The Silver Star

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Sure is.” Peter turned to look at her, holding the lines idly in his hands. “Did you make a wish?”

  “No.”

  “No wish? That’s what you’re supposed to do when you see a falling star.”

  “Is it? Did you make a wish?”

  Peter laughed. “I forgot. It’s not too late, though. What do you wish for, Jolie?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand touch her scar, but she removed it quickly.

  “It doesn’t do any good to make wishes,” she said sadly. “They never come true anyway.”

  Turning more squarely toward her, Peter said quietly, “Sometimes they do. If you work hard enough, sometimes wishes can come true.”

  “Do you really think so?” There was a plaintive, woeful quality in the young voice that struck Peter powerfully, and he drove on for some time without speaking. When the carriage pulled up in front of her boardinghouse, Jolie said, “You don’t have to get down. Thanks for the supper.” Her face was thin in the moonlight, and the black hair seemed to frame it as in a picture. She had a wide mouth and her eyes were enormous, and as the moonlight struck her pupils there was a light in them.

  Peter said quickly, “I told you it would be better, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Peter reached out slowly and put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. She looked at him quickly but said nothing. “You see?” he said gently. “If I had touched your shoulder like that a month ago, you would have pulled that knife on me.”

  “I guess I would.”

  “You still have that knife?”

  “No, I don’t carry it anymore. I have no need for it now.” She was very conscious of his strong hand on her thin shoulder, and somehow it made her nervous. She pulled away, saying, “Good night, Peter.”

  Her voice was abrupt, and she sounded almost angry. When she disappeared, Peter looked at the door for a long time, then turned back to the horses. He spoke aloud, saying, “I hope you fellas understand women better than I do. I’ll never understand a girl’s moods.”

  ****

  The next day at midmorning Priscilla was walking over to a set when she saw Cass coming toward her in a hurry. He was very excited, she saw, and she asked, “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Guess who’s going to be in the pulpit Sunday at Faith Temple?”

  “Is it Andrew? Is he coming?”

  “Sure is.” Cass’s eyes gleamed. He was wearing his working clothes—blue jeans, faded blue shirt, and a pair of light boots. His tawny hair was falling down over his forehead, and his blue-green eyes seemed to sparkle.

  Priscilla could never decide whether Cody, Cassidy, or Peter was the best looking of her brothers. They were all big, fine-looking men, and now she said fondly, “Well, that’ll be good to have more of the family here, won’t it?”

  “It sure will,” Cass nodded. He frowned suddenly and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how Reverend Cole will take it.”

  “Why, he wouldn’t have any trouble finding a church as good a preacher as he is.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he had on his mind. There aren’t many churches as good as Faith Temple, and I think Reverend Cole was pretty sure he was going to be the next pastor.”

  Priscilla thought about the dynamic minister and shook her head. “He’ll be all right. He can go on as associate pastor, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, I suppose, but that’s not the same thing.” He grinned at Priscilla, then reached out and tugged her hair. “We men like to be number one, you know. I’m meeting the train and taking Andrew home. I had to fight the elders over that, but after all, he is my cousin. They can have him after he comes to live here.”

  “You’re pretty sure about it, aren’t you, Cass?”

  “I heard him preach before. He’s even better than Cole. Better than anybody, I think.”

  ****

  The train grumbled out of the mountains and across the flats. Dorothy Winslow stared eagerly out the window, and Andrew with only a slighter degree of anticipation. He had been to California before, to San Francisco, but never to Los Angeles. He was excited, however, and put his arm around Dorothy, who was holding Phillip in her lap while Amelia sat quietly looking out the window on Andrew’s left. “How does it look, Dorothy?” he asked.

  “It’s so flat. It looks like a desert.”

  “It is a desert,” Andrew said, grinning at her. “You have to irrigate most places. Dry as a bone out here, too. Hardly ever rains. I’ll miss that,” he said. “I always did like to lie in bed and listen to rain on a tin roof. Always liked to walk in it, too, but there won’t be much of that here.”

  “Doesn’t it ever rain?”

  “Well, occasionally, but it’s mostly liquid sunshine. Sunshine will have to do for us, I guess.” He removed his arm and glanced out the window. “I think we’re coming into town.”

  Almost as he spoke, the conductor entered the car, saying, “Los Angeles—Los Angeles,” then disappeared to give the news in the next car.

  Andrew arose at once and began to collect the luggage they had. “If you can carry Phillip, I’ll take the suitcases.”

  “I carry something, Daddy,” Amelia piped up.

  “Sure you can.” He handed her a lightweight canvas bag and smiled as she struggled down the aisle with it. “Be careful. The train will be stopping. It will be quite a jerk.”

  As he had predicted, the train slowed down and stopped with a jerk that forced him to reach down and stop Amelia from falling over.

  “All right. That’s it. Here we go.”

  As soon as Andrew stepped off the train and reached back for Dorothy, his eyes swept the station. “Look, there’s Cass!” He turned to meet the tall man who had his hand stuck out.

  “Hello, cousin Andrew! I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  “Why, no. You’ve grown up, Cass. You were just a boy the last time I saw you. At a family reunion, I think.”

  “That’s right.” Cass pulled off his hat and said, “This must be Dorothy.”

  Dorothy took the hand of the tall, handsome man and was relieved at the welcome greeting in his eyes.

  “This is Phillip and this is Amelia,” she said.

  “Let me carry that big fellow,” Cass said. He reached out to take Phillip, who, to his parents’ surprise, made no protest. Normally he was reluctant to be handled by strangers, but something in Cass’s eye made him accept the change without protest. “Come along. I’ve got another surprise for you.”

  Andrew followed with Dorothy, who had picked up Amelia. As soon as they got to the driveway, he saw a very tall young man perched in the driver’s seat of a huge touring car.

  “You remember my brother, Peter,” Cass said. “He’s the best chauffeur in California.”

  “Hello, Reverend Winslow.” Peter smiled and jumped down from the seat to shake Andrew’s hand. He greeted the rest of the family, then directed the loading of the car. As soon as everyone was in, he cranked the machine and leaped in to advance the spark and release the brake, saying, “Hang on!”

  “Hey, Peter! Slow down!” Cass protested. “This isn’t a racing car, you know!” He turned to Andrew with a smile and said, “Peter’s working for Imperial Pictures now, riding a horse mostly, but he’s got high ambitions of being a race car driver.”

  “Looks like he’s got a good start,” Andrew grinned. He liked his young relatives and turned to face Dorothy, whose face was glowing with excitement. He squeezed her shoulders, then shouted to Peter, “Could we go by and see the church and the parsonage?”

  “Sure thing, Andrew!”

  Dorothy sat with Andrew’s arm around her, holding Phillip in her lap. When they drove by the church, she whispered, “Oh, it’s beautiful, Andrew!”

  “Not bad, and it’s a good church, too, aside from the building. Going to be a bigger one, though, after we’ve been there awhile, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Dorothy turned to smile at him. She had slept little on
the train and was more excited than she had been for quite some time.

  When they pulled up in front of a big Spanish-style house built like a miniature hacienda, Cass grinned. “There it is. Your future home, Dorothy. How do you like it?”

  Dorothy stared at the house and could not speak for a moment. Finally she turned and said in a choked voice, “Maybe we’re finally going to have a home to call our own.”

  “Let’s go in and take a look. It’s empty,” Cass said.

  “Could we?” Dorothy asked eagerly.

  “I don’t see why not,” Cass replied. He leaped out of the car and soon the party was touring the inside of the house. The rooms were large and open with curving arches leading to the next room. Only the bedrooms had heavy oak doors on them. Large wide windows were in the rooms to the south side of the house, and narrower floor-length windows were throughout the rest of the rooms, all with black iron rods running vertically on the outside of each window. The walls were a pastel pink stucco, and the floors were a brown-red clay tile. Bright area rugs covered a large portion of the floor in the living room, dining room, and bedrooms. The kitchen was the brightest room in the house with its stucco walls painted white. The area surrounding the sink was covered with small squares of ceramic tile in a white, yellow, and red mosaic pattern.

  Dorothy moved from room to room, exclaiming over each one. “Why, it’s already furnished,” she said.

  “Sure. The furniture goes with the parsonage. Of course, you can get rid of any you don’t like,” Cass said hurriedly.

  “Oh no! It’s beautiful just like it is!” She ran her hand across an ornately carved walnut corner cabinet and seemed to shiver with delight. She turned to Andrew and whispered, “It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. We’re going to be so happy here.”

  It took some persuasion to get Dorothy out of the house, but finally they did. Cass made arrangements to take them to his house, and after they had all gone in and Cass introduced them to Serena and the children, he walked outside with Peter.

  “Thanks for being our chauffeur, Peter. The big car came in handy.”

  Peter climbed in the car and looked quizzically back toward the house. “I reckon Andrew’s wife, Dorothy, really wants to stay. Did you see her face when she walked through that house?”

  “Sure did,” Cass said. He shrugged his trim shoulders, saying, “I suppose it’s been hard on her having to move all over the country.”

  “She’ll be disappointed if the church doesn’t invite him to be the pastor.”

  “I reckon she will, but I don’t think that will happen. When the church hears him preach, they’ll snap him up. Good night, Peter.”

  “Good night, Cass.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A New Year for the Winslows

  The elders of Faith Temple gathered on Christmas morning for a combination business and prayer meeting. It was sometimes difficult, as Paul Sears said wryly, to tell the difference between the two when the elders met. He sat watching as the others filed in and took their seats in the conference room off the main auditorium, wondering what these four men would have to say. Although he would not have claimed it for himself, Sears was by far the most spiritual man on the church board. He was a plumber who worked for himself, and his appointment to the board by the congregation had been a surprise to many. He was a quiet man who rarely spoke in the public meetings. But it was Paul Sears who was most often sent for when there was sickness, and it was Sears to whom men came—and women also—bringing their troubles, for he had the Spirit of Christ about him in an unusual fashion. Now as he watched Cyrus Tompkins, the chairman, come to stand at the head of the table, he kept his own counsel and listened. At least three members of the board had been in favor of asking Nolan Cole to serve as full-time pastor, but Sears and Dr. Maurice Gunn had opposed that, and Tompkins had declared they would not ask any man to fill their pulpit until the vote was unanimous.

  Cyrus Tompkins was a tall, rawboned man of sixty with faded blue eyes and white hair. He was enjoying his retirement after a successful career as a stockbroker in New York. He had tired of the big city in the East and had come to Los Angeles for peace and quiet. When he lifted his voice, there was the tinge of old Alabama in him, where he had been born and spent the early years of his life.

  “Well, brethren,” he said, “I suppose before we pray we ought to say what we think.”

  Harold Parsley, a short man of forty with black hair and blacker eyes, spoke up. “I think we all know what we think, Cy,” he said. Parsley was the head banker of the First National Bank in Los Angeles. He was accustomed to having his own way and now shot a sharp glance at Sears and Dr. Gunn, saying, “We wouldn’t even be meeting like this if you two fellows weren’t so quarrelsome!”

  Dr. Maurice Gunn was the youngest man on the board, at the age of twenty-eight. He was no more than medium height, but his erect posture made him seem taller. Now he turned a set of level brown eyes on Parsley and said with a trace of Boston in his speech, “Harold, it’s not a thing we can decide so easily. It’s not like electing a man to the board of your bank. We’ve got to have the man that God wants us to have.”

  Parsley hated to be challenged, especially in front of others. Suddenly he shrugged and said, “I think I know the mind of God as well as you do, doctor. We’ll not find a better preacher than Nolan Cole if we turn this country upside down!”

  Franklin Simmington suddenly spoke up. He was a thick man, bulky and heavy, and his big hands that were folded in the front of him were scarred with rope burns after half a century as the owner of one of the largest ranches in the area. He still didn’t know how many acres it covered. Looking across the room, there was a gentleness in him as he said, “Now, Harold, that’s what we’re here for. To seek the mind of God on this.”

  At once Cyrus Tompkins nodded. He wanted Cole to be the pastor very badly, but he had great confidence in Paul Sears and in Dr. Gunn, having seen their wisdom in situations in the past. “I think we’ll not discuss it any longer, brethren. Let us go to God in prayer. As you know, I was in favor of Reverend Cole serving as pastor, but if that’s not God’s will it would be a tragedy. Let’s just pray and seek the Lord.” They all knelt down and for fifteen minutes prayed quietly, the silence broken only occasionally by a short petition uttered aloud. Finally, Tompkins rose to his feet and the others followed suit. He cast his eyes over them carefully, saying, “Somehow I feel this is the most important decision this church will ever make. We must be right about it, so we’ll meet again after the service to share our feelings about Brother Winslow and his suitability.”

  As Tompkins turned and left the room, followed by the others, Harold Parsley whispered audibly, “Bunch of foolishness! We have God’s man right in our hands, and we’re likely to let him get away!”

  ****

  The auditorium was full to overflowing, and extra chairs had been brought in. Cass and his family had come early, knowing that the Christmas morning service would be packed out. And now he looked about with satisfaction and said, “Well, it looks like we’ve got this whole pew filled up with Winslows and friends.”

  Serena glanced down the row and saw that it was filled with their children. Priscilla and Dorothy and her children were there. Peter had brought Easy Devlin and Jolie Devorak with him. “I think it’s working out fine with Jolie,” Serena said. “She’s making her own way, and everyone is pleased with her work at Imperial.”

  Cass nodded reluctantly. “I guess you were right about that. I didn’t have to worry about old Peter.”

  Even as he spoke, the choir filed in, led by a silver-haired director, and began to sing “Joy to the World!” Without pause, they sang a number of familiar Christmas hymns. The joyous sound of five thousand voices filled the large auditorium.

  Jolie Devorak had never heard anything like it. She pressed closer to Easy and said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Prettiest thing I ever heard,” Easy admitted. He had heard her s
inging and said, “You sure got a pretty voice, Jolie. I can’t sing a lick myself.”

  Jolie turned around and saw that Peter was smiling at her and flushed. She had positioned herself so that her scarred face would be opposite him, knowing all the time that it was foolish to try to hide it. He held the songbook out, and they sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” their voices blending together with the others.

  “We do pretty well,” Peter said. “I didn’t know you could sing so good.”

  Jolie did not answer. Somehow it saddened her. She could remember the few Christmases when her mother had taken her to church, but as time had gone on that had become rarer. She knew that she had missed something in life, and there was no way to go back and make it up.

  While the choir was singing, the elders came in and took their seats on the large platform. Every eye in the auditorium was fixed on the two men who took seats together over to the right of the pulpit. They were accustomed to Reverend Nolan Cole, but Reverend Andrew Winslow was the man they had come to hear. He was wearing a light tan suit with a burgundy tie, and the suit fit his lean body perfectly. He sat quietly facing the auditorium, the lights overhead catching the auburn tints of his hair and his electric blue eyes sweeping over the congregation. From time to time he would drop his head for a while, and then he would look up with a smile on his lips.

  Finally Reverend Cole came to the pulpit. He seemed sober and not as dynamic as usual, but he smiled as he said, “It is my privilege and joy to introduce Reverend Andrew Winslow, his wife, Dorothy, and their two children, Amelia and Phillip. As you know, Reverend Winslow has served as Superintendent of Missions for our denomination for the past few years, and I need not add to those of you who keep up with mission work that under his leadership the gospel has gone out in greater force to foreign fields than we have ever known.”

  As he continued speaking in glowing terms of the visiting preacher, Dr. Gunn leaned over and whispered to Paul Sears, “He’s laying it on pretty thick, isn’t he, Paul?”