“But where is the owner of this house? What will he think of my being here when he comes back?” said Hazel, more frightened than ever at the prospect of being left. She hadn’t expected to stay entirely alone. She’d counted on finding someone in the house.
“Aneshodi way off. Not come back one—two—day mebbe! He know me. He me friend. Lady stay! All right!”
Her eyes round with fear, Hazel watched her protector mount and ride away. She almost called after him not to leave her. Then she remembered this was part of a woman’s life in Arizona, and she was being tried. By just such things the missionary had meant she was unfit for life out here. She’d stay and bear the loneliness and fright. She’d prove, at least to herself, she had the courage of any missionary. She wouldn’t bear the ignominy of weakness and failure. She’d be shamed all her life to know she failed in this trying time.
She watched the Indian riding rapidly away as if he were in a hurry. Once the suspicion crossed her mind that perhaps he lamed her horse on purpose and left her here to get rid of her. Perhaps this was the home of some dreadful person who’d return soon and harm her.
She turned quickly to see what manner of place it was, for she was too excited at first over the prospect of being left to notice it much, except to be surprised it had chairs, a fireplace, and a look of comparative comfort. Now she looked about to discover what sort of person the owner might be. Glancing at the table near the fireplace she saw an open book, and the words that caught her vision were, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”
With a start she turned the book over and found it was a Bible, bound in plain, strong covers, with large, clear print. It lay open as if the owner had been reading it only a short time before and was called away suddenly.
With a sigh of relief she sank down in the big chair by the fire and let the excited tears have their way. Somehow her fear vanished with that sentence. The owner of the house couldn’t be too bad when he kept his Bible around and open to that psalm, her psalm, her missionary’s psalm! And the very words themselves assured her, as if they’d been sent to remind her of her new trust in an unseen Power. If she was making the Most High her dwelling place continually, surely she was under His protection continually and didn’t need to be afraid anywhere, for she was abiding in Him. The thought gave her a strange new sense of peace and safety.
After a moment she sat up, wiping away the tears, and looked around. Perhaps this was the home of some friend of her missionary. She felt comforted about staying here now. She lifted her eyes to the wall above the mantel, and, lo, she saw the smiling face of her dear friend, the mother, who had just gone home to heaven. And beneath it—as if that weren’t enough to bring a throb of understanding and joy to her heart—hung her own jeweled riding whip she’d left on the desert a year ago and forgot.
Suddenly, with a cry of joy, she rose and clasped her hands over her heart, relief and happiness in every line of her face.
“It’s his home! I’ve come to his own house!” she cried and looked about her with joy.
This then was where he lived. His books were there. Here was his chair where he sat and rested or studied. His hands had left the Bible open at her psalm, his psalm—their psalm! His bed stood over behind the screen, and at the other end the tiny table and the dishes in the closet! Everything was in place, and careful neatness reigned, yet with an air of manlike uncertainty about some things.
She walked from one end of the big room to the other and back again, studying every detail. She revelled in the thought that now, whatever happened, she might take back with her a picture of him in his own quiet room when he laid aside his work for a while and when, if he ever had time and allowed himself, he perhaps thought of her.
Time flew on winged feet. With the dear face of her old friend smiling down upon her and that psalm open beside her on the table, she never thought of fear. And presently she remembered she was hungry and foraged in the cupboard for something to eat. She found plenty of supplies and, after satisfying her hunger, sat down in the great chair by the fire and looked about her in contentment. With the peace of his room on her and the sweet old face in the picture looking down in benediction as if in welcome, she felt happier than since her father had died.
The quiet of the desert afternoon brooded outside, the fire burned softly lower and lower at her side, the sun bent down to the west, and long rays stole through the window and across her feet. But the golden head was dropping, and the long-lashed eyes were closed. She was asleep in his chair, and the dying firelight played over her face.
Then, quietly, without any warning, the door opened, and a man walked into the room!
Chapter 15
The Way of the Cross
The missionary had taken a far journey to an isolated Indian tribe outside his own reservation. It was his first visit to them since his journey with his colleague, which he had told Hazel about during their time in the desert. He’d meant to go sooner, but matters in his own extended parish and his trip East prevented him.
These lonely, isolated people of another age had been on his heart. A handful of lonely, primitive dwellers, they lived amid the past in their ancient houses high up on the cliffs, apart, knowing nothing of God and little of man, with their strange, simple ways and weird appearance. They came to him in visions as he prayed, and always he felt a weight on his soul as if a message had not been delivered.
He took his first opportunity after his return from the East to go to them, but it wasn’t as soon as he’d hoped. Matters concerning the new church demanded his attention. Then, when they were arranged satisfactorily, one of his flock was smitten with a lingering illness and hung onto his friendship and companionship so he couldn’t go far away with a clear conscience. But at last no hindrances remained, and he left on his mission.
The Indians received him gladly; they’d seen him approaching from far off and came down the steep way to meet him. They put their crude best at his disposal and opened their hearts to him. No white man had visited them since the last time he came with his friend, except a trader who lost his way and knew little about the God or the Book of Heaven the missionary spoke about.
The missionary entered into the strange family life of the tribe inhabiting the vast, many-roomed rock palace carved high at the top of the cliff. He laughed with them, ate with them, slept with them, and in every way gained their confidence. He played with their children, teaching them new games and tricks and praising the quick wits of the little ones, while their elders stood about, and the stoic look of their dusky faces relaxed into smiles of deep interest and admiration.
Then at night he told them about the God who set the stars above them and made the earth and them, and loved them. He told them about Jesus, His only Son, who came to die for them and would not only be their Savior, but their loving Companion day and night. Though unseen, He was always at hand, caring for each one of His children individually, knowing their joys and their sorrows. Gradually he made them understand that he was a servant—a messenger—of this Christ and came there for the express purpose of helping them know their unseen Friend. Around the campfire, under the starry dome or on the sunny plain, whenever he taught them they listened. Their faces lost the wild, half-animal look of the uncivilized and took on the hidden longing all mortals share in common. He saw the humanity in them looking wistfully through their eyes and gave himself to teach them.
Sometimes as he talked he’d lift his face to the sky and close his eyes. They’d listen with awe as he spoke to his Father in heaven. They watched him at first and looked up as if they half expected to see the unseen world open before their wondering gaze. But gradually the spirit of devotion claimed them, and they closed their eyes with him. And who shall say if the primitive prayers within their breasts weren’t more acceptable to the Father than many wordy petitions put up in the temples of civilization?
He stayed with them seven days and nights. They wanted to claim him for th
eir own and begged him to give up other places and live there forever. They would give him their best. He wouldn’t need to work, for they would give him his portion and make a home for him according to his instructions. In short, they would enshrine him in their hearts, representing to their childish minds the true and only One, whose knowledge he brought to them.
But he told them about his work and why he must return to it. Sadly they prepared to bid him good-bye, inviting him many times to return. In going down the cliff, where he’d gone with them many times, he turned to wave another farewell to a child who’d been his special pet. Turning, he slipped and wrenched his ankle so severely he couldn’t move on.
They carried him up to their home again, half sorrowful, but wholly triumphant. He was theirs for a little longer and could tell more stories. The Book of Heaven was large, and they wanted to hear it all. They made up his bed of their best materials and wore themselves out trying to meet his needs with all they could think of; then they sat at his feet and listened. The sprain was troublesome and painful, and it yielded to treatment slowly. Meanwhile, the messenger arrived with the telegram from the East.
They gathered about that sheet of yellow paper with its mysterious scratches. It told their friend volumes but gave no semblance to sign language of anything in heaven or on earth. They looked with awe upon their friend as they saw the anguish in his face. His mother was dead! This man who loved her and left her to bring them news of salvation was suffering. It was one more bond between them, one more tie of common humanity.
Yet he could look up and smile and still speak to the invisible Father! They saw his face as the face of an angel with the light of Christ’s comfort on it. When he read to them and tried to make them understand the majestic words “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” they sat and looked afar off and thought of the ones they’d lost. This man said they would all live again. His mother would live. The chief they lost last year, the bravest and youngest chief of all their tribe, would live; their children would live—all they lost would live again if they believed in this Christ.
So, when Brownleigh wished above all to be alone with his God and his sorrow, he had to lay aside his own bitter grief and console these childish people for their griefs. And in doing so he was comforted. Looking into their longing faces and seeing their need and how eagerly they hung on his words, he sensed the Comforter standing by his side in the dark cave shadows. He was whispering to his heart sweet words he’d known for a long time but hadn’t understood because he’d never needed them. Time and earthly things receded, and only heaven and immortal souls mattered. He was lifted above his own loss and into the joy of the inheritance of the Lord’s servant.
But the time came, all too soon for his hosts, when he could go on. He was most anxious to start, since he longed for further news of the dear one who was gone. They followed him in a sorrowful procession far into the plain and then returned to their mesa and their cliff home to talk about it all and wonder.
Alone on the desert at last, with the three great mesas like fingers of a giant hand stretching cloudily behind him, the purpling mountains in the distance and the sunlight shining over the bright sand, he realized fully his loss, and his spirit was bowed at its weight. The vision of the mount was passed, and the valley of the shadow of life was upon him. He thought about how it would be not to receive his mother’s letters anymore to cheer his loneliness. He would have no thought of her at home thinking of him nor any looking forward to another homecoming.
As he rode he saw none of the changing landscape by the way—only the Granville orchard with its showering pink and white and his mother lying happily beside him on the strawberry bank picking the sweet berries, smiling back to him as if she were a girl. He was glad he had that memory of her. And she’d seemed so well. He’d thought that perhaps he might, in the future, build a little addition to his shack and make a comfortable place for her, so she might come out and stay with him. That wish had been growing in his lonely heart since that visit home when it seemed as if he couldn’t tear himself away from her and go back; yet he knew he couldn’t stay—wouldn’t want to stay, because of his beloved work. And now it was over forever, his dream! She would never come to cheer his home, and he would always have to live a lonely life—for he knew in his heart there was only one girl in the whole world he’d want to ask to come, and he might not, must not, ask her.
His future stretched out before his mind as endless and as desolate as his desert. For now he couldn’t see his beloved work and joy in serving—only himself, alone, forsaken by all love, walking a sorrowful path apart. A great weakness, like a spirit in despair, surged over him.
In this attitude he lay down to rest in the shadow of a large rock about the noon hour, too weary in spirit and body to continue without sleep. Faithful Billy dozed and munched his portion not far away; and high overhead an eagle soared, adding to the scene’s desolation. Here he was alone at last for the first time with his grief, and for a while it had its way, and he faced it, entering into his Gethsemane with bowed spirit and seeing nothing but blackness all about him. Thus, worn with the anguish of this spirit, he fell asleep.
While he slept, peace came to him. He dreamed of his mother, smiling, well, and walking with a light free step as he remembered her when he was a little boy, and by her side the girl he loved. How strange, yet wonderful, that these two should come to him and bring him rest! And then, as he still dreamed, they smiled at him and went on, hand in hand; the girl turned and waved her hand as if she meant to return, and presently they passed beyond his sight.
Then One stood by him, somewhere within the shelter of the rock under which he lay, and spoke. And the Voice thrilled his soul as never in life: “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.”
The peace of that invisible Presence descended on him in full measure, and when he awoke he found himself repeating, “The peace which passeth understanding!” He realized that for the first time he knew what the words meant.
For some time he lay quietly like a child comforted and cared for, wondering at the lifted burden, glorying in the peace that came in its place. He rejoiced in the Presence that he felt would be with him always and make it possible for him to bear the loneliness.
At last he turned his head to see if Billy was far away and was startled to see the shadow of the rock he was lying under spread out on the sand before him, resembling a perfect mighty cross. The rock’s jutting uneven arms and the sun’s position arranged the shadows thus before him. “The shadow of a great rock in a weary land”—he recalled the words, and it seemed to be his mother’s voice repeating them as she used to do on Sabbath evenings when they sat together in the twilight before his bedtime. A weary land! It was a weary land now, and his soul had been parched with the heat and loneliness. He’d needed the rock as never before, and the Rock, Christ Jesus, had become a rest and a peace to his soul.
But there it lay spread out on the sand beside him, and it was the way of the cross. The Christ way was always the way of the cross. But what was the song they sang at that great meeting he’d attended in New York? “The way of the cross leads home.” Ah, that was it. Someday it would lead him home. But now it was the way of the cross, and he must take it with courage and always with that unseen but close Companion who had promised to be with him even to the end of the world.
Well, he’d rise up at once, strong in that blessed companionship. Cheerfully he prepared to start and then turned Billy’s head to the south, for he decided to stop overnight with his colleague.
When his grief and loneliness were fresh, he couldn’t bear this visit. But with peace now in his soul he changed his course to take in the other mission; it was really on his way, but he had purposely avoided it.
Those two, who had made a little earthly paradise out of their desert shack, welcomed him and compelled him to stay with them and rest three days, for he was more worn with the journey and his recent pain and sorrow than h
e realized. They comforted him with their loving sympathy and encouraged him with their own joy, though it gave him a feeling of being set apart from them.
He started early when the morning star was still visible, and as he rode through the beryl air of dawn he was lifted from his sadness by a sense of the near presence of Christ.
He traveled slowly, purposely turning aside three times from the trail to call at the hogans of some of his parishioners, for he dreaded the homecoming as one dreads a blow that is inevitable. His mother’s picture awaited him in his room, smiling down on his possessions with that dear look on her face. He shrank from looking at it for the first time, knowing she was gone from earth forever. Thus he gave himself more time, knowing it was better to go calmly, turning his mind back to his work and doing what she’d have liked him to do.
He camped that night under the sheltered ledge where he and the girl had been. As he lay down to sleep he repeated the psalm they’d read together that night and felt the comfort of abiding under the Almighty’s shadow.
In night visions he saw the girl’s face again. She smiled at him with that glad welcoming look, as though she’d come to be with him always. She didn’t say anything in the dream but just extended her hands to him in surrender.
The vision faded as he opened his eyes. It was so real, though, that it remained with him all day. He started wondering if he’d been right to put her so persistently out of his life. Bits of her own sentences came to him with new meaning, and he wondered after all if he hadn’t been a fool. Perhaps God really sent her to him to be his life companion, and he was too blind to understand.
He put the idea from him many times with a sigh as he tended the fire and prepared his simple meal. Yet always her face lingered sweetly in his thoughts, like balm on his sad spirit.
Billy was headed toward home that morning and took up an eager gait, while the missionary endeavored to keep his thoughts on his work and plans for the immediate future. But, try as he would, the girl’s face kept smiling in between, and the beauty along the trail reminded him of their ride. Finally he let his imagination dwell on her with pleasant thoughts of how it would be if she were his, waiting for him at the end of his journey or, better still, riding beside him at this moment and conversing with him on the way.