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  © 2013 by Grace Livingston Hill

  Print ISBN 978-1-62029-393-5

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62416-467-5

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62416-466-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover image © Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio

  44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Late 1920s

  Eastern United States

  It was the day before Christmas, and it had been snowing hard all day.

  They began in the early morning, shortly after seven, large feathery flakes sliding down as if they were only playing. They soon grew larger, swirling fantastically, like children holding hands, chasing one another through a fairy world, now this way now that, whimsically, with no regular meter or rhythm.

  In just no time at all the ground was covered, and then the snow settled down to business, imperceptibly changing into fine stinging grains, slanting down with swift, accelerated measure, beating into every crack and cranny, packing firmly into an impenetrable mass. The wind rose gradually, drifting the falling particles into solid walls of stubborn whiteness. Before noon it became apparent that the intention was something more than just a winter snowstorm.

  Children came rollicking out with their sleds, bundled in bright scarlet or green or blue, reveling in the snow, shouting to one another with muted voices that seemed amazingly to have lost their resonance, deadened in this strange, padded atmosphere. Until even their young ardor was baffled by the increasingly bitter cold and the pitiless slant of whiteness that shut them from one another, and one by one they drifted from a suddenly frightening world, into the warmth and brightness of the fireside, to careful mothers who kissed their little cold wet faces, dried their smarting wrists, and folded them in warm garments with comforting embrace.

  But the snow went steadily on.

  Alan Monteith drove into the first of the storm, wending his way between the largest of the lazy flakes, a bit thrilled at the thought of snow for Christmas. He was still young enough to thrill over snow.

  Not that Christmas meant so much to him anymore. Christmas was a home day, and his family was all gone except a married sister who was touring Europe on her wedding trip. Christmas didn’t seem like Christmas in an apartment hotel with only a city office for change. Oh, of course he had friends, and there were plenty of social engagements. He was on his way to one now—a colossal house party in a fabulously expensive home on a vast estate ninety miles or so away. But it didn’t suit Christmas, not in the least, not his inherited traditional Christmas. There would be excitement and hilarity; there would be amusement and a wealth of unique variety. There would be luxury of eating and drinking and apparel, but it would not be Christmas, not real Christmas.

  Still, there would be Demeter Cass! Would that make up for the lack of a real Christmas? Demeter with her hair like ripe wheat, her strange sea-green eyes under long golden lashes, and her red, red lips. There was a lure of mystery about Demeter. It was not merely the beauty of the flesh either. She had intellect and an uncanny insight into men’s minds. Was she psychic? A siren without doubt. Yet, couldn’t she be tamed? There was thrill and lure in the thought of taming a beautiful creature like Demeter, sophisticated to the last degree. But could one ever hope to build up a happy future around a girl like Demeter? A future that would have in it an old-fashioned Christmas somewhere? Or were Christmases, the kind that used to be when he was a child, gone forever?

  He wove his way among the city traffic skillfully, where late Christmas shoppers were even so early in the morning thronging the streets for a last frantic dash after forgotten gifts. He stopped in front of an office building, parked his car hurriedly, and took the elevator up to the tenth floor, walking down the marble corridor to a door that bore in gold letters the inscription: MALCOLM SARGENT, M.D.

  He marched in, past the white-gowned nurse who presided at a desk to guard the noted doctor, greeted her pleasantly, and tapped at the inner door like one privileged.

  “Doctor alone?” he asked the nurse casually.

  “Yes. It isn’t quite time yet for patients.” She smiled. “And he’s expecting you.”

  Monteith was one of the favored few who walked in at all hours and found a welcome.

  The door was opened almost instantly.

  “Well, you are prompt!” said Dr. Sargent cordially. “Did you get it through all right?”

  “Of course!” said Alan. “Didn’t I tell you I would?”

  He settled down into the chair offered and pulled out an official-looking envelope from his inner pocket, handing it over to his friend.

  “Well, I am relieved!” said the doctor. “When I heard about that uncle on his way back from California who had to sign to make it legal, I thought my plans were all up! Did he get here in time, or what did they do?”

  “He arrived yesterday afternoon and was tickled to death to sign. Pleased as punch that they got their price. I tried to get you on the phone to relieve your mind last night but couldn’t. But say, what was the great rush? You’re surely not expecting to move into a new house for Christmas, are you?”

  The doctor smiled as he took the document out of the envelope and looked at it delightedly as if it were a treasure long desired.

  “Not move in,” he said happily, “but I’m expecting to put this deed in Natalie’s stocking Christmas morning. It’s her Christmas gift. You see, she’s been keen on this house for about two years now, always wanting to drive by it, always saying she would like to build one just like it if we ever got wealthy enough to do it. She hasn’t an idea, either, that it was even for sale, so it will be a complete surprise. A real Christmas gift!”

  “Some Christmas gift!” said Monteith with a bit of a sigh and a wistful look in his eyes. “Any woman ought to be contented with that!”

  “Well, I know she’ll be delighted,” said the doctor with satisfaction, touching the envelope again as if the mere handling of it gave him delight. “You see,” he went on, “it isn’t as if I were giving her something I wasn’t sure about. She went through the house when they had some club committee meeting there and she raved about it for days afterward, telling me of this and that advantage it had over any other house she’d ever seen.

  “Well, Alan, I’m all kinds of grateful to you for getting this deal through before Christmas. It’s going to make my Christmas perfect. You kn
ow, being able to hand over the actual deed to an article instead of just telling about it makes all the difference in the world. And besides, I wanted to have something special this year. It’s our tenth anniversary this month. Ten years since we were married and went to live in a four-room cottage on Maple Street! This year means a lot to me!”

  “Well, I certainly was glad to be able to help,” said Alan. “Christmas isn’t what it used to be for me. All my folks are gone, you know.”

  “I know,” said the doctor sympathetically. “Natalie and I were speaking about it the other day. You were just a kid in college when we were married. If we were only going to be at home we would want to have you with us. But Natalie’s people wanted us to come to them this year. They are still living at the old farm, and I don’t suppose they’ll keep it much longer now. They’re getting too old to stay alone so far away from everywhere. I imagine they’ll come and live with us, now that we have a real house.”

  There was a ring in the doctor’s voice as if the anticipation was a pleasant one.

  “You’re fond of them, aren’t you?” said Alan wistfully.

  “I certainly am,” said the doctor heartily. “They’ve been all the father and mother I ever knew, you know. Mine died when I was too small to remember.”

  “It must be great to feel like that about them!” said Alan, trying to speak cheerfully. “You’re leaving soon?”

  “Yes, I have just two patients to see after my office hours and I’m taking the noon train. It will get me there a little before midnight. Just in time to fill the stockings. Father will be down with his car to meet me. Natalie and the children have been there for a week. Maybe I haven’t had a hard time arranging things here so I could leave! It seems all the doctors want to get away for Christmas this year. But I’ve got it fixed at last. I wired Natalie last night I was coming. And now having this deed to take along is going to make my Christmas perfect!”

  Suddenly the telephone interrupted.

  “Just a minute, Alan.” The doctor turned with an annoyed glance and took down the receiver.

  Alan watched the keen, sensitive face as the doctor listened.

  “Yes! Yes?” His tone growing sharper. “You say she is worse? Broken? What is broken? Oh, the bottle of medicine I brought you last night? You don’t say! That’s bad! Wasn’t there any of it saved? Not even a few drops? What a pity!”

  The doctor’s voice had grown exceedingly grave.

  “What’s that? Do without it? No! Not on any account! I would not answer for the consequences if you tried that. But isn’t there any of the first bottle left? It wasn’t quite gone when I was there yesterday. Let me speak to the nurse a moment. Hello! Hello! Is that you, nurse? How is the patient? Yes? Yes? Temperature? No! Not on any account. She must have the medicine! How much have you left? Let’s see! That would carry you through till six o’clock! Well, isn’t there someone there you could trust to come down and get it? I don’t see how I could possibly come up. I’m leaving on the noon train, and my man is off on a three-day vacation. Just left. No, you couldn’t get that at the ordinary drugstore, it’s not a common drug. You say you haven’t even a servant to send? Oh, not one who can drive. Where’s the chauffeur? Gone on his vacation, too, has he? That’s bad! Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try to get somebody to go, or I’ll come myself. Yes, you can depend on having it by six o’clock. What do you say? Snowing? Oh, well, I’ll find somebody to come.”

  The doctor hung up the receiver and turned dazed, hurt eyes on his friend, the radiant look all gone from his face.

  “Now can you beat that?” he said blankly. “I ask you, can you beat it? Everything all planned to go off on the noon train, even that deed here in time, and now this has to happen. I might have known things were going too slick to last. They let a fool pet dog get into the sick room where my patient is desperately ill, and he jumps up on the bed and backs against the bedside table and knocks off a bottle of very important medicine that I took the trouble to go all the way up into the mountains to take to them last night so they would have enough to last while I am away. Isn’t that the limit? And it is absolutely necessary that medicine not be interrupted. They have only enough left from the first bottle to last till six o’clock. And of course I won’t be able to hire anybody for love or money to take some more to them, not today! Not the day before Christmas!”

  “Well, but surely you can hire a messenger boy,” said Alan.

  “It’s seventy miles away, man, and up a mountain! How would a messenger boy on a bicycle make out? They say it’s snowing up there, too. And the woman is in a critical condition. There isn’t a chance for her life if she doesn’t get the medicine in time. I couldn’t expect anybody I hired to realize that, or care enough to carry them through difficulties.

  “The woman is one of my best patients. Why they ever went up to that forsaken place at this time of year is more than I can tell, but her daughter is married and lives up there and they went to visit her three weeks ago. Then Mrs. Watt was taken sick. They let her get pretty sick before they sent for me last Wednesday. They thought she was dying, and the local doctor wasn’t sure what was the matter with her. I’ve been up three times since, was up yesterday evening, got back at two o’clock this morning. It’s some jaunt. I went up to see if it was safe to leave her, and now I suppose instead of carrying out my Christmas plans I’ve got to go up again. That’s what it is to be a doctor! Have to disappoint Natalie and the kids! But I wouldn’t feel happy in my mind if I didn’t go. You can’t trust just everybody with an errand like that, the day before Christmas. Well, perhaps I’ll get back in time to take the midnight train, and reach the farm about ten tomorrow morning.”

  He touched the bell on his desk and the nurse appeared capably at the door.

  “Miss Rice, prepare another bottle of that prescription I took up yesterday to Mrs. Watt. They’ve broken that one. Put it in one of those foolproof boxes so they can’t break it again. And then get Western Union and wire Mrs. Sargent that I can’t get the noon train. I’ll try to make the midnight if possible.”

  “Wait, Mac,” said Alan Monteith, springing up eagerly, “don’t send the message to Natalie! Why can’t I take that medicine for you? I’ll swear on my life that I’ll deliver it in good order before six o’clock. I’ll take it as a sacred trust. I guess you can rely on me, can’t you?”

  “Rely? Well, I rather guess yes, but I couldn’t think of letting you upset your plans for this. It’s just all in the day’s work for me, and you were on your way somewhere, I know. I wouldn’t have you go out of your way for anything. No, Alan, it will be all right. Really it will. I’ll get there before the day is over, and that’s all they can expect of a doctor.”

  “Look here, Mac. I’ll take it hard if you refuse me. I don’t care a cent for the fool house party I’m going to. It’s the only excuse for a holiday that presented itself, and I wasn’t at all sure I was going until a few minutes before I started.”

  “But I can’t have you bearing my burdens and upsetting your plans. There’s probably at least one lady involved in the case who will never forgive you. No, Alan, I can’t have you going off on a trip for me, traveling miles out of your way.”

  “There is no lady involved who has a right to care, and I don’t in the least mind a trip. And how do you know it is so far out of my way? Where is it, anyway? Show me!”

  Alan pulled out a map from his overcoat pocket and they both bent over it.

  “Why, it’s practically on my way!” said the young lawyer, straightening up. “Of course I’ll take that medicine, and you needn’t worry a minute. Get it ready for me, Miss Rice, and I’ll start right away. There is no reason in the world why I shouldn’t have it there early in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll have it wrapped in five minutes, Mr. Monteith,” said Miss Rice crisply. Then to the doctor: “Mr. Patterson is waiting, Dr. Sargent.”

  “Send him right in!” said the doctor. Then he turned to Alan.

  �
�I’ll never forget this of you, Alan. It’s an even bigger thing than getting the deal through in time, for Natalie had counted so on my coming Christmas Eve. I just know I shouldn’t let you do this, but somehow I can’t resist it. You’re sure you are not spoiling some delightful plan?”

  “Not in the least! I haven’t any delightful plans, I told you. I’m not so keen on this party and don’t care when I arrive there. And I’d go twice as far to have you spend the whole of this Christmas with Natalie and the children. I’m glad to have a part in it.”

  “Well,” said the doctor, with a suddenly grave face, “you’re having a part in something far more important than that, you know. You’re helping to save a life. I’m serious about that. It is a matter of life and death with my patient. And I may as well tell you the truth about it: there’s scarcely another man I know I would trust at Christmastime to take an important matter like this over. Especially with a snowstorm coming on. Almost anybody would say, ‘Oh, well, I’ve done my best. A few hours won’t matter.’ But I know you will put a thing like this first. Of course, I don’t anticipate any such necessity. I imagine this is only a flurry of snow. However, I’d take all precautions. Have you got chains on your car?”

  Alan laughed.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary, Mac, it’s only snowing a few lazy flakes. It won’t amount to anything. Just a flurry to give us a white Christmas. The sun will probably come out by noon and melt it off. Anyway, I don’t like chains. I always say if you are careful you make out better without them.”

  “I don’t know, Alan. Up there in the mountains the storms come up in a hurry sometimes. Better take your chains along.”

  “Well, I can easily get some on the way, if I see it is starting to drift. Good-bye. Give my regards to Natalie.”

  There was a quick handclasp, then Alan took the package of medicine and left.

  “Remember you are to spend next Christmas with us!” the doctor called and then turned to his patient and closed the door.

  Out of the city traffic at last Alan Monteith whirled away into a really white world, for the snow seemed to have been very industrious during his brief stay in the doctor’s office. The ground was already covered with a fine white blanket, and the flakes were settling down with a steady plunk, though still large and frolicsome.