At last he reached his own back door, and here he stopped. No, he could not go in. He could not face his mother, who believed in him, with that dreadful secret in his heart. Surely she would see it in his face. He could not look the same as before. He was a murderer.
Perhaps later he would summon up the courage to face her, but not yet, for his teeth were chattering, and she would ask what was the matter. In the meantime he must hide. He looked around wildly for some place and saw the ladder leaning against the barn where the straw was stored in the attic above the cowshed. Up the ladder went Lucien, and flinging himself face downward on the straw he sobbed as though his heart would break.
6
The Rescue
Grandmother finished shredding the dandelions and then, leaning heavily on her stick, went back to the house and sat down in her chair. She was very, very tired, and soon her head nodded onto her chest and she fell asleep.
Grandmother was more lame than ever by now, and nearly blind, and she was usually very tired, but she loved her two grandchildren greatly and was going to work for them as long as she possibly could. So she continued to cook with crippled hands and to mend with strained, aching eyes. Annette never realized, for she was only twelve and Grandmother never complained. If we work because we love someone, it doesn’t seem too difficult.
Grandmother slept much longer than usual. Annette had gone down to the village shop, and Papa was up in the forest cutting and stacking logs. She had meant to mend Dani’s white woollen socks and put patches on the elbows of his blue jacket, but she was much too tired. She just folded her twisted old hands on her lap and went on sleeping—even the cuckoo jumped out of the clock and struck three without waking her.
It was nearly four when Grandmother woke and looked at the clock, and then she gave a little cry of alarm and surprise. Dani had gone out at half past two and had not yet returned. Where could he be?
“Dani,” she called out sharply, for he might be hiding. Perhaps in a moment he would tumble out of the cupboard, as cheeky and mischievous as usual.
But there was no answer. Grandmother hobbled onto the veranda and shaded her dim eyes. Perhaps she would catch sight of him stomping home, and how she would scold him for being so late!
A figure appeared around the cowshed, but it was not Dani. It was Annette with her basket on her back and a long, golden loaf sticking out of the top of it. She had a half holiday from school and had been shopping. She waved to Grandmother and came running up the steps.
“Annette,” said Grandmother, “take your basket off and go and search for your little brother. He went out to pick flowers nearly an hour and a half ago and he hasn’t come back.”
Annette let down her basket with a thump. She thought that her grandmother was rather fussy about Dani. What harm could come to him, wandering about in the fields where anyone he might meet knew and loved him?
“He will be up in the woods with Papa,” Annette replied. “I’ll go up and see in a few minutes. Let me have a piece of bread and jam first, Grandma. I’m hungry.”
She broke off a thick hunk from the loaf and spread it with butter and jam while her grandmother went back to the balcony and peered up the path again. While she was eating, firm footsteps were heard down the hillside and Papa came into sight.
“Where is Dani?” cried Grandmother. “Hasn’t he been with you, Pierre? Didn’t you meet him up the mountain?”
“Dani?” repeated Papa in astonishment. “He hasn’t been near me. When did he leave you, Mother?”
Grandmother stopped trying to hide her worry. “He left me over an hour and a half ago,” she cried. “He and the kitten. They went out to pick crocuses in the field nearby. Something must have happened to him!”
Annette and her father looked at each other. Both were worried now, for the path from the forest led through the crocus fields, and Papa had seen no sign of Dani when he was on his way home. Annette slipped her hand into her father’s.
“Perhaps he has wandered into the forest to look for you,” she said comfortingly. “Let’s go and look for him. Klaus will probably be about somewhere to show us which direction he’s gone. Klaus hates long walks.”
Together they set out up the hill toward the forest, but they went in silence, for Papa was afraid to say what he was thinking. Spring brings certain dangers to mountains in Switzerland—swollen torrents and sudden falls of melting snow called avalanches—and Dani was such a tiny boy.
Grandmother, left alone, went indoors and prayed. As she prayed she saw a picture, for the less Grandmother saw with her real eyes, the more she saw with her mind. This time there seemed to rise before her the picture of a dark forest, with deep rushing streams, its paths rough with boulders and blocked with avalanches. Dani was running along this path with his hands full of crocuses, and beside him walked an angel with white wings, and in the shadow of those wings there was shelter and warmth and safety.
The words “the angels of little ones are always in the presence of the Father in heaven” came into her mind, and she got up from her knees feeling quite peaceful and began to get the evening meal ready.
There was still no sign of Dani or Klaus in the fields, nor at the edge of the pinewoods. Up and down Annette and her father searched, calling his name, but nothing answered except the echoes and the rushing of the torrent. Slowly the sun sank toward the mountain peaks and the shadows grew longer on the fields.
“Papa,” said Annette suddenly, “I wonder if he has gone down to Lucien’s house. I have seen Lucien talking to him once or twice. I will run down to their chalet and ask.”
Over the snow drifts and grass she bounded, and she reached Madame Morel’s chalet in less than five minutes. The back door stood open, and Annette put her head around.
“Madame,” she called, “Lucien! Are you there? Have you seen Dani?”
The house was silent and deserted, yet they could not have gone far, for they had left the door wide open. Annette was about to run across to the barns when she caught sight of Madame Morel’s stout figure toiling up the track that led to their own chalet. Annette ran to meet her.
“Madame,” she cried eagerly, catching hold of her hand, “have you seen our little Dani? He has run away, and we have not seen him for two hours. Do you think he might be with Lucien, and if so, where is Lucien?”
“He may well be,” answered Madame Morel rather grimly. “I have just been down to your chalet to ask if you could give me any news of Lucien. The lazy boy should have been home long ago, and the cow is crying out to be milked. I shall have to do her myself, unless he has arrived while I was away. If so, he will have gone straight to the shed. Let’s go across and see.”
They went together over to the barn and opened the heavy wooden door. The red cow was stamping and twitching her tail, but there was no Lucien to be seen. Madame Morel turned away angrily and was just about to close the door when Annette seized hold of her sleeve and held up her finger.
“Listen,” she whispered. “What is that noise up in the loft?”
They both stood listening hard for a moment. From the straw dump above them came the sound of a child crying.
Annette was up the ladder in an instant like a little wild cat, and Madame Morel lumbered up behind her. Both of them knew that something was desperately wrong, but Annette thought only of Dani and Madame thought only of Lucien.
“Lucien,” cried Madame Morel. “My poor child, what is the matter? Are you hurt?”
“Dani,” hissed Annette, seizing him by the arm and shaking him. “Where is he? What have you done with him? Give him back!”
Lucien cowered lower in the straw and shook his head violently. He was quite hysterical by now.
“I don’t know where he is,” he screamed. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“What wasn’t your fault?” Annette screamed back, shaking him worse than ever. “Where is he? You do know. You’re telling lies! Madame, make him speak the truth!”
Madame dragged Annette out of
the way and knelt down by Lucien. Her face was very white, for by now she had guessed that some harm had come to Dani and Lucien knew of it. She pulled his face up from the straw and turned it toward her.
“Lucien,” she commanded, trying to talk quietly, “speak at once. Where is Dani?”
Lucien stared at her wildly and saw that all escape was impossible.
“He’s dead,” he said with a hiccup, then began to cry again with his head buried in the straw.
Annette had heard but she did not move. For just a few moments she felt frozen all over. Her face was so white in the dim light that Madame thought she was going to faint. She tried to put her arm around her, but Annette sprang away. Then she spoke in a hoarse voice that did not sound like her own any longer.
“He must come and show us where,” she said at last. “At least my father can carry him home. And later,” she added, “I will kill Lucien.”
Madame took no notice of the last part of this speech, but the first suggestion sounded sensible. She took her boy by the arm, dragged him to his feet, and almost carried him down the ladder.
“Come, Lucien,” she urged at the bottom, “you must show us where Dani is, quickly. Otherwise, Monsieur Burnier will be here with the police to make you go.”
This threat frightened a little bit of sense and reason into Lucien, and he set off up the hill as fast as he could go, sobbing all the time and protesting that it was not his fault. Madame Morel and Annette followed. Madame was sobbing as well, but Annette could not shed one tear, for she felt as if all her tears were frozen up by rage and misery.
They reached the wall very quickly and Lucien pointed into the darkening ravine. “He’s over there, drowned in the torrent,” he whispered, then flung himself down and buried his face in the grass. At this moment Monsieur Burnier appeared at the edge of the wood and hurried toward the little group.
He took no notice of Lucien but took one look at his daughter and one look at the rocks. In that quick glance he saw something that none of the others had noticed—a shivering white kitten crouching on a ledge, right on the crest of the overhanging boulder. Once he had seen this, no more words were needed for the moment. He simply said, “I must fetch a rope,” and ran down the mountain like a man being chased by wild beasts.
Grandmother was at the door of the chalet, and she too saw by the look on his face all that she needed to know at that moment. Without a word, she watched him pull down the climbing rope that hung on the wall and run away into the shadows.
“In the ravine,” he suddenly called back, then he disappeared.
Grandmother, left alone, put on a kettle, fetched out old sheets, and filled a large stone hot water bottle, so as to be ready for anything. Then she sat down and shut her eyes and folded her hands. Once again she saw a picture of Dani, caught by the dark waters of the ravine, but the white wings of the angel stopped the current and Dani was caught up safely in his arms.
“God will put his angels in charge of you to protect you,” whispered Grandmother, and she climbed the stairs to turn down his little bed and warm the blankets.
Dani’s father was back with the rope in an amazingly short time, but to the watchers by the wall it seemed like hours. Nobody spoke as he secured it around a tree trunk and flung it over the boulder. Then, gripping it with his hands and knees, he backed himself down the slippery rocks and disappeared into the ravine. There, hanging in space, he dared to look down toward the rushing waters that must surely have carried away his child. What he saw sent a great rush of hope into his heart and a cry to his lips.
Grandmother had been right. The angels had taken care of Dani as he fell, and he had never reached the water at all. He had fallen onto a jutting-out boulder just below, and there he lay, flat on his back, with his leg doubled under him, waiting for someone to come and rescue him, and crying because he could not move.
The time had been long and Dani supposed he had been asleep, for he could never remember much about those two hours afterward. He really remembered only the moment when his father hovered over him like some great big bird, and then stopped by him and knelt on the rock at his side.
“Papa,” whispered Dani, a little faintly, “where is Klaus?”
“Just above you,” replied his father, checking everything in the little white face. “We will pick her up on the way back.”
“Papa,” went on Dani, “my leg hurts and I can’t move. Will you carry me home?”
“Of course,” replied his father. “That is what I came for. I’ll carry you home at once.” And he took his little son in his arms.
“But Papa,” went on Dani’s weak, worried voice, “can you carry us both, Klaus and me together? You won’t leave Klaus, will you? It’s time she had her milk and she will be very thirsty.”
“Klaus shall go in my pocket,” promised his father as he lifted the child very, very gently. Dani moaned, for his leg hurt when he moved. But he kept his eyes on his father’s face and was really as brave as it is possible to be at five years old.
It was a long, slow journey back. Dani’s father could not climb the rope with Dani in his arms. He had to scramble down to the edge of the torrent and pick his way along the side of it until they came to a part where the bank was less steep and he was able to make his way up. Dani fell into a sort of deep sleep and seemed to know nothing until his father laid him down on the grass beside Annette.
“Have you got Klaus in your pocket?” asked Dani, opening his eyes suddenly.
“I’m fetching her now,” replied his father. Holding the rope, he slid to the edge of the precipice again and picked up the white kitten. Dani held out his arms and Klaus nestled down against his heart, purring like a little steam engine. Annette, for the first time in all that nightmare evening, burst into tears.
They laid Dani on a coat, and Madame Morel and Monsieur Burnier carried him slowly home down the mountain, while Annette came behind carrying Klaus. A sad little procession, and yet their hearts were full of grateful joy because Dani was alive and had spoken. That was enough for the moment.
No one, not even his mother, gave one thought to Lucien, who still lay under the wall, huddled down in the grass. When he lifted his head and found that he had been left alone with the night, he felt as though the whole world had turned its back on him and forgotten him. He got up, slunk home through the shadows, and crept, shivering, to bed, feeling the most lonely and miserable little boy in the whole world.
7
Annette Plans Revenge
Dani lay in his little bed between warm blankets, knowing very well that he was a tremendously important person and that anything he wanted would be fetched immediately. As this had never happened before, Dani was making the most of it.
Papa stood at the end of the bed watching him and telling him all the funny stories he liked best. Annette sat on one side of him with a chocolate stick in her hand. Klaus was curled up on his chest purring. Grandmother sat on the other side of his bed with a bowl of cherry jam, and every time he asked for it she gave him a spoonful! If his leg had not been aching so much Dani would have thought he was in heaven. Even so, the cherry jam didn’t make the ache seem that bad.
“Papa,” said Dani, for about the tenth time, “are you really sure Klaus isn’t hurt?”
“Quite certain,” answered his father. “She drank a whole dish of milk and ran upstairs with her tail up. Only healthy kittens would behave like that.”
“Papa,” went on Dani, opening his mouth like a baby bird for another spoonful of cherry jam, “it was Lucien who threw Klaus over the wall. It was very cruel of Lucien, wasn’t it?”
“Very,” replied his father, “and he shall certainly be punished.” But Monsieur Burnier was too happy to have his son alive to think very much about Lucien. It was Annette, sitting quietly by with a chocolate stick in her hand, who thought most about Lucien.
I shall not be in a hurry, thought Annette to herself, but I shall never, never forgive him as long as I live. One day I shall
do something terrible to him. I shall never forgive him. Never.
“’Nette,” said Dani, “I want my chocolate stick, and then I want to go to sleep. And you must stay with me, ’Nette, because my leg hurts.”
“Yes, Dani,” answered Annette, handing him the chocolate stick. “I’ll stay with you till you go to sleep.”
Papa and Grandmother kissed him and left. Annette pulled his head down against her shoulder.
“Sing to me,” commanded Dani. “Sing my favorite song.”
It was about asking Father God to forgive sins and protect little children, and Annette didn’t want to sing it with her heart so full of hatred and revenge. But Dani insisted, so in the end she gave in and sang it rather sadly. By the time she finished, Dani was fast asleep, dribbling his chocolate stick onto the pillow. She lay down beside him, and once again she wept, for she was very tired and the relief had been great. But they were not only tears of joy, for we cannot be truly happy if we hate someone.
She got up with a sigh and went downstairs. Her father was out with the cows, which had never been milked so late in their lives and were mooing and stamping with impatience. Grandmother was preparing something to eat, for neither she nor Papa had had a bite since lunchtime. No one had had time to think of anything but Dani.
“He is asleep,” said Annette, and she sat down and stared wearily at the stove.
“The doctor should be here soon,” said Grandmother, “and then we shall have to wake him, poor little chap. Never mind, let him sleep while he can.”
“Grandma,” said Annette, looking up suddenly after a little silence, “Lucien must be punished. What is to be done to him? I can’t think of anything bad enough that would pay him back for what he did to Dani.”
Grandmother did not answer for a time. Then she replied, “Have you ever thought, Annette, that when we do wrong it often brings its own punishment without anyone else interfering?”
Patricia St John Series Page 47
