily, and for the moment the shadow seemed to be gone from her eyes. She was enjoying the evening as much as he was! A gladness went though him that was new and pleasant.

  They had filled their basket and were turning to go back to the foot of the stairs, when Father Devereaux, returning through the dim kitchen, noticed the crack of light from the half-open cellar door and stopped in passing to snap it off, thinking somebody had forgotten it.

  “Oh!” giggled Daryl. “They don’t know we’re down here! Wait, I’ll turn it on again. There’s a switch at the foot of the stairs. Come on, I’ll guide you.”

  She caught his hand and turned swiftly to take a shortcut to the stairs, forgetting that Lance the day before had brought down a crate of oranges just arrived from Florida and set them across a couple of substantial beams to keep them from contact with the floor. Suddenly she pitched forward, her hands outspread widely. And Alan, the apples rolling in every direction, groped wildly for her and lifted her in his arms, unconsciously drawing her close and putting his face down to hers.