The Man of the Desert (20 page)

“Oh, it will be beautiful,” said Hazel with shining eyes.

“Very well, then. I’ll get everything ready for our start, and you must rest until I call you.”

With that he stooped and, before she realized what he was doing, gently lifted her from her feet and laid her down upon his couch over in the corner, spreading a multicolored Indian blanket over her. Then he stirred the fire, filled up the kettle, swung it back over the blaze and, with a smile, went out to prepare the wagon.

Hazel lay there looking about her new home with happy eyes, noting each touch of refinement and beauty that showed the character of the man who’d lived his life alone there for four long years. She wondered if it were really she, the lonely struggling nurse with the bitter ache in her heart, who was feeling so happy here today—Hazel Radcliffe, the former New York society girl, rejoicing ecstatically because she was going to marry a poor home missionary and live in a shanty!

How her friends would laugh and sneer, and how Aunt Maria would lift her hands in horror and say the family was disgraced! But it didn’t matter about Aunt Maria. Poor Aunt Maria! She’d never approved of anything Hazel wanted to do all her life. As for her brother—and here her face took on a shade of sadness—her brother was of a different world from hers and always had been. People said he was like his dead mother. Perhaps the man of the desert could help her brother to better things. Perhaps he’d come out here to visit them and catch a vision of another life and long for it as she had. He couldn’t fail at least to see the greatness of the man she’d chosen.

She took great comfort in this hour to remember her father had been interested in her missionary and expressed a hope she might meet him again someday. She thought her father would have been pleased at her choice, for he’d surely seen the vision of what was really worthwhile in life before he died.

Suddenly her eyes turned to the little square table over by the cupboard. What if she set it?

She sprang up, following the thought with action.

Almost as a child might handle her first pewter set, Hazel took the dishes from the shelves and arranged them on the table. They were pretty china dishes, with a fine old sprigged pattern of delicate flowers. She recognized them as belonging to his mother’s set and handled them reverently. The mother’s presence seemed almost with her in the room as she prepared the table for her first meal with the beloved son.

She found a large white towel in the cupboard drawer, spread it on the rough little table and set the delicate dishes upon it: two plates, two cups and saucers, knives, and forks—two of everything! How it thrilled her to think that in a little while she’d belong here in this dear house, and they two would have a right to sit together at this table through the years. Hardships and disappointments would come, of course. She was no fool! Life was full of disappointments for everybody, as well as beautiful surprises! But come what would, she knew by the thrill in her heart she’d never be sorry for this day in which she promised to become the wife of the man of the desert. And she’d always cherish the memory of this her first setting of the little table and let it make all future settings of that table a holy ordinance.

She found a can of soup in the cupboard and heated it in a small saucepan on the fire. Then she set out crackers and cheese, a glass of jelly, a small bottle of stuffed olives and some little cakes she brought with her in her suitcase. She’d thought she might need something when she arrived in Arizona, for she didn’t know if she might have to ride across the desert to find the missionary. And sure enough that was the case.

It looked very cozy when Brownleigh came in to say the wagon was ready, and he thought he saw the Indian in the dusk coming across the plain. But he stopped short, speechless, for here before him was the picture his mind and heart had painted for him many times: this girl, the one girl in all the earth for him, beside his hearth dishing up steaming soup into the hot dishes, the firelight playing on her sweet face and golden hair, and every line and movement of her graceful body calling for his adoration! So he stood for one long minute and feasted his hungry eyes on the sight, until she turned and saw his heart in his eyes, and her own face grew rosy with the joy and the meaning of it all.

So they sat down to their first meal in the little house together. And after sending the Indian back to the fort with a message, they went out in the starlight together to begin their wedding journey.

Dedication

B
illy made good time in spite of the fact he’d been out all day on parish work. They reached the stopping place about nine o’clock, and the news that the missionary was going to be married spread like wildfire among the men and out to the neighboring shacks. In no time a small crowd collected about the place, peering out of the starlit darkness.

Hazel retired to the forlorn chamber where she’d spent the night before and rummaged in her trunk for bridal apparel. In a few minutes she emerged into the long dining room where the table had been hastily cleared and moved aside and the boarders were now seated on chairs in long rows, watching the proceedings curiously.

She was dressed in a simple white muslin, touched here and there with exquisite hand embroidery and tiny cobwebby edges of real lace. The missionary caught his breath as he saw her come out to him, and the rough faces of the men softened as they watched her.

The white-haired bishop rose to meet her and welcomed her in his fatherly way, and the woman who kept the stopping place followed in Hazel’s wake, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and throwing it behind her as she entered. She’d been preparing an impromptu supper out of any materials at hand, but she couldn’t miss the ceremony even if the coffee burned. Weddings didn’t come her way every day.

In the doorway, his stolid face shining in the glare of many candles, stood the Indian from the fort. He’d followed silently behind the couple to witness the proceedings and knew he’d be forgiven at the fort when he told his news. The missionary was well beloved—and the missionary was going to be married!

What would the Four Hundred of her own select New York circle say if they could see Hazel Radcliffe standing serenely in her simple gown with her unadorned golden hair, in the midst of that motley group of men with only three women in the background to keep her company, giving herself away to a man who had dedicated his life to work in the desert?

But Hazel’s happy heart was unaware of the incongruity of her surroundings, and she answered with a clear ring to her voice, “I will,” as the bishop asked her the questions. She was coming gladly to her new home.

John Brownleigh put her own ring, the ring she had given him, on her hand in token of his loyalty and love for her, the ring that for a whole year lay next to his heart and comforted its loneliness because she had given it. And now he gave it back because she had given it to him herself.

Graciously she placed her small hand in the rough awkward ones of the men who came to offer her congratulations, half stumbling over their own feet in their wonder at her beauty. They felt as if an angel from heaven had suddenly dropped down to walk their daily path in their sight.

She cheerfully swallowed the stale cake and muddy coffee the landlady produced and afterward, as she was being helped back into her riding dress, gave her a lilac wool dress from her trunk that the woman admired. From that moment the landlady of the stopping place was a new creature. Missions and missionaries were nothing to her through the years, but she believed in them forever after and donned her new lilac gown in token of her faith in Christianity. Thus Hazel won her first convert, who afterward proved her faithfulness in time of great trial and showed that even a lilac gown may be an instrument of good.

Together they rode out into the starlight again, with the bishop’s blessing on them and the cheers of the men still sounding in their ears.

“I wish Mother could have known,” said the bridegroom as he drew his bride close within his arm and gazed at her nestling by his side.

“Oh, I think she does!” said Hazel, dropping a thankful, weary head against his shoulder.

Then the missionary leaned over and gave his wife a long, tender kiss. Raising his head and lifting his eyes to the starlit sky, he said reverently, “Oh, my Father, I thank Thee for this wonderful gift. Make me worthy of her. Help her never regret she’s come to me.”

Hazel slipped her hand into his free one, laid her lips upon his fingers and prayed quietly by herself in gladness. So they rode out to their camp beneath God’s sky.

Three days later an Indian on the way to the fort turned aside with a message for Hazel—a telegram. It read:

With laughter and tears Hazel read the telegram whose price must have cost the frugal New England conscience a twinge and after a moment’s thought wrote an answer to send back by the messenger.

When good Amelia Ellen read that telegram she wiped her spectacles a second time and read it over to see she’d made no mistake. Then she set her toil-worn hands on her hips and surveyed the prone but happy Burley in dazed astonishment.

“Fer the land sake! Now did you ever? Fer the land! Was that what she was up to all the time? I thought she was wonderful set to go and wonderful set to stay, but I never sensed that was up. Ef I’d ‘a’ knowed, I suppose I’d ‘a’ stayed another day. Why didn’t she tell me, I wonder! Well, fer the land sake!”

And Peter Burley murmured contentedly, “Wal, I’m mighty glad you never knowed, Amelia Ellen!”

GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL (1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote over 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.