Free The Red Signal (Grace Livingston Hill Book) by Grace Livingston Hill

called her from one duty to another, raged at her because the first was not finished and never left her for a minute. She was frantically preparing a meal for the men, and between her rages glanced anxiously out whatever door or window she came near, evidently fearing the men would come before the dinner was ready. Hilda saw that she must bide her time or perhaps spoil her chance of escape. For a few minutes things were so thick in the kitchen that she lost the values of things and the possible destruction of the bridge became a thing of the background rather than the immediate foreground. She hurried around silently, trying to think, setting the table like lightning, her own glances following her mistress's out of the windows and doors as she passed them. The screech of a train roused her thoughts again to her responsibility. What if it were this train that bore the doomed load? What if she had waited too long? She held her breath and listened as an express rushed through. A long line of handsome cars filled with people. She looked from the kitchen window and caught her breath as it reached the bridge. One awful second, it had crossed the first arch! The second! The engine was over on the other side! And now the last car left the bridge and rushed on out of sight among the trees. She turned with a sigh of relief, and caught the eye of the woman full upon her.
     “Vat for you stand idle to vatch a drain? You lazy girl! Get you to work. Dem men are coming. Dey vill pe hongty! Dish up the sauer kraut!”
    Hilda saw, even as she turned, one of the men creeping up through the bushes, coming up the garden path from the back. They were returning. She drew another sigh of relief! Perhaps she had been wrong. This was not the day for the plot to be carried out. They were only preparing so that they might be ready when their orders came. She would wait until dark and then would steal away. The express train had passed over. All was safe enough. She could be more sure of getting away without being caught if she waited until night. With relief she hurried to put the dishes on the table. The men came in, all but Heinrich, stopping at the pump to wash and joke much as they often did. Hilda tried to stop the ears of her consciousness to their words, for so often their jokes were unspeakably distasteful to her.
     The men were jolly, with an appearance of having finished a hard task. At last Heinrich came in and clapped Mrs. Schwarz on the shoulder.
    “Well, mother,” he said in German, “take a good look at the old bridge. She hasn't many hours to live. We've got her fixed. When the two o'clock freight comes down you'll see her climbing up the golden stairs!”
    The other men swarmed in and took their seats noisily, happily, as if some great feat had been accomplished.
    Something gripped Hilda's heart like a vise. Her face turned white and her eyes turned wildly to the clock. She was glad the last dish was carried in and she was out in the kitchen where they could not see her. She felt her senses reeling as if she could not trust them. The two o'clock freight! And it was five minutes of one now!
    He was on it! He was running it! He would not know! He would come along just as usual, with his dark curly head stuck out of the window, and blow his signals for her. They would echo along the valley with that joyous call that set her heart to thrilling and made her cheeks grow warm, and then the engine would leap out upon the bridge, and—it would happen! The horrible thing would happen! It would all be over in a minute, perhaps before the whistle had stopped echoing among the hills. There would be no train, perhaps not even fragments. There would be no more bridge, only ruins! They would find his cap somewhere, miles away! They would never find him! Her one friend would be gone! He would never whistle to her any more! He would be gone! Germany had done this! Germany meant to do it! Planned to do it! Germany did not care for hundred of lives