Partners (19 page)

"No," said Dale. "What you've said, that he's better, is enough to rest me all I need. And I really want to stay awake awhile just to realize it and thank God!"

"Well," said the nurse grimly, "have it your own way! You certainly are a different kind of girl from any I know." And she sat down to her breakfast. When it was finished she went into her little room and lay down for a well-earned rest.

When Dale had washed the few dishes and felt sure the nurse was asleep, she went over by the little crib and knelt beside it, looking down into the sweet baby face, so small, so innocent, so like a little white flower, just resting there lightly on the pillow, her heart going out in love to the little motherless child. She prayed softly, "Oh, dear Father in heaven, I thank You for making the little dear better. And now--please--keep everybody safe, and bless them." She
said
"everybody," but in her heart she meant George Rand.

George Rand, sailing high above the clouds on his way back to the city was thinking about Dale.

Something in the doctor's voice last night when he called up, and Dale wasn't there as usual to answer him, made him feel uneasy. What had happened? Was Dale sick that she didn't answer the phone, and the doctor hadn't wanted to tell him? She had always been there and answered immediately before when he had called. Of course, it was an hour later than usual on account of the committee meeting that had lasted longer than expected and had detained him, but even so, it wasn't like her not to be there till he had called.

Was he growing so sure of her that he had reckoned on her being too faithful? That was ridiculous, for she had no call to be faithful to him of course. Only he had come to feel that her interest was bound up with his in that baby.

But he didn't know the girl very well. He had had only that brief experience with the freezing baby to judge by. She might be tired of her job. She hadn't ever expected when she came away from Mrs. Beck's gloomy abode that she would have to stay all these days alone carrying heavy responsibility. He had been so sure of her, but why did he think she, a stranger, would stand for everything? She might have heard of a job and had to take it. She might have paid the nurse something to carry on alone. She might have been called away to wherever she called home to attend some relative in severe illness. Why, there were a thousand things that might have kept her away from the telephone around the time he usually called. Well, he couldn't keep from trusting her until he had some reason not to trust her, and certainly just not being there at a certain time to answer him wasn't enough to mean a thing.

He scarcely knew why he had taken this plane in the night to get back instead of waiting till morning and getting a chance to sit in on that last session of an important committee. It was merely an uneasiness in his subconscious mind that had driven him to make this decision. After he had talked with the doctor he had a feeling that something was the matter. Either the baby was worse than the doctor had implied, or something had happened to Dale. And either was enough to drive him into quick action. So he had done some hasty telephoning, secured a reservation on the next plane, excused himself from a few obligations that had been thrust upon him, flung his things into his suitcase, and rushed off in a taxi to get the plane. And here he was sailing through a brilliant night, looking down upon a far white world beneath him, and wondering why he had rushed home in such a hurry after being assured that he was not needed.

Well, here he was, and morning was on the way. In the morning he would know whether he had been foolish or not. But somehow he was glad he had done it.

It didn't look much like the night of deep quiet snow when he had come home and found that pitiful tiny naked baby beating the icy air and trying feebly to call for help, there in the Beck vestibule. There was nothing to remind him in the brilliant world below of that night and the days and nights that had followed before he had to come away and leave that brave girl, and that poor little kid without his help. But now, as he closed his eyes every little detail of the whole happening came to him, and swelled his heart with thoughts that thrilled him. Even way back to the day he had picked up those oranges for Dale and carried them up to her room for her. Dale, what a lovely name. Dale Hathaway! He hadn't had much time to think about her since he had been at that convention. He had only been concerned in finding out the latest news, ferreting out an obscure possibility, and writing it up to get it to his paper before other men got the same thing and beat him to it.

But now he had time to think, and the strangest things came to him. The way Dale had held out her arms for that little dirty sorrowful scrap of humanity, and gathered him close. The way she had sat beside the little tub, supporting him with her round bare arm, holding him in the curve of her elbow, washing him so gently, and patting him softly till he was dry, enfolding him in the warm, dry blanket, and cuddling him close. The way she had bent over him and crooned to him. It had seemed to him like an ideal picture of womanhood, motherhood. And she was just a girl! A lovely little hardworking girl, evidently. He could see the little curl in the back of her neck as she bent over the baby. He could see the way she slipped the spoon in the baby's mouth, and stopped his pitiful weak cry with warmth and comfort. It all came back so vividly, and stirred the depths of his soul.

And then how she had lent herself to the recovery of the baby. He could see she was troubled about the situation, and yet she had not let herself hold back, even after Mrs. Beck's insulting words.

He went carefully over his own conduct. Had he always protected her in every way? Had he ever done anything that would make her feel embarrassed to be doing this work for him, or with him? He hoped not. Yet he knew there had been times when he would have loved to cry out and tell her how lovely she was!

He hadn't been keen after girls, like other fellows. His job had been for the present to look after his mother, and if there were to be girls in his life,
a
girl, he had felt they would come later. He had sometimes admired Pat Ragan, the keen girl reporter for
The Blade
, and even Madge Barron, with her red hair and her comically smart speeches, but they both were special friends of other men among his associates, and he hadn't either the time or the taste to go to some of their rowdy parties. He had never really got intimate with any of them, a joke now and then, good friendliness, but that was all. He had thought that when his mother came she would make a home, then there would be a place to bring friends like that when he found some he liked especially.

He sighed as he thought about it now, speeding along among the clouds, looking down on a moonlit world all in white, with now and then a city spattered with Christmas lights.

Suddenly it came to him how he would like to tell his mother about Dale. He could think of the questions she would ask, and how he would answer them. He would have so liked to take Dale home to see his mother, if there were any home and Mother hadn't gone away to live with God.

He closed his eyes and tried to rest, but the picture of the girl and the little child kept coming to his mind, as something sweet to which he was going back. Would they both be there and be the same?

It seemed to him that he had been away from them for months. He wondered now why he had consented to go. Of course, it was something that his chief had asked, and his chief had just been promoting him and had honored him by asking him to take this assignment. He couldn't in conscience refuse, especially as he felt that upon this man's interest hung the needed money he must have if he took care of that child.

Was he going to be allowed to take care of him, to count him his? He had learned at the police headquarters the possibilities of adoption, its rules and regulations. A certain time must elapse to search for possible relatives. Well, there seemed no likelihood that any relatives would interfere in a matter like that. But if they did not and he got control of the child, how was he going to care for it? Hire a nurse perhaps, an older woman, and set up a sort of disjointed household?

It was too deep and too troublesome a question to answer now, going through the white night to find those two who had been in his heart ever since he had gone away. It was something that would just have to work out step by step as he came to it.

Thinking back over the days when the baby was so sick and he and the girl worked side by side to save that little breath of a life, he wondered the more at himself that he had consented to leave it all until he was sure that the baby was safely through with that fight with death. He wished he hadn't left the girl to fight it alone. Yet she wasn't alone, of course, with the doctor and nurse, both the best of their kind.

And then as he watched the moon pale and the dawn come softly over the rim of the world, and he knew that he was nearing his goal, he began to be strangely excited.

Would it all be the same when he got there? Would the girl be glad to see him? Would the baby be all right?

And if the baby was all right, what were they going to do next? There was just one thing of which he was sure, and that was that he did not intend to let that little baby boy go into any kind of an institution to be perhaps bullied around by bigger, tougher boys, not while he was little and frail anyway, and not able to hold his own. No, that baby was his job. It had been dropped at his very feet, and it had been given back to him in answer to his prayer, and it was his job to look after the little chap, if God suffered him to live. He would teach him to grow up a good man and not be sorry that he had been saved from death.

And there in the sky between the dying night and the dawning day George Rand felt himself to be in the presence of the Most High God, and most amazingly, he suddenly knew that God loved him, personally, and was waiting for him to consent to fellowship with Him. He was conscious that the only thing between them was his own sin, and the greatest of all the sin loomed now as indifference to God! But he also knew, for his mother had done her best to teach him, that all that sin of his that stood between him and his God, was already laid on the person of Another. For the first time, though he had known it before, George Rand saw Jesus Christ, the Son of God, hanging there on a cross, nailed there by his, George Rand's, own sin.

Humbly, with broken heart, he made his wordless confession to God. Then with dawning peace in his heart he sat and thought it all over. Why had he never had this personal dealing with God before? It was not till God had taken everything else from him and sent that little freezing child to make him see what he needed, that he had been willing to pay attention.

So, in the early darkness, coming swiftly toward the landing field, he prayed.

And at the very end, as the swift-winged airplane began to slide down the air to the landing field, he added to his prayer,
And, oh Lord, bless her--!

The dawn had broken as the plane landed, and Rand took a taxi and drove the familiar way down through the streets he knew so well.

The sun was coming up in a great glorious crimson ball to take the place of the many colored neon lights that had illuminated the night. Those were now but dull garlands of pastel shades, paling more and more as the sun grew brighter, and creating a garish effect of summer and daytime stepping in where evergreen and holly should have sway.

But Rand's heart was glad as he looked about on the glistening snow, which glowed almost bloodred where the sun was touching it full. The scene seemed to fill him with wonder and delight.

It was quite a journey from the airport to the apartment house where he had left Dale and the baby, and he was all impatience until as he drew nearer, he was filled with fear and a great dismay.

What if the baby should be worse? What if it would be gone? He thought of the little white dead mother and the small headstone with the mysterious letters on it. Only God knew what they stood for. He shrank from the thought that perhaps the baby might have to be laid away beside her.

Oh, God!
his heart cried out.
Oh, my own new God! You have heard me once. Hear me again! Do Thy will for us all, Thy best will and blessing, Lord!

And then they were at the apartment house, which seemed as plain and real as it had before he left. He looked up its simple surface to the windows of the seventh story and wondered, were they there? How foolish he was! And how strange and shy he felt, as if somehow it were all a dream that he was trying to act out. He had never thought of himself as a fool before. He had always thought himself sane and cool, and here he was actually trembling at the thought of going up in the elevator and knocking at the door. He might even have to sit down in the hallway and get cool before he went to face what was before him. Face what? A baby? Was that it? He knew better than that. He knew it was a girl he had to face. A wonderful girl!

At least, he thought she was wonderful! He
hoped
she was wonderful! But he was afraid after this interval of hard work that he would come back to find out she had been just an ordinary girl like any girl he met every day. And he didn't want her to turn out that way.

He owned to himself that he had carried her in his mind as an ideal, a dream girl. To discover that she was made of clay would be a desperate let down.

The thrill of her voice over the telephone was still in his soul. It had seemed like having some of his own folks again to have her talk about the baby to him, as if they had a common interest.

Well, he must pull himself up and get out of this fool state of mind, or he wouldn't be worth a cent. And probably there would be a lot of questions to decide. The trouble with him was he had overworked, sitting up till all hours to finish his writing. Getting it off by airmail. Half breaking his neck to cover all the extras that had been suggested. He knew they expected him to stay longer and do several special features while he was out there, articles that were of general interest but needed a special handling, and he had done it all in between the important features he had gone out there to cover. He had worked a great deal harder than he had to, just so that he might come home as soon as the convention was over instead of taking the two or three extra days his chief had suggested.