Well,” thought Annette, “I’ve done it, and now I know what’s got to happen.”
She found her heart beating very fast, and she looked up at the vast starry sky and the great mountains to steady herself. How big they were, how old and unchanging! They made her and her fears feel very small and unimportant. After all, it would soon be over and forgotten about, but the mountains and the stars would go on and on forever.
A small black figure appeared, running around the curve in the path, dragging a sled behind him. He had found another coat, and was so out of breath with hurrying that he could hardly speak.
“Come on, Annette,” he gasped. “I’ve brought the big sled so there’s plenty of room for you to stretch out your leg. We’ll be home in a few minutes.”
He held out his hand to help her get up, but she drew back. “Just a minute, Lucien,” she said in a hurried, rather shaky voice. “I want to tell you something before we go home. Lucien, it wasn’t the cat that knocked over your horse that day. It was me. I did it on purpose because I didn’t want you to get the prize—because you hurt Dani. I’m sorry, Lucien.”
Lucien stood and stared at her, too surprised and, strangely enough, too happy to speak. For instead of feeling angry, he felt tremendously relieved. Annette had done something wrong as well as him, and if he had to forgive Annette, perhaps it would be easier for Annette to forgive him. Of course a little smashed horse was nothing compared with a little boy’s smashed leg, but even so, it seemed to bring them somehow nearer together.
But he couldn’t put all that into words, so he just gave a gruff little laugh and said shyly, “Oh, it’s all right, Annette. You needn’t worry. Get on the sled.” Then he tucked the coat around her, sat down in front of her, and together they sped down the mountainside and arrived at the Burniers’ front door, powdered all over with the snow that flew up from the runners.
Annette climbed the steps on her hands and knees and stood on one leg in the doorway. Then she looked at Lucien, who was turning away slowly with the sled.
She had opened the door of her heart to the love of the Lord Jesus, and that meant opening the door to Lucien as well, for Jesus’ love never shuts anyone out.
“Come up, Lucien,” she called. “Come in and see Grandmother. She will be so pleased that you found me.”
She opened the front door as wide as it would go, and she and Lucien went in.
Grandmother jumped up with a cry of joy at the sight of Annette. They had been very worried, and Papa had gone up the mountain to search for her. Grandmother was opening her mouth to be cross when she noticed the lame foot, so she shut her mouth, helped Annette onto the sofa, and went to look for cold-water bandages.
As she turned, she noticed Lucien standing shyly in the doorway, wondering what to do, and for a moment they stood looking at each other. She could see in his face how much he wanted to be accepted, so she put both hands on his shoulders and drew him to the warmth and blaze of the open stove.
“You are welcome, my child,” she said firmly. “Come and sit down and eat with us.”
The door opened again, and Papa entered, shaking the snow from his cloak. He had guessed Annette was safe, for he had seen the sled and the forms of two children whizzing across the fields. When he had heard her story and scolded her a little for going so far alone at night, he too sat down by the open stove, and Grandmother served out hot chocolate and crusty bread thickly spread with golden butter. On top of each hunk she placed a thick slice of cheese full of holes, and everyone sat munching in silence.
A sleepy, contented silence! The warmth of the stove after the night air made them all feel drowsy. Lucien sat blinking at the flames and wished that this moment could last forever when suddenly the silence was broken by a strange scratching noise at the door.
“It’s Klaus,” shouted Annette, and she sprang forward. But her bad foot held her back, and it was Grandmother and Papa and Lucien who all opened the door at once.
Klaus marched into the room with her tail held proudly high and in her mouth she carried a perfectly new, blind tabby kitten. She took no notice of any of them, but walked straight across to the little bed where Dani lay sleeping and jumped up onto the feather quilt. She dropped her precious bundle as near as possible to Dani’s golden head, and then hurried back to the door and meowed.
“She’ll be coming back with another,” said Papa, letting her out.
“Then we had better leave the door open,” said Grandmother. They all sat shivering in an icy draft until Klaus reappeared in a great hurry and dropped a white kitten with tabby smudges in the same place, and streaked off back into the night.
“Let’s hope that will be the last,” murmured Grandmother, thinking partly of the draft and partly of life in a small chalet with Dani and more than three kittens. But nobody else said anything at all because their eyes were fixed on the door. Dani’s Klaus could do exactly what she liked, and no questions asked.
Back she came around the corner of the barn, but this time she walked slowly and grandly. Her work was done. She carried in her mouth a pure white kitten, exactly like herself, gathered all three between her front paws, laid herself across Dani’s chest, and started licking and purring for all she was worth.
“Shut the door, Lucien,” said Grandmother with a little sigh of relief. “Pierre, you had better find a basket for all those cats. The child will suffocate!”
Papa chuckled. “In the morning, Mother,” he replied. “Tonight they can stop where they are. Klaus knows where they’re welcome, and Dani won’t mind.”
Very gently he moved Klaus’s right paw from Dani’s chin, then he went off to lock up the cowshed.
Lucien got up to go. He went over to Grandmother and held out his hand.
“I must go,” he said simply, “but thank you for letting me come in. I hope Annette’s foot will soon be better.”
Grandmother, looking down into his face, held his hand for a moment in both of hers. “Yes, you must go,” she replied, “but you must come again. You will always be welcome.”
Annette said nothing about waking Dani because Grandmother might have said no, but after all, a promise was a promise. She waited until Grandmother was washing up the chocolate cups and then she hopped to his side.
“Dani,” she whispered, smoothing the damp hair back from his forehead. Dani sighed and flung his arms above his head but he did not wake.
“Dani,” said Annette more loudly, and this time she pinched him. He opened his eyes, bright with sleep, and stared at her.
“Look, Dani,” said Annette, “she’s come … and she’s brought you a present!”
Dani stared at the jumble of fur in his arms, too half-asleep to be astonished, and not quite sure whether he was dreaming or not.
“She’s found three rats,” he remarked.
“No, no, Dani,” cried Annette. “Those aren’t rats. They are three dear little kittens. She had them in the barn and now she’s brought them to you. They’re yours, Dani—a present from Klaus.”
Dani blinked at them. “I knew she’d come,” he murmured. “I asked God.”
Annette knelt by the bed and gathered the whole bundle of Dani and Klaus and the kittens into her arms.
“I asked the Lord Jesus to come in,” she whispered. “And He did. That’s two prayers answered in one night!”
But Dani did not hear. He had fallen asleep again, with the tip of Klaus’s tail in his mouth.