Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
Substitute Guest
© 2013 by Grace Livingston Hill
Print ISBN 978-1-62029-393-5
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62416-467-5
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62416-466-8
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image © Faceout Studio,
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Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio
44683,
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Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses
.
Printed in the United States of America.
Chapter 1
Late 1920s
Eastern United States
I
t was the day before Christmas, and it had been snowing hard all day.
They began in the early morning, shortly after seven, large feathery flakes sliding down as if they were only playing. They soon grew larger, swirling fantastically, like children holding hands, chasing one another through a fairy world, now this way now that, whimsically, with no regular meter or rhythm.
In just no time at all the ground was covered, and then the snow settled down to business, imperceptibly changing into fine stinging grains, slanting down with swift, accelerated measure, beating into every crack and cranny, packing firmly into an impenetrable mass. The wind rose gradually, drifting the falling particles into solid walls of stubborn whiteness. Before noon it became apparent that the intention was something more than just a winter snowstorm.
Children came rollicking out with their sleds, bundled in bright scarlet or green or blue, reveling in the snow, shouting to one another with muted voices that seemed amazingly to have lost their resonance, deadened in this strange, padded atmosphere. Until even their young ardor was baffled by the increasingly bitter cold and the pitiless slant of whiteness that shut them from one another, and one by one they drifted from a suddenly frightening world, into the warmth and brightness of the fireside, to careful mothers who kissed their little cold wet faces, dried their smarting wrists, and folded them in warm garments with comforting embrace.
But the snow went steadily on.
Alan Monteith drove into the first of the storm, wending his way between the largest of the lazy flakes, a bit thrilled at the thought of snow for Christmas. He was still young enough to thrill over snow.
Not that Christmas meant so much to him anymore. Christmas was a home day, and his family was all gone except a married sister who was touring Europe on her wedding trip. Christmas didn’t seem like Christmas in an apartment hotel with only a city office for change. Oh, of course he had friends, and there were plenty of social engagements. He was on his way to one now—a colossal house party in a fabulously expensive home on a vast estate ninety miles or so away. But it didn’t suit Christmas, not in the least, not his inherited traditional Christmas. There would be excitement and hilarity; there would be amusement and a wealth of unique variety. There would be luxury of eating and drinking and apparel, but it would not be Christmas, not real Christmas.
Still, there would be Demeter Cass! Would that make up for the lack of a real Christmas? Demeter with her hair like ripe wheat, her strange sea-green eyes under long golden lashes, and her red, red lips. There was a lure of mystery about Demeter. It was not merely the beauty of the flesh either. She had intellect and an uncanny insight into men’s minds. Was she psychic? A siren without doubt. Yet, couldn’t she be tamed? There was thrill and lure in the thought of taming a beautiful creature like Demeter, sophisticated to the last degree. But could one ever hope to build up a happy future around a girl like Demeter? A future that would have in it an old-fashioned Christmas somewhere? Or were Christmases, the kind that used to be when he was a child, gone forever?
He wove his way among the city traffic skillfully, where late Christmas shoppers were even so early in the morning thronging the streets for a last frantic dash after forgotten gifts. He stopped in front of an office building, parked his car hurriedly, and took the elevator up to the tenth floor, walking down the marble corridor to a door that bore in gold letters the inscription: M
ALCOLM
S
ARGENT
, M.D.
He marched in, past the white-gowned nurse who presided at a desk to guard the noted doctor, greeted her pleasantly, and tapped at the inner door like one privileged.
“Doctor alone?” he asked the nurse casually.
“Yes. It isn’t quite time yet for patients.” She smiled. “And he’s expecting you.”
Monteith was one of the favored few who walked in at all hours and found a welcome.
The door was opened almost instantly.
“Well, you are prompt!” said Dr. Sargent cordially. “Did you get it through all right?”
“Of course!” said Alan. “Didn’t I tell you I would?”
He settled down into the chair offered and pulled out an official-looking envelope from his inner pocket, handing it over to his friend.
“Well, I am relieved!” said the doctor. “When I heard about that uncle on his way back from California who had to sign to make it legal, I thought my plans were all up! Did he get here in time, or what did they do?”
“He arrived yesterday afternoon and was tickled to death to sign. Pleased as punch that they got their price. I tried to get you on the phone to relieve your mind last night but couldn’t. But say, what was the great rush? You’re surely not expecting to move into a new house for Christmas, are you?”
The doctor smiled as he took the document out of the envelope and looked at it delightedly as if it were a treasure long desired.
“Not move in,” he said happily, “but I’m expecting to put this deed in Natalie’s stocking Christmas morning. It’s her Christmas gift. You see, she’s been keen on this house for about two years now, always wanting to drive by it, always saying she would like to build one just like it if we ever got wealthy enough to do it. She hasn’t an idea, either, that it was even for sale, so it will be a complete surprise. A real Christmas gift!”
“Some Christmas gift!” said Monteith with a bit of a sigh and a wistful look in his eyes. “Any woman ought to be contented with that!”
“Well, I know she’ll be delighted,” said the doctor with satisfaction, touching the envelope again as if the mere handling of it gave him delight. “You see,” he went on, “it isn’t as if I were giving her something I wasn’t sure about. She went through the house when they had some club committee meeting there and she raved about it for days afterward, telling me of this and that advantage it had over any other house she’d ever seen.
“Well, Alan, I’m all kinds of grateful to you for getting this deal through before Christmas. It’s going to make my Christmas perfect. You know, being able to hand over the actual deed to an article instead of just telling about it makes all the difference in the world. And besides, I wanted to have something special this year. It’s our tenth anniversary this month. Ten years since we were married and went to live in a four-room cottage on Maple Street! This year means a lot to me!”
“Well, I certainly was glad to be able to help,” said Alan. “Christmas isn’t what it used to be for me. All my folks are gone, you know.”
“I know,” said the doctor sympathetically. “Natalie and I were speaking about it the other day. You were just a kid in college when we were married. If we were only going to be at home we would want to have you with us. But Natalie’s people wanted us to come to them this year. They are still living at the old farm, and I don’t suppose they’ll keep it much longer now. They’re getting too old to stay alone so far away from everywhere. I imagine they’ll come and live with us, now that we have a real house.”
There was a ring in the doctor’s voice as if the anticipation was a pleasant one.
“You’re fond of them, aren’t you?” said Alan wistfully.
“I certainly am,” said the doctor heartily. “They’ve been all the father and mother I ever knew, you know. Mine died when I was too small to remember.”
“It must be great to feel like that about them!” said Alan, trying to speak cheerfully. “You’re leaving soon?”
“Yes, I have just two patients to see after my office hours and I’m taking the noon train. It will get me there a little before midnight. Just in time to fill the stockings. Father will be down with his car to meet me. Natalie and the children have been there for a week. Maybe I haven’t had a hard time arranging things here so I could leave! It seems all the doctors want to get away for Christmas this year. But I’ve got it fixed at last. I wired Natalie last night I was coming. And now having this deed to take along is going to make my Christmas perfect!”
Suddenly the telephone interrupted.
“Just a minute, Alan.” The doctor turned with an annoyed glance and took down the receiver.
Alan watched the keen, sensitive face as the doctor listened.
“Yes!
Yes?”
His tone growing sharper. “You say she is worse? Broken?
What
is broken? Oh, the bottle of medicine I brought you last night? You don’t say! That’s bad! Wasn’t there
any
of it saved? Not even a few drops? What a pity!”
The doctor’s voice had grown exceedingly grave.
“What’s that? Do without it? No! Not on any account! I would not answer for the consequences if you tried that. But isn’t there any of the first bottle left? It wasn’t quite gone when I was there yesterday. Let me speak to the nurse a moment. Hello! Hello! Is that you, nurse? How is the patient? Yes? Yes? Temperature?
No!
Not on
any
account. She
must
have the medicine! How much have you left? Let’s see! That would carry you through till six o’clock! Well, isn’t there someone there you could trust to come down and get it? I don’t see how I could possibly come up. I’m leaving on the noon train, and my man is off on a three-day vacation. Just left. No, you couldn’t get that at the ordinary drugstore, it’s not a common drug. You say you haven’t even a servant to send? Oh, not one who can drive. Where’s the chauffeur? Gone on his vacation, too, has he? That’s bad! Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try to get somebody to go, or I’ll come myself. Yes, you can depend on having it by six o’clock. What do you say? Snowing? Oh, well, I’ll find somebody to come.”