Читать книгу Crimson Mountain (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 4

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We’ll have to get off this road before any more steers come," said Pilgrim anxiously as he swung in behind the wheel of this car, slammed the door shut, and began to back and cut, back and cut, to turn around in the narrow road. "You won’t mind riding to the village in my old roadster?"

"Of course not," said Laurel, struggling for her normal self-control. "You’ve been wonderfully kind. I don’t know what I should have done if you hadn’t come along. I wouldn’t have been here long enough to do anything. Those creatures would likely have trampled me to death. I was simply petrified! I couldn’t have moved an inch. You saved my life!"

He gave her a quick look.

"I’m glad I was here!" he said crisply. "I almost didn’t come this way."

"God must have sent you," said Laurel reverently.

"Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "I’ve never had much to do with God!"

"Neither have I," said Laurel soberly, her eyes very thoughtful. "But I’ve heard people say He cares."

"Could be," said the young man cryptically. "But I’ve never seen reason in my life to think He cared. Still, if He were going to care for anybody, I should think He might care for you!"

Suddenly he lifted his head alertly.

"Listen! There’s that sound again! I thought I heard the voice of one of Hunsicker’s men. There’ll be more animals coming or I’ll miss my guess. You don’t mind if I go some, do you? I think we maybe can beat ’em to it. We’d better get by before they start out from the next farm."

His face set grimly. The girl cast a frightened glance at him, gripping the cushion of the seat tensely, her heart beating wildly again.

They fairly flew up the long hill, bordered on the one hand now by a rough wall of fieldstone, piled up without cement, and on the other hand by a deep gully. She could see a wooden gate ahead flanked by a great red barn so weathered that it blended with the autumn trees standing around it, and out of its wide door were coming more steers! Laurel caught her breath involuntarily, and Pilgrim turned and flashed a quick, reassuring smile as they flew on.

"Don’t worry," he said. "We’re going to make it. They haven’t started yet. I’ll take care of you."

There was something about his quiet assurance that calmed her fears.

As they rushed past the old wooden gate now, Laurel could see the group of animals coming down toward the road from the old red barn. Though they were moving in a fairly quiet and orderly mass, the sight of their brown backs, their woolly brown heads, topped by that terrifying fringe of horns, was anything but comforting.

As they swept past the gate and onward, Pilgrim turned toward her.

"We’re all right now," he said gently. "We’ve passed their gate, and they are going the other way, so they can’t catch up with us. There’s only one more farm to pass, and we’ll likely be able to miss any there. It might even be that they won’t be sending any cattle down. They are not very successful cattle raisers. But anyway, we’ll get ahead of them, I’m sure."

So silently they drove on, rushing over the rough cart road.

And then they came in sight of another little old farmhouse set almost sullenly back from the road. But there were no animals in sight. There wasn’t even a dog around nor any chickens.

Laurel relaxed and sat back more comfortably.

Pilgrim watched her furtively.

"You’re not frightened anymore," he said in a satisfied tone. "We’ve passed all the farms now. Those last people must have moved away or died or something. And now it won’t be far to a garage where we can send someone back for your car. But look around. Isn’t this a lovely spot? I always liked it here."

They had reached the top of the hill and were passing through the woods. Laurel exclaimed in delight over the beauty of the way. Pilgrim watched her as her face lit up at each new turn.

"There’s a thrush!" she said joyfully. "There isn’t any birdsong quite like that, is there? And I’ve been away from them so long they sound just wonderful to me."

"Yes," said Pilgrim a bit sadly. He was thinking that the last time he remembered hearing the thrushes sing was while they were burying his grandfather, the grandfather with whom he had lived so long and whom he had known so little.

He gave another furtive look at the girl beside him. Suddenly he spoke. "Where have I seen you before? Did you ever live in Carrollton?"

Her face clouded sadly. "Yes," she said, "I lived there when I was a little girl."

He looked at her sharply. "I see," he said. "And I’ve seen you as a little girl, going about the town, or perhaps in school. And your eyes have stayed the same. It’s your eyes that made me think I had seen you before." He looked at her gravely and shook his head. "No, I’m too old for that. I must have finished high school before you entered, or at least in your first year. I was working in a filling station at least part-time, long before you were in high school, I guess. Who are you, anyway? I’m sure I’ve seen you, though I may not have known your name. It couldn’t possibly be Sheridan, could it?"

"Yes, I’m Laurel Sheridan."

"Sheridan! Langdon Sheridan’s daughter?"

"Yes."

"And when you were a little child, you used to drive down in your father’s car when it came for gas and oil! You used to come with the chauffeur and sit in the backseat with your doll or a book while I filled up your car."

"Oh!" said the girl. "Yes, that’s right. And now I remember you. You were the one they called Phil! Isn’t that right?"

"That’s right," said the young man, and there was a certain grimness about the set of his lips and the firm line of his jaw. Then after a pause he added, "Yes, I was working in a filling station, and you were living in a stone mansion on Bleeker Street, the daughter of the most important man in the town, heiress to a fortune! There wasn’t any chance that we should have met even enough to have remembered one another. Though I do remember that little girl with the big blue eyes, the eyes that looked at me back there in the road when I almost ran into you. I couldn’t place you at first, but I remembered those eyes."

"Yes, and I remember the nice boy that waited on us at the filling station, the boy they called Phil. And afterward I heard of Phil Pilgrim who won the prize at high school for his scholarship and his marvelous feats in running and swimming. Were you that one? I only heard the talk about you when I was in high school. So you are the boy who was so noted a character in those days on the athletic field?"

Pilgrim bowed assent. "Yes, I went to college afterward, and that was a way to help along financially."

"Oh, of course. Why, how wonderful that I should meet you this way! How wonderful that you came along just when I was in such dire need!"

"It’s kind of you to feel that way," said Pilgrim with a touch of aloofness in his voice. "I certainly am glad I was able to help you a little. It will make a pleasant incident to remember when I am overseas—or wherever they are sending me."

"Oh!" said Laurel in a small, sorry voice. "Are you—to go overseas?"

"Oh, I don’t know what they are going to do with me. That’s not my lookout. But it will be all right, whatever it turns out to be. After all, I haven’t had such a fancy life thus far that I can make any kick at what’s coming." He turned a cool grin toward her.

"Oh, I’m sorry," said Laurel. "But where did you live in Carrollton? I don’t remember that I ever heard."

"No, you wouldn’t," said the young man with a sigh. "It wasn’t in your region at all. In fact, if you’re interested, we’re going to pass the old farmhouse in about two minutes, where I lived alone with my grandfather for a good many years."

"We are?" said Laurel. "Yes, I am interested. I’d like to know all about you. You saved my life, you know, and of course I’m interested."

He turned another frank gaze on her. "That’s good of you," he said. "Well, there it is, up on the brow of the hill. Just an old farmhouse, and all run down now. Nobody’s lived there since Grandfather and I were there."

Laurel turned troubled eyes on the bleak old farmhouse glooming there on the hillside, gloomy even among the gorgeous autumn foliage on the few big trees around it.

"Oh—is that really where you lived?" said the girl with a pitiful tone in her voice. "And—what became of your grandfather?" And then when she saw the look on the young man’s face, she wished she hadn’t asked.

Phil Pilgrim took a deep breath, lifted his right hand from the wheel, and pointed across and down the road to the two sad little white stones among the grass by the roadside.

"He is lying over there beside Grandmother," he said solemnly.

Laurel looked at the two small white stones gleaming there in that desolate field among the pretty foliage of Crimson Mountain. "Oh, I’m sorry," said the girl softly and turned toward the young man, eyes bright with tears.

Phil Pilgrim gave her a grateful shadow of a smile and turned his head quickly away, looking off toward the mountains beyond his old home.

They drove on in silence for two or three minutes, the thoughts of each mingled with the story of the dreary home and the two white stones that marked a resting place.

Then all at once they swept around a group of trees, and there below them lay the village, with a filling station half hidden at their feet down the road a half mile.

"There!" said the young man, pointing down. "There’s our filling station. It won’t be long now," and he tried to say it cheerfully.

"Well, I’m glad you will soon be relieved of responsibility on my behalf. I don’t know how to express my gratitude."

"Don’t try, please. It has been a pleasure."

Then a moment later a paved road ambled up from the valley and crept away into a wide opening in the woods at the right, and Laurel exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, but isn’t that the road to the picnic grounds! That’s the road I thought I was taking up from the other side."

"Yes, that’s the road you should have taken, Miss Sheridan, if you came in on Route Thirty. This is the new stretch of road that used to be the shortcut from Route Thirty. But I’m glad you didn’t, for then I shouldn’t have had the pleasure of rescuing you and perhaps would never have known anything of you except the memory of the little girl with the gold curls and the eyes! But you must have gone at least two miles out of your way."

Then he drove down with a sweep and into the road in front of the gasoline pumps, but Laurel had a sudden sinking feeling that she was never going to see him again. Absurd of course! He was only a stranger. What difference did it make whether she ever saw him again or not? Three hours ago she had had no consciousness of his existence, and here she was feeling awful because she thought she wouldn’t see him anymore. What a little idiot she was! It was all because she had been through such a shock. All those awful creatures practically climbing over her! She shuddered as she remembered it again, her fright, her horror! And then those arms! Lifting her high above the milling, snorting horde, holding her safe above it all. She never could forget it! Oh, he was no stranger now, and never could be. He had saved her life! And yet he was going away. She wouldn’t see him anymore.

She watched him as he swung out of the car and went to speak to the young proprietor of the garage. She saw the grave, pleasant smile with which he greeted the man, who evidently recognized him and flashed an intelligent look as Phil Pilgrim went on to tell about the car up on Crimson Mountain, which was stalled and needing, he thought, something done to the generator. The gesture with which he pointed to another car standing near made it plain to Laurel as she watched. Yes, he was good-looking, and probably it was just as well that he was going away. Though she had never thought herself one to get her head turned by a handsome face, a courteous smile. But then, having had one’s life saved, it was nice to have as her rescuer one with an attractive appearance, something pleasant to remember.

She finished this homily to herself as Phil came back to explain to her, "He’s sending a man up immediately after your car. I’ve told him just where to find it. If you’ll give him the keys, he’ll tow the car down and let you know what has to be done. Now, in the meantime, I don’t suppose you want to just hang around here, do you? Haven’t you someplace you would like to go while you are waiting? I’ll be glad to take you wherever you suggest. I’ve practically nothing to do till the midnight train comes in, when I have to meet a man who wants to see my farm. I’ll be glad to see you through till your own car is seaworthy."

"Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t think of troubling you further after all you have done for me. I’ll be quite all right now. And I’m within walking distance now of several people I know."

"You’re not fit to walk," said Phil Pilgrim in his firm tone. "You don’t realize how much you were shaken by that experience on the mountain. I’m sorry to have to force my company on you any longer, but I guess there’s no way out, unless you can think of some friend you’d rather have take you places."

He smiled his engaging smile, and Laurel felt that breathless catch in her breath as she answered. "Oh no, there’s no one I’d rather have take me. I just don’t want to be any further nuisance to you."

"Well, so far you haven’t been a nuisance. In fact, you’ve helped to bring me out of an unpleasant situation that duty forced me into. I came here to look at my worthless property and see whether I should accept an offer I’ve had for it or hold it till I get back from wherever I’m going. I also came to look at the family graves that belong to my care and see if they are getting the attention I had ordered. It wasn’t a very cheerful errand. Having concluded it, there was time to be passed till I could meet my man, so if I can be of any further service, it will relieve a tiresome monotony, and you will be doing me a favor. Where were you going when I met you on the mountain and your car balked?"

"Oh!" said Laurel with a startled look. "I was going in a great hurry to an appointment, but I guess it’s way too late for that now." She lifted her hand and glanced anxiously at her wristwatch. "Well, maybe not. Perhaps I had better go and see if anybody is there yet. I wouldn’t like them to think I hadn’t kept my word. If you would be so good as to take me to the high school. I was to have met the board there an hour ago. They are probably gone now. But at least I could say I came as soon as I was able."

"Sure!" said Phil. "Have you there in two minutes. But surely you’re not still in high school?" He gave her a mischievous grin.

She smiled appreciatively.

"No," she said, "nothing so good as that. I’m applying for a position as a substitute, in place of a teacher who is very sick. You see, that fabulous fortune you thought I was supposed to inherit vanished when my father died, and the ‘stone mansion’ was sold, so I am in search of a position to earn my living." She said it cheerfully, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice that made him look at her with a softened glance.

"Oh, I didn’t know. Well, suppose we see what we can find out. There goes the wrecking truck. Now, your car ought to be brought back soon. I told him I’d be back within an hour to find out about it. Let’s go!" His old car whizzed out to the highway, rushing along like one who knew the way, and Laurel sat still, wondering about it all. She ought to be thanking him again, but somehow it didn’t seem possible to get her gratitude across to him. He just didn’t take it. He was doing things as a matter of course, as if that was his business in life, just the way she remembered he used to clean the windshield of her father’s car and check the water and oil, sort of impersonally. It seemed to express a fineness of breeding that one would not look for in a man who was doing a menial task. It was as if to him no task was menial.

As she rode along by his side now, she had no sense that he was socially her inferior. In fact, if a Sheridan had ever had an overweening sense of class distinction, it was thoroughly purged out of Laurel now by the fire of sorrow.

As she considered the memory of the grim little farmhouse on the side of Crimson Mountain, sitting amid all the sadness of the past, it took on a kind of sacred dignity, like one who might have worn princely robes at some time long gone by but now sat in dull mourning clothes.