Stranger at Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  “Don’t say a thing!” he growled in frustration.

  “I wasn’t going to,” she replied, sounding truly hurt. When he turned to look, he saw her lip quivering. “What are we going to do, Logan?” she said after a moment.

  “We’ll get out,” he said confidently. “I’ll flag someone down. At best we can walk.”

  “Logan, it’s Sunday morning. No one will be out, especially in this weather. We should have driven down to the Inland Highway, even if it was longer.”

  “Don’t worry. Remember, I’m a lucky fellow.”

  She glanced at him and managed a laugh.

  “You see,” he said, sounding as cheerful as if the sun had been shining, “it won’t be so bad if we keep our spirits up. Trust me. I’ve been in tighter spots than this!”

  “Yes, I imagine you have!” she said, with a tease in her voice.

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “Ah, you are finding out my secrets.”

  “Logan, do you think the river will flood?” she asked, serious again. “If it does, the water will head right down this road and turn it into a new river.”

  He didn’t want to think of that. Instead, he reached out and gently touched her hand. Something in her vulnerability had touched him. It was a side of Allison MacNeil he had not seen before this moment. Suddenly he saw her without all the pretense and affectation. Again he wondered what made her surround herself with such a hard wall. He wondered, too, what more there might be to the real Allison MacNeil that he was still unable to see.

  She did not pull her hand away. But neither did she look over at him. The moment passed in silence. Awkwardly Logan lifted his hand from hers and, hugging his overcoat about him, opened the door of the car and stepped out into the fury of the storm.

  Wind lashed rain into his face like sharp needles. The sky was so dark that it could have been evening instead of morning. Where he stood, water lapped at his ankles. His shoes and new tuxedo trousers were ruined. He plodded back onto the surface of the road, though it was hardly visible through the water running over the top of it. It seemed to have risen in just the few minutes since they had come along. He looked around, trying to survey their options. Then he spied an object floating down the ditch stream on the other side of the road, that appeared to be a piece of wood. Hastening toward it, he stooped down and pulled it out. It was no tree branch, but an old piece of milled lumber, ragged at one end. Of course it could have broken free from anything, but Logan immediately thought of the bridge. If the bridge was about to give way, there would certainly be no more travelers along the road. And if the Lindow was rising as quickly as he feared, he and Allison could never outrun, or more likely, outwalk the flood. They had to get that car moving before the river broke its boundaries and spread out over the entire Strathy Valley. It was their only hope, even if it was a slim one. And they had to do so before the water level on the road became too deep to drive.

  Clutching the board, Logan turned back toward the car. It seemed to be settling even deeper into the muddy ditch already, water up to its fender. It would take a miracle to get it out, but Logan knew he had to try.

  Allison was anxiously looking out the window for him when he approached. Anxiety was etched all over her face. Logan ducked his head through the window and smiled as if to allay her fears, suddenly realizing the responsibility that faced him. He knew she was depending on him, and that awareness both humbled and intimidated him. He tried to infuse his voice with its usual confidence.

  “Get behind the steering wheel,” he instructed Allison. “I’m going to use this board as leverage. I’ll shove when you try to back it out. But hit it easy . . . not too much throttle.”

  He walked around to the front of the Austin and knelt down in the water, jammed the end of the board into the ground and tested it by lifting until it hit the bumper. “Start the engine,” he yelled to Allison, “and push down on the accelerator as easy as you can.”

  She did so. As the wheels began to spin, Logan bent his full weight on the board against the Austin bumper, trying to rock it backward enough for the rear tires to grab. But it was no use. Other than rocking the car back and forth, he accomplished nothing. The slick rubber tires simply spun through the tracks they had made for themselves in the mud.

  “Once more!” he called out in desperation, giving the board every ounce of strength he possessed. The car did not budge. However the board, lodged none too securely in the loose soil, slipped, and the thrust of the motion threw Logan off his balance. The next instant he was on his back in the little stream.

  Within seconds Allison had shut off the ignition and, without thinking, jumped out of the car to his aid.

  “Oh, Logan . . . Logan!” she cried. “Are you hurt?” Struggling through the water and rough surface of the ground to reach him, she never noticed that the rain quickly soaked her pretty curls, or that the muddy water was splattering her expensive new dress.

  Logan looked up at her from his position with a grin. It was difficult to distinguish his body from the mud and debris covering him.

  “So much for this lucky fellow,” he said with a laugh.

  “You’re not hurt?” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Nothing but my pride,” he replied.

  At last a smile broke from Allison’s lips, which soon became a giggle, and finally erupted into a great laugh. “This is hardly the time for a swim, Mr. Macintyre,” she said as he took her hand.

  He laughed with her. Their predicament was made all the more ridiculous in that she was unable to pull him out on the first attempt. Her thin shoes and inexperience were no match for the mud, and on the second effort, with a great flying slip of her foot where she had tried to anchor it, she lost hold and flew into the water next to him.

  He burst into a great roar of laughter.

  “You did that intentionally!” she cried in her old petulent tone.

  “Even if I had thought of it,” he replied, still laughing, “I would never have dared!”

  “And why is that?”

  “You should know! You’ve been watching me like a hawk, ready to pounce on me if I step out of line,” Logan replied playfully.

  “I guess I have been rather cross with you,” she said, smiling. “I’m sorry.”

  “Fine time to apologize, now that you have me at such a disadvantage!”

  She laughed again. “You should see yourself! Lying in the mud in a brand new tuxedo, with—”

  “How do you know it’s new?”

  “What do you take me for, a complete fool? I know new clothes when I see them. You’re not so very clever, you know.”

  “So—I’ve been found out!”

  “Logan Macintyre unmasked!”

  “And what else do you know about me?” he asked.

  “Just that I’m glad you stopped by to help us fix our car in town.”

  “I’m glad too,” he returned. “And I’m glad you wanted me to go to the Bramfords’ with you.”

  “Even though it ended like this?”

  Logan laughed again. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything! How many people around here have had the chance to see the uppity Miss Allison MacNeil—”

  “Watch yourself, Logan,” Allison warned.

  “Sorry. How many people have the chance to see the charming and beautiful Miss Allison MacNeil—”

  “That’s better!”

  “—have a chance to see her in an expensive new evening dress, lying in a mud puddle in the pouring rain? Now I ask you . . . would you miss this?”

  “Careful!” she said, with a teasing gleam in her eye, then splashed a handful of water in his direction.

  He turned away, but not before she had splashed him again.

  Then a pause came. Logan was the first to speak. “You know, Ali—I mean, Allison—”

  “It’s all right. You can call me Ali,” she replied. “It sounds good in your mouth too, just like in Grandpa Dorey’s.”

  “Thank you. What I was going to say was th
at I like you best like this.”

  “What! All covered with mud and soaked to the skin?” She tried to sound affronted, but it was a difficult facade to maintain with fresh laughter attempting to escape from her lips.

  “You know what I mean,” he went on, trying to be serious. “I like how you laugh—really laughing, like you mean it.”

  “I suppose it’s pointless to remain angry at this point.”

  “Were you truly angry with me all this time?”

  “Not all the time. But you can be infuriating.”

  “I thought perhaps you were just angry at the world in general.” His words were sincere, completely without any mocking tone which might have characterized them a couple of weeks earlier.

  She sensed the sincerity of his remark, but found she was unable to easily frame a reply. It was not easy to open up that part of her life which had been shut tight for so long.

  “We’re going to catch pneumonia if we stay here much longer,” she said, repressing everything her heart wanted to cry out.

  Logan struggled to his feet, then leaned over, took her offered hand, and pulled her up. However, he did not quickly release her hand, but instead kept it cupped in his.

  “Ali,” he said, “let’s not let things go back to the way they were.”

  “I’m . . . I’m afraid that when we get back, that somehow, all this will seem like a dream . . . and we’ll—”

  “But it can be different now. We don’t have to fight anymore.”

  “Has it really changed? I mean, is it really different?”

  “It could be. Sometimes mud and grime have an odd way of cleansing. When we do get cleaned up and back into our old clothes, who knows what might happen?”

  Suddenly an urge came over Logan to tell her everything. He hesitated, not for fear of the failure of his scheme, but because he desperately didn’t want her angry at him all over again. Instead, saying nothing, he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on her rain-streaked lips.

  It was over so quickly, Allison was not even sure that it had happened. But she knew that it had, and that it had been nice. She had enjoyed it so much, in fact, that she let herself forget the deception of his injured foot. There had to be an explanation, she told herself. Better that she wait for him to tell her when he was ready. She was feeling so wonderful, none of that seemed to matter anymore. Oh, she didn’t want to go back and then find it impossible to recapture this special moment. Why couldn’t it last? Could things be different, like he had said?

  Logan released her hand and they made their way back toward the car, still not knowing what they’d do.

  “Can I ask you something?” Logan said after a moment.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered softly.

  “Why do you hate to be called Ali?”

  “I don’t hate it. But only my great-grandfather calls me that. Why have you wanted to call me that?”

  “At first, partly because it made you angry, I suppose. But mostly now because it seems to fit you better.”

  “That’s funny,” she answered thoughtfully. “Grandpa Dorey always says that too. Why?”

  “Allison sounds like some frail little girl. You know the kind, with pale skin and a dainty voice to match.” He saw her bristle slightly, then added quickly, “I’m not saying that about you. Why does everyone think that kind of young lady is more to be desired than one with spirit—as a friend of mine used to say, ‘with a little spunk.’ That’s an Ali—a girl with spunk. Like you.”

  “I suppose people like the dainty, quiet sort,” sighed Allison, “because they are the ones who are good and saintly and kind.”

  “You can’t really believe that. Why, look at your mother and great-grandmother.”

  “Exactly! That’s just what they are like!” she retorted as if she were lodging an accusation.

  “Lady Margaret seems pretty spirited, even shrewd, for a woman over eighty! I bet she was something when she was your age!”

  “I suppose,” said Allison in a dejected voice. “But don’t you see? That’s just it. I can’t measure up to what she was, and that’s what they’re all expecting of me. I can’t even measure up to my own name, just like you said. I’ve tried so hard, but it’s impossible. Spunky, spirited girls, as you call them, just can’t be very good Christians.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that. My mother was pretty religious, though I’ve never had any use for it. But I think what you said is wrong. Look at Jesse Cameron. The way she talks, I’d imagine she’s a Christian. At least she sounds religious enough. But you should hear her bellow and whoop aboard her boat—and she’s the furthest thing from frail I can think of. Yet I’ve seldom been treated with more kindness. No, Ali, I think you’re wrong about what you said.”

  “Well, one thing I’m not wrong about,” she said, changing the uncomfortable subject, “is that we’re going to drown if we stand here and philosophize much longer.”

  “How far is it back to Stonewycke?” asked Logan.

  “Probably seven or eight miles.”

  “Well, we’ve got to get moving. That water’s rising fast, and Noah had a better chance of finding a fellow traveler than we have.”

  “I wish I could pray,” said Allison.

  “I only wish I believed there was someone up there who could hear.”

  She stared at him with mild surprise. “You don’t believe in God?” She had never actually known anyone honest or impertinent enough to admit such a thing.

  “I don’t know. I suppose neither of us has had much use for the other in the past,” replied Logan.

  As Allison passed the car door, she turned aside and reached for the handle.

  “What are you doing?” asked Logan.

  “Getting an umbrella. If we are going to walk all the way home, we could use it,” she replied innocently.

  Logan laughed. “In this downpour! I doubt it’ll do us much good,” he said, then reached for her again and pulled her toward him.

  He studied her face intently for a moment, then said, “Let’s stay . . . friends.” He wanted to kiss her again. But, of all things for Logan Macintyre, he felt strangely bashful. The kiss before had been on impulse, done before he even realized what he was doing. Now there seemed to be more between them. And a kiss now meant more also. More than he was certain he could give.

  But she was already replying to his words; perhaps she had not even noticed the awkward moment that had just passed.

  “I’d like that, Logan,” she had said. “I truly would.”

  In fact, she had noticed. But like Logan, Allison was confused and timid. Too many new emotions were assailing her all at once.

  Actually the emotions weren’t new at all. But for so long she had tried to repress things like honesty and sincerity and tenderness that she felt more comfortable pretending they didn’t even exist.

  Yet she couldn’t deny that these past fifteen minutes with Logan had been wonderful; she had felt a freedom to be herself, unlike any other time she could remember. Still, to give up her protective shield, even for the sake of Logan, would mean facing some difficult things.

  Logan had come close to hitting the core of her inner conflict, without his even knowing it. How miserably she had always failed to measure up to what her family expected of her! Didn’t they know she could not be like them? She couldn’t be perfect—a saint. How could Logan know how much deeper it all went? To him it looked merely like a twist in her personality.

  They walked along, each deep in thought. The falling away of their fear and reserve toward each other had opened them unexpectedly toward their inner selves as well. And now Logan found his thoughts turning to the man who had sent him here in the first place—his uncle Digory. According to Lady Margaret, he was surely a man who could pray when things got tight. He found himself almost wishing he were here now to send up a few words heavenward on behalf of the stranded party-goers. Why, if we get out of this mess, Logan thought, I might even read some of that old B
ible of yours.

  All at once Allison grasped his arm. “Logan . . . listen!”

  “What is it?” Logan listened hard, and faintly in the distance could make out a sound he could not place. It wasn’t the noise he had been hoping for—an engine. Rather, there was a creaking sound, as of wood, mingled with an intermittent clop-splash . . . clop-splash. He could not recognize it.

  He did not have to ponder long, however, for in a few moments, from the mist of the thick downpour emerged the last thing he would have expected to see—a rickety old haywagon, pulled by two great, gray, tired-looking, wet draught horses.

  Both he and Allison broke into simultaneous yells, accentuated with a jump of joy on Allison’s part and a fist-pounding of relief on Logan’s. But even in his ecstasy, the first thing that returned to Logan’s mind was the thought of what he had vowed to himself in connection with Digory’s Bible.

  Was it possible that someone could actually have heard those thoughts? Could there really be a God ready to intercede, even for unbelievers and doubters?

  He’d have to think about this a little more. He wasn’t ready to call this a miracle. But it certainly did cast a cloud—even heavier than the one in the sky—over his previously comfortable unreligious notions.

  35

  Back to Stonewycke

  Into view came Fergusson Dougall, perched atop the hardwood seat, looking like anything but a guardian angel. Allison clambered aboard, threw her arms around him, and kissed him unabashedly on the cheek.

  “God be praised!” said the factor, when they had briefly related the story of their car trouble. “Weel, the folks sent me oot t’ look fer ye, seein’ as ye were overdue an’ the river was risin’ fast. Actually, I was the only one available. Yer father left early this mornin’ t’ help some o’ the farmers clear oot. Most o’ the lowlan’ crofts are already under water. Ye’re lucky the road’s mostly on high land or ye wouldna hae made it this far.”