Time of the Singing of Birds

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Not exactly,” said the girl, with a puzzled look. “Only one thing he said. When he wrote us about Stormy’s being lost he said, ‘Some of us fellows can’t believe that Stormy is gone. We think he’ll turn up, yet, because when he went away he waved his hand and said good-bye, and he said he knew he’d be all right, because he was “going in the strength of the Lord.” ’ You see, my brother and I were not brought up to talk freely about religious things. It wasn’t done in our family, and Jim would think he was saying a great deal to tell me even that. But I’ve wondered. You think that Stormy is definitely a Christian now, do you? And that when he went away on this mission that phrase he used that he was ‘going in the strength of the Lord’ was something real, not just an empty phrase he used, like good-bye or good luck or something of that sort?”

  “Oh, no,” said Margaret, with a smile. “I know it was real. You see, just before he left he came to the hospital where Barney was and they prayed together. That is, Stormy prayed, mostly, for Barney was still very weak. And Barney says it was a wonderful prayer, full of utter trust. Barney seems very sure he is still alive.”

  “Well, I don’t know as I have any right to pray, for I’m not a very good Christian, but I’ve been praying, too. Ever since Jim’s letter came telling about his being missing in action, I’ve been praying every night. I can’t somehow seem to forget him. I’ve woken up sometimes at night and prayed for him, and yet I don’t know him really well, you know. Oh, you’ll think I’m a sap, I suppose, but somehow I wanted to find out if you knew.”

  “No, of course you’re not a sap,” laughed Margaret. “I’m glad you are a praying girl. That makes me feel as if you and I could be real friends. We love the same Lord and speak the same language.”

  Cornelia looked a bit hesitant. “I don’t know if you would think I’d qualify for that honor if you knew me better. I’m not so sure about loving the Lord. I don’t really know Him well enough to be sure I love Him. And I’m quite sure I can’t speak many sentences in your language, for I’ve never learned. Perhaps you can teach me.”

  “Teach you? Oh, I’ll be glad to tell you what I’ve learned, but you know it is the Holy Spirit that must really do the teaching.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Holy Spirit,” said Cornelia, filled with awe. “You know, I’ve never read the Bible much. I tried once or twice, but I just couldn’t understand it and got discouraged and gave it up.”

  “Oh, I’ll take you to our Bible class,” said Margaret. “It’s wonderful. And we’re all so interested the people never want to leave and go home. It meets one evening a week, and we have one of the best teachers in the city, so clear and interesting. I know you will enjoy it.”

  “It sounds good,” said the formal city girl, a bit bewildered to find there was so much to this matter of being a Christian.

  So the two girls sat and talked. Finally, Margaret took out the little Testament she always carried in her handbag and began to explain the lesson on John that they had had last week, and both were so absorbed in it that they were surprised when Mrs. Kimberly called them to dinner.

  Mrs. Kimberly, listening to their pleasant talk at the table and watching their animated faces, felt that she had done well in selecting this girl to companion with her niece.

  But over across the street the plans were going forward for that reception that Hortense was pulling together for Barney. And Mrs. Kimberly would have been surprised indeed if she could have heard them plotting just as if the young war hero was the special property of Hortense, and would do exactly as she told him to do.

  Chapter 17

  Barney Vance came back from Washington late Saturday afternoon, after having received word from his friend the admiral that he had found that he could do nothing in the matter of Barney’s request until the authorities had cabled overseas and received a report from his company, both concerning Stormy and about Barney’s state of health when he was sent home. And it might be some time before that matter was cleared up and it was definitely established that Stormy was still counted missing.

  Much disheartened, Barney came back and went at once to Margaret Roselle’s home. Somehow it seemed the natural thing for him to talk over with his old friend.

  Margaret’s face glowed with pleasure when she saw him turning in to the lane, and her eyes were shining happily as she ran down the lane to meet him halfway. But she had no idea how that little act of welcoming him back thrilled Barney.

  He hurried up the lane, watching her as she came, so graceful, lithe, and lovely. She seemed like something of his own, and yet he told himself he must not think that. He did not know if she was promised already to someone else. Yet that thought appalled him, for he found that he had really been thinking of her all the time he had been away, counting on telling her about his experiences, counting on coming back to her. He had seen many good-looking girls while he was in Washington, for the admiral had introduced him to a number of them who were near his mansion, and they were all interesting girls, yet none so sweet nor beautiful as this dear girl. How was it that she had grown up so unspoiled, as lovely of heart as she was of face?

  His heart quickened as her feet hurried toward him, and he saw the welcome in her eyes. She was glad to see him. He had a sudden wish that he might take her in his arms and hold her close, but he put it from him. He was not a young man who had been used to going around flirting with girls. His mother’s teaching had gone deep on that subject, and he had an utmost reverence for womanhood. But he did not remember to have felt like this before about any other girl. Was it this brief absence that had made this girl Margaret seem so much more desirable than she had, even when he first saw her that morning among the apple blossoms?

  But these were foolish thoughts. She would think him crazy if she knew. It must be just that he was tired and excited and had been through a heavy strain in Washington, with all the noise and bustle and the anxiety about getting his wishes across to the right authorities, who might permit him to go after Stormy. Yet, oh, it was good to get back to this girl and her sweet sympathy! And she was as much interested to pray for Stormy as he was. He had felt lonely while away.

  And now she stood before him, her hands out in eager welcome, and he reached out and took both her hands in a close clasp and felt the thrill of a great joy sweep over him, the sweetest thing he had ever experienced. Why, he wanted to fold her in his arms and hold her close! What was the matter with him? Was he falling in love? No, of course not, and he must not frighten her. She would think he was crazy! Besides, it was broad daylight, and there were three men in the neighboring field, and her mother might be looking out the window.

  “I’m—so—glad to get back!” he murmured, shame faced, but kept on holding both her hands.

  “And I’m so glad you’ve come!” said Margaret shyly. “It has seemed you have been gone a long time. And I am so anxious to know what you did.” She added quickly, “Do you have to go away soon again?” And she almost held her breath waiting for the answer.

  He smiled down into her face. He was still holding her hands in his warm clasp. He pressed them closer, and her own nestled in his happily.

  “Not yet,” he said half ruefully. “It seems anything like this takes a long, long time. One would have time to die before rescue came. But it looks at present as though there wasn’t much chance of my getting to help Stormy, not yet anyway.”

  She drew a breath as if of relief.

  “I’m glad,” she said softly. “I was so afraid for you. Yet I do think God will send him back. I have been praying so very hard.”

  He was watching the changing eagerness on her sweet face, the look of joy in her beautiful eyes, and suddenly forgetful of the watching eyes around the farm, he murmured softly, “You dear!” And then without warning, and certainly without a definite intention beforehand, he stooped quickly and kissed her! A fervent, earnest kiss. And her warm lips responded, lingering with a thrill of joy upon his own, and brought that desire to f
old her in his arms again. Only now there was the consciousness of that wide world of three men, and a mother, perhaps in observation. He was astonished at what he had done almost impulsively, for his whole life training had been along the lines of careful deliberation before acting. But this time his heart had taken the lead, and he was glad.

  Suddenly Margaret drew back a little, looked up at him with a question in her eyes, then dropped her face against his shoulder.

  “Oh—Barney—” she breathed fearsomely, and there were quick tears upon her lashes.

  It was then that Barney forgot any possible audience and drew her close within his arms, bringing his face down to hers again.

  “Forgive me, dearest,” he murmured to her little pink ear that he found beneath his lips. “I ought not to have done this out here in plain sight. I ought to have waited. But oh, darling! Sunny! I love you! I love you, and I couldn’t wait! I felt as if I had got home and you were mine. Maybe I am presuming. Maybe you belong to someone else.” He held her off and looked deeply into her eyes, but she laughed back at him with a joyous, happy lilt.

  “No,” she said with a sweet little tremble in her voice. “No, I don’t belong to anyone else. I’ve—always—belonged—to you!”

  And then he had to fold her close again.

  “Oh, my darling!” he said.

  The sharp ringing of a scythe against a whetstone brought them both back to consciousness, and they looked around. Suddenly, from a tall tree nearby, a wood thrush thrilled out a silver note of exultancy, and their two hands clasped again joyfully.

  But the men in the field were very busy trying to get done a swath before the sun set, and the mother in her kitchen was just putting a pan of puffy rolls in the oven for supper. Nobody saw the little love scene but Margaret’s twelve-year-old cousin, come over to pick berries for supper; and he, canny before his time, looked on with eager pleasure.

  “For Pete’s sake! Now ain’t that something?” he murmured to himself. “I didn’t think they’d have that much sense to pick each other out. But I’m mighty glad, before that Hortense got her finger in the pie. I like Barney a lot. He’s swell!”

  Needless to say there was no reception for Barney Vance that night, because the plotters had not been able to find out just when Barney was to be at home. And they didn’t find out that he was home until the next day, for Margaret and Barney took a walk in the woods before supper and came back to the house under the soft moonlight, Barney’s arm around her, her hand in his, with no workmen, nor twelve-year-old cousin, around to watch. They were going back to the house to tell Mother Roselle what had happened to them.

  And there was no fear in their going, for they were quite sure of the welcome that awaited them. Mother Roselle was very fond of Barney and had been one of his mother’s dearest friends.

  Hand in hand they made their way slowly, and now and again Barney would draw her closer to his side and bend to kiss her softly.

  “Oh, Sunny, my darling Sunny! To think you are mine!” he whispered in a glad voice.

  “Oh, but I haven’t told you everything that’s happened since you went away!” said Margaret, suddenly remembering, as they went up the path to the house. “A new girl has come!”

  “Oh, what a nuisance!” said Barney. “There’s only one girl for me, and I have her right here beside me.”

  A sweet solemnity of joy swept over the young girl’s face. She needn’t fear to present the other girl, since she had such dear words of Barney’s to hide in her heart.

  “But she’s very lovely,” said Margaret.

  “Not so lovely as my girl,” insisted Barney.

  “Oh, but she is,” said Margaret eagerly. “She’s much, much better looking than I am.”

  “Oh no she isn’t. She couldn’t be,” said Barney. “I have never seen a girl as lovely as you are. That’s true.”

  “But wait until you see her,” said Margaret, laughing. “She really is lovely.”

  “Must I see her?” said Barney, putting on a martyrlike look.

  “Oh, yes, you must see her. That’s what she’s here for. To see you. Her brother was in your outfit overseas, and he wrote and told her to see you. She is Mrs. Kimberly’s niece.”

  “Oh,” said Barney, suddenly remembering and looking bored. “I remember now! I was to go and call on her. Mrs. Kimberly called up Roxy and asked her to send me. She’s Jim Mayberry’s sister. But seeing you put her completely out of my mind. You’ve met her? What’s she like?”

  “Yes, I’ve met her, and I think she’s lovely! We’re friends already. Mrs. Kimberly invited me over to see her. And, Barney, she knows your Stormy. That is, she met him once at camp. And she and I have been praying for him. She has some messages from her brother for you, and one is that Stormy has not been heard from yet and most of the men think he is dead, for they say if he was alive he would never have let them go so long without some kind of a message. She says her brother said, ‘Because he went in the strength of the Lord,’ she thinks that means that maybe her brother is saved, too.”

  “He is,” said Barney with conviction. “We had a talk before I left. But he’s not much used to talking about such things. He’s a nice kid, a bit younger than Stormy and myself. Well then, dearest, we’ll go and see her together, shall we? But not tonight. I want you all to myself tonight.”

  “Of course,” said Margaret, nestling close to him as they reached the door and must now go in.

  And then the door was opened by Mrs. Roselle, and she gave one quick glance at their faces, their clasped hands, and a great joy came into her own face to welcome them.

  “Oh, Mother,” Margaret said, “you don’t know what has happened to me!”

  The mother turned a searching glance to the smiling soldier’s face, and Barney rose to the occasion: “I love her, Mother, do you mind?”

  “Mind?” said Mrs. Roselle, beaming at them. “Do I mind, did you say? Why, yes, I mind very much, dear boy. I couldn’t ask anything better for my child than to be loved by you.” And she put up her arms and gave Barney a warm motherly hug and kiss.

  “And I know your own mother would be very glad about this, too, dear son,” she said, standing back and looking at them happily.

  “Yes,” said Barney fervently. “I know she would. I know she is, for somehow I can’t help feeling she knows all about it and has perhaps been watching us.”

  “Of course,” said Margaret’s mother. “And now, come in at once. The chicken and waffles are all ready to be served, and I know you must be hungry, even if you have found you love each other. Come.”

  So they went in to a happy supper. And Sam the young cousin came to supper, too, and sat and stared and grinned at the two. He could hardly eat his own share of the waffles and chicken, so awed he was by the thing that had happened within his sight. For every time he remembered what he had seen down the lane, he grinned to himself about it, until his face was a study in growing up.

  After supper they all went into the kitchen and washed the dishes, and Barney dried them. Then the two young people went to the piano and sang a little while, selecting the music for the next day’s services.

  So Barney stood by the piano while Margaret played, and exulted in the fact that he was now privileged to put his hands possessively on the dear girl’s shoulders and know that she was his.

  Outside, down the highway went Hortense’s shiny car, with a gang of loud-voiced revelers, bound for a roadhouse wherewith to pass the time, until they could get hold of Barney and complete their plans for a public reception.

  And back at Mrs. Kimberly’s, Cornelia sat and talked with her aunt for a while, listened to the war news on the radio, and then took some books from the library and went up to her room to read. Somehow this Saturday night was the lonesomest day yet, for Margaret hadn’t been over all day, and she didn’t even know whether Barney had come back yet. She almost wondered why she was staying in Farmdale. Yet when she got up to her room the book she actually picked up to read was the
Bible that her aunt had loaned her. For she thought she would make another try at reading it and see if there was anything in it she could understand now in the light of some things her new friend had said.

  She tried several places to read, but somehow they didn’t seem to mean anything to her, until at last she opened by chance to the book of John and then remembered that Margaret had said that was a good book to begin with. So she read on, becoming more and more interested as she went deeper into the story, for she saw it was a story, and an interesting one. And when at last she laid down the book and prepared to go to her rest, she turned out her light and knelt down by her bed and prayed. Yes, she had been praying every night of late for the lost soldier called Stormy, but this time she ended her prayer with a petition for herself:

  Oh, Lord, I think I need to be born again, like that man Nicodemus I’ve been reading about. Won’t You please show me how, and make me able to pray acceptably for Stormy Applegate? Because I want him to come home. I want to see him again and understand what You have made of a strong, splendid man like that.

  Then she got into her bed and closed her eyes, but somehow she kept seeing the strong, handsome face of the young soldier who had been with her brother in the camp the day when she was there. And she kept imagining him a prisoner, hungry, suffering, unable to help himself, and yet cheerful and full of faith in God in spite of it all.

  Of course, her idea of Stormy was partly the product of hearsay, things her brother and Barney and Margaret had said of him, with a little background of her own memory of Stormy’s handsome, sparkling face as he had talked to her at camp. But her thoughts had hovered over the memory of him so much that he seemed very real to her. What would she have said could she have known that it was her face that had come to Stormy Applegate in his weariness and fever and utter discouragement, and that he had thought she was God’s angel sent to help him?