Читать книгу The Stumbling Shepherd - H. A. Cody - Страница 5

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The Maples was situated upon a gentle elevation overlooking the broad and noble Saint John River. It was one in a chain of hotels about to be built for tourists during the summer months. Its location was ideal. Excellent boating and bathing, trout fishing in the many lakes and brooks back in the hills, and an expansive golf course which had been laid out brought people of wealth to the place. Three years had passed since the building had been opened, and the prospects for this season were better than ever.

Parson Dan looked upon the hotel as a menace to his work in the community. The presence of so many strangers at Green Mount proved most disturbing. The seclusion of the village as he had known it for so many years was gone. The indifference of most of the people to the sacredness of the Day of Rest was hard for him to endure. Many of his flock, especially the young, were strongly affected and influenced by the new and careless mode of living, and the attendance at the church services was steadily declining. He was no longer able to hold his people together as in former days. Although he tried his best to win the wandering ones back during the winter months, he met with but scanty success. And now another summer was here when more harm would be done.

He sighed as he thought of all this while walking along the road through a fine grove of maples from which the hotel had received its name. The place was almost deserted now, but soon it would be teeming with life, with the quietness and mystic charm gone. He felt unusually weary and discouraged this night. He had worked hard through long years, but all his efforts now seemed in vain. The changing conditions of the parish made his task more difficult, and he did not feel equal to the burden of responsibility. Perhaps he should retire and allow another to take his place, a young man who would be more in touch with modern thought and ways.

These gloomy ideas vanished, however, as he reached the hotel and was ushered by Susie Wickham up a winding stairway. The girl had been awaiting his arrival with considerable interest. She longed to know more about the sick woman and her grand-daughter, and why the former had asked so many questions about the Rector of Green Mount.

"Are you working here all the time, Susie?" Mr. Landrose asked as he followed her slowly up the stairs.

"I have been on night duty, sir, since the old woman took sick," the girl replied. "She needs a lot of attention, and I seem to be the only one who can suit her. She won't have anyone else."

"That speaks well for you, Susie. You were always very capable."

"Oh, it's not that, sir, that makes her want me. It's because I know so much about this place, and can answer most of her questions. Until she took to her bed she was a terrible nuisance."

Susie did not like to confess that nearly all of the invalid's questions had been about the clergyman himself and his work in the parish. But she had told her mother, and they had often discussed it together. So now with the rector's arrival, she was hoping to learn something to satisfy her steadily-increasing curiosity.

"This is the room," she whispered, when they had ascended the stairs and walked a short distance along the hallway and stopped at one of the doors.

Giving a gentle tap, the door was almost immediately opened by a young woman who evidently had been waiting for them.

"Here he is at last, Miss," Susie announced. "I thought he would never come."

"And so did I," was the low reply. "Granny is very impatient. Come in, Mr. Landrose," she invited. "Thank you, Susie. You may go now."

This dismissal was not altogether to Susie's liking. She was very anxious to learn more about the sick woman and her grand-daughter. That there was some mystery connected with their presence at the hotel she felt certain. She stood for a few minutes outside the door hoping to hear something of importance. She even listened for a while at the key-hole. But hearing nothing, she reluctantly left and went downstairs.

Parson Dan found himself in a comfortably-furnished room. A large shaded lamp, suspended from the ceiling, cast its soft glow around the room. Pictures adorned the walls, while a profusion of photographs, mostly of young people, were displayed on the mantlepiece over the fireplace. All this the parson noted in one swift glance while the girl was dismissing the maid. Then when she stood before him, erect and defiant, he became somewhat embarrassed. He never felt at ease in the presence of young women, notwithstanding his long years in the Ministry. They always seemed to him to be creatures apart from his world of knowledge and experience. With men and elderly women he was on more familiar ground, and felt perfectly at home. He could enter readily into conversation with them, being more in harmony with their thoughts and feelings. But with the young women it was different. He had often endeavored to overcome his diffidence when in their presence, but all in vain. Long ago he had come to the conclusion that he did not understand them and that they did not understand him.

And he felt this now more than ever before as he stood there, hat in hand, waiting for the girl to speak. He would have been more than human had his heart not quickened at the fascinating picture she presented with the light falling upon her dark wavy hair, and touching with a soft gentle radiance her face of more than ordinary beauty. Her present attitude of defiance seemed foreign and unnatural to her. Such eyes as she possessed were intended to sparkle with joy and animation, and those compressed lips were made to part in happy wreathing smiles. What was the cause of her hostile attitude toward him? he wondered. And as he waited those lips parted.

"You have come to see my grandmother, I suppose, Mr. Landrose?"

Her voice was low and musical, but icily formal.

"She sent for me, I understand," the clergyman replied.

"This way, please," and the girl moved toward a door on the right.

She paused, however, when part way across the room, and turned to the clergyman.

"Granny is very low," she whispered. "I am sure she is dying. You must be very careful not to overtax—"

"Doris, Doris," a wailing voice interrupted from the adjoining room.

"Yes, Granny," the girl replied, hurrying forward. "What is it?"

"What are you talking so much about, Doris? Has Mr. Landrose come? He is so late."

"He is here now, Granny, so don't worry."

Parson Dan was again the parish priest, intent only upon ministering to the sick woman. Intuitively his hand moved to his pocket for his "Pastor In Parochia", the little manual of prayers and comforting words of Scripture which for years had been his constant companion. At once an expression of consternation passed over his face. The book was not there! Forgotten was everything else as he tried to think what had become of it. He had used it that very afternoon while praying by the side of bed-ridden old Mrs. Brown. He must have left it there. What carelessness! His mind turned to that misplaced book in his study. Had Rachel really moved it? Perhaps he had left it that way himself. Was this second lapse of memory, then, another proof of his failing mental powers?

These thoughts passed through his mind with lightning rapidity as he stood just outside the bed-room. How could he minister to the sick woman without his manual of devotions? He had never done so before, and how could he do it now? He was groping for some way out of his perplexity when he felt a light touch upon his arm. He started from his reverie and looked absent-mindedly at the girl.

"Granny is waiting for you, sir," she reminded, wondering somewhat at the clergyman's peculiar manner.

"Excuse me," he apologized, "but I have forgotten my 'Pastor In Parochia.' Have you a Prayer Book? It will have to do instead."

"Granny has one. I shall get it for you."

With a sigh of relief, Parson Dan followed his fair guide. As he entered the little chamber his eyes rested at once upon the white and shrunken face of the sick woman. Her hair, too, was white, as white as the pillow upon which her head reposed. Her wide staring eyes were turned toward the door in a mute appeal. Seeing the clergyman, she made a faint effort to rise, but sank back again exhausted.

"You must not do that, Granny," the girl reproved. "You are too weak."

"But I want to see him, Doris. Is it really Mr. Landrose? Are you sure. My sight is poor. What is the matter with the light?"

"Hush, hush, dear. You must not talk so much. Yes, it is Mr. Landrose, and he will have prayers with you."

"Oh, I am so glad. You can go now, Doris, for I wish to see him alone. You need some fresh air. But mind, do not stay too long."

The girl, however, hesitated. But seeing that the invalid was becoming agitated, she did as she was ordered. The sick woman listened with strained attention, and when at last she heard the outer door close, she turned her eyes full upon the clergyman's face.

"Daniel, don't you know me?"

"Startled beyond measure, Parson Dan took a quick step forward and peered down keenly upon the woman lying before him.

"Martha!" He merely gasped the word, so great was his agitation.

"Ah, you know me now. I have changed greatly, and so have you."

Taking her thin outstretched hand in his, the clergyman knelt by her side. Emotions which had been hidden in his heart for years were strongly stirred, and memories of other days came in like a flooding tide.

"And you forgive me, Daniel?" the woman asked in a low voice.

"Yes, yes, I forgave you long ago. But what are you doing here, Martha?"

"I came to be near you, and to look upon your face once more before I die."

"Why, I thought you had forgotten all about me."

"No, no. You have been in my mind ever since that last—"

She ceased abruptly, and a slight expression of fear came into her eyes.

"Daniel, I am a great sinner. Can I ever hope for forgiveness?"

"Certainly. The Lord is ever ready to forgive. He can save even to the uttermost."

"But will He, do you think?"

"I am sure of it."

"Why, then, doesn't the Church forgive me? Why has it hounded me for so many years?"

"In what way?"

"Don't you know? Wasn't I excommunicated by the Bishop? Didn't you and all the other clergymen receive orders not to give me the Holy Communion?"

"Yes, yes, Martha, I remember now. I had almost forgotten."

"But I have never forgotten. I did wrong, I admit, in divorcing my first husband and marrying another man whose wife was living. Oh, my life has been a terrible failure, and the Church will not help me now."

"Have you ever asked to be forgiven, Martha? I am sure that the Bishop would be willing to consider your request."

"No, I have never asked him."

"Why not do it, then?"

"It is too late, Daniel. I am a dying woman, and have but a short time to live."

"Suppose I write to the Bishop on your behalf?"

"The time is too short, I tell you, and I want the Communion now. Will you give it to me?"

The clergyman started at these words, and his face turned pale. This the woman noticed, and again made an effort to rise.

"Daniel! Daniel!" she cried. "Don't refuse me! For old times' sake, for Martha Benson's sake, do not deny my dying request!"

Parson Dan was in a great quandary. He rose to his feet and stood looking down upon the troubled woman. The years vanished and they were both together again, dreaming and planning of the future. How fair Martha Benson was then, and what love had filled their hearts. He had often thought of this during the years of his Ministry, but the vision had never been so real as now. And this was Martha lying before him. How could he refuse her dying request? But what would the Bishop say should he give her the Communion? Would he be true to his sacred Office? A spirit of rebellion welled suddenly up in his heart. Why should he not give this woman the Communion? What right had he to refuse? Christ was always merciful when on earth to the sinning ones who repented. But what about the Church's command? The perspiration came out upon his forehead as he stood there fighting his lone battle.

"Daniel, will you do it?"

The weak voice aroused him. How white and frail Martha looked. Suppose she should die while thus pleading with him? Could he ever forgive himself?

"For my sake, Daniel, won't you do it? For the love that you once had for me. Give me the Journey Food."

"Martha, I must think this over. I shall go home now, and come again with my answer."

"Don't go! Don't!"

"But I must. If I give you the Communion, I shall need my robes and the sacred vessels. I shall return as soon as possible."

He turned abruptly and left the room. Following him was the sound of the invalid's voice, weakly pleading for him to make haste.