Chapter Six

   THE road, though not surfaced, was in good shape and the little Mustang sped through the rolling countryside at an easy pace; Chris was taking no more chances with side roads or detours. An occasional directional sign indicated that Life City lay ahead and Doomsdale behind; that was all he cared to know.

   After a few hours of driving his body began to relax from the strain of the climb, and he grew sleepy. It was sundown when he reached the end of a long meadow and a road sign announced LOT'S WIFE MOTEL, ¼ MILE. VACANCY. Crossing a bridge over a fast-moving stream, he swung the car into the driveway and parked in front of the office.

   "Funny name you picked for your motel,'' he remarked to the manager, who had pink-rimmed blue eyes and rather, long, pointed ears.

   "I didn't pick it," was the reply.

   '''Who did?"

   The manager pushed a registration card at him. ''It's named after some formation or other back up the valley. I never did bother to go look at it."

   As Chris filled out the card he noticed the name at

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the top: Lot's Wife Motel, Tim O'Rowse, prop. AAA. Public Restaurant. Rooms Payable in Advance. No Credit Cards or Personal Cheques.

   "Your name O'Rowse?" asked Chris holding out his hand. "Mine's Chris Anders."

   "You just beat the rain,'' said the man solemnly. Chris decided that he looked like Dana's pet rabbit.

   ''Don't believe I've ever stayed here before."

   "You on the road?"

   "I was."

   "We probably won't be here when you come through again."

   "Why's that?"

   "Oh, the new construction. It'll divert the traffic. Happened to me twice. You headin' through to Life City?"

   "Yup."

   "I doubt you can get up the grade, it's that bad. I wouldn't try it."

   "Mr. O'Rowse," said Chris, ''I'll tell you one thing, I'm not going back. Where's my room? And how are your steaks?"

   The next morning Chris decided he would sleep in. He was tired, his legs were stiff, the bed was comfortable, it was raining, and it just seemed a good idea. By the time he finally got up, showered and breakfasted it was nearly noon. He presented his key at the office and found Mr. O'Rowse back on duty. The solemn blue eyes started at him from their pink rims.

   "You going to tackle it?" he asked.

   "Why not?" asked Chris.

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   "It's raining bad."

   "I know."

   "There's a nineteen per cent uphill pull. It's pretty narrow, and the gravel is thin in spots. Probably be ruts by now."

   "Probably."

   "Well, if you're going,'' sighed O'Rowse, tugging at his ear, ''be sure to keep on straight at the next turning. They're doing construction on the crossroads and if you go to the right or left, you'll end in the ditch."

   "OK."

   "I heard on the radio there's cars right now stuck up there on Poopout Hill. I've seen 'em come backing all the way down."

   "Look," said Chris, "this is the road to Life City, isn't it?"

   "That's what they tell me."

   "Then that's that. Good-bye, Mr. O'Rowse."

   "Be careful."

   As Chris turned back on to the road, he wondered why he felt so confident about this particular stretch of road, since he had known nothing but highway grief for two days. After some self-analysis he concluded it was because this time he was following orders. He thought about the passage he had read that morning in Isaiah: "They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." And he added to himself with a wry smile. "They shall drive and not miss their turns."

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   As he crossed the bridge it seemed to him that the stream had risen overnight. He reached the intersection, stopped for gas, then continued along a narrow gravel road that led steeply up Poopout Hill. He had climbed for about three miles when a huge pool appeared in the road, and beyond it another, and another. He skidded the Mustang to a halt.

   For several moments Chris stared disconsolately at the dripping elements. At length he thought of the verse in Isaiah, and reached around to pick up his Bible from the back seat. He was annoyed to discover it was not there. He swung around and searched the back of the seat, then the floor, then under the front seat. It did not take long to shatter his peace of mind completely. He got out in the rain, opened the boot, and went through his suitcase. The Bible was nowhere to be found. Worn out by the effort and soaked, he got back in the car and tried to think.

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   The road being extremely narrow, Chris was forced to back up the entire three miles, and narrowly missed the ditch on several occasions. He was worn out by the slow, arduous effort. Reaching the motel entrance at last, he hurried to his former room. There he found a cleaning trolley parked in the hall, the door ajar and a maid inside. He burst in, startling her so that she dropped the pillow she was changing.

   "Sorry,'' he said, "I came back for my Bible. Have you seen it?"

   "Seen what?"

   "My Bible. I thought I left it on the bed table."

   "There's nothin' here," she said. "I didn't see nothin'."

   Chris steeped into the bathroom and back. ''It's got to be here, unless I dropped it in the mud getting into the car.'' He began pulling open drawers in desperation. At the end of the built-in chest he jerked open the last drawer and shouted.

   "It's here!'' he said, drawing it out from under a Gideon Bible and a Book of Mormon. "Praise God! Oh, praise God!''

   The maid came over to look. ''A Bible,'' she said. "Man, I thought you said a bottle!"

   "That was last month. Things have changed." He planted a kiss on the book's black cover. The maid stared at him wide-eyed.

   "Now, what would a man like you be doin' with that Bible?" she asked.

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   "I just got saved, sister. The Lord made a new thing out of me. Aren't you saved?"

   "Saved? Man, I'm saved, sanctified, baptized with the Holy Ghost an' with fire, but it ain't doin' me a stitch of good in this place. It takes more'n religion to keep body an' soul together when you workin' for that man up front."

   "What's wrong with him?"

   "He jus' born wrong an' never quit!"

   Chris wondered what he should say. "I guess the thing to do, sister, is to pray for him."

   "No, sir, I'm too busy prayin' at him an' against him. I believe the devil got a good thing goin' in Tim O'Rowse. He's somep'n else." She disappeared into the bathroom with the mop. Chris started for the door, then paused.

   "Ma'am," he called out.

   The maid poked her head around the corner of the wall.

   "You-all talkin' to me?" she asked.

   "Yes. Have you ever been to Life City?"

   Something seemed to happen to her bearing as she groped for an answer. "I was there,'' she admitted softly, coming back into the room. Her face was expressionless.

   "Did it—was it—'' Chris gave up and waited for her to continue.

   "They handed me an assignment,'' she said at last. "I fluffed it. Got mixed up with the wrong kind of folks."

   "Maybe it's still not too late—'' Chris ventured.

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   She shook her head. "It's way too late. He's dead. What I need to do is go back for a new set of orders, but I'm stuck."

   "Why are you stuck? I'll give you a lift."

   She looked at him and then out at the Mustang standing in the rain. Again she shook her head. "I told you it was too late."

   Chris realized he had said the wrong thing and started to leave. At the door he turned. "Ma'am," he said, "forgive me for walking into your life, but if I were you I'd get out of here as fast as I could—today." He got back into his car and drove it past the office. Tim O'Rowse was standing inside the screen door watching him. Chris waved. The rain having stopped momentarily, the proprietor came out.

   "I forgot to warn you," he said. "There's a big estate at the end of the thirty-mile stretch up yonder. It's just where you start to go down. Watch out for them big hounds they got loose up there. Keep your car windows up, or they'll jump right up and bite you."

   "Did they do it to you?" asked Chris wonderingly.

   "No, but I heard tell of it." He squinted at the rain, which had begun again. "Way it's comin' down, you're in for trouble. I wouldn't try it."

   "Tim," said Chris, "have you ever made this trip to Life City?"

   "Nope. Never have."

   "Well, why don't you let somebody else take over and you come along and keep me company?"

   "Oh, I guess I couldn't do that. Got this place to

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look after, and the help is terrible. I thought more'n once I'd like to go, but there always seems to be somethin' comes up. This mornin' you can see the creek is up three feet, and if it don't quit rainin' I'm sure the bridge will go. But I'm obliged to you." He smiled glumly.

   "Does a fellow named Van Gelst ever come through here?" asked Chris.

   "Oh, sure, the Bible chap. You know him?"

   "Yes, I do. What do you think of him?"

   "Nice fellow. Real nice. Keeps nigglin' at me, but I don't give much. I kind of figure I'll make it one way or another."

   "He gave me good advice a while back."

   "Oh, he's a fine lad."

   "So long, Brother Tim," said Chris, holding out his hand. He drove out to the road and stopped on the shoulder to watch the creek water swirling at the supports of the bridge. He opened his Bible and found on the inside cover a printed list of "Scripture for Particular Needs." Running his finger down the list, he came to "When in Doubt about a Course of Action." The verse listed was Revelation 3:8, and he turned to it: "Behold, I have set before you an open door, which no one is able to shut." Chris slapped the book shut, grunted, and headed for Poopout Hill.

   The next thirty miles were everything Tim O'Rowse said they were. He splashed through the pools and crawled up the nineteen per cent grade. Here and there the gravel had been completely washed away, and some dangerous ruts had developed

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that nearly trapped the car. Twice he was forced to thread his way around an abandoned vehicle. Going over the first summit he found himself bouncing on a washboard road that nearly shook the fillings out of his teeth. Mile after mile it stretched, and the Mustang began to develop squeaks and rattles hitherto unknown. A squall struck the windshield with such force that for a while the wipers stopped working.

   Still he kept inching along, humming "Turn It Over to Jesus" until the tune seemed to synchronize with the engine. To get out of his mind he turned on the radio, which announced a special bulletin to the effect that the United States Government had responded to China's warning by mobilizing the National Guard and declaring a national emergency. The Civil Defence Administration had swung into action, and fall-out shelters were again booming on the market. Chris turned off the set and began thinking about his family.

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   Chris became aware that he had reached another summit. The rain had finally ceased and a late afternoon sun was trying to break through. The road had improved, and he rolled down his window to look at the imposing elm-lined drive he was entering. He passed through a gate which carried a brass plate reading PILGRIMS' MANOR HOUSE. ENTER. A hundred yards farther along he began to hear a furious barking and promptly rolled up the window. When he rounded a curve and came upon the two huge mastiffs that were making the noise, he was relieved to find them securely chained to stakes.

   ''O'Rowse was wrong again," he thought.

   Farther on he came to a guard post with a cottage behind it. A man in uniform was standing in the road in the twilight, flashlight and clipboard in hand, waiting for him.

   "Going on through?" he asked.

   "Yes," said Chris, "but I'll never make it tonight. Is there any—?"

   "Your name, please."

   "Christian Anders."

   "Address?"

   "Doomsdale. But I don't live there anymore."

   "Destination?"

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"Life City. What's this for? Is this a state park or something?"

   "No, sir. This is Pilgrim's Manor House. It's owned and operated by the heirs of Lord Manson."

   "Does this road belong to them?"

   "Yes, sir. The estate covers the whole top of the hill."

   "Well, it's too dark now to try to make the descent. Any place here where they can put me up?"

   "I believe so, sir, if you have been certified as a bona fide traveller to Life City." He held up his flashlight. "Would you mind me putting the amber beam on your face?"

   "I guess not."

   The guard scrutinized Chris's forehead quickly and snapped off the light. "Thanks very much. I expect you have a passport."

   "What kind of passport?"

   "Did they give you a Bible?"

   "Oh, yes. It's here in the front seat, but it happens to be my own Bible."

   "Thank you, sir. That's all I want to know. I'm Captain Petrovich. If you'll just drive on up to the main door, I'll telephone ahead and they'll be waiting for you. Some of the girls will be able to tell you about the accommodation. Good evening." The man turned and disappeared into the cottage. Chris drove on a quarter of a mile through the trees until he came to a stately Georgian mansion with white pillars fronting on a beautiful expanse of lawn. The entrance was flood-lit, and the early evening air was suddenly

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punctured by a burst of laughter as four teen-age girls came romping out the huge door. They caught sight of the Mustang and swarmed over it, exclaiming, "What a neat car! Let's take a ride! Whee! Let's go-go-go!"

   One of them finally took notice of Chris and said, "Don't mind us, we just finished our work and feel good. How are you?"

   "I'm fine,'' said Chris, 'except for a few bird pecks on the head."

   "The birds! I'm sorry,'' she said. "The devil's not really a very nice person, is he? My name's Char."

   "How do you do. I'm Chris Anders. Do you suppose there's a camp bed out in the barn where I could sleep tonight?"

   "Nothing of the sort," said one of the others, who had subsided somewhat. "You're a guest of the Manor. Captain Petrovich said so. We've already arranged to have you in the East Room.''

   "What's your name?"

   "I'm Patty. And this is Pru and this is Creshie. And the chef wants to know if you would like steak and kidney pie."

   "You tell the chef I'll take what's on his menu, all of it."

   "Well, let's see," said Creshie, "there's worms and slugs and some fat lizards with tomato sauce—''

   "Creshie,'' said Char, "I'm going to tell Uncle Gabe to change your name."

   "Why?" asked Chris, amused.

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   "Because she was named Discretion and she's anything but. If she didn't love the Lord—"

   "Discretion! What a monicker! How do you survive it!?"

   Creshie giggled. "Anybody who calls me Discretion gets short shrift. But really, it's no worse than theirs. Her name isn't Patty, it's Piety. And she's Prudence and she's Charity."

   By this time Chris had taken his bags out of the car and they were leading him into the house. He was escorted to a handsome upper room with an eastern view overlooking the valley. After washing and soothing his several wounds he came down the winding staircase to the ornate drawing room, where hors d'oevres and soft drinks awaited him. One by one the girls came in, attractively dressed for dinner. They served him and sat down. Chris was struck by the well-groomed look of their faces and the modesty of their bearing as much as by the zest they seemed to draw from life.

   "While we're waiting for supper," said Char, "we want to hear something about your adventures."

   "What would you like to know?" Chris was suddenly feeling very mellow indeed.

   "About the birds," said Creshie. "The horrid things. I'm so glad ours are nice." She whistled shrilly, and a parakeet came flying in to light on her shoulder.

   "Creshie," said Char, "you know we don't whistle around here after sundown."

   "Excuse me, Mr. Anders," said Creshie. "We do want to hear about Doomsdale."

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   "All I can tell you is that I got out."

   "But how did you know where to go?

   "Why, I bumped into Ernie Van Gelst. Do you know him?"

   "Bless his heart," said Pru, "of course we know him. He stayed here two nights ago. We're doing Bible study in the Book of Acts together."

   "Well, he told me how to get to the transmitter. I didn't take the direct route, but we won't go into that. I did manage to meet the Colonel and the Major, and they put me through the business."

   "Don't you just love Major Putter?" asked Patty. "I think he's a darling. That funny little moustache."

   "What do you mean by the business?" asked Char.

   "Oh, that film. People trying to put the fire out, and that poor devil trapped in the Chateau d'if. Frankly, it scared me."

   "You didn't see the other one?"

   "About the end of the world? No, I told the Major I couldn't take any more. I guess he thought I was pretty well saturated, because he turned me loose."

   "Was that when you ran into the birds?" asked Creshie, making faces at her parakeet, who responded raucously in kind.

   "I told you, Creshie, not to try to put that budgie's head in your mouth," Char rebuked her.

   "Sorry," murmured Creshie, giving the parakeet a very stern look.

   "When did your back trouble start?" Char asked of Chris.

   "I was reading the New Testament one night—in

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the Book of Revelation—and I felt this burning sensation. They must have known about it in the Principality, because they hit me with a UFO right on the upper spine. I thought I was done for. Then they sent the birds; but it came out all right."

   "Do you know what the pain was?" inquired Char.

   "I guess you'd better tell me," replied Chris.

   "It was the burden of your sin, Mr. Anders. The passage you read in Revelation simply made you aware of it. The problem was there all the time."

   "And here I thought it was some place else," murmured Chris.

   "Like in Moscow, maybe?" suggested Creshie, her eyes twinkling.

   "Or in Peking. Or in—my kids."

   "Then what happened after that?" asked Pru.

   "Then I went up the skull face and got saved. And the pain went away. Just like that."

   The girls looked at him seriously for a second and then burst into oh's and ah's and clapped their hands.

   "What's your first name, Mr. Anders?" asked Creshie.

   "Christian. They call me Chris."

   She started singing softly. Patty picked up a guitar and the others joined in harmony:

Hallelujah! 'tis done!

Chris believes on the Son,

He's saved by the blood

Of the Crucified One.

Their voices were young and true. When they finished Patty asked, "Did they stamp you on your

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forehead? And give you those nice outdoor clothes you're wearing?"

   "Yes, they did. Three hikers came up, stripped to the waist and covered with grease, and carrying packs. It was perfect timing. So then I went down the hill and got shot at by some old gambler."

   "That must have been the Lazy 3," said Char.

   "I wondered who they were."

   "Oh, they've been there for years. I think they originally started out to climb the hill, but they took up ranching instead. One night someone from the Principality of Belial sneaked in and chained them while they were asleep at the card table. They had been drinking a lot, I'm afraid.''

   ''Go on,'' said Pru. ''What happened then?''  

   ''Why, I found my car with two hitchhikers sitting in it. They were a strange combination. One was a theological student dressed in a tuxedo and the other was a hippie.''

   ''We know about them,'' piped up Creshie.

   ''They told me they were taking a short-cut to Life City, and wanted a lift.''

   ''I used to date that student before I met Christ," said Char. "He has the strangest notions about religion. He likes all the trappings but won't have anything to do with the real thing."

   "That's why he wears the tux," explained Patty.

   "He likes to go formal."

   "Did you ever date the other guy?" grinned Chris.

   Char blushed. "You mean the hippie? We don't really know him. He's a—"

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   "Hypocrite," Patty interrupted. "He isn't even a true hippie—just a gross character. I can't imagine why he wants to go to Life City."

   ''Probably he just likes to take trips," said Creshie to her parakeet. Pru rose and excused herself from the drawing room.

   "Are you married, Mr. Anders?" asked Char.

   "Very much so," said Chris. "I left a wife and four boys in Doomsdale."

   "Why didn't you bring them with you?" asked Creshie. "Wasn't the car big enough?"

   "It wasn't that," said Chris. "They wouldn't come." The conversation then turned to the girls, and they shared some of their experiences as hostesses at the Manor House. Presently they took him into a parlour that had been turned into a museum. Here Lord Manson had gathered a magnificent Bible collection. In addition to fragments of early manuscripts, they showed him the Bible William Carey had translated at Serampore in India, and Adoniram Judson's first Burmese Bible, Robert Morrison's Chinese Bible, Henry Martyn's Persian text, and many others. They explained that their tour of duty at the Manor would end pretty soon; they would be replaced by another crew from Life City and would be reporting for fresh orders. Meanwhile they provided hospitality and encouragement for all travellers on that road.

   "You sure do a nice job," was Chris's reaction.

   At this point Pru returned and announced, "Dinner is being served, Mr Anders."

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