Treasures of the Snow (19 page)

The snow on the valley road was not too bad. Lucien put his skis over his shoulder and found he could walk without much difficulty. The blizzard seemed to be stopping.

Once again he went into the woods and climbed, weary and afraid. These were dark, strange woods that he did not know and he was not even sure if he was on the right path. If he wasn’t, it might lead to a precipice. He could hear the howling wind and a rushing stream above him, and his skis seemed heavier and heavier.

He climbed through the woods for three hours, his mind full of fears and horrors of all the dangers that were to be found on the mountains: avalanches, treacherous snow drifts, breaking tree boughs. He thought of the St. Bernard dogs trained to rescue lost travelers.

Of course, he could go back.

He stopped for a moment wondering why that thought had not occurred to him before. How simple it would be to buckle on his skis and zigzag down the forest path and go home.

“I did my best,” he would tell them, “but I couldn’t get through.” The Burniers would no doubt think he was very brave to have even tried.

The wind was roaring horribly now, and the great trees seemed to be crying aloud and tossing their arms. He was nearly at the top of the forest, out on the wild wastes of the Pass where the wind might pick him up and whirl him over the rocks like a snowflake. He found his teeth were chattering, and he was crying.

“I’m so frightened,” he sobbed to himself. “I can’t go on. I know I’ll be killed on the Pass. I wish Monsieur Burnier would come.”

As he stooped to buckle on his skis, he suddenly remembered that warm, sheltered moment when he and Annette and Grandmother sat around the stove together and Grandmother had talked about being afraid.

“Perfect love drives out fear. If we really believe Jesus loves us perfectly there is nothing left to be afraid of. If he loves us perfectly He will never let anything really harm us.”

Lucien realized he was not alone after all. Grandmother had said that Jesus loved him perfectly, and if He loved perfectly He would not leave a child alone in darkness and danger. It was just as though someone stronger than the night, the wind, the terror, and the darkness had suddenly come to him and taken his hand and pointed up the mountain.

Lucien decided to go on.

“Perfect love drives out fear,” he murmured to himself over and over again. It was true, too. He had stopped feeling so terribly frightened because he had stopped feeling alone.

He had reached the top of the forest and come out into the open, and now he could think of nothing at all except how to go on.

He struggled on, foot by foot, bent nearly double because the pain of the cold wind on his face was more than he could bear. At times the snow was over his knees, but he kept going. One icy blast knocked him onto his back and he feared he wouldn’t be able to get up again, but a little strength seemed to return and he struggled to his feet again. At last he found that the ground in front of him sloped gently downward and he knew he had crossed the Pass.

Soon he reached forest again and the wind dropped. He felt numb with cold. Thankfully he realized he had not missed his way. God had certainly been guiding him.

He zigzagged carefully through the trees on the forest track, feeling glad to be sheltered from the wind that had beaten the sense and feeling out of him.

Down – down – down. The forest was almost quiet now, for he was traveling toward a deep valley. When at last he glided out into the open, the fields lay still and silver in the moonlight, and the dark town was below him. In half an hour’s time he would be there, knocking on the door of the great hotel, and then …

“If Jesus really loves me perfectly,” thought Lucien, “He can’t have let me come all this way for nothing.” Too tired to think anymore, he set out across the meadows toward the town.

M
onsieur Givet woke very early, and the first thing he thought of was that the storm had stopped and the valley was still. The second thing he remembered was that he was going home today.

He was glad he was going home. He had been ill and had come up to the mountains for a week’s rest and mountain air. Now he felt strong again and ready for work, and today he would travel on the early train and reach his lakeside home before midday—and what a welcome there would be!

What a noise the children would make. He smiled as he thought of them. He had two boys and two girls, who wore their poor mother out. He wished he could find someone who would help her with them.

He got out of bed and whistled while he shaved.

Just as he was finishing there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” called Monsieur Givet, surprised, for it was much too soon for the early breakfast he had ordered. It was only about half past five.

The door opened and the night porter came in. He looked as though he had some rather mysterious news.

“Excuse me, sir,” he began, tilting his head to one side, “but you weren’t by any chance expecting a visitor?”

“A visitor?” echoed Monsieur Givet, even more surprised, “at this hour and in this weather? I certainly am not.”

“Well, sir,” said the porter, “it’s like this. Just a quarter of an hour ago I heard a little tap on the door, and when I opened it, there on the steps stood a boy on skis, about twelve years old, sir, white as a sheet and looking more like a ghost than a boy. ‘I want Monsieur Givet,’ he said, without even stopping to say good morning. Then he sat down on the step and leaned his head against the doorway.

“‘Well,’ I said to him, ‘you can’t come calling on people at this hour of the morning, laddie. He’s asleep in his bed.’

“‘I’ll wait, then,’ he said, and his head sank down onto his knees.

“Well, I don’t like to see a child like that, so I took off his skis and dragged him in and sat him on a chair. ‘Where have you come from?’ I asked him.

“‘From Pré d’Oré,’ he said. “‘How’s that?’ I asked. ‘The early train isn’t in yet.’

“‘I came over the Pass,’ he said. And Monsieur, the more I look at that boy the more I feel like believing him. He’s sitting down in the hall now, and when I passed your door, sir, and saw the light on, I thought I’d come in and ask if you’d like to see him.”

“I’ll come and see him, certainly,” answered Monsieur Givet, “but I really can’t believe that story about him coming over the Pass. I don’t believe the mountain guides themselves could have crossed last night. It must have been terrible up there.”

The porter shrugged his shoulders and led the way downstairs When they reached the hall they both ran forward with a cry of dismay.

The boy had slithered off the chair and lay in a dead faint on the floor. His face looked strangely white.

Monsieur Givet picked the unconscious child up in his arms. “I’ll take this boy to my room,” he said to the alarmed porter. “You bring me some hot water bottles and some brandy and coffee, and be as quick as you can.”

Upstairs in his room he laid the boy on his bed, removed his sodden boots and socks, and rubbed his numb feet. Then he took off his snowy clothes and wrapped him in blankets. By this time the night porter had arrived, puffing very hard, with the bottles and the brandy and the steaming coffee.

Monsieur Givet arranged the bottles and held a teaspoonful of brandy to Lucien’s white lips. He did not open his eyes, but gave a tired sigh and swallowed the brandy.

“That’s right, laddie,” said Monsieur Givet.

“You’ll soon be around.”

When Lucien opened his eyes a few minutes later, he looked straight up into a kind brown face, and couldn’t think where he was. He felt so warm and comfortable and sleepy, he thought he would never want to move again as long as he lived. But he would like to know who the man with the kind brown face was, who looked at him so closely.

“Who are you?” he murmured.

Monsieur Givet didn’t answer at once. He raised Lucien’s head and gave him hot coffee. Lucien swallowed very slowly because it seemed too much of an effort to swallow just at the moment. When he had finished, he said again, “Who are you, and where am I?”

“I’m Monsieur Givet,” replied the doctor. “I don’t know you, but I understand that you wanted me.”

Lucien stared at him rather stupidly. He had been so tired that he had almost forgotten what he had come for. But with the warmth and the food things were beginning to get clear again, and at last he spoke.

“Are you a great, clever, famous doctor?” “No, I’m just a doctor.” “But can you make lame children walk?” “It depends on why they are lame. Sometimes I can.”

“He’s lame because he fell over a precipice. He walks with a crutch and a big boot.”

“Who does?” asked the bewildered Monsieur Givet.

“Little Dani Burnier. He’s six. He lives in the chalet next to mine. I came to ask if you could make him well. I’ve got enough money to pay you.”

“How did you hear of me?” “My sister told me about you last night. My sister is a maid here.”

“How did you get here in that storm?” “I came over the Pass on my skis.” “You couldn’t have done that, boy, not in that blizzard.”

“But I did. There’s no other way to come.” It was quite true. Monsieur Givet sat looking at the boy as though he were something from another planet As the doctor stared, Lucien’s hand crept under the shirt he was still wearing and took out the fat stocking.

“Please, sir,” he said, “would this be enough to make him better?”

Monsieur Givet emptied the stocking and gave a cry of astonishment.

“My boy,” said Monsieur Givet quite gently but very firmly, “before we go any further you must tell me where you got all this money from. Do you know how much there is?”

“No,” said Lucien rather drowsily. “But my sister said you’d want a lot. Is it enough?”

“That depends on whether you want to buy my clinic as well,” replied the doctor. “It’s far too much. Where did you get it from?”

“An old man I’m friends with gave it to me,” murmured Lucien, who felt he could not keep his eyes open another minute, “and there was a message. He said it was the payment of a debt, and you were to take it all.”

“Who was this old man?” asked Monsieur Givet. “Just tell me that, and then you shall go to sleep. What is his name?”

“Please, sir, I don’t know.” “Where does he live?” “He made me promise not to tell you.” With that, Lucien’s eyes closed and his head rolled over to one side. He fell fast asleep.

Monsieur Givet was in rather an awkward situation. His train was due to leave in three-quarters of an hour. But the boy lying on the bed had risked his life to come to him. It might be all for nothing, but he couldn’t disappoint such a brave child by refusing to see the little cripple. Yet the lad would probably sleep for hours now.

He left the room softly, went downstairs to the telephone, and rang his wife.

“Are you there, Marthe?” he began. “Darling, I’m so sorry, but I shan’t be home till tomorrow. Such a strange thing has happened.” And he told her the whole mysterious story.

As he left the office he was nearly knocked over by a red-eyed, pale-faced girl in outdoor clothes. She caught hold of his hand.

“Oh, sir,” she cried, “Porter tells me you’ve got my little brother safe upstairs. Mother and I thought he was dead in the drifts. I must go home quick and tell my mother he’s here.”

Monsieur Givet sat down beside her on a sofa and tried to get some sort of explanation out of her, but she could talk of little but the terrible night she and her mother had passed through.

Marie could tell Monsieur Givet very little about Dani. She was too upset to work, and now that she knew Lucien was safe she was in a hurry to take him home. She would telephone the post office now, and they would get a child to run up the mountain with the news so that her mother would hear more quickly.

But Monsieur Givet would not hear of Lucien going home just yet. Marie could go home by herself, and when Lucien woke he would bring him on the train. Marie had better get someone to send a mule sleigh to the station, as Lucien would probably be too stiff to walk.

Marie agreed to everything and made off as fast as she could while Monsieur Givet went back to his room. Lucien still lay just as he had left him, with his cheek resting on his hand But there was a faint tinge of color in his face. He looked much better. Monsieur Givet sat down and watched him and wondered again how the boy had got all that money. Who was the old man who had sent such a strange message?

“The payment of a debt!” Monsieur Givet decided to look into the matter very closely.

Lucien woke at midday, and once again could not remember where he was for quite a long time. He was aching all over and didn’t want to move. Monsieur Givet heard a little movement and came to see what was happening.

“Well,” he asked kindly, “how do you feel?” “All right, thank you,” answered Lucien. Then he remembered that he’d been to sleep and added worriedly, “Will you have time to see the little boy I told you about, sir?”

“Yes,” said Monsieur Givet, sitting down beside him. “We’ll go after dinner. I’ll ring now for them to send up dinner for two, and while we eat you can tell me all about this little boy and all about this old man whom you say sent the money.”