Where Two Ways Met (15 page)

“I beg your pardon,” he said hesitatingly. “Have I come to the right place? I want to see Mr. Washburn.”

“Yes?” said the young man. “Right in here.” He motioned toward a wide doorway a little beyond the front entrance.

So Paige stepped into a large room and suddenly was confronted by the sight of a coffin, in which lay an elderly man with white hair and a beautiful arrangement of lovely flowers banked about him.

Startled, he stood still and was about to leave. It was not a wedding but a funeral he had come to! But he could not back out, because there were a number of other people coming in behind him. They filled the doorway, and his friendly escort back of them was signaling to him and pointing to the coffin. He could not stop and say that he had not known where he was coming. It would create a scene. He would have to go on and act as if he had come here with intention. Eventually, there would be opportunity to go, or at least to talk with somebody and find out who was now responsible for the man’s estate, if he had any.

So Paige quickly adjusted himself to the situation and went forward to stand and look at the dead face, and while he stood there he could not help but think how but for a few days’ happenings he might have faced this man and brought sorrow and disappointment to him. Of course, it was all right to foreclose mortgages if one couldn’t pay them, but wasn’t it right to arrange things so the borrower would have more time given him if he had been unfortunate? Well, this was no time to consider a question such as that, and again he told himself it wasn’t his business anyway. But somehow, as he stood and looked down at that dead face, his own heart was searched as it had not been since he was a little boy. Even deeper than it had been when he was across the ocean, about to meet the enemy.

It seemed to him that the man who lay there was a good man. He had the marks of right living written in his face. And he was probably now in the presence of God. He looked like one of God’s children. And God Himself was there beside that coffin, he felt, looking at him as if He were challenging his presence there with one of His saints.

It was a strange, foolish feeling of course, a part of his embarrassing position perhaps, but he felt as if he had met God in a new way, and there was a tacit understanding now between himself and God that he would have to come back after this was over and have it out; have this matter between himself and God settled forever. A strange outcome indeed to have followed a mission like the one upon which he had been sent.

A good many people had come into the room now, and there were tears in evidence and softly murmured speech from one to another. Paige presently roused to the fact that he was in the way and that a great many other people were wanting to stand where he was and wanting to look again upon their old friend for the last time. Paige looked around to see whether he could get out of the house now, or at least out of the room, or certainly out of the way, but a kindly old man, who very much resembled the man in the coffin, touched him on the shoulder and led him to a vacant chair. He sat down quickly to get out of the public eye. Of course it wouldn’t look right for him to leave the house now before the service. It would make him all the more conspicuous.

A young man stepped up near the coffin at last and began to pray. Paige bowed his head with the rest, realizing now that the room was full. The wide hall was crowded with people sitting and standing, and the room beyond the hall—that was probably the dining room—was literally packed full. He had come to foreclose a mortgage on that home where death had taken the head. Intruding into their sacred sorrow! And when he closed his eyes and bowed his head, there stood God beside that coffin, as if He were waiting to take His beloved saint away with Him. He could see Him clearly, even with his eyes shut.

Paige had never experienced such a sense of being searched, accused. He had the same feeling he remembered from his school days when he was being called to account for some omission of duty. Yet he had not been actually conscious of wrongdoing. But now everything seemed wrong. His very presence in this strange house seemed more than an intrusion. It seemed the outward mark of something that he was beginning to see in his own life. Possibly not his job, but more his own attitude toward life as a whole.

All this was pressed upon him as he sat there with bowed head. He seemed to hear his own sins brought out before the God who stood so close.

The prayer over, there followed a wonderful collection of verses from scripture, making so clear the way of salvation and life that the wayfaring man, though a fool, could not err therein. For the first time in his life, Paige saw what he had been taking casually and not giving real heed to, though he had known the facts well from his infancy.

And God was still there. He was standing so near that, though his own eyes were looking down, he could feel His presence pervading the room and looking into his own soul.

Then the speaker began to mention a few things in the life of the wonderful, gentle old man who was departed, to tell of little incidents in which he had witnessed to some soul about Jesus, and to say how “Our brother Washburn was one who had unquestionably experienced what Paul meant by being crucified with Christ. He had continually lived in that resurrection power that Christ brought out of the tomb when He rose from the dead, that power that is made available to such of His own as are willing to be crucified to the things of the flesh and the things of the world.”

Paige’s mind went back at once to that last talk he had had with June. There were others then who believed this and preached it. Perhaps for aught he knew, his own father and mother had thought that they had taught him so to believe.

Sharply it came to him now that he was here in the capacity of an agent to bring sorrow and loss and distress to this saint of God, this man who had lived in a lofty place with Christ by the power of His resurrection.

And now he, Paige, had the definite feeling that he had been sent up here by God to this funeral to meet the Lord and find all this out, understand it as he never could have understood it in any way except in this startling presence of the Lord. It was as if the Lord were waiting to take away His saint with Him to glory.

Paige lifted a haggard face at last and looked at that placid face again lying in the coffin, so still, so calm, so satisfied, and knew that here was proof that a life lived in the resurrection power brought joy and not sacrifice, eternal riches and not spiritual poverty.

Then came the young minister’s voice again, strongly, with a ring of triumph in it.

“ ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ ”

And it came to Paige as he listened, that the deep meaning of that verse was to assure him that if he was willing to surrender all in death with Christ, he would be losing nothing worthwhile, for there was a greater life that he would gain, even here on earth. Why had he never understood that before? Why had he been so reluctant, even when June tried to make it plain to him? What was it he was trying to cling to? His lucrative job? He almost shivered at the thought that it was possible he had been willing to risk a life in close company with God, empowered with the strength of Christ, for a job such as he was now out upon.

There was no question in his mind now about the job. It was not his idea of a place for a crucified Christian. But the question of just what he should do about it, just what came next, and how far he was already involved in it, could not be decided now. He had first to settle things with God, the God who was standing by him now and looking into his heart.

There was a soft general stirring as a voice invited all who would to come forward and take a farewell look at the face of their friend, and Paige rose and moved back out of the way. Then he realized that this was the time for him to get out of the house and try to plan what he should do next about his errand. Should he abandon it, or call up the home office and ask for instructions, or what? But before there was a way for him to slip out, the white-haired man, who looked so much like the dead man, laid a kindly hand on his shoulder and said in a low tone, “You will ride in the car with me to the cemetery.”

“Oh!” protested Paige. “I have no right there.”

“Yes,” said the other, “you were my brother’s friend. I want you with me.”

“No, you don’t understand—” protested Paige again.

But the man had gone into the crowd with the parting words, “Yes, I want it that way. You stay around with me.”

Paige, bewildered, scarcely knowing what to do, retreated into a corner near the hall door. Now was a time to slip away, of course, as soon as the crowd in the hall thinned, yet he scarcely liked to be so discourteous after the man had been so gracious. He had probably mistaken him for someone else, but still, if there was an opportunity, he ought to explain who he was, and of course, this would likely be the only opportunity he would have to find out where he could contact Mr. Washburn’s executor, or whoever he should see about this matter of the mortgage. He hated to intrude matters of business now, at a time like this, yet he ought to get back home as quickly as possible, whatever he was going to do eventually. He must somehow manage to explain to this man before they intruded him into the funeral train. It was impossible that he should carry out this farce any longer, for while he knew in his heart that unspeakable good had come to himself through that service, still he had had no right whatever there, and there seemed no apology worthy to excuse his stupidity.

And now the people were moving away, the coffin was covered, and Paige moved out onto the porch with a quick look around. He could slip away and come back toward evening to explain.

But the kindly hand lay on his shoulder again, imperatively.

“Come now,” the man said, “they are waiting for us.”

And suddenly a number of people swept him along. And though he did his best again to get the attention of his pleasant-minded host, there was no opportunity.

There were two other people already in the car, and Paige hesitated at the door, beginning, “I must explain—”

The older man only smiled and said, “Yes, just a minute. I must speak to someone over there,” and the undertaker urged Paige to take the seat in the corner.

So Paige, much against his will, went to the cemetery, and it was not until the two people in the backseat were dropped at their home after the service that he had an opportunity to explain.

The other Mr. Washburn, for Paige had now discovered that that was his name, turned to him at last.

“Now,” he said, “I’m sure you will understand how I had no time before this to talk. I was sure you would see how involved I was.”

“Yes,” Paige said, “but you gave me no opportunity to explain to you that I am not Mr. Washburn’s friend, or even acquaintance. I never saw him before until I saw him lying in that coffin. I came to see him on business. I had no idea that he had passed away until someone ushered me into the room where he lay. I am merely a businessman, sent up to look after some business with Mr. Washburn, and I had no intention whatever of barging in on a private matter like a funeral. I tried to get out, but everybody misunderstood, and I could not manage it without creating confusion.”

The old man had been watching him earnestly as he talked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you were Joe’s friend from Chicago. I am sure no one intended to involve you in a matter that couldn’t possibly interest you.”

“Of course I understand that,” said Paige. “It was wholly my own blundering. But you are mistaken that I had no interest in what went on. I was much touched and
helped
by the service. I feel that I should thank someone for having let me in on it. But that is wholly apart from the business I came up to transact, and perhaps now it will not be out of place for me to ask where I can find Mr. Washburn’s representative? I really ought to get the midnight train back to New York, if that is possible, though if I can better get my business transacted tomorrow, I could arrange to stay overnight. This is scarcely the time to talk business with a member of the family. Is there any business representative of the family whom I could see?”

“Just what was the nature of the business you had with my brother?” asked Mr. Washburn, watching the young man gravely.

“It is a mortgage foreclosure,” said Paige firmly, finding that of all the missions of his journey, this one seemed to him to be the hardest to execute.

“
Foreclosure
?” said the other man. “But I understood that that was already attended to. At least, I talked it over with my brother, and he told me that it was his intention to pay in full the principal on that and have it entirely out of the way.”

“Yes? But he
didn’t
. And the interest is some
time
overdue. I don’t know whether you understood that a failure to pay the interest on time necessitates a foreclosure. In this case it is quite over the legal thirty days.”

“That seems strange,” said Mr. Washburn. “My brother talked about that with me a few nights before he was taken sick. Are you sure that wasn’t attended to?”

“I’m positive. I have all the papers with me. Several notices were sent on this matter, and no attention was paid to them.”

“Do you know the dates?”

“Yes, here they are. The first was sent on the usual date, of course; the second a week later, and others after that. Here they are.”

The older man studied the dates for a moment before he said, “Oh, well, then you see, the first reached here about the time my brother was taken ill. It is possible he did not even see it, as no one dared to trouble him with his mail. That is a pity. It makes you a lot of unnecessary trouble, too. But suppose you come back to the house with me now. I can look through my brother’s papers. His checkbook might tell something. We will see if the notices are there. He always attended to such business matters himself, but of course, he often consulted with me.”

At the house again, the two men went to the neat little study where the dead man had his desk, now piled high with unopened letters.