Time of the Singing of Birds

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Where was Stormy now, tonight? Now while she had been praying for him? Could it be possible that he was still alive? Why was she so certain he was? Was it just because his believing friends thought he was, or because God had put the thought in her heart? And why should she care so much? He was practically a stranger to her.

  At last she fell asleep, dreaming her way across the clouds to see a plane in the distance, with dangers and fogs and enemies to hinder and only a hidden passport and some trifling papers to see him across the border of a land that was enemy infested. Would Stormy ever come back? And would their faith be justified?

  While Cornelia slept, the Holy Spirit was working a change in her heart, a conviction that she needed to be saved, to be born again. That she must accept what Christ had done for her to make good in the scheme of His plan of salvation. Though she had had so little teaching and so little understanding of the scripture that she wouldn’t have understood what part the Holy Spirit had in calling her to accept Christ as her own Savior, nor have comprehended what this change meant that was coming upon her, making her so dissatisfied with the self she had been, the self she had before felt was rather to be admired. Popular, that was what she had always been in the circle in which she moved. But now, was she popular with God? Could she claim any request from Him and hope to have it granted? Not perhaps if she had not accepted His offer of salvation, the kind of salvation that Margaret Roselle believed in. The kind that Stormy and his friend Barney believed in. Yes, and her own brother Jim. Life wasn’t just a round of pleasant things as she had always believed, with her stage set with luxury. There was war and death and separation; and a God with a place in heaven to which one might go through accepting the gift of salvation. And there was a devil and a hell and a death that was not just the body dying but the soul being separated forever from God and good and all righteousness! It was all very terrible, and she must find out how to understand it.

  These things had begun to dawn upon Cornelia’s soul since she started to pray for Stormy Applegate.

  Chapter 18

  Cornelia went to church the next morning with her aunt and watched the choir file in, the sweet young organist at the organ, playing exquisitely. There was something about Margaret Roselle that intrigued her greatly.

  Then she took to studying the faces of the choir, especially the tall young man who came in last and took a seat at the end next to the organ, rather out of sight. Could that be Barney? He wasn’t quite as good-looking as she remembered Stormy to have been. Or was he? He was good-looking. And he was in uniform. Of course that must be Barney. If he sang a solo she would know. Or would she? There might be other young soldiers who sang solos, and Barney might still be in Washington, of course. But this one certainly was good-looking, whoever he was. Though probably the uniform made all of them look rather well. She knew her own brother was quite impressive in his uniform.

  As the service progressed she was impressed by the reverence and dignity and quiet interest of all. She noticed, too, the quick look that passed between Margaret and this soldier by her side. It was an intimate smile, as of people who had known each other long and were very fond of each other.

  Then came the solo, and Cornelia was sure it was Barney. Somehow he was so like the man her brother had described. And there was something about his face that seemed so in keeping with his wish to go back into the region of war to find his friend and bring him back.

  It was a most unusual song, not a regular solo. Just a hymn, but it was sung almost as if it were spoken, and yet the voice was very beautiful, mellow, tender.

  “I see a Man at God’s right hand,

  Upon the throne of God,

  And there in sevenfold light I see

  The sevenfold sprinkled blood.

  I look upon that glorious Man,

  On that blood-sprinkled throne;

  I know that He sits there for me,

  That glory is my own.

  The heart of God flows forth in love,

  A deep eternal stream;

  Through that beloved Son it flows

  To me as unto Him.

  And looking on his face, I know—

  Weak, worthless, though I be—

  How deep, how measureless, how sweet,

  That love of God for me.”

  He sang as if it were so real to him, as if that love of God he was singing about was the most precious thing to his soul. And that blood that was sprinkled was the most priceless coin that could be paid for a sinful soul. Cornelia found herself with tears slipping down her cheeks, and she was aghast at herself. She hurriedly flicked her wisp of a handkerchief over her cheeks, and Hortense and her crowd, sitting staring in the back pew, studied her and saw the tears. What was the idea, that high-hat crying in church? Had she recently lost her lover, or some close relative? There didn’t seem to be anything in that solo to make anybody cry. It didn’t make good sense, anyway. What was it all about, and why didn’t Barney use his head selecting a song and get something really peppy, something that would show off his voice if he had such a fine voice? But what was that poor sap crying about, anyway? Then they turned and gave attention to the singing again, and they decided that Barney hadn’t picked it and she was a regular sob sister. But what on earth did it mean, anyway, and who was a man on God’s throne whose glory Barney was claiming for his own? Well, he probably didn’t understand it himself. Then they turned their attention to the beautiful girl who was sitting with Mrs. Kimberly and listening with her heart in her eyes. Did she know Barney? Was he one of her long-lost lovers, or what?

  But there was one girl in that audience who had got something out of that song, one girl who listened afterward to the dear old preacher, telling in such simple terms what the story of the blood meant, and who was the Man of the song, the Man Christ, sitting on God’s throne, presenting His blood to pay for our sin. Bringing it right down to souls, so that they couldn’t help understanding what it all meant.

  But the hymn at the close of the sermon was more in the language Hortense’s crowd could understand. Barney sang the verses and the choir softly came in on the chorus:

  “On Calv’ry’s brow my Savior died,

  ’Twas there my Lord was crucified,

  ’Twas on the cross He bled for me

  And purchased there my pardon free.”

  And then the choir came softly in on the chorus:

  “Oh, Calvary! Dark Calvary,

  Where Jesus shed His blood for me. . . .”

  “For Pete’s sake,” whispered Hortense quite audibly, “why don’t they sing something cheerful? I should think a returned soldier would want to talk about something besides death and blood, or do you suppose they’ve got so used to it all that they don’t know the difference? That’s the reason I never go to church. They are always so gloomy, harping about sin and dying. As far as I’m concerned, I want to have a good time while I do live and then when I die that’ll likely be the end of me, so what?”

  But Amelia, who sat next to her, was listening to the last words of the song and made no response, so Hortense turned her attention to the very chic hat that Cornelia was wearing. She might be from New York and be very snooty, but she certainly could pick out clothes, and Hortense prided herself that she knew good clothes when she saw them.

  When the service was over those girls in the back pew pranced promptly up to the choir platform and greeted Barney as if he had been away for a year. They congratulated him on his wonderful singing and his marvelous voice. And they simply raved over him so that the rest of the people in the church hung back and looked askance. Then Barney began to see what was going on and smilingly sought to dismiss his would-be admirers.

  “Well, that’s awfully good of you, friends,” said Barney, smiling, “but suppose we cut out this flattery. I see somebody down there that I must speak to, and you’ll excuse me, I know.” And he courteously slipped past Hortense and stepped down from the choir platform.

  But Hortense was not to be sidetra
cked so summarily. She had come to church for one purpose only, and she did not intend to go home without accomplishing it.

  “But, Barney, there’s something I must tell you,” she shouted at him. “You are in for a surprise, and we felt that you should know about it beforehand, so there won’t be any mistakes.”

  “A surprise,” said Barney, turning with almost a frown. “Tell me quickly, please. I am really in a hurry.” For Barney could see that Mrs. Kimberly and her young guest were starting down the aisle toward the door.

  “Why, yes, of course, but when you hear what it is you’ll see I can’t be hurried about it. It is quite important. We have planned. . .”

  Barney saw by her tone that she was going to absorb a good deal of time with her important surprise.

  “Well then, if you can’t tell it quickly, perhaps you’ll excuse me, please, for a few minutes. There is someone I must see before they leave.” And he slid out past Hortense and hurried down the aisle toward the Kimberly pew.

  “Oh! Indeed!” said Hortense in that cold, offended tone she could assume so disagreeably on occasion.

  But Barney was not listening to her tone, and there was nothing for Hortense to do but stand and frown at him as she watched him go down and speak to Mrs. Kimberly and be introduced to “that obnoxious snob” as she had come to call Cornelia.

  She saw the cordial greeting between Barney and Cornelia and watched the interested smiles that each face held. She saw that there must be some special bond of interest between those two, and little by little she edged her crowd down the aisle until she was fairly standing in on their conversation.

  She heard Barney say, “Why, I don’t know. I’ll ask Margaret just what she has planned for tomorrow.” And then he looked toward the organ.

  Margaret had just stopped playing and was picking up her music and getting ready to leave, and Barney called, across the heads of those girls who had tracked him down, “Margaret! Margaret! Can you come down here a minute! Mrs. Kimberly wants to ask you something.”

  Margaret gave her beautiful smile and hurried down toward them, but Hortense leaned forward and spoke: “But, Barney, we’ve simply got to speak to you a minute once. It’s quite important. I am sure these people will excuse you. We’ve arranged for tomorrow night to give you a reception in the woman’s club house, and there are some arrangements about publicity that simply won’t wait another hour, or we shall be too late to carry out our plans.”

  Barney lifted his head toward Hortense with raised eyebrows and a sudden sharp note of dissent in his voice. “What was that you said, Hortense? A reception? For me? Not on your life you don’t! No, lady. You’ll simply have to change your plans, for I won’t appear at any reception, and that’s flat! I’m here for just a little while, and I don’t want to be held up for admiration. I haven’t done anything more than all the boys did who went out there to fight. I’ve just done my duty, and you folks over here don’t need to waste your time plastering admiration on me. I just want to meet my friends in the ordinary, everyday walk of life. And I want you folks to go on fighting on the home front the way you were when I got home. There isn’t time for parties and frills.”

  His voice was almost genial as he finished, though it was still very firm, and he did not look at Hortense as he grinned to them all in general and turned smilingly back to Mrs. Kimberly.

  “But, Barney,” protested Hortense, “you can’t possibly mean that! All our plans are made and we’ve hired the hall and got the invitations out. You can’t do that to us!”

  “Sorry, girls, but I’m afraid I can. I’ll just have to return the compliment and say you can’t do that to me! I’m just Barney Vance and not a little tin god, so please don’t get any more of these things going. If you’ve got your plans made so you can’t stop them, turn your show into a war bond sale. That’ll please me better than anything else.”

  “And will you speak to us?” called out one of the girls, realizing that Hortense was not getting on so well.

  “And sing?” asked Amelia.

  “Why?” asked Barney, smiling.

  “Don’t you think you owe this to your own townspeople?” spoke up Hortense bitterly.

  “Owe this to you? How? Haven’t I been out fighting for you? Why do I have to get up and show off in front of you? Oh, of course I’ll be glad to say a few words of greeting and tell everybody to buy all the war bonds they can, if that will do you any good! That is, I’ll do that if I’m not in Washington. I’m liable to be sent for any minute so I can’t really promise anything. When did you say this was? Tomorrow night? Okay. Come if I can. Now, Margaret, shall we walk over with Mrs. Kimberly?”

  “But you’ll sing for us, too, won’t you?” pleaded Amelia.

  He gave her a quick look. Poor Amelia! She didn’t often have the nerve to plead, or even speak when Hortense was there.

  “Why, yes, I’ll sing if you’ll let me sing what I want to.”

  “Oh, but we want some of the popular songs you sing overseas! We don’t want your long-faced hymns,” wailed out Hortense.

  “Sorry,” said Barney. “I’ll have to do the picking. I can’t sing everything, you know.” And he gave her a mischievous grin. “Come on, Margaret, let’s go,” he said and, slipping his hand in her arm, led the way after Mrs. Kimberly. The gang hung back disconsolate, with Hortense mad as a hatter.

  Margaret and Cornelia were smiling, amused.

  “I suppose they planned it to please you, didn’t they, Barney?” said Mrs. Kimberly in a kindly tone.

  “Well, perhaps. We’ll give them the benefit of a doubt,” said Barney, “but if you ask me I’d say they planned it to please themselves.” And he gave his twinkling grin. It made them laugh outright.

  So they walked home with the Kimberlys and went in for a few minutes while Cornelia and Barney talked of her brother Jim and of Stormy Applegate who had not come back yet. Then Barney and Margaret walked back to her house. Hortense, meantime, behind the window curtain, watched them enviously. There went Barney, just as he always had done, going with somebody else when she had tried with all her might to get him for herself. Why was it that she failed? Well, at least he would come to the reception for a little while, and he would speak about war bonds. That wouldn’t give him any room to drag in religion. And she’d see that he sang some of the popular music, too, even if she had to ask somebody else to call for something. But all the rest of that Sunday she was bitter and disagreeable to everybody around her, and at last Amelia in despair said, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Hortie, why do you have to be so jealous? You can’t be it all the time, you know.”

  “What do you mean, jealous? Do you suppose I’d stoop to be jealous of that little colorless mouse of a Sunny? She, going around posing as ‘Margaret’ now, as if she were some great personage. She was always called Sunny! And what’s Barney being so sweet to her for? Just because she plays the organ in the church? What’s the church, anyway? Nobody that’s very important goes to that church. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t intend ever to enter the door of that church again, after the way I was treated this morning. The idea! When I told him we had got up this reception to honor him!”

  “Oh, you’re too sensitive, Hortie,” said Janet Harper. “Barney was only half joking all the time. But I don’t believe, really, that he honestly likes parties and speeches and things. Boys never do, don’t you know that?”

  “No, I don’t!” responded Hortense snappily. “The general run of men like to be flattered and praised and all that. If you ask my opinion of men, they’re all a conceited lot, and the only way you can get anything out of them is either to praise them or else feed them.”

  “Oh, Hortie, that’s not so! I don’t believe men are like that!” said Janet Harper again.

  “Well, really. I don’t suppose it matters what you believe! You never had any brothers, and you don’t have much to do with any other men, so you wouldn’t be supposed to know.”

  Janet sat back subdued and kept out of the co
nversation for a whole hour, while Hortense raved on about the church and the way they had been treated that morning.

  Nevertheless, as evening drew on, they all planned to go to church that night, to hear Barney sing again.

  Hortense did her best to get Amelia to write Barney a note, asking him to sing that lovely little gem of a song called “My Prayer.”

  “That’ll keep him off those dismal religious things he delights in,” she said, “and he certainly can’t object to that. It sounds real ethical to me. It’s about doing good to others, or something on that order, ‘making some heart glad,’ I believe is one line, isn’t it? I remember I sang it for a Christian Endeavor prayer meeting one night when I was quite a little girl.”

  But while those girls knew that song pretty well by heart, none of them ventured to quote the words, and Amelia refused point-blank to make any request of Barney for any song.

  But they all went to church.

  The song that Barney sang that evening was “Ye Must Be Born Again.”

  This time it was Cornelia who sat as one hypnotized as she listened to the words, so clearly telling the story she had read in the Bible the night before, and she wondered if she would have any opportunity while she was there to ask Barney about being born again and how she could get it for herself.

  The sermon that night was very stirring, given by a young chaplain from the nearby camp, who was a man after God’s own heart and knew his Bible better than most. Even Hortense’s hardened, contemptuous, empty little heart must have been searched by it, as she sat for a time staring fiercely at the young preacher, her eyes wide and almost frightened. Then, in the middle of it, she turned utterly away and, putting her elbow on the back of the seat and her head down on her hand, yawned openly and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Margaret, watching her from the little mirror over the organ, decided that she was greatly stirred by that simple earnest sermon; but if she was, she certainly did not intend that anybody should know it.

  But when the service was over, Barney, after talking with the young minister for a few minutes, suddenly disappeared, nobody knew where; and Margaret, after her organ stopped, slipped out the back door, and somehow nobody could find either of them after that.