It was very still in the room. Far away over toward the country club a meadow lark trilled out a long, sweet note, and a little breeze came in at the window and cooled Constance’s hot brow, blowing back the tendrils of gold hair. Grandmother just laid her hand softly on the bowed head again and waited.
At last Constance raised her head and asked tremulously, “Do you think I should get up before the congregation and publicly state that I did not mean what I promised? Should I try to undo it somehow?”
“No,” said the old lady thoughtfully, “I don’t see how that would do any good, unless you wanted to publicly testify that you had come to a different way of thinking. But even that would be something that would come afterwards. And it is not always best to confess your wrong before the world unless the world has a right to know or you can help somebody by it. There is something that must come first, and that is to make it right with God.”
After a much longer silence Constance asked huskily, “How could one make it right with God, Grand?”
The old lady was slow in answering, with a shy reserve about her as if she were treading upon too holy ground to speak freely. “There is prayer,” she said solemnly. “Have you taken it to God yet, Connie?”
Constance shook her head. “I’m not sure I would dare,” she said softly.
“There’s nothing to fear, child. He’ll search you, of course. But that’s the only way to get right. Make a clean breast of it and don’t hold anything back even to yourself. I remember when your mother was a little girl she had eaten some fruit that I had told her not to touch. She didn’t seem to know I knew it. I waited for days for her to come and confess, but she went right on as happily as ever. It didn’t seem to bother her, except at night I noticed that she didn’t like to have the light out, and she always begged me to sit by her till she fell asleep. But at last one night I left her alone in the dark, and then she got to crying. I came in and she told me that the eye of God was looking down on her, seeing how naughty she had been. And then she told me what she had done. I remember how I gathered her in my arms after she had confessed and how she snuggled down in my neck and went to sleep. We don’t need to be afraid of our Father, child, if we really want to get right with Him.”
Then in marched the nurse. “This dear lady is sitting up too long. I’m surprised at you, Miss Courtland! She must get right to bed.”
Constance, dewy eyed and somewhat comforted, arose in haste and helped to get the patient back into bed. As she stopped over her to smooth the sheet across her shoulders, she pressed a quick furtive kiss upon her forehead and whispered, “Thank you, Grand; it’s so good to know you forgive me.”
Grandmother said fervently, “Of course, child!”
Thus closed the most intimate talk that had ever passed between these two in all the years of Constance’s life, and Constance tiptoed out and left her to sleep, feeling that the experience had been wonderful, a break in the long years of reticence and formality. It might close in tomorrow again and the wall of reserve rise as gray and high as ever, yet there would always be this afternoon to remember, always a bond between them. For a few short minutes she had seen into her grandmother’s heart and had a vision of her own relation to God. It was not merely sentimentality that had kept the pearls for her first communion day. It was a real faith in God and her Savior that had made her long to seal such a moment for her loved grandchild with the most precious thing she owned.
Constance, in her room alone reading her Testament, thinking of Seagrave as she always did when she read, remembered telling him something to the effect that Grandmother didn’t know what it was all about, that she thought if one stood up in the church and took vows, that did the trick. But now she had found out that Grandmother did know what it was about, that she had a real, living faith, and neither was she so gullible as she might have seemed, for she had seen right through her granddaughter’s sham, and she had probably been deeply dismayed to find out how superficial she was.
Then suddenly in the startled thought she sat up and stared at the verses about being separated from the world. Did that mean herself? Is that what it would mean if she did what Grandmother wanted her to do, went and made it right with God? Was she willing to do that? Or would the world be like another string of pearls that would keep her from making good the vows she had uttered?
After a long time she turned out her light and knelt down beside her bed in the moonlight, waiting for an audience with a God whom she had insulted, waiting with her heart beating in a frightened way at what she was about to do. At last she said in a broken whisper, “Oh, God, I’m sorry and ashamed. If there’s any way for me to make it right, please show me, even if You want me to be separate from the world.”
That night Constance had the first full rest she had enjoyed since her grandmother was taken sick.
Chapter 19
The next morning the house was in a perfect whirl. Frank announced that he was going to a weekend conference and everybody had to help him get ready. The plan seemed to have developed overnight.
“A conference?” said his mother. “What kind of conference? Why should you be going to a conference?”
“Why, it’s a young people’s conference. A Bible conference. It’s for the young people of this district, and they’re mostly all delegates from different churches around here. Dillie’s a delegate from her church, and if you pay your way you can go even if you aren’t a delegate, and I’m going. I havta have two sheets and a pair of blankets and some clean shirts and my bathing suit. Towels, too. Will ya get them for me? I’ll take that old football bag.”
“Why, how long are you going to stay?” asked the bewildered mother. “Isn’t there a hotel or something? Why do you have to take sheets?”
“Oh, it’s a kind of a camp,” said the impatient youth. “Didn’t I tell ya? They live in log cabins, sort of dormitories, with a lot of cots in each one and a man ta look out fer each dorm. Dillie’s mother is a chaperone for the girls. That’s how I got a chance ta go. They have meetings and athletics and a swell time. It only lasts from Friday till Monday. It doesn’t cost much. Say, are ya going ta get me some blankets? No, I don’t want a suitcase for them. I’ll jut tie them up in a brown paper. That’s the way the others do. Bill Howarth is going. He went last year. He says it’s great. He says they had a swell time. They’ve got a crackerjack athlete along and a lotta swell speakers.”
In growing amazement Frank’s family danced attendance upon his commands, were duly scandalized when he refused to take his best clothes along for Sunday, demurred at the old sweater he elected to wear, produced more towels and shirts and sheets than he could be persuaded to take along, and in every way hovered about him with hindrances and suggestions till his departure.
Constance drove him with Dillie and her mother in the Courtland car to the rendezvous where they were to meet the bus that would take them to the camp. Dillie’s mother was sweet and young looking with a peace in her eyes that reminded Constance of the look in Seagrave’s eyes. She wondered if the same cause made all these people have that look of utter content as if they had a source of strength beyond the ordinary. Perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed this a few weeks or months earlier, but now her attention had been called to that look in some eyes, and she was growing quick to detect it. Was Dillie’s mother also one of those peculiar people who knew God?
When they drew up at the rendezvous, Constance had a new experience. A large bus, heavily placarded with PELHAM GROVE YOUNG PEOPLE’S BIBLE CONFERENCE, was drawn up in front of a church. Young people were arriving from every direction, from trolleys and private cars and on foot, all piling into the bus. The bus driver was good-naturedly busy disposing large canvas duffel bags and brown paper bundles in a rack on the roof of the bus, and everybody was talking and laughing and getting introduced to everybody else.
They were nice-looking young people, but they were not dressed up. Most of them wore plain garments and sweaters that had seen better days, but they had ha
ppy faces full of anticipation.
Presently another bus drew up beside the first, labeled South District Delegation and underneath in smaller letters a magic phrase that Constance never would forget, John 3:16. Why! That was the verse she had read to Doris when she was dying! And these boys and girls were flaunting it on a banner! What possible connection could it have with a weekend camping trip?
And while the thought was passing through her mind, even before the driver had parked his bus to suit him by the curb, the young people who crowded it to capacity broke forth into song, every word as clear and distinct as if it were being recited:
A story sweet and wondrous,
Like heavenly music swells;
In chimings clear to all who will hear,
Ring out the gospel bells.
For God so loved the world
That He gave His only begotten Son,
That whosoever believeth in Him,
Should not perish,
Should not perish,
But have everlasting life.
The verse was scarcely ended when a third but also crowded to overflowing bus labeled NORTH DISTRICT DELEGATION arrived on the scene. It had come up so quietly during the song that Constance had not noticed it and now it started another song:
Friends all around me are trying to find
What the heart yearns for, by sin undermined;
I have the secret, I know where ‘tis found:
Only true pleasures in Jesus abound.
All that I want is in Jesus,
He satisfies, joy He supplies;
Life would be worthless without Him,
All things in Jesus I find.
Constance listened in amazement, studied the bright young faces leaning out of the bus windows singing with all their might, with as much fervor and eagerness as ever some other young people might have sung the hilarious popular jazz of the hour, or the latest radio favorite. Was it possible that there were young people who had separated themselves from the world and yet had a good time?
But she had not time to think, for the first bus, which was now more than full, burst into song as if in response to the others:
I’ve found a Friend who is all to me,
His love is ever true;
I love to tell how He lifted me,
And what His grace can do for you.
Saved by His power divine,
Saved to new life sublime!
Life now is sweet and my joy is complete,
For I’m saved, saved, SAVED!
Just at this moment a last comer came running from a trolley, climbed in, and the signal was given to start. And then the three bus loads poured the strength of their young voices into the next verse of the same song:
He saves me from every sin and harm,
Secures my soul each day;
I’m leaning strong on His mighty arm;
I know He’ll guide me all the way.
And as they streamed away in a joyous procession in the distance, back came the triumphant words of the chorus:
Saved by His power divine,
Saved to new life sublime!
Life now is sweet and my joy is complete,
For I’m saved, saved, SAVED!
Constance, sitting alone in her car watching the vanishing campers, watching the amazed crowds who stood on the sidewalk to stare and listen and wonder, felt a sudden thrill of gratitude that her brother was going away to be three days in such company and then felt a great loneliness upon herself and a desire to put her head down on the wheel and cry!
Was it really true that there were young people in the world who had chosen a life like that and were as happy as that in it? Could people come out from the world and enjoy it? Yes, there was Seagrave. He seemed happy. He was young. But he was the first one she had ever seen who was like that.
Of course these young people who had just driven away were only boys and girls, not yet out in society—perhaps some of them never would be because of their simple station in life; nevertheless she knew enough of modern high school people to know that they were aping their seniors in every frivolity of life.
And these had just been normal happy young people, enjoying their outing, yet willing to bring God into it; not only willing but eager about it, for there was no mistaking the thrill in their songs. They were sung from the heart as if the boys and girls meant every word and were trying to broadcast their message to others who did not know about it.
Wistfully she trailed the bus procession for several miles, keeping far enough behind them not to be recognized, yet near enough to catch the echo of their songs.
“I need Jesus!” came the next song through the crowded highway where people were slowing their cars to turn and look and listen, and Constance’s heart echoed the song. Yes, she needed Jesus, but—was she willing to take Him? Grandmother had forgiven her, but would He? She had not made it right with God yet. She was not sure she knew how to believe, to just take salvation as a gift and accept it simply as Seagrave had told Doris to do.
Then back from the Bible conference procession came a new song winging faint and far away, but snatches of words gained clearness even above the sound of traffic:
Would you be free from your burden of sin?
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you o’er evil a victory win?
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder-working power,
In the blood of the Lamb;
There is power, power, wonder-working power,
In the precious blood of the Lamb.
And her heart cried out as she drove, “Oh, God! Give me that power! Take away my sin! Make me sure of salvation and happy as they are!”
When Constance reached home she went straight to her grandmother’s room.
“Where is your brother, my dear?” asked the invalid who had been allowed to sit up as long as she chose that day and had attained to walking around the room by herself.
“Why, he’s gone away for the weekend, Grand! Gone to the most extraordinary place. I just can’t make it out. Frank willing to go to such a place! But he seemed as happy as a clam to be going.”
“What is it, Connie?” The grandmother looked a little anxious. She had heard echoes of arguments about getting her grandson’s baggage ready to take, and it had apparently worried her.
“Well, it seems to be a sort of glorified camp meeting as far as I can find out,” said Constance, and she sat down and told in detail all she had seen and heard, even remembering some of the words of the songs to repeat. When she had finished she looked up and caught a beatific look on her grandmother’s face.
“Praise the Lord!” she said softly. “I am being allowed to live to see my grandchildren serving the Lord. I believe He is answering my prayers before I go! I knew He would save you both sometime, but I had begun to think it would have to be through a lot of tribulation and after I was taken. Praise the Lord!”
Constance sat and looked at her grandmother in amazement. Every day now was revealing new and unsuspected sides to her character. Fancy Grandmother having been worried all these years about her and Frank—their salvation! It was a new and strange thought to Constance. And she had imagined Grandmother as shut within a formal world of ceremonies and stately habits!
Presently she went up to her room and took down the Testament. She came on verses that reminded her dimly of other songs she had heard that afternoon, and she wished that she might have gone with those high school children and listened in the background to see what was said and what they did. She wished she had somebody to tell her the meaning of some of these strange verses she read. Grandmother might know in an old-time way, but there were new, vital things that Seagrave had said that made the truths more comprehensible to a modern person.
Then she began to think about her Sunday school class. What a farce it was, her teaching! What could she teach them about God and the Bible, she who knew nothing whatev
er herself? Well, she must get rid of that. That at least she could do for them, find a teacher for them who knew these things. Then Miss Howe stood some chance of getting the joy of those young people in the buses.
Why had Dillie been the only one of her class to go on that trip? Didn’t the rest know about it? Weren’t they asked? Or didn’t they care to go? Perhaps that was something she could do for them, get them interested in such things. Only how could she when she didn’t know herself? Well, how could she learn? There must be some place. Where did all these other people learn? Where had Seagrave found his knowledge? Just in the Bible without any outside help? If he ever came back and gave her a chance she would ask him and then she would go and find out for herself.
Late Sunday night Constance was sitting lonesome in the hammock on the porch in the dark by herself.
She was thinking how she had come to a sort of standstill in her life, a kind of deadlock with nothing in view. School all done, no plans ahead. She was ready to live now, but strangely she had no zest for living. She might go to Europe as she had planned, but she didn’t especially want to. Why had all her eagerness to have a good time ebbed away? Was it Doris’s death or Grandmother’s illness or both, perhaps? She was restless, unhappy, longing for something, she didn’t know what. Oh, why had her life fizzled out this way just when she had thought it was going to be gorgeous to do just what she pleased? Couldn’t one ever do what one pleased and have it work out right?