The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (42 page)

She noticed the features so like to Angelo's as she remembered them, and the dark curling hair, like baby lamb furs, so black and silky. And then to her great fright the long lashes on the sunken cheeks suddenly lifted and looked at her, looked long, and twinkled with a certain cunning, reminding her of something --what was it, cunning, -- stealth -- something dreadful? Ah! The murder. Those were the eyes that had looked out from behind the car that day, and slipped away before anyone could see. That was the man who had crouched below the running board. 

She stopped to think a minute, standing breathless with the candle still held high. The lashes had closed again and the man was still as wax. He did not even seem to be breathing. She had a feeling that he was just crouching to spring upon her. Her every breath seemed a prayer. “Help me! Help me!” 

Suddenly a great calm came upon her and she knew what she was going to do. Kneeling softly beside the man, she spoke in a gentle voice: 

“I am Mr. Treeves's friend. They sent for him to help Angelo out of trouble. He asked me to stay here and take care of you till he could get back. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

The big eyes slowly opened again, this time without the cunning in them, and searched her face, then seeming satisfied the man murmured: “Water!” 

She looked around and found a tin can half filled with water, and putting it to his lips, lifted his head and supported it till he could drink. He fell back almost exhausted with the effort and for a moment she thought he was gone. Then he opened his eyes again: 

“Write this down!” 

He spoke better English than Angelo. Perhaps he had been in this country longer. She searched hurriedly in her bag for her pen and a bit of paper. 

“Angelo did not kill that boss!” 

She wrote with hurried fingers while the man watched her: 

“I kill that boss!”

She wrote again: 

“I hate that boss. He go after my girl, too, five years ago.” 

She continued to write: 

“Angelo did not kill anything! I kill! Angelo a good man. That’s all. I sign my name.” 

She finished the writing and put the paper before him against her pocketbook and steadied the pen in his hand, lifting his head while he slowly, painfully scrawled out his name “Nicolo.” 

When it was finished he dropped back heavily. Then with an effort he groped in the bosom of his flannel shirt and pulled at something. She tried to help him, thinking he wanted more air, and loosed the button, but he drew forth a small revolver. 

“There!” he gasped his breath going fast. “I do it with that! --Take it to prove--!” 

Still kneeling and holding the ugly little weapon in her hand she heard a sound outside. A car! They were coming for her! Or perhaps it was the doctor. She sprang to her feet and stood watching the door, the revolver still in her hand, half hidden in the folds of her dark skirt. The man at her feet had fallen back again and had not heard. He was beyond all human hearing ever again. But Patty stood and waited. 

The car stopped and the door was suddenly flung open wide with an oath, and a gruff, “Come on now, you rich man's son, masquerading as a laborer! We’ll teach you to pry around into honest men's business so you can get us all into jail on some pretext or other! Come on, we got you good and fast!” 

Patty stood still, her eyes large with horror, and watched them as they came in, three big, rough men with evil faces. It seemed to her as if all the evil forces of the earth and hell had united to draw her down to death. Her face grew white and her heart stood still; with what consciousness she had she cried in her soul: “Oh, God, Help Patty! Oh, God, Help now!” Then she slowly lifted the revolver in her trembling hand and pointed it at the foremost man, who suddenly stopped and fell back astonished! 

“What the devil! Where's Treeves? Who's the girl?” 

But Patty had never shot a revolver in her life, and her hand trembled violently. She had no idea whether the thing was loaded or not, and she did not know how to pull the trigger, but she knew that she was going to try if the man took another step nearer her. 

The men drew together for a moment and took stock of her in the wavering darkness, and stealthy hands went slyly to their hips. They were three against one, and good shots at that. But who was this girl? If they hurt her what would be the consequences? They were not ready just at present to clear out. They had other fat in the fire. 

“Mr. Treeves left me here to take care of this sick man for a few minutes while he went after help. He will be back right away,” she said bravely in a clear voice. “I think I hear him coming now!” and in her heart she cried, “Oh, God, bring some one quick! Bring some one quick!” 

The men were breathless for an instant listening, then the foremost cursed out: “Oh--none of that bunk. You're here to get that man's confession. Well, did you get it? Yes, I see you did by the look in your eye. Well, hand it over here and we’ll let you go. Come, we haven't any time to waste. We've got to get out of here. Hand that over and we’ll leave you alone.” 

“They are coming!”' said Patty sweetly, with a look like summer clouds with glory on them. “They are coming! Hespur! John! Come quickly!” 

And actually out of the night there came the sound of a rushing car and voices. Several voices, and one crying, “This way! This way! Don't you see the light? “It was Treeves's voice! He had come back to get her! 

The men looked at one another and cursed in low, quick tones, then as one man sprang back through the door and scattered into the night, leaving their car in the bushes, where they had driven it. Into the open door they had left came John Treeves, anxious, eager, holding a flashlight above his head. Came straight to Patty and took her into his arms: 

“You poor little girl!” he whispered, and then he set her free and turned about to the others who had entered. Hespur was there first with a white anxious face, and three tall policemen behind. 

The sight of their brass buttons brought Patty to her senses: 

“There are three men outside. Get them quick!” she shouted. “They were threatening me. They came to carry Mr. Treeves away!” 

The policeman made a dash into the bushes, blew a blast on a shrill whistle, and soon the whole region roundabout seemed to be alive with men. 

“Dominic started something when he went back,” smiled Treeves as Patty lifted wondering eyes. “He told them some-one was out here trying to murder me, and that the lady with the smiling face had come out alone to rescue me. They all left their plots and came hot foot, and I met them on the way. Nothing would do but they must come back with me. Hespur brought the policemen. He belongs to the dispensation of law and order. When he got back to the lame kid and found you had been there and gone off alone in the dark, he 'phoned the police station and almost demanded the state militia to come out after you.” 

A little later when the body of the dead man had been carried away in the car that the three men had left, John Treeves and Hespur took Patty back to the little stone house on the bluff for supper, and then Treeves took her home. Word had just come that the three men had been caught, and were being taken to the lockup for the night, and Patty rested back in the car beside Treeves feeling that the awful crisis was about over. 

“Patty,” said Treeves as the car flew along under the stars, “do you know that when your mother died--”  

“But my mother isn't dead, John--” said Patty startled. 

“I mean your own mother, little Pard! When your own mother died, your father wanted my mother to take you and bring you up as her little girl.” 

“Oh!” said Patty. 

“Mother couldn't do it because my father was at the point of death and she had to give every minute to him. But after-ward, when he was gone, and she would have taken you, your father had married again, and your new mother had insisted that you should never know that you were not her own child!” 

“Oh!” said Patty. “Oh!” in a relieved tone. “Then that makes it all plain! Oh, if I had only told you before I might have understood!” 

They had so many things to talk about. Patty had to tell him all about it then, how she had overheard her mother and sister talking and how she had come away, and found something to do. And how they had somehow traced her to the mountain house; and how she had been afraid to recognize him because her father would not want her mother to be disgraced. The story seemed so much shorter now than when she was living it. 

They were still sitting in the little reception room near the library talking when Miss Cole came home ahead of the others who had gone on to some other function, and she paused astonished, then came grimly in and greeted Treeves as though he had been a constant caller on Patty. 

“We may as well tell Miss Cole now, Patty,” said Treeves with a glorified look at the girl. “Miss Cole, I want you to know that I have just asked Patricia Merrill to be my wife and she has said yes, and we want your blessing. You needn't feel that it is a sudden thing, for we’ve been in love with each other since we were children, I think, only I somehow lost her and she wouldn't be found!”' 

Then they all talked at once and Miss Cole found herself with Patty in her arms, talking as fast as any of them. 

“There's only one thing,” said Patty wistfully after it was all told, “if Daddy only knew! I'm sure he'd be glad how it's turned out, but if he only knew!” 

“Perhaps he does!” said Treeves gently, looking at Patty with an adoring smile. 

“No, I don't think he does yet,” said Miss Cole grimly with a twinkle behind her eye, “but he stands a pretty good chance of knowing pretty soon. I may as well tell you that I've been raking South America with telegrams for sometime and I have pretty convincing proof that Daniel P. Merrill isn't drowned at all. He was booked on that ship that went down, but he didn't get to the shipping point in time to go, so he is safe, and he's on his way home now. I had a telegram to that effect last night. As no one knew where his daughter Patricia was, naturally she didn't get any word.” 

Patty gave a little scream of joy and smothered Miss Cole with kisses. “Oh, Daddy! Daddy!” she cried. “Can anything be more wonderful! And here I thought I had lost everything out of my world!” 

“But I can tell you. Miss Patty Merrill,” went on Miss Cole, “you had better get ready and take the first train for the West to-morrow morning, for there's a terrible to-do about you out there. It seems you own the house that your step-mother and sister are living in at present. The property was your maternal grandfather's legacy to you and everything was so tied up about it that the poor selfish ladies couldn't get anything but a mere pittance to live on till you were there to sign the papers. They couldn't prove that you were dead, though they had almost reached the point of trying to, and so they have been dependent on charity. You left the old family lawyer, your guardian, in a terrible fix, too, when you cut and run. You'd better get back and fix things up. Your stepmother has been almost turned out of the house.” 

“Oh!” said Patty wonderingly. “How strangely everything is turning out! But I don't care for the old house, or property or anything now. I'll give it all to them. What do I want of it? John and I are going to live in JOY-VILLE!” and a beautiful light broke out on her face, and was reflected in Treeves's face. 

It was after Miss Cole had left them and they were saying good-night that Patty voiced a misgiving: 

“I'm --not good enough for you, John,” she whispered. "You're so wonderful! I never really prayed till a little while ago -- but --and she whispered very softly, “I've given myself to Him, and I think He's taken me.” 

“That is better than being good, darling,” he said as he kissed her reverently. None of us are good. It is Christ living in us that makes us anything at all.” 

A few minutes later Patty knelt beside her white bed and prayed: 

“Dear Christ, this is Patty again, and I guess it will always be now, because I am yours. I knew you wanted me and accepted me to-night because you heard my prayer and saved me in that awful time -- and saved John, too” --so now I’m yours for whatever you want. Oh, Christ, you’ve been so good! I love you!” 

She knelt there in the moonlight a little while and let Him bless her, and then she crept into her bed and slept. 

No haunting shadows of the evening's horror came to trouble her rest, for she was dreaming of Joyville. 

THE END

Grace Livingston Hill was the foremost trailblazer of Christian Romance novels. She almost single-handedly built the platform for today’s Christian Romance genre almost 130 years ago. Despite the passage of time and all of the changes that come with it, her novels endure and are read and loved by women everywhere. Her stories were filled with tales of good vs. evil and Christian redemption and almost always worked in a classic romantic relationship. Not only was she an influential Christian author, though, she was a person of great integrity, kindness and charity. She spent her life trying to help others both through her work as a writer and through her work with the Presbyterian Church. Until the day she died, she never stopped caring for people, always putting others ahead of herself.

On April 16, 1865, the second Livingston baby was almost lost at birth in Wellsville, New York, but after hours of hard work on the part of the doctors and hard prayer on the part of the family, she survived against all odds. Several years before, the Livingstons’ first child, Percy, had died in infancy only one day after his birth and the family was grateful not to have to endure the sorrow of another death.  They named their second child Grace as a constant reminder of what the Lord had done for them in sparing her life. Born to Presbyterian minister Charles Montgomery Livingston and his wife, Marcia Macdonald Livingston, both of whom were writers, Grace was destined to become a writer herself. It was in her blood. Grace was always bright and eager to learn. She was homeschooled before attending public school and always learned very quickly, earning high marks in class. While she wasn’t in school, she would entertain herself at home for hours with nothing but pencil, paper and crayons. Grace soon developed a talent for painting, which was one of her favorite hobbies as a young girl and she sometimes sold her works of art to people in the church and in the community.