Silver Wings

  © 2014 by Grace Livingston Hill

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63058-194-7

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63058-193-0

  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.

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Amory had walked from the station to save the taxi fare, but had she realized the distance, even her courageous heart might have hesitated.

  “Third mansion on the right, not the third residence—” the cryptic station agent had advised her tersely, and Amory envisioned a possible row of neat two-story brick homes, with larger houses beyond set in wide lawns. She picked up her suitcase briskly and stepped off down the elm-shaded road. Her trunk would follow later.

  The street opened out amply and leisurely with no houses at all for some distance, nothing but green fields edged by neat hedges. Then a large old-fashioned brick house emerged in glimpses through the trees. It was set far back in a well-kept lawn, with a flower garden at one side. She paused and studied it. Was this a residence or a mansion? Had she possibly made a mistake and turned the wrong way at the station? But no, the agent had been watching her. He would surely have told her if she had been wrong.

  She gave the brick house another appraising glance and revised her ideas of residences and incidentally of Briarcliffe. If such palaces as this one on her right were mere residences, what would the mansions be? And if she had come to live in a mansion, would the modest wardrobe contained in her small shabby suitcase and her small shabby trunk suffice, even for a social secretary? Somewhat apprehensively she went on and presently passed a big white colonial house enmeshed by a labyrinth of small, box hedges. Two lovely stone houses were next, built long and low like bungalows, with arched lattices covered with roses in bloom. And cozy homelike gardens. Well, at least these were not mansions, but still, they spoke of wealth. Perhaps the agent meant these were not to be counted, and the first two must have been mansions. That was it, probably.

  The next place was Norman in architecture. She decided it was the third mansion and walked confidently up the drive and rang the doorbell. But the maid who answered the door answered curtly that the Whitneys did not live there. She did not know where they lived. She was new at the place, and the folks were all out.

  Amory went back to the street again and stood, bewildered, but finally decided to go on, as there was no one in sight whom she could ask.

  The next house was another colonial, smaller than the first, and she hardly knew whether to class it as a mansion or not. Three more houses she passed doubtfully, and then another large stone house with elaborate awnings and a wide orange and black umbrella spread over a tea table on the lawn.

  There were some children playing around a fountain, and a man was cutting the hedge about the terrace. She decided to try again.

  The children only stared when she asked them, but the man turned from his work and told her, “It’s some ways up the pike, lady. The third large mansion on yer right—”

  “But which is the first mansion?” she asked in despair, setting down the suitcase, which now was making her feel its every pound. “Do you count from here, or where?”

  The man looked at her as if she were an ignoramus, but answered good naturedly, “There’s two more ’ouses, lady, beyont this, an’ then ye come to the big hestates. It’s the third one of them, ma’am, the third hestate!”

  Amory thanked him and picked up her suitcase, but as she went wearily down the walk, she was possessed by a desire to laugh aloud. So she was going to an “hestate”! What would Aunt Hannah say to that? What would Rayport think if they knew? How Helen and Miriam and Esther would exclaim wistfully! How far removed she felt herself already! Could she stand it, this new world that seemed at just this glimpse like another universe? What part had she in a world like this? Oh, of course she had come to work and not to have part in the life at all, but already the little lonesome part of her that lived and loved felt suddenly appalled at the wide difference there would be between this new life and the precious one she had left behind in the quaint, loving, friendly hometown where she had been brought up by her two dear maiden aunts.

  But this would not do. She must not get maudlin before she arrived. She was here to earn good money to help get Aunt Hannah the nurse and the specialist she needed and to provide a lot of necessities to make it easier for frail little Aunt Jocelyn now that Amory was not to be there to save her from the hard knocks of life.

  So she was to live in a mansion! Well, she might have known it from the size of the salary the Whitneys were willing to pay. It was nothing short of a miracle that such a salary had fallen to her lot! If it hadn’t been for the minister who used to know Mr. Whitney in college days and happened to meet him on a trip to town and find out he was looking for a social secretary for his wife, she never would have got it, of course. Now the difficulty would be to keep it! And then for the thousandth time she was visited by her fears. Yes, of course, she was good at dictation. Hadn’t she taken the prize in the contest? And of course the Rayport Seminary had had a marvelous advantage over other small-town schools, in having had as principal for five years a woman of national reputation. She had come to Rayport to be near her old mother who was slowly dying of an incurable trouble and could not be moved without great suffering. Well, all of those things would count—she must just do her best.

  At last she passed the next two big houses, and then a great stone wall with immense corner pillars, vine clad and rose capped, announced the beginning of the first “hestate.” Far ahead of her, as if they were miles away, loomed more pillars. When she came to them in her weary plodding, they proved to be furnished with iron grillwork that gave a glimpse of a far white-marble building that fully bore out the name mansion.

  Amory put her suitcase down and sat on it for a few minutes to rest in the shadow of this great gateway. She felt like a very little pilgrim indeed as she looked wistfully through the iron gates and studied the beautiful palace in the distance, wondering if the Whitney place would be anything like it.

  Suddenly a shining automobile swept toward her, and in a panic she picked up her suitcase and started on again. Suppose it should be her future employer riding in that car! She did not want to be caught like a little tramp sitting on her dusty suitcase by the roadside!

  But the car swept in at the drive after a pause for the chauffeur to open the gates, and she caught a glimpse of a proud woman and a girl with bright hair and reddened lips sitting in the backseat.

  By this time she
was very tired and much disheartened. But there was only one more estate before she came to her destination, so she took courage and plodded on. After all, she wouldn’t have thought this much of a walk if she had been at home. She couldn’t have come more than three miles, and what were three miles, even with a burden to carry? What was a mere little suitcase? She had often carried heavier burdens as far. No, it was her heavy heart that was the matter! She was homesick! Just plain homesick. She wanted to turn tail and run back where she had come from. She wanted to sit down to supper with Aunt Jocelyn and tell her about the journey. She wanted to eat the white raised biscuits and honey and the dainty omelet Aunt Jocelyn would prepare. Oh, she was hungry! Just tired and hungry like a baby! She wanted to go to prayer meeting tonight and see if the boys of her Sunday school class would all be there. She wanted to play the wheezy old piano as she had done ever since she was a little girl; she wanted to hear the minister pray tenderly, as he would tonight she was sure, for “the one who has left us for a little while to do Thy will in other fields”—that would be the way he would put it. How it choked her to think about it all. How dear home seemed! Even the threadbare old red carpet in the prayer meeting room seemed dear, though there had been times in the past when she had hated it and longed to do something about getting a new one.

  She wanted to be home and feel she had a right to stay there. Why, even Fred Holley’s freckled face and kindly smile would have been a welcome sight on that road at that minute, and if Fred Holley had only dreamed it possible, he would have been there if he missed a whole day’s work in his garage where he was doing well. Fred Holley had dogged her steps and surrounded her with his unwelcome attentions ever since she was in high school, and he had been the one thing at home from which she was glad to get away.

  She was plodding now past a long stretch of towering rhododendron that completely hid the second estate from the view of the road. It seemed endless, but on the other hand, the scene was growing interesting. To the left of the road the land swept away into velvety billows, and she presently became aware that she was passing a most marvelous golf course. Rayport had a golf club, and a fairly good course. She had often played on it with friends who were members, although she could not afford either the time or the money to join the country club herself. But she knew a golf course when she saw it, and by some fine instinct she became aware that this must be the most super golf course that her imagination had ever dreamed of.

  A widely spreading, stately edifice presently came to view, nestled far among picturesque foliage, and this, of course, must be the country club. Likely they called it Briarcliff Country Club or else some fantastic more distinctive name. So she whiled away her long pilgrimage with imaginings, and wondered if she would ever have the opportunity to see that beautiful building up close.

  Behind and beyond the country club buildings the valley stretched away to far reaches, like an endless golf course, and edging it were lovely hills, blending into blue distances. It was a beautiful place in which she was walking. There was probably a marvelous view from those well-hidden mansions behind the stone walls and thick rhododendron growth. And what would the third mansion be like—the one where she was to live?

  At last she came to a huge fence, like wrought-iron lacework, towering above her head, and behind it the soft feathery fringe of a beautiful hemlock hedge. It cast a cool shade along the road, and its breath seemed to fill the air with balm. It reminded her of the woods behind the old sawmill at home, and her step quickened eagerly.

  The hedge with its iron enclosure reached farther than any of the other estate boundaries she had passed, but at last she came to an opening that was hidden, almost disguised by the thick growth of great trees, which had been increasing the farther she went until now it seemed almost like a forest. Here suddenly the drive swept in by a cool dark curve into dense shade.

  She stopped and caught her breath in delight. The sun was hot, and she was very warm and tired. It was like a cooling breath, this lovely shaded way.

  She entered cautiously, like Alice going into Wonderland. It seemed unbelievable that she should be entering a place like this and presuming to think she belonged there. Could it be possible that this was the place where she was to spend the summer?

  She sat down on her suitcase again and taking off her hat, let the breeze fan her heated forehead. She leaned back and looked up at the cool interlacing branches overhead and drew in a deep breath of the resinous fragrance. Then with quick memory of the car that had swept into that other entrance farther back, she smoothed her hair and hastily put on her hat again, straightening it by the little mirror in her handbag. Someone might drive in here any minute, and she would not wish to be caught this way, even by a servant.

  With renewed courage, she took up her suitcase and went on with brisker step up the drive.

  Even then it was a good quarter of a mile before she reached the house. The lovely winding drive went for a long distance, cool and deep among the pines and hemlocks, until she began to think she had made a mistake and gone into a forest instead of a gentleman’s driveway. Then, just as she was beginning to get anxious, the foliage thinned, and there came a glimpse of a wonderful stone mansion like a crown upon a rise of ground. She caught her breath in wonder, this time exclaiming aloud. Could this be one man’s house? A mansion indeed! It was like a castle! It could not be that this was the place where she was engaged to serve as secretary! She had somehow made a great mistake, come too far or something. But at least now that she had come, she would go up to the mansion and see it. She could have the excuse that she had missed her way, and once, just once in a lifetime, she would see what a great castle looked like close at hand.

  She had some thought of leaving her suitcase back under the bushes till she should return. It would be safe enough hidden under some of those low-hanging hemlocks, and it would be so much easier walking, and so much more dignified than appearing at the door of a place like that to ask the way, carrying a great shabby suitcase.

  Then she reflected that something might happen to it—some dog might pull it apart, or a tramp find it, and she could not afford to lose her meager wardrobe. So she toiled on.

  The way grew lovelier as she neared the house. Fountains were revealed in nooks by the way, dripping cool water from the rocky crevice of a little unsuspected grotto into a great stone jar that reminded one of Old Testament wells and shepherd girls, or showering soft silver spray into a quiet pool where lazy lilies rested and silent goldfish glided like brilliant phantoms beneath the surface. And higher up in the sunlight there were great bursts of flowers, like embroidery, in borders on the lawns and fringing the terraces. More than once she stopped in ecstasy over the beauty opening up before her, and still the castle seemed far away.

  The drive wound out at last, and suddenly the mansion stood before her and was almost overwhelming in its grandeur. Built of rough stone in severe but classic lines, it seemed like some great rock that had not been made with hands. Its battlements, clear cut against the bright afternoon sky, were startling. She could scarcely believe that she was standing so near to something that looked so much like a picture from the old world, so much a thing of history and of the past. Of course it was a reproduction of some great old historic wonder. Nothing modern could be so perfect and so much a thing that seemed to have stood through the ages.

  A stone seat withdrawn from the edge of the drive into a shelter of sweeping trees offered harbor while she caught her breath and gathered courage, and she dropped upon it and gazed, gradually turning her eyes from the house itself to the view across the great lawn and down the valley. And now she saw that she had climbed far above the tall hemlocks that fringed the road so thickly, and could look across them, to the hills beyond. The country club seemed a mere toy in the distance from this point. A wonderful view, with a silver river winding in the valley like a plaything! One could not think of even a mansion in the sky having any more wonderful view.

  The sound of an approa
ching motor brought her back to her own situation once more, and she arose hastily and hurried toward what appeared to be the main entrance of the house, wondering if perhaps she ought not to hunt a door more fitting for a mere secretary’s entrance.

  An imposing butler answered her timid ring, and when she said, “I’m Miss Lorrimer,” he said, “Oh, yes, Miss Lorrimer. The maid will show you to your room.”

  Amory had a glimpse of a space and beauty, soft colors and abundant ease, a suggestion of lovely things in their rightful settings such as she had read about and dreamed about but never hoped to see with her earthly eyes.

  The maid appeared like a genie and led her up wide stairs and down a corridor that gave light to the room below through many little latticed windows. She had a glimpse of lovely rooms done in soft pastel colorings, of silken draperies, priceless rugs, and luxury everywhere. Then a door was thrown open into a room done in cool pale green and silver with wide windows, low seats, and a couch and desk that were attractive.

  The maid opened another door and Amory saw another smaller room, with a rosy spread on the bed and matching draperies at the windows. She glimpsed a white tiled bath through the door beyond.

  “Madam thought you could be comfortable here,” said the maid in a colorless voice. “She wanted you near her own apartments for convenience in the mornings.”

  “Oh, it is lovely!” said Amory, with her heart in her eyes. Then she remembered that she must not gush before servants and that she must not behave as if she were not used to nice things—two of the principles in which she had been trying to school herself ever since she received the letter saying her application had been accepted.

  “Thank you,” she said less eagerly, with a lovely smile to the other young woman. “I am sure I shall be quite comfortable here. And now, I wonder if you can tell me when I can see Mrs. Whitney.”

  “Tomorrow morning,” said the maid, still colorlessly. “Madam has a house party on and the place is full of guests. She’ll be busy all the afternoon and evening, but she’ll see you at ten tomorrow. She’ll ring for you then, and I’ll show you the way to her room. She said you’d want to rest and get settled. Has your luggage come yet? Did you bring it in the taxi with you?”