Chance of a Lifetime

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “I sure will!” said the boy vehemently.

  Then the music began, and the procession filed about the tables cheerfully, everybody intent on hunting place cards. It was Alan who asked the blessing, in the little hush that came as each stood behind a chair and wondered just what came next.

  “Heavenly Father, we want to thank You for the good things that You have given us through the year, and we ask Your blessing on ourselves and our guests tonight, and these Your gifts that we are to share. May every one of us learn to know that the best gift You have given us is Yourself, and yield our lives to You that we may grow into perfection, even as the flowers of the field and the fruit of the earth is yielded. For Christ’s sake, we ask it. Amen.”

  Something in Sherrill’s throat threatened to overwhelm her for an instant. It seemed as if Alan had touched the very springs of her life with that little prayer. How Alan was growing into the beautiful ways of a Christian! It made Sherrill very happy.

  But a soft sound from the piano was filling the room, and the voices nearest the piano broke into song.

  “My God, I thank Thee, who hast made the earth so bright, So full of splendor and of joy, beauty and light; So many glorious things are here, noble and right.

  I thank Thee, too, that Thou has made joy to abound; So many gentle thoughts and deeds circle us round; That in the darkest spot of earth some love is found.

  I thank Thee more that all our joy is touched with pain, That shadows fall on brightest hours, and thorns remain; So that earth’s bliss may be our guide, and not our chain.

  For Thou, who knowest, Lord, how soon our weak heart clings, Hast given us joys tender and true, yet all with wings So that we see, gleaming on high, diviner things.

  I thank Thee, Lord that Thou hast kept the best in store; We have enough, yet not too much to long for more: A yearning for a deeper peace not known before.

  I thank Thee, Lord, that there here our souls, though amply blest, Can never find, although they seek, a perfect rest; Nor ever shall until they lean on Jesus’ breast.”

  It was a double quartet, seated around the table nearest the piano, who were singing, and they had practiced it so well that every word was distinct and clear, like a prayer. They sang as they stood, heads bent a little, earnestly, and before the first line was finished the great room was hushed and listening. There was something about the singing that was most impressive, and in the hush that followed the last verse, Sherrill thought she heard a little sniff beside her, and glancing furtively at Mary Morse she saw her rough, bony hand lift up and surreptitiously flick a tear away from the side of her nose. Poor Mary was in a new world, and her heart was stirred deeply already.

  Sherrill felt a throb of joy.

  She cast her eyes quickly about, over the faces of the guests. Even Sam O’Reilly had a solemn, pleased look on his freckled face. They liked it.

  The hush was broken by the scraping of chairs as they were shoved back for them all to be seated, and in the chatter that followed Sherrill could see that all the Flatters were smiling and settling into their places with pleased anticipation.

  The table was very pretty, cheerful with bright pompon chrysanthemums and the late roses. The place cards had been painted by the social committee, and attached to them were tiny baskets filled with salted nuts. Plates of bright pink and green mints stood here and there, and at each place was a little glass of delicious fruit cup. Mrs. Barrington had made it, and taken as much pains with it as if it had been for a wedding. Sherrill felt a thrill at recognizing that. Dear Mrs. Barrington! She understood they wanted the Flatters to have everything just as nice as it would have been for the highest in the land.

  The program committee had left only a very short space of time for the guests to have to talk with their hosts and hostesses, recognizing that those first moments would be the most embarrassing of all the evening.

  All the instruments in town that could be mustered suddenly broke forth into lively little airs, popular melodies, wildly breaking one into the other. Just three minutes of this, and when the guests were almost through their fruit cup, the big overhead electric light went out, leaving the room in the weird semidarkness that the candles and pumpkin lights gave. Then a light from behind suddenly focused on a big sheet that had somehow crept above the fireplace without having been noticed—or had it been let down from above?—that was it.

  The guests had no time to wonder, however, for there was the main street of Rockland right before them on the screen, and there were some of the people they saw every day walking down toward them, smiling and greeting one another. Mrs. Roland, with her market basket full of vegetables and a turkey’s leg sticking out behind; Mrs. Crothers, with her baby in the express wagon. They laughed and talked and nodded good-bye and passed on. Then the cashier of the bank went by and walked into the bank, and Mr. John McCormick came out and tipped his hat to the cashier. People came in and out of the post office next to the bank. Sherrill Washburn herself came out, waved her hand to somebody across the street, got into a car and drove away.

  They all cheered when it came to that, and everybody was excited. How did they get movies of the town? They twisted their necks and watched the machine, handled by Will Rathbone, just one of those little household affairs. But Will had been sly. He had been around town, preparing this surprise to spring on everybody for three weeks. He had caught Willa Barrington drying her hair out on the back step, and Rose Hawthorn powdering her nose behind a door. He had quite a piece of reel of Jimmy Dodds in overalls repairing his old Ford, crawling under it and over it, with a streak of grease and carbon down one cheek and a wide grin on his face. He had caught almost every one of the young people’s society in some funny attitude, doing something homely and common.

  And then the scene shifted to the Flats, and there were the streets where some of their guests came from, not the sordid streets perhaps, but the neat ones, with children playing with mud pies. There was an adorable picture of Mary Morse’s little sister, the one who had wept, with a smudge on her nose and a grin on her mouth, and a ragged little kitten upside down in her arms. There was a cute altercation between two youngsters, and then a procession of boys from the mill, with one turning and smiling straight into the camera.

  Sherrill held her breath. Would the strangers be offended? But no, they were roaring with laughter at themselves, pleased as possible. And Will had been most careful what reels he had selected. There was even a picture or two of some of the girls dressed in their best, smiling and pretty, coming out and down the street. He had taken care to make the Flat people appear to advantage, and not to make fun of them any more than he had of the other young people.

  Then came a picture of their church with all the people going in, and much appreciative applause greeted this. They all wondered how he got the picture, and he confessed that he had hidden his camera in a neighboring bush and made a long connection from the parsonage.

  The pictures reeled on to the end amid loud applause and a general kindly feeling, and when the light flashed overhead again, the guests found that their fruit cups had been removed and a great plate of turkey and potatoes and stuffing and vegetables, and all the nice things that go to make up a Thanksgiving dinner, was set before each one. Heartily they fell to eating, with good cheer and friendliness on every hand.

  The program was not lacking in diversions. They introduced several solos, vocal and instrumental, one of a tune played on a saw by Harry Kelly from the Flats, who brought down the house and was forced to play two encores. They staged a dialogue that introduced their society and made plain its object and its interests, which was received with evident interest by the guests. Now and again, the whole company would burst out with song that everybody knew, and even the guests would join in.

  Sherrill found herself relaxing and just enjoying the evening.

  But the best part of all to Sherrill was to come. She sat, almost silent now, watching the happy company, her eyes alight with something sweet and far awa
y, perhaps because her heart was praying that all might turn out as she hoped.

  It was after they had finished the wonderful pumpkin pie and fancy ice cream, devoured huge pieces of the twelve beautiful layer cakes, finished the coffee and nuts and candies, and everybody was pinning a rose from the table to his neighbor’s coat or dress.

  The chairman of the prayer meeting committee arose and knocked on the table with a spoon for quiet. “Friends,” he said, and his voice sounded young and cheerful and true, “we’ve been having a peach of a time, but now we’re going to end with the best of all, we think. Will everyone bring his chair and make a wide half circle here, around the fire? We’re going to move the tables back to make room. Will the work committee move those tables, please, and now, will everyone come forward with his chair?”

  In short order the cleared tables were out of the way, and the company gathered in a double semicircle around the fire. Someone snapped off the big overhead lights, which left a soft candlelight. The candles sputtered low in the grotesque, grinning pumpkin faces of the lanterns, the firelight flickering up over the earnest, happy faces of the young people.

  Several of the committee in charge had dropped down upon cushions or just on the floor, a group at either side of the fire, and then very softly a voice started and the others took it up.

  “Softly now, the light of day—”

  Even the boys from the Flats growled away on the bass notes, and here and there, a flutelike soprano or tenor lilted in, till all the company were singing. Just a verse of that, and then they melted into

  “Abide with me, fast falls the eventide—”

  “It’s time for the verses now,” said a second member of the prayer-meeting committee from the shadow where he stood at the side of the fireplace. “I’m beginning, and won’t you all please follow just as rapidly as possible. No compulsion of course, if you can’t remember any, but we’d like you all to join. Thanksgiving verses preferably of course, but anyhow, verses! Here’s mine! O, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together! This poor man cried and the Lord heard him and saved him out of all his trouble!

  “I’m here to testify that I was in a lot of trouble last week. Lost my job and couldn’t get another because of my game leg. But I made out to pray about it, and God heard me, and sent me the finest kind of job. This is a real Thanksgiving for me tonight, I’ll say!”

  A voice from the other side of the circle broke in, softly singing.

  “Don’t stop praying, the Lord is nigh!

  Don’t stop praying, He’ll hear your cry;

  God has promised, and He is true,

  Don’t stop praying! He’ll answer you.”

  The guests sat silent, most of them with wondering eyes, down-dropping heads, hands clasped, watching the others furtively. All of a sudden they had come into an atmosphere that they did not understand, and perhaps felt themselves outsiders.

  As that last verse of the impromptu chorus died away, another of the group around the fire was ready with a simple little verse. “ ‘I will bless the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth!’ “

  I’m thankful tonight that I belong to this crowd and know the Lord!” said a girl.

  And another took up the thread: “ ‘Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits!’ I’m glad tonight because my mother is getting well from a serious sickness.”

  So the verses and testimonies went round the room, rapidly, from the members, now and then a hesitating word from a guest, and just at the end, Mary Morse spoke out abruptly, “I don’t know any of yer verses, but I’m thankful tonight fer a smile that someone gave me when I come in here. It was someone I use ta think was real proud. Thank you all fer inviting me!”

  Sudden tears sprang to Sherrill’s eyes as she bowed her head and began to pray, just a few words that seemed to bring them all within the circle of the throne, and left the guests with a feeling that she had just introduced them to a king.

  After another song the chairman of the program committee arose. “Well, I guess that’s about all this time, but we hope you’ll all come to our meeting Sunday night at seven o’clock. Make it a party call if you like, and see if you like us. We want you to join us, and help in what we are trying to do for Christ. Has the president anything more to announce?”

  Sherrill arose, a pretty picture in the firelight, her sweet eyes starry with feeling, her cheeks pink from the firelight.

  “Just one thing,” said Sherrill hurriedly, “and I don’t like to have to tell you a bit. I’ve been putting it off till the last minute, because I love you all so much I can’t bear to be left out of everything. But I’ve got to go away for a while, only for a few weeks I hope. If I can make it shorter, I will. You’ve made it awfully hard tonight for me to go; we’ve had such a wonderful time. I mean the guests, too, they’ve been just wonderful and I do hope they’ll all come and join us in our Sunday meetings, too. Our vice president, Alan MacFarland, will carry on while I am gone, and you all know how well he can do, so I know my going won’t make much difference. But I shall just wait and watch eagerly for every bit of news from home, and you may be sure I’ll fly back just as soon as ever I can. I wouldn’t go a step if it wasn’t duty. I hope next month’s social will be even better than this one and that every person of you will be present. I wish I could, too. Now, shall we all sing a good-night song? It’s getting late and we must go home.”

  And quickly the chorus started to sing, “God be with you till we meet again,” till suddenly Sherrill felt that she was going to break right down and cry. Only there was Mary, and she was singing, too.

  Just then Mary turned to Sherrill and said, “I can’t ever be thankful enough you made me come to this. I may never have as good a time as this again, but I’ve got something to remember, anyhow!”

  They took their guests home and said their good-nights, and Sherrill and Alan were looking forward to the homeward ride together for last words. But the chairman of the program committee came tearing up the street, just as they landed Mary at her home.

  “Take me back home, will you, Al? I came down with Reds and he has to drive away to Colterville with Alice, so I took the chance of catching you.”

  Of course they took him in, and they had a pleasant chat about how well everything had passed off, but there was no chance for any quiet good-byes for which they both had hoped. Alan did walk up the path to the door with Sherrill, but it was only a step away from the car, and Tom was watching them. They could not linger.

  “Good night, Sherry,” said Alan with a choke in his voice. “It was wonderful, and just as you wanted it to be, wasn’t it? You have been simply great!”

  “Don’t Alan, please!” said Sherrill, her own voice vibrant with feeling. “You’ve worked just as hard, and been—wonderful!”

  Her hand was on her door latch, her other hand in his. He crushed her fingers softly, impulsively, and then he flung away from her.

  “I’m not going to say good-bye, Sherry,” he said almost gruffly. “I’ll just say good night”—and he was off through the moonlight, whistling hard as he drove down the street. Sherrill watched him out of sight and then went into the house, her eyes full of tears.

  How dear he was, and this was of the end of it. She perhaps wouldn’t see him again for a long, long time. He had to go to work early in the morning, she knew. Yet she understood his rushing away so hurriedly. He hadn’t felt like saying good-bye—still, there was a little ache in her heart. The days would come, and the crowd would meet without her. They would get used to being without her. Alan would have to see some other girl home, of course. Rose Hawthorn, or Willa Barrington. Willa was dear, and had always liked Alan— But she would not be here! But there! She was thinking about herself, and that would not do. It was all going to be hard enough in the morning without letting in new heartaches. She must rush upstairs and put the last things in her trunk, for in the morning there would be no time.

  Chapter 13
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br />   It was hard saying good-bye to Grandma. The soft, old hands moved over her face like warm rose leaves and left a touch Sherrill would never forget.

  “Never forget you’re a Sherrill, and a Washburn both, Sherrill,” she said, her fine old eyes snapping. “You’re just as good as any of them. But more than all don’t forget you’re a child of the King. You belong to the royal family. Don’t let them put any of the world over on you.”

  “I won’t, Grandmother dear,” said Sherrill, emerging from the fragile embrace with Grandma’s tears on her cheek, and meeting Grandma’s stoic smile as she put up her lips for another kiss.

  Her mother and brother went with her to the station, in Keith’s old Ford, with her new sole-leather suitcase at her feet, almost rubbing the toe of her new shiny pump. Keith was dear and kind and funny, and kept them all laughing so they couldn’t cry.

  “Be sure to remember to say all the polite things, dear,” admonished Mary Washburn. “And do be nice to your aunt, even if you don’t like everything.”

  “But if she hands you out of any of those clever marriages she spoke of,” interrupted Keith, “just thank her kindly and run home to Mother, won’t you, sister? I just don’t seem to care for any of those city brothers-in-law.”

  They picked up Harriet Masters on her way to the station. She hadn’t wanted to intrude upon the family farewells by coming over to go with them.

  “But you are family, you know, Aunt Harry, dear,” reproached Sherrill, with her hand nestled in hers.

  “You’re a dear, Sherrill,” said Harriet Masters, giving her hand a squeeze. “Now, don’t be afraid to wear that velvet a lot, whenever there’s a chance. It will clean, and you can send it to the cleaners as often as you like. The blue won’t soil so easily, you know, being taffeta. And by the way, I don’t know as I told you, I think the little pink taffeta you made out of Great-Grandmother’s dress is just as pretty as the blue. You look like a rose in it.”