Silver Wings (8 page)

“I should say!” murmured the disgruntled youth, rising and flinging away his cigarette. He spoke as if he’d had much experience with that particular effort, and walked to where he could lean against an ivied wall by an arched gateway and watch the lady from afar. They had all been worshippers at Diana’s feet. Amory could readily see that.

Presently the group dragged themselves from their comfortable positions and walked off by twos and threes to the country club to see the afternoon doubles played. But Diana remained in her chair, a slim, green, graceful figure, apparently enjoying utter relaxation.

“You won’t change your mind and come, Di?” called Susanne from down by the dahlia gardens.

“No thanks, Sue darling, not this afternoon!” said Diana, and she drowsed off again.

When they were all out of hearing, she opened her eyes cautiously and looked around then stealthily slipped into the house. Five minutes later she appeared below again, with a neat little wicker knapsack slung over her shoulder, an up-to-date fishing rod in her hand, a soft slouch hat of olive-green over her bright head, and a determined look on her rose-tipped lips.

She walked briskly and silently down the garden to the airstrip and turned her steps quite resolutely toward the woods as if she knew exactly where she was going. Quite as if she might have watched two figures go that way a little over an hour before.

Amory watched her from her window, resting her hand a moment from her writing. Such a trim, slender, boylike figure, with determined back and graceful gait, like a young Robin Hood. She could not but admire her, and she wondered, with a smile of amusement on her lips, what would happen when the green fisherwoman appeared in the wood, supposing she were successful in her quest. How would the man with the strong chin take this interruption? What could he possibly do about it, anyway, if she were there?

The summer day settled drowsily, dreamily into afternoon. There were bees below in the garden dipping into honeysuckle and roses. Their droning made a pleasant accompaniment to a meadowlark far off. Sweet perfumes wafted up from the garden, and the shimmer of light and color and warm sunshine sifted in at Amory’s open window and made her hungry for some of the life and joy and pleasant things that the other young people were having. She rebuked herself and plodded away at the pile of envelopes that had to be addressed, for it had been impressed upon her that they must be finished promptly.

But now and again her eyes would stray to the distant mountains and rest on the great space of clear blue sky into which the flier had disappeared that morning.

How far away that morning seemed now, and how unreal! Perhaps after all she had only dreamed it. Perhaps there was no silk handkerchief guarding a pair of little silver wings hidden away in her suitcase. Perhaps it was all a vision of the night.

At last so strong was the feeling, that she laid down her pen, made sure her door was locked, and went and took out the wings again, holding them in the palm of her hand, reading the name inscribed on the back, Theodore Gareth Kingsley. Gareth. A beautiful name. And he had asked her to use it when she thought of him. The others called him Teddy. Gareth. Why, that was the name of one of King Arthur’s knights, the one with the great determination, wasn’t it? She must read up about it again. Doubtless his mother had some hidden meaning when she liked to call him that, unless indeed it was a family name. She would browse around down in that great library by and by and see if there was a copy of Knights of King Arthur and the Round Table, and read up. It would be something pleasant to do when she finished her work. She must keep busy here or she would be deadly lonely.

As she sat holding the little silver wings in her hand she thought of her Testament, gone forth from her. Would it do any work for the kingdom anywhere? Would the young man read it at all? He had asked for it more in the way of sentimentality. He did not even seem to know what it was. He had called it a “little book.” It would have meant just as much to him if it had been a volume of essays or Shakespeare. Would he ever open it? Or would he wear it superstitiously as a protection from danger, the way people wore a rabbit’s foot on a ribbon around their necks?

Suddenly she laid the silver trinket down upon her bed and dropped on her knees beside it. She had promised to pray for him, and her heart at that moment went out with a great longing that he might know God and understand what it meant to be a saved one—that he might be protected and guarded from the dangers of the air, the perils of the sea, and brought back safely; or if not, then saved and brought Home.

She was surprised at herself for the fervor of her petition. She had often prayed earnestly for the conversion of friends, of her Sunday school class, but had never felt such a strong impulse to beg for God’s mercy on any other as she now felt. It was as if she suddenly realized his great need, as if the perils of his profession—or was it only his play?—had taken a deep hold upon her and something outside herself was urging her to prayer, urging her to a new faith that filled her with a kind of exaltation, that even brought tears to her eyes as she prayed. She did not understand herself. She was half ashamed of herself to pray so earnestly for one who was an utter stranger. Was she falling for the things he had said that morning? Was she losing her head to a pair of handsome eyes and a strong chin? To pleasant words and a charming manner? Was she just like other fool girls after all? Had it done her no good to be brought up by dear Aunts Hannah and Jocelyn? “Oh, God, forgive me if I am a fool!” she prayed. “And I know I must be, for I never acted this way before, but please take care of Gareth, and save him for Thyself.”

She got up from her knees then and firmly put away the wings as if they were something she ought not to look upon. She even locked her suitcase and then went soberly back to her work and applied herself so diligently that only now and then did her eyes stray to the far blue spaces out her window where she had seen the great bird disappear that morning. It was presumable that if he should return, he would come back the same way, and he ought to be arriving within the next hour or two. If he should come, how must she conduct herself? How was she to keep out of his way? For that their acquaintance should go no further was, of course, the only possible thing under the circumstances. She must get away from the thought of him. And if he returned, she must give back those wings.

Or should she? It might look as if she wanted her Testament back again, and if it could do him any possible good, she wanted him to keep it. Perhaps it would be better just to keep out of sight and ignore the whole thing if he returned.

Nevertheless, her eyes would stray now and then to the faraway blue, but no dim speck in the distance drew near and developed into a great ship as on the day before, and the shadows grew long on the grass, the young people returned from the country club, and still the birdman had not come.

D
own in the woods near the ravine, Miss Robin Hood stumbled along on her little high-heeled olive-green suede shoes and set her lips more firmly. She knew these shoes were not designed for climbing down ravines, nor for fishing along a muddy stream, but she had bigger fish to catch than mere brook trout, and the shoes were a part of her outfit, so she bore the discomfort.

It was somewhat of a puzzle to know which way to turn, but Diana was a girl of unerring instincts, and she followed those now. They brought her out at last, downstream, to a quiet pool that looked deep and cool and was only flecked with dimpling sunshine here and there; a pool where hemlocks dipped and touched their dripping fronds, where great rocks wore velvet moss and gray lichens, and where great trees canopied and arched above, harboring a silver-toned thrush or two to send a wild sweet note upward now and then, even when there was no ear but God’s to hear.

She walked quietly, for she wished to come on her quarry unawares, and stealing through the cool shadows of the wooded hillside in her Robin Hood green, she seemed like a part of the landscape. No one would have noticed her, not even a bird or a chipmunk would have fled from her, because she looked like one of them, and quite as if she might have been cousin to a tree. So going, she came at last to where she sighted them sitting silently together on a rock, the young man and the boy, their lines dropped, their faces intent, the filtering sunbeams touching their heads with flecks of light and bringing out their statuelike attitudes.

She dropped down silently behind a group of cedars where she was not visible and watched them intently awhile. As motionless as the fishers, she sat and studied the man to whom she meant to lay siege.

It surprised her that he was so well built and that his head was so finely shaped. She somehow had expected him to be of the ascetic type, and awkward. His aunt had intimated that he had had few advantages, and she had supposed, of course, that this would show in his general attitude.

But this man was no awkward youth.

Of course, if he had been brought up in the country—she was not sure if Mrs. Whitney had said he had—he would naturally be more at his ease in overalls on the brink of a stream fishing than in evening clothes in a salon. But this man had an innate grace about him that held her admiration, and when he suddenly jerked up his line and landed a great fish on the bank beside him, to the exquisite joy of his young companion, his hearty laugh rang out with a cultured note that surprised her. But of course, a preacher! He must have studied somewhere and been with cultured people at least for a time. She ought to have thought of that. Well, that only made her task easier.

For a long time she sat and watched him, noting his kindly way with the boy, noting the admiration in Neddy’s eyes and the hearty way the man accepted him as a pal, without the least condescension or impatience. Then she slowly, stealthily, arose and began her soft descent to the bank opposite the two on the rock. She noted carefully the lay of the land. The stream narrowed just across from the rock where the man and the boy sat. There were clumps of laurel and hemlock clustering thickly on her side of the stream.

She descended carefully, a step or two at a time, taking pains not to step on a dry twig or a loose stone, and she kept persistently behind trees and bushes. So descending, she finally reached their level behind the foliage and, parting almost imperceptibly the branches, was able at last to wedge herself between the hemlocks and get her head and shoulders into full view without having disturbed the two intent fishers. A chameleon could have done no better.

So there she stood before them in her perfect setting: olive-green, a vivid little face under the Robin Hood soft hat with the jade lights in her eyes and the flecks of sunlight caught in her eyelashes. She could not have made it more perfect if she had hired the scenery painted for this her first act in the farce she was to play. Or was it to be a tragedy? She had scarcely planned so far. And so she stood and waited for the right moment and the curtain to rise.

The curtain rose when Ned landed his first fish, swinging his line in a great circle and bellowing his voice out so loud it frightened the thrushes far above. Two laughs rang out—a young joyous one and an older happy one, blending as if they enjoyed each other and loved the day. Two laughs like music, that suddenly stopped with a crash in the middle and brought a silence that almost hurt.

While it hurt and held, a thrush high up gave a fluted, faraway note, and the wind swept soft fingers over a lute in the trees, and the man and the boy looked at the fisher-lady standing between the parted branches of the hemlocks, with her little brown grass creel strapped across her shoulders and her soft green hat pushed back showing the gold of her hair, like the lashes of her jade green eyes, and her trim little rod in her hands. Nothing could have been more startling to a silent fisherman and boy than to find a wood nymph caught thus in the branches watching them when they thought they were quite alone with the distant thrushes.

“Great cats!” exclaimed the boy when he had rubbed his eyes and found that she was real. “Isn’t this the limit!”

“Go softly, old pard!” said the low voice of the man. “We must remember that we are men, gentlemen, you know. Cut this kid stuff!”

The girl across the stream did not fail to get this, every word, and to be astonished at it. Neither did she fail to notice the firm chin and pleasant mouth, the keen gray eyes, and the fine white teeth that flashed as the man smiled. This was going to be interesting, far beyond her highest hopes.

But she did not leave the situation too long without explanation. She knew the exact instant when the action should begin.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, and her voice was like a silver ribbon unrolling. “I was trying to find a good place to fish, and I came on you suddenly, so I waited till you got a bite. I’ll just go on downstream now.”

“You can’t find a better spot than just below where you’re standing,” said the man, and she noted the culture of his voice. “There’s a rock over there that will make quite a good seat, and the fish are biting nicely right here. No reason why you shouldn’t share our luck,” he added heartily.

“Oh, heck!” said Neddy, casting a baleful glance across the stream.

“Steady, old pard!” advised the elder voice in an undertone.

Diana parted the branches and came forth: green clinging silken garments; slim green legs; little woodsy green hat crowded back; gold hair glinting with the sunbeams; and the green and gold lights in her eyes. She knew she was a picture. She was depending a good deal on that first impression, and she saw he got it. She dropped down prettily on the rock and was satisfied.

“Have you bait?” he asked affably.

“I had a worm,” she said sweetly, “but I’m not sure but it may have got away. My creel fell off once, up on the hill.”

She was fumbling with the latch of her basket.

The young man did not smile.

“Here, kid, get this can across to her. You’re barefoot!” he said, as if she were another boy and quite welcome to be of their party.