New Name (31 page)

At the first word from his son’s voice, the father stiffened in his chair and grew alert, listening with all his senses strained. As the boy went on, an icy thrill went around his heart. What had Murray done now? A murderer? There had never been a murderer in the Van Rensselaer family to his knowledge. He tried to rise, but his muscles would not obey him. He found himself suddenly weak.

Murray’s voice was going on haltingly. He seemed to be struggling with deep emotion.

“I thought I wanted you to know that I loved Bessie! I’ve always loved her, only she grew out of my life. Of course, I never was good enough for her, and she wouldn’t probably have lookedat me. I couldn’t have hoped to marry her. She was a flower, a saint from heaven! But I loved her, and I shall always love her! If I were free—but there’s no use talking of that. I don’t want to be free! I want to pay all the penalty I can for what I did. But I do want you to know that I did not do it carelessly. I was not driving fast. My carelessness was in paying more heed to her than to what was going on around me. But I’m not excusing myself, only I didn’t want you to think I was careless of her, or that I had been drinking!”

“Murray, what on earth do you mean, child!” broke in Mrs. Chapparelle. “Come into the kitchen, dear, and sit down, and let me give you a cup of tea! Why, your hands are like ice. Come with me!”

Mr. Van Rensselaer had got to his feet somehow and was standing in the doorway by this time, but neither of the two saw him. Mrs. Chapparelle had hold of Murray’s hand and was drawing him toward the kitchen door. But just at that moment a key turned in the front door, and Bessie entered, all fresh and rosy from the sharp winter air.

Holding each other’s hands, the mother and the young man turned with startled looks and faced her. None of them saw the shaken man standing in the doorway with a hand on a curtain on either side, looking at them all with growing comprehension and apprehension in his eyes.

The young man and the girl saw only each other.

“Bessie!” said Murray with a sudden light of wonder in hiseyes. “Bessie? You are not dead!” He dropped the mother’s hands and stood an instant watching her to see if she were surely not an apparition.

“Murray!” There was great gladness in the girl’s voice. A melting of the wall that had grown up through the years.

And then he had her in his arms. Her face was against his chest. His face was buried in her hair, her sweet bright hair. The others standing by did not exist for them.

The griddle in the kitchen had not been shoved far enough back. There was flame still under it. It sent up a strong odor of burning grease, and suddenly Mrs. Chapparelle, eyes blinded with wondering happy tears, hurried into the kitchen to see to it, mindful that she was not needed in the hall just then. She had forgotten entirely the visitor in the parlor, who was shamelessly happy at what he was witnessing.

He became aware that he ought not to stand there watching those two, at the same moment that Mrs. Chapparelle remembered his existence and hurried back to try to help out the situation. Murray and Bessie came to their senses about the same moment also, and there they all four stood and looked at one another, ashamed and confused, yet happy.

It took the man of the world to recover first.

“Well, my son,” he said in a pleased voice, “you seem to have done something worthy of your family name at last!”

“Yes, Father, isn’t it great? But everything’s going to be different from now on. Oh boy! Mother Chapparelle! I just realized. Ihaven’t got to give myself up after all, have I? I’m not a murderer! She’s alive! And she loves me!”

They sobered down after a while, and Murray told them his story.

Mr. Van Rensselaer called up his house and said he was unavoidably detained and could not return until late that evening, and they all sat down in the little white kitchen and ate pancakes and talked. For hours it seemed they were eating and talking. Mrs. Chapparelle had to get more syrup and use the rest of the batter she had saved for the next meal and stir up more cakes. Mr. Van Rensselaer thought he had not been so happy since he was a little boy at home with his own mother.

The father did not talk much. He watched his boy. He listened to the wonderful story that fell from his lips, and in another language his sorrowful, hungry soul kept crying over and over to himself as the father of old,
“This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found!”
He began to rejoice that he would be able to kill the fatted calf for him. Nothing was too good for Murray now.

Then he turned his eyes to the lovely girl who sat with starry eyes and watched her lover who had come back through the years to fulfill the promise of the roses he had given her long ago. Come back a new Murray, with a new Name upon his lips, a Name that was above every name dear to her!

G
RACE
L
IVINGSTON
H
ILL
(1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote more than one hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died, leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a living, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.

Love Endures

Grace Livingston Hill Classics

Available in 2012

The Beloved Stranger
The Prodigal Girl
A New Name
Re-Creations
Tomorrow About This Time
Crimson Roses
Blue Ruin
Coming Through the Rye
The Christmas Bride
Ariel Custer
Not Under the Law
Job’s Niece

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F YOU ENJOYED

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