Sound of the Trumpet

by Grace Livingston Hill

  She smiled gently.

  “You know, it’s rather wonderful to have someone—someone outside my home, I mean—take that much thought for me.”

  “It has been great to feel I had the right,” he said meaningfully. “Just because I happened to know some danger that those who were closer to you did not know. I am so glad you did not resent my interference in your affairs.”

  “Resent!” said Lisle with a wonderful, understanding look. “Does one resent God’s care? And yours was very much like His, I think, so quiet, so thoughtful that I didn’t know it was there. I can never thank you enough.”

  “I don’t want thanks,” said John, with a close pressure of the hands he held. “It is enough if you will count me in a measure as one of your friends.”

  “Of course. In full measure,” said Lisle warmly, nestling her hands softly in his. “I am glad you are my friend. Only, I wish you did not keep out of sight so much. I wish—I wish—you didn’t have to go away. Though, of course, I know it is right that you should. But you were doing defense work in the shipyard, weren’t you? Wasn’t that just as important?”

  John shook his head.

  “Yes, it was defense work, and important, but an older man who couldn’t be accepted for actual fighting could do what I was doing, and I have known for some time that as soon as I was free, I must go. It was as if I heard a trumpet sounding in my soul, calling me. I felt I must!”

  “Oh, that is a beautiful way to put it!” said Lisle. What a wonderful, exceptional young man he was! The thought fairly blazed in her eyes, shone in her face, and her fingers answered the pressure of his clasp on her own.

  Then steadily, his clasp tightened, as he looked down into her eyes and saw she was sincere. And something unspoken thrilled between them, some intangible sweetness that was almost like a physical touch, and a great joy came into Lisle’s heart. It was so keen that it reminded her of that first time she had seen him in the street and they had smiled. That time that she had known they were friends, and would be always, even if they did not meet for a long, long time. That memory flashed through her mind and became a part of her brief knowledge of him, even while she drank in the look in his eyes, the admiration in his face.

  Around them the world was going placidly on, with all eyes for the group of soldiers in their fresh new uniforms. The bystanders were filled with pride in their country and their army and the victory they were expecting to celebrate very soon, because these fine-looking young men were going over somewhere, anywhere, to deal with the enemy.

  But there was something more than just admiration and patriotic pride in the look that Lisle had for John. It was much deeper, with a hope far beyond the few months or years that men allowed for any war. It was a tender regard that looked forward into the eternities. This John was going away, yes, but whatever he was, he was looking forward to a day when there would surely be a heaven to come to, and where they two would surely meet. Yes, even if the circumstances of war should separate them so that he would not be coming back here.

  Of course, there was no time to think out all this. It was merely a quiet atmosphere that gave the grave lovely setting to their little meeting.

  Of the people who saw them, there were a few taking special notice. They were John’s fellow comrades. They were interested in “that guy Sargent.” He wasn’t well known to them yet, as they hadn’t been together long—just a few days—and were only linked by the order that was sending them to a certain training camp together, with a common destination. But they were interested because he was one of them and there was a pretty girl talking to him. An exceedingly pretty girl.

  “Know who she is, don’t you?” swaggered one soldier whose home was not far away. “That’s that Kingsley dame. Her dad’s one of the richest and most influential citizens in this city. What he says goes. That’s what he is. And she’s some lady! Say, that guy Sargent must be tops, or he wouldn’t know her.”

  “You’re right there, comrade. I’ve heard about her. Gosh! He’s going in company like that and he’s going to be in our gang! Well he needn’t think he can lord it over me. I’m really tough, you know.”

  “Yes, here, too,” said the other fellow. “But I wouldn’t judge Sargent is too stuck on himself. He seems more common-like and real accommodating. Anyhow, just knowing her doesn’t say he’s in her class.”

  “No,” said the other, “not positively, but he sort of acts as if he might fit in anywhere.”

  So they stood and watched the two, noting the eager glances, the held hands, the low murmur of conversation.

  “Yes, sure they know each other real well,” said one of the soldiers. “They’ve been places together and like the same things. You can see that with half an eye. Just watch ’em. Aw—they won’t know you see ’em. They’re too absorbed in each other.”

  Two girls across the street were gazing over at the uniforms.

  “Isn’t that Lisle Kingsley over there with that soldier? Say, isn’t he stunning-looking! Has she fallen for someone at last?”

  “Oh, it’s probably a cousin or in-law of some sort,” sneered the other girl. “She’s good friends with all the soldiers at the canteen, of course, and every fellow likes her. But I never saw her hold hands with any of them, and right before the world this way! He must be a relative. She’s just awfully prissy, you know, old-fashioned as a white violet and twice as shy.”

  “Well,” sighed the other girl, “when that kind fall for a fellow, they really fall!”

  And out in the car, Joseph, the chauffeur, was watching furtively. He had already identified John as the young man who had called up on the telephone that night of the blackout, after they got home with the car, to know if Miss Lisle was at home yet. And he seldom forgot the sound of a voice. He had called several times since, and there was something dependable about that young man’s voice and about the way he walked and stood. He had been watching him before, once or twice seeing him in the company of that police-detective who was handling the matter of the men who were supposed to be kidnappers. Joseph was canny. He could put two and two together and knew the look of the blue-eyed soldier with the golden hair and the wide smile. Although he had never seen John in uniform before, he felt sure of his identity, and he watched his young lady with satisfaction as he saw her welcome this man with a light in her face. He hadn’t known before this that any of the Kingsleys knew this young man more than just casually. He had not known that Lisle really counted him as a friend. So now he kept them in his vision while he sat, apparently just waiting.

  Far in the distance there was a faint echo of an oncoming train, and the two young people, talking eagerly, hurried their words, an almost frantic look of haste in their eyes.

  “Is that your train?” asked the girl breathlessly.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is,” said the young man, with a quick glance at his wristwatch and another up the tracks.

  “Oh! I wish we had a little more time!” she said wistfully. “I—you—!” She stopped, and her voice and lip trembled just the least bit. “It seems as if I have known you a long time, and it is hard to give you up. But of course I know about that trumpet. Of course you must go! I’m glad you want to! But—I wish we had had a little time to talk. If we could only have had an evening!”

  “I thought of that last night. I almost called you up to see if you were at home and whether I might come.”

  “Oh, why didn’t you?” she asked sorrowfully. “I was at home. I would have been so glad to see you.”

  He looked earnestly down into her lovely eyes. His fingers clasped hers closer.

  “I—felt I would be presuming,” he said gravely.

  “Presuming?” she asked with a troubled look. “Why should that be presuming?”

  “Because—well, because you are a Kingsley. Your father is a great man. Wealthy, influential, prominent. You belong to the aristocracy, and I am nobody!”

  “Oh, John!” she reproached with tenderness in her tone. “Oh, you are a c
hild of the heavenly King! How could you be higher? We are not above anybody. We are just people. My father and mother are not conceited. They are not what you would call ‘snooty.’ ”

  “No, I did not think that! I was more considering the fitness of things. Comparing your background and mine. I couldn’t see that your people would be pleased with a friendship such as ours would have to be, at least for a long time. Oh, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to come. Believe me, I did. Won’t you believe that?” His hands clasped about hers were saying deeper, sweeter things even than he was daring to utter with his lips, and she was searching his eyes gravely, knowing that he spoke the truth.

  “I do believe,” she said softly.

  The train was almost upon them now and drowned their words, giving them a moment’s sweet privacy, with the vivid consciousness that it was to be exceedingly brief.

  The train came to a halt and the group of soldiers piled noisily aboard. The civilians who had been waiting farther along the platform moved up and choked the steps, filing in, anxiously stretching their necks to make sure there were still some vacant seats. The platform was all at once empty.

  “All aboard!” shouted the conductor, and the engine began preparations for an immediate start, the wheels giving a preliminary slow turn.

  “I must go!” said John. “This is the last train that can make it in time.”

  He gave her one last look deep into her sweet eyes, which all at once filled with sudden tears. Then he bent and held her close.

  “Do you mind?” he murmured as his lips sought hers in reverent tenderness.

  Lisle lifted her face, and her lips clung to his for that brief instant.

  “Dear!” he murmured as he turned away, caught up his luggage, and swung himself on the platform of the last car just sweeping by.

  “Oh, be careful!” she cried ineffectually as the train rumbled past her, carrying away her soldier whom she had but just found.

  They stood, he on the lower step of the car, she on the platform, their lips thrilling with that farewell kiss, a great wonder in their eyes, and smiled with something like glory in their faces. That smile of theirs was sending messages across the rapidly increasing distance between them.

  Presently John roused to lift his cap and hold it aloft in salute, and Lisle, with tears raining down her face, fluttered a small white handkerchief, watching until the train swept around the curve and passed out of sight. Then she stood still, looking at the place where it had disappeared, wondering what had happened to her; her lips still thrilling with his kiss, her whole self trembling with the wonder and the joy of it.

  But the train was gone. The place where it had disappeared began to look hazy and dim in the late afternoon wintry quiet, and all at once Lisle realized that this wonderful interlude in her busy life was over and she must go home. The car was waiting for her.

  She snapped to attention and looked toward the car. Yes, there it was, not very far away, although that little time with John there on the platform had seemed so very far away from everything and everyone.

  She walked briskly toward the car and Joseph got out and swung the door open for her, with his kindly, deferential smile.

  “Getting colder, Miss Lisle,” he said cheerily. He didn’t appear to notice the traces of tears on her lashes. Of course not. He was well trained, but his heart went out to her. He had been in the Kingsley family a good many years.

  Lisle roused and looked up with a pleasant smile.

  “Why, yes, it is colder, isn’t it? I hadn’t realized.” She gave a little tremor of a shiver.

  “Will you be going back to the Red Cross room, Miss Lisle?”

  “Back?” she repeated dreamily. “Why, no, Joseph. I think I’ll go right home. It does seem chilly out. That platform is a cold place.”

  “Yes, it is cold. There’s a full sweep of wind across it. And then you stood there quite some time, you know.”

  “Oh, yes, I did, Joseph. I hope you weren’t cold waiting. You see, I happened to meet an old friend and found he was going off to war. I had to stop and say good-bye.”

  “Of course, Miss Lisle, I noticed. No, I wasn’t cold. The heater was on in the car, you know. But that’s a fine young fellow you were talking with, Miss Lisle. That Mr. Sargent. He’s one of the finest young men I know.”

  “Oh, do you know him, Joseph?”

  “Well, yes, Miss Lisle, in a way I know him. He’s the young man called up the house to see if you was home that night the car had the accident. And he called up often afterward to know if you was home yet. He’s been very anxious about you being took care of.”

  “Oh, is that right, Joseph? Well, he is a fine man. I’m glad you know him. He’s really worthwhile.”

  “Yes, Miss Lisle. And if he’s going off to war, the town will be that much worse off without him, I’ll say.”

  “Yes, it will,” said Lisle thoughtfully. “He has been very kind.”

  “He has that!” said the man, inwardly resolving to keep even better guard over the young girl than he had been doing, since this vigilant friend was gone.

  It brought a warm glow to Lisle’s heart to have Joseph speak in such glowing terms of John Sargent. And thinking back, she knew that Joseph must have been a witness to her farewell to him. Her cheeks glowed in the quiet backseat as she recalled what that farewell must have looked like. Yes, he had put his arms about her and drawn her close. Yes, he had kissed her. They had both kissed. It must have looked very intimate to Joseph. But it was most brief. After all, girls were all kissing their friends good-bye. It was different from ordinary times. She need not feel embarrassed. She need not try to explain.

  Well, how could she explain? What was there to explain, anyway? A kiss? Some people counted that nothing. But Joseph would know that she was not the kind of a girl who went around kissing every young man who said good-bye to her, not even in wartime. How did it come that she had done it this time? Yet it had seemed so altogether right and good. It had seemed such a perfect, wonderful happening, a thing to be rejoiced over and cherished in her heart. Something God had sent.

  And of course, it was. She hadn’t gotten any further than that yet. It was something she must think over first before she talked about it, even with her mother. Perhaps it was not anything to be told. Not yet, at least.

  She closed her happy lips over her smile and let Joseph think what he would. She was sure in her heart that he would think no evil of her. And he would never tell what he had seen. Joseph had been her good friend since childhood.

  So she rode to her home and went quietly to her room in a daze of happiness. It was as if she carried in her heart something fragile and very precious, like a little bird that was singing to her and yet might break or fly away if she even thought about it carelessly. She found herself walking into the house, and very slowly, very softly, up the stairs, glad that not even her mother was about, lest the wonderful thing that had happened might slip away into the prose of life and she be unable to recapture it. She wanted to be alone, to sit down and close her eyes and go through it all over again, to fix it in her memory, so that she could never lose it.

  And after she had sat so a little while, living over the sweetness of that embrace, the touch of his lips, thrilled with the look in his eyes, his hand on hers, she rose and knelt beside her bed and prayed, “Oh dear God, keep him safely. I thank Thee.”

  Chapter 14

  That very night Erda was in consultation with Weaver and Lacey in a little town fifty miles away from the city where she worked.

  The two men had sent for her urgently, written a letter bidding her to go to a certain telephone in a department store not too far from her office, there ordered her to be at a certain lonely corner on the outskirts of the city at dark, take the car that would be waiting for her, and drive to meet them in an isolated farmhouse in the country. There would be certain signs by the way, unobtrusive lights, white rags tied on trees occasionally so that she would know her way, and at a certain villa
ge they named, she would find a boy with his cap drawn over his forehead, earlaps fastened, scarf around his neck, and a lighted lantern in his hand. This boy would wave his lantern, and she must stop and take him in. He would guide her to the farmhouse and take over the car.

  Erda went. It was her business to go. Her ample salary paid her from abroad ensured that she would.

  She told Victor that she had received a telegram from a very dear friend in New York who had met with an accident and was dying. She wanted to see Erda on a very important matter before she died. Erda left the office in the middle of the afternoon as if to catch a train to New York, but instead she went in the opposite direction en route to the isolated farmhouse, going first to the place where she was to find the car, by back streetcar lines and buses, keeping sharp watch for any followers and making sure she was in no way watched. Erda was well versed in such devious ways of escaping espionage.

  There was a fire in an old-fashioned kitchen stove in the farmhouse, and they sat around a kitchen table by a kerosene lamp, in a room whose windows were covered with black paper. There was no danger of any policemen seeing their meeting or listening in on their plans. Erda had been used to such furtive gatherings across the ocean. She had been trained in a severe school.

  It developed on this occasion that there were certain important articles wanted, which Erda alone could have any hope of procuring. For one thing, a set of blueprints of certain parts of the great invention that made the Vandingham plant so secret and so important to the government. In some way the enemy had got wind of what these vital things were and were demanding them at once.

  It was known by the enemy that the initial gadget which was desired was about to be completed and tried out, and that others were immediately to be manufactured in quantity. The enemy wanted this first one, along with the papers, blueprints, specifications, etc., relating to it at once, so that further manufacture of it would be impossible, at least for a time. Erda was commissioned to get these things without delay and put them in the hands of the agent within a few hours. Could she do it?