In November, everyone in Oakdale was rejoicing over the fact that an armistice had been signed and the war was over! The soldiers would soon be coming back home. Philip Dreyer wondered why Gene Whitmer stopped writing his uncle. Had he been killed, or taken prisoner or what had happened to him? Then he wondered what would become of him if it should ever be found that he had stopped letters in the Post Office and had opened them and kept them from the ones to whom they were addressed. He knew that he could be sent to prison and it began to worry him a great deal.

Rejoicing in the little town soon turned to sorrow for an epidemic of the dreaded influenza broke out, causing the death of many of the people. The schools were closed to check the spread of it and everyone was advised to wear gauze masks in public places. These precautions did not prevent Philip from being exposed to the disease. He had come in contact with everyone that came into the Post Office for their mail. His temperature went above normal and his limbs and back ached frightfully, so Mrs. Luden put him to bed. Mrs. Wilkins was appointed as temporary Post Mistress to act during the time Philip was confined to his bed. Dr. Wenks had his hands full with so many down in bed at the same time, he could not find nurses enough to help him. He made his daily visits and ended up at the Luden's in the late afternoon of the third day of Philip's illness. He went into the boy's room for a few minutes, then he came back out into the hallway to discuss the case with Mrs. Luden.

He shook his head slowly and said, "I am afraid for him, Mrs. Luden. The boy is out of his head, the fever has not broken yet. When it does, we will have to watch out, he is pretty weak."

"Oh, Doctor, I have been so worried about him. He raves on so pitifully as if some great crimes were haunting him, but I know he has never done anything wrong," she sobbed.

"Of course, he has never done anything, it is just his delirious mind that is imaging things. You must stop your worrying or you will be down in bed, too. You must go now and try to snatch some sleep. I have time to watch over him for a while before I go. You must rest," the doctor urged.

"You have been so kind to us, Dr. Wenks. I know that you are doing all you can for him." The woman's face was pale and she looked very tired.

A loud cry came from Philip, the mother and the doctor hurried to his side. "Eli!" he called, "Eli Porter, I want to talk to you! Wait a second! Eli!"

"There," the mother said soothingly. Philip threw his arms in despair, his eyes suddenly wide in horror.

"Stop it! Stop it!" he screamed, "It will crush me! That giant iron ball has rolled loose from the prison chain! Hold it back!"

It took both the woman and the doctor to hold him in bed. Slowly, the tense fighting muscles relaxed as if all their strength had been spent. A quieter look came into his eyes, as he turned in agony and looked at Mrs. Luden.

"Was Eli Porter here?" he asked weakly.

"No, Philip, he was not here. Why?" The foster mother gave him a puzzled look.

"I want to talk to him I am not going to get well, call him to come before I go," he begged brokenly.

"Comply with every wish he makes, Mrs. Luden, humor him," the doctor said side to the woman. "He is nearing the crisis, but he does not act as if he wants to get well."

Knowing that the Porters had no telephone, the excited mother went out to the barnyard, undecided about what to do next. Mr. Luden was very bust doing his chores about the large dairy barn, he had all of it to do alone since Philip was so sick, both the boy and the wife had always helped him before. Mrs. Luden was about to call him to go for Eli Porter when she saw a boy nearing the place on horseback. She turned and hurried toward the big gate. It was Joel Wilkins on his way to the store. She hailed him.

"Oh, Joel," she cried, "Will you please stop in at Eli Porter's on your way and tell Mr. Porter that Philip is very sick and keeps asking for him. Ask him to please come and see Philip. Will you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I will," the awkward farm boy answered politely and rode on his way.

Black clouds were gathering the south and west, a sure sign of storm after the long dry spell. The air was heavy and seemed to press down on Mrs. Luden's chest until she felt as if it would smother her. How she hoped that Philip would pass through the crisis safely.

The delirium had passed and Philip was quite calm, though his fever was still high when Eli Porter reached the Luden farm. Eli had dressed in his Sunday clothes and had hitched his fastest team to the white top buggy and had driven as fast as the horses could trot. He had always thought so much of Philip. Mrs. Luden met the neighbor at the door and welcomed him in. She told him that Philip was very anxious to see him about something but she did not know what it was. She showed him to her boy's room.

Eli went to Philip and took a limp white hand between his own rough ones. "Did you want to see me, my boy?" he asked.

"Yes—alone," Philip answered, so Mrs. Luden and the doctor left the room wondering what was on the boy's mind.

"Mr. Porter," Philip said, clutching at the bedclothes as if to get support from them, "I am afraid it's got me."

"Nonsense, my boy." Eli tried to give him courage and hope. "You will soon be well and strong again."

"I don't want to live and get well."

"You are not letting your slight lameness worry, are you? Why, it is hardly noticeable." Eli drew a chair near up Philip's bed. "Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"I am afraid to live and afraid to die," Philip moaned and turned his face toward the wall.

"What is worrying you, Philip? You have always lived a clean, straight life." Eli had never before seen Philip anyway but jolly and optimistic, it did not seem right to see him this way. Outside, the wind was wailing as if it, too, were in agony. Loose shutters clapped noisily against the sides of the house.

"I have wronged you, wronged Laura Mae and Gene, none of you can forgive me and God won't forgive me either, I know." Tears of agony rolled down his cheeks.

"What have you done that you think is so awful?" Eli implored with deep sympathy in his tone.

"I—I was so jealous because Laura Mae loved Gene instead of me that I let the devil get hold of me and I stopped letters that came into the Post Office." He was suffering as only one with a guilty conscious can suffer.

"Boy, you mean that letters came from Gene to her and you stopped them?" Eli asked eagerly. "What did you do with them?"

"God, Mr. Porter, I opened them all and read them, then I kept them I know you will hate me, but I wanted her so bad. I thought she might give me a chance if I could make her think that Gene was not writing to her." Eli could see that Philip would have to stop talking and save his strength.

"They needn't ever know what you did. I won't tell them. I always wanted you to have Laura Mae, too. She had never written home to us; she has acted shamefully! She did not need to fall for that Whitmer kid, the way she did. It would not have been so bad if they had been married. I was shocked at her!"

"Mr. Porter, she was married," Philip said weakly.

"How did you know she was married?" The man doubted Philip's knowledge in the case.

"In the small drawer there in the desk," Philip said in a broken voice, as he pointed with a trembling finger toward a writing desk in the one side of the room.

"A—large white—envelope. Bring it—to—to me." His breath came short between each word.

As Eli arose to go to the desk, a sheet of lightning lit up the darkened sky, then came a peal of thunder that hurt the eardrums and fairly caused the house to rock. When Philip was a young boy, he always imagined that thunder and lightning were ways in which the gods showed their anger. He knew that by making an honest confession of his guilt would give his conscience much relief and perhaps make it easier for the Heavenly Father to forgive him.

Eli drew the large white envelope from its place in the drawer and handed it to Philip, who opened it with unsteady hands. He took from it the marriage license and several letters. "Here is proof," he said as he handed the license to Eli, who was staring dumbfounded. "She is at this address." Philip picked out the letter addressed to Mrs. Eli Porter that had come from Colonial Heights. Eli looked closely at the address and his lips whispered the words, "Colonial Height." "And this—is the—announcement of the—the birth of—her—baby girl b—born last February." He took a tiny card with the picture of a stork on it, out of a tiny envelope. The handwriting on it was not Laura Mae's but it had come from Colonial Heights, too.

"It doesn't seem possible," Eli managed to say aloud in bewilderment. He looked out of the window without seeing the black heavy clouds or the angry streaks of lighting above the horizon. He had a grand-daughter that would be a year old. Not an illegitimate, but a lawful baby. Slowly, his gaze went back to Philip so helpless and pale, lying there waiting as if for a verdict back from a judge.

Philip put the letters and the license back in the envelope and handed it with a trembling hand to Eli. "Take—them—to—her, and beg for—her—to forgive me," he pleaded, each breath he drew saw short and irregular. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead but his hands were cold and clammy. Eli took the envelope and put into his inner coat pocket.

"I forgive you, son, for what you did. I am more guilty that you are, but I thought she had sinned after I taught her to be clean." His face had a mingling of compassion and anguish and he took Philip's hand in his own.

"Thanks," Philip gasped, "A—drink." He put his hand on his throat as if he were choking.

Eli hurried to call Dr. Wenks and Mrs. Luden. "Come quick and bring a drink he called, beside himself with excitement.

Mrs. Luden rushed to Philip and put her arms around him. "My boy, my boy," she cried softly, as she drew his head to her bosom, tears glistening in her eyes.

"I wronged him—he forgave me—I feel better now," the boy said, smiling faintly. "You have been—good—to—me, Ma. Don't cry." His muscles stiffened for a second then became limo in his foster mother's arms. The doctor helped her lay his head gently back on the pillow. He felt of Philip's pulse and put his ear over the boy's heart to listen. He shook his head slowly and drew the sheet up over Philip's head to hide the face of death. The wind quieted down and large raindrops began to patter on the window pane.

"Is there anything I can do to help you," Eli asked Mrs. Luden in a low tone.

"We can manage, I think. Thanks for forgiving my boy, whatever it was he had done to you," she said. "It is raining now, stay until it passes over or you will get all wet." Mrs. Luden had learned how to be brave when emergencies came.

"I can beat the storm, I am sure," he answered, "I will go home and do my chores and then come back and help you." He did not want to stay where Dr. Wenks was for fear he would be asked questions about Laura Mae and he wanted time to think out what he would say about her, now, after what he had learned from Philip. He was restless and wanted to be alone.

He left the Luden's house and fairly ran to his buggy. He untied the horses and climbed into the seat. When he had driven only a short distance, the rain began pouring down. He whipped his horses to run faster toward home. The lightning was striking closer and closer. The thunder was so loud it frightened the horses so that they broke into a dead run!

The buggy swayed as if it would tip over any second! Eli braced his feet against the dashboard and pulled on the lines with all his might in an attempt to stop the wild runaway team. Terror gripped his heart. The horses were beyond his power to control them. The blinding rain stung his cheeks, the lighting, alternated by loud thunderclaps, continued in rapid succession!

The horses ran on in their frenzy, the jerking and pulling on the lines did not phase them in the least. As they neared the Porter house, they turned into the lane at full speed, with the buggy balancing on two wheels. Eli held his breath. To leap from it might be fatal and to remain in it was frightful! The horses sped past the house, through the gate into the stockyard and came to a sudden stop in the side of a mountainous hat stack. The tongue of the buggy was driven far into green hay. The frightened animals acted as if they were safer now. The wind lay as if drawing a second breath, ready to begin blowing again. The rain fell gently after the wind stopped blowing so furiously. Eli was near exhaustion from pulling on the lines and he looked for all the world like a drenched cat, his Sunday hat and coat were soaked by the rain. He left the team where they had stopped in the side of the haystack and with tired, aching limbs, he climbed to the ground and stumbled, through the mire, to the house. He looked for Clara but she was not in sight. He threw his wet hat on the oilcloth-covered table in the kitchen and wiped his dirty, wet hands, without washing them, on the towel by the washstand. He stepped into the parlor and took the Bible, which was the largest book on the shelf, down from its place and slipped the large white envelope into the pages of the Holy Book. He would change into dry work clothes and do his chores before he decided what to say to Clara, concerning Philip's confession. He needed time to think about it.

Clara was down in the cellar under the kitchen, labeling her jars of canned fruit when she heard Eli enter the house. She finished the shelf she was working on before she climbed up the rickety stairways and went to the bedroom to find out how Philip was and to ask Eli why he had driven home in the worst of storms. As she came into the bedroom door, Eli was just reaching back over his shoulder for the unfastened strap on his overalls when he let out a cry of pain and pressed his hand firmly over his heart. She sat down on the edge of the bed, bent forward in pain. Clara hurried to him and arranged the pillows under his head as he leaned over on them.

"What happened?" she asked apprehensively.

"Had a runaway in the storm," he muttered. "Too much for my heart. Philip's gone and I guess—I am going, too." He rolled in agony, clutching desperately the region of his heart. Clara rushed for a glass of cold water and helped him take a sip of it. She did not know what to do for him.

"My—little girl," he began brokenly, "Ask her to forgive me—Philip had proof of her marriage but he—kept it from me."

"Don't exert yourself by talking, Eli, get a hold on yourself." Clara was frightened. She had never thought of how it would be if Eli's strength ever gave away. He had never been sick in all their married life. It had seemed that only the womenfolk in the Porter family were subject to heart attacks.

"It was Colonial Heights—Oh, God I can't stand it." He paused in such pain that he could hardly force himself to go on talking. "Philip did it. Clara, they're in the Bible—get her back—ask her to forgive—Philip—and me. In the Bible, Clara—In the middle of the Bible."

"Yes, Eli, I know there are beautiful things in the bible. Rest now," she urged.

He began again, "Bring it—a white envelope—God, I'm done—" he gasped and settled back lifeless on the pillow.

Clara was panic-stricken; she ran from the house. Hearing buggy wheels near the crossroads, she turned and ran in that direction. Everett and Maria were driving home from the store. They had waited until the furious part of the storm had passed. Clara called to them Everett stopped his team as she approached them, breathless and almost hysterical.

"Come quick! It's Eli. I am afraid he is dead."

"What happened to him?" Everett asked calmly but Maria's eyes were wide with fright.

"He had a runaway and overdid his heart."

Everett handed the lines to Maria and climbed out of the buggy.

"You are all out of breath, Clara. Climb into the buggy and we will drive over to your house with you." Everett took hold of her arm and helped her up into the seat by Maria, then he climbed into the back seat. Maria drove the team into the lane that led to the Porter yard. Clara had two friends who would see her through her trouble and she felt calmer as they approached the house that had felt the grip of death.