The Seventh Hour Read online

  The meeting was even more fascinating than the week before, the message about salvation was very clear and helpful, and she watched with amazement as a poor old sodden woman of the baser sort came forward of her own accord and accepted Christ as her Savior. It was a tremendous experience, watching her contrition, her overpowering joy that God loved her, a poor fallen, sinful creature. Coralie had never been where thoughts and feelings were analyzed and called by their true names, where sin was sin and not a laughing matter. It made her feel akin to the old sinner kneeling there with Valerie beside her, pointing the way. It showed her many things in her own heart just like those things in the old sinner's life. She listened and rejoiced that the old woman had found her Lord at last after all the sorrowful years.

  And then a strange thought came to her. Suppose this were Lisa kneeling here, weeping over her sins! She had no doubt that Lisa's heart, and her own, held things as sinful as ever the old woman had harbored. But suppose Lisa could be changed, "saved" as they called it. Would it make a difference in her? But, would Lisa ever be willing to acknowledge she had sinned? She turned from the question perplexedly, with a kind of strange little longing such as she had never felt before, and a hopelessness, too, for Lisa never had been willing to acknowledge herself in the wrong. She probably would take that attitude with God, also.

  After the meeting they had a happy evening at the house, Dana and Bruce coming back with them, of course. They sang and later made Welsh rarebit and had a jolly time generally. If the group with which she usually companioned could have looked in on her, they would have been surprised to see how well Coralie fitted in. For it seemed to her that this atmosphere of love and simple cheer was something for which she had always been longing.

  It was late when they broke up that night and the two young men went home, Kirk and Ranald walking partway with them for company.

  It was a new experience to Coralie to room with a Christian girl who knelt to pray at night before lying down to sleep. Coralie watched her for a moment kneeling there so sweetly in her simple white robe, and then she slipped softly out of bed and knelt beside her. Valerie put out a loving hand and clasped hers as they knelt there side by side. Then after some minutes, Valerie broke the silence with a soft petition.

  "Dear Father in heaven, I thank Thee for this new friend. May our coming together be to Thy glory, and may our fellowship be blessed. Grant that Coralie may find great joy in the Lord Jesus. We ask it in His name."

  And Coralie breathed softly "Amen" as she had heard people in the meeting do. Amen had never meant a thing to her before, but now it seemed to mean a great deal.

  Morning came all too soon, and Coralie woke up to the unusual excitement of seeing that big loving family come awake and start one another off for the day.

  Valerie did not have to go until nine o'clock, so they had a pleasant time together for a little while, washing and wiping the pretty old delicate china, some of which had come from Scotland and some from Ireland. Then they put it up in its places in the quaint old corner cupboards, which a beloved grandfather, a skilled cabinetmaker, had made. The Shannons were very proud of these ancestral pieces.

  When Valerie went away to the office Coralie donned a borrowed apron and went into the kitchen to be taught how to prepare lunch. They were going to make real old Scotch scones and oatmeal bannock. Coralie hadn't the slightest idea what they were, but she was greatly intrigued to learn.

  The morning went swiftly, Coralie watching everything that went on. She had never realized before that cooking could be a fine art. At least Mrs. Shannon made it appear so. There was bread set, and during the course of the morning it was flipped out in a springy mass onto a marble-topped table and molded into smooth loaves then set to rise again in nice shiny pans. There was pot roast slowly simmering in the great kettle on the back of the stove, getting itself ready for the dinner that night. And there were pies, a whole row of them ready to go in the oven, apple pies and pumpkin pies. It fascinated her to see how they were made.

  And all the time that Mrs. Shannon was skillfully building them and fashioning fragile covers with little slits in them where the cinnamon could look through, and pinching lovely flutes in the crust-rims, they were talking. Mrs. Shannon knew so well how to bring out what was in a young heart. So many years she had guided young feet along slippery ways, and so tenderly did her heart yearn over dear girls with life all before them, that she soon understood all about Coralie, although Coralie didn't dream how much she was telling in her few little revealing sentences.

  So they got on beautifully together, and Coralie wished more and more that Lisa had been a mother like this one. How Lisa would have sneered at the thought. She couldn't help wondering whether if Lisa hadn't had any money at all, she wouldn't have settled down to do nice pleasant things for her family, like making pies and setting pretty tables. How nice and cozy that would have been!

  Then the family began to drift in from everywhere, getting back from work and study and conferences and music lessons and basketball practice and all the various things that the Shannons engaged in, coming home to Saturday lunch! How pleasant!

  Last of all Valerie came hurrying in, apologizing for being late. Mr. Burney had asked her to take an important letter that had to get off at once.

  Coralie sat down with the rest, a smudge of flour on one cheek, and a little flush of triumph on both of them because she had achieved the baking of a set of scones all by herself.

  Her flowers were on the table, glorifying it. And the family all took her in just as if she were one of them. Even Turla and Leith demanded to know if she could play basketball, and offered to get her tickets for the high school game.

  After lunch dishes were out of the way, at which they all helped, Valerie whipped up a luscious caramel cake for the evening, when she said Dana and Bruce were coming to practice a song for the Sunday service. And then the two girls went upstairs and Valerie gave Coralie a lesson in knitting, with the idea of making a sweater she very much admired. After which they took a brisk walk downtown to purchase needles and yarn.

  Coralie had a feeling as she came back with her fat bundle under her arm, as if she were really beginning to amount to something at last. She was determined to knit a whole dress like Valerie's. It might take her years, but she knew it was going to be fun.

  At dinner the pot roast was good, tender as could be, and tasting so much better because Coralie felt that she knew just how it had been brought to perfection. Mrs. Shannon had let her stir the thickening up and make the gravy. She felt as if she had accomplished a great feat, something like making the world, or fashioning a dress. There was a wonderful thrill to her in finding out how common everyday things were done and being able to say she had helped. She told it to Dana triumphantly that evening when he came.

  "I've learned how to make scones and thicken gravy," she said joyously. She looked up at Dana sweetly as if she was glad he belonged to her and she had a right to boast to him. Dana, too, felt a thrill as he watched her sweet young beauty and thought how proud and glad his father would have been if he could see her now.

  "And perhaps he does," he said softly to himself with a tender look coming over his face and touching the smile on his lips, till suddenly Coralie leaned over and grasped his hand with a quick little clasp.

  So! After all, was he going to have a sister?

  Chapter 18

  Coralie went back to the apartment after lunch Monday.

  She had lingered a little while to help Mrs. Shannon, watching the process of the Monday wash, being initiated into the mysteries of washing machines and irons, partly because it fascinated her, but more than that because she dreaded to go back.

  She was very sure that Lisa would be home by this time, and she dreaded meeting her.

  It was a very sweet talk she had with Mrs. Shannon. She asked her questions that she would have asked Lisa long ago if Lisa had been the kind of woman who was wise. Then she asked her wistful questions about God and pr
ayer. There was something so gentle and tender in this good woman's way of explaining life that she sat at her feet and enjoyed every word she said. Coralie felt as if her soul had got home after a stormy voyage, and it was great to be able to trust and ask unafraid.

  So she lingered and ate of the delicious soup that had been simmering on the stove all the morning, and proudly washed the few dishes herself, putting them away carefully, feeling that she had done something worthwhile for the first time in her life.

  Then wistfully she said good-bye, cherished the warm hug and kiss that came from a loving mother-heart, and went back to what she called home, though she had now learned it never had been a home at all.

  She took a long way around and stopped on the way to make a few trifling purchases, putting off her arrival at the apartment until late in the afternoon.

  She knew as soon as she got out of the elevator that Lisa was back and that she had brought guests with her. Both guest rooms seemed to be occupied.

  Encountering Bella on her way to her room she found that Lisa had returned on Sunday with several guests and had partied until after daylight that morning but was not still asleep.

  Coralie's heart sank. This was what she had feared. It was not the first time this had happened, and the girl dreaded the evening when the revelers would waken and begin again. She knew it would be a great contrast to the last few days, and she shuddered at the thought.

  Bella did not know just who were the guests, though she admitted that Mr. Kavanaugh had been there till dawn, and she thought he was returning to dinner. The ladies in the guest rooms were strangers who had come down from Canada with the party.

  Coralie paused at her door, giving uncertain glances up the hall, but all was quiet so far. She wondered whether she ought not to slip away again somewhere and get out of all this, but where could she go? Not back to the Shannons' after such a prolonged stay, even after all their kindly hospitality. That would never do so soon again. Of course, she might go to a hotel, but since her stepfather had arrived in the city in such a mood she was afraid to take refuge in a hotel where he might trace her. It was really Dinsmore's threatening notes, two more of which she found on her desk, that frightened her beyond anything. Perhaps she ought to send some word to Dana. He had a telephone now, and that was a comfort. She could call him up if she needed him.

  So she ordered a tray early, before dinner was anywhere near ready and before any of the people were stirring about. She told Bella she was tired and did not want to be disturbed during the evening and did not want it known that she had returned, unless Lisa should ask for her.

  There was this difference between the Coralie who had come home this Monday evening and the girl who had gone out Friday evening. She had learned how to pray in the meantime.

  So now, after Bella had left her she locked her door and knelt down for guidance and help. And she prayed for Lisa, too. For the first time it occurred to her that she could pray for Lisa and just put the whole matter in the hands of her heavenly Father.

  She had taken the precaution to pull the shades down, covering the window completely before she lighted a single lamp, for the address Dinsmore Collette had given was too near at hand for her to run any risks, and her experience with the man had taught her that he would not stop at anything to carry his point. Therefore she searched her room and closets most carefully before she settled down to eat the supper Bella brought, and locked her door again. She would take no more chances than were necessary. Would she have to tell Lisa about those letters Dinsmore had written? Perhaps that would bring Lisa to her senses, to discover that he was not dead as she had been told. Perhaps it would cause her to send away Ivor Kavanaugh, for the present at least.

  But there would be no opportunity to tell her tonight since there were guests in the house, and more returning to dinner. There would be more festivity tonight. It was no time to tell Lisa of danger and trouble when she was drinking.

  So Coralie finished her brief supper, and after putting on a severely plain black satin dress so that she might be fit to go out in case it became necessary, she gave Bella the tray and then locked herself into her room again, turning out even the little bedside light. Perhaps she could get through the evening without their knowing she was at home.

  She threw herself down on the bed. The noises of the city drifted in the window, which she had opened a few inches, a radio droned not far away, bright voices floated up from the street, a fire siren screamed, the engine tore past, and so the whirl of life went on, while Coralie lay and thought out all that had been happening to her the past few days, trying to think her life through from its beginning, to a wider, fuller way with heaven at the end. Was it thinkable that Lisa would ever find God?

  Over and over it all she went, and back to the same question again.

  The sounds in the street changed. Hurrying feet and languid voices passed on, and there came lighter footsteps and laughter. People seeking rest and amusement, people going home to rest.

  Then there came distinct though subdued sounds from the other side of the apartment. Footsteps toward the dining room. Elevators rumbling. A light laugh now and then. There! That was Lisa's voice! Was she coming down the corridor? No, she had gone on to the dining room. But there was her voice again, from farther away. Talking in that high excited, unnatural tone that always succeeded a night of drinking. Oh, well did Coralie know the shades of contempt, of scorn, of even hatred that could sound in that voice, that should have been dearer to her than any other earthly voice, and was not. She would not dare approach her in such mood to tell her of Dinsmore Collette's presence in the city, his threatenings. She knew such an approach could only bring the worst possible reaction and forestall any possible precaution.

  So she lay and suffered through the hours.

  She knew just when they left the dining room and went to the reception room. She held her breath lest any would come her way, hoping against hope that Bella had not told them she had returned.

  But no one came, and by and by between fear and prayer she drifted off to sleep.

  Sometime in the night, she did not know how late it was, she heard a piercing scream.

  She started up and stared around in the dark room, wondering if it had been a dream.

  And then it came again, louder, more fraught with crazy terror. It was Lisa!

  Coralie sprang to her feet and dashed toward the door, snapping back the bolt and flinging the door wide. Something awful must have happened. Lisa was in some terrible trouble!

  She fled down the corridor toward the main hall, and then the scream came again, more terrific, more bloodcurdling than before. Someone must be doing something terrible to Lisa!

  The great reception room ran the full length of the hall. It had originally been two rooms, but Lisa, who loved palatial mansions, had had the partition taken out and made one mammoth room of it. The door to the back part, which had originally been a library, stood open now and was nearest to her as she sped breathlessly along. Before she reached it she could catch a glimpse of Lisa through the door, standing in huddled fright, looking with terror toward the far end of the room. Her hands gripping each other were pressed to her breast, and her eyes were wide with fear. Just a step beyond her Ivor Kavanaugh stood holding out with uncertain hand a wineglass filled with wine, but he, too, was looking with suddenly startled eyes toward the other end of the room.

  Coralie swung close to the door now, where she could see what they were looking at, and with quick constriction of her heart she recognized the man who stood there as her stepfather, Dinsmore Collette. Then with horror she saw that in his hand he held a pistol, pointed straight at Lisa. His eyes were dark with a look of jealously and hatred so great that it almost looked like insanity. In that instant he fired, and it seemed to Coralie that the sound of that shot went through her very being, as she saw Lisa fall with another scream that died away into a sudden awful silence. And then, too quick almost for comprehension, she saw Ivor drop the glass of wine
and flash another pistol.

  The two reports of the guns were almost simultaneous. Ivor fired and suddenly slumped, his body swaying, tottering, and falling away toward a little table filled with bottles and glasses, bringing it down with him and about him in dreadful confusion.

  And when her frightened eyes caught a glimpse of the other end of the room, she saw Dinsmore lying prone with a scarlet spot rapidly widening above his heart. Then the scattering guests hid the view, and she flew into the room toward Lisa, lying there so still and white and beautiful.

  Someone made a wild dash to the door as she entered, and shoved her rudely aside in his madness, cursing under his breath as he passed her. A long time afterward, or so it seemed, she recognized that cursing voice as Errol's, but when she looked about for him later he was nowhere in sight. He had made good his escape, leaving Ivor, his supposed uncle, lying still as death upon the floor. But Coralie, with white face, was kneeling on the floor beside Lisa, searching with trembling hand for sign of a heartbeat, and these things passed her mind as ugly dreams that did not fully register.

  Afterward she discovered that Bella, terribly frightened, had taken things in her own hands and telephoned for her brother who was a policeman, and presently the room was swarming with grim-faced men in uniform, asking questions of the guests who still remained, who had been startled into semi-soberness.

  She saw them kneel beside Dinsmore and shake their heads, but when she looked again they were carrying him away, whether dead or alive she did not know. It was enough for the present that he was gone.

  She was wildly trying to lift Lisa in her arms now, for somehow the sight of her helpless loveliness reached something in her heart that Lisa in her scornful blithesomeness had never touched. This was her mother, lying here, with blood spreading slowly out over the white brocade of her delicate gown, and her golden beautiful hair that had always been arranged so carefully, mussed and lying low on the floor. Oh, was Lisa dead?