Heidi

22 The Unexpected Happens

Uncle Alp was out before sunrise next morning to look at the sky and see what kind of day it was going to be. He stood watching the light come over the mountain tops, till the sun itself appeared and the shadows died away, and even the valley came to life again. Then he fetched the wheel‐chair from the shed and put it ready in front of the hut, before going to waken the children.

Peter arrived just then, and the goats were shifting rather nervously about him, for he had been hitting out at them without the slightest cause all the way up. He was feeling very sore and cross. For weeks now he had not once had Heidi to himself, for she was always with the girl in the wheel‐chair, and they stayed by the hut or just under the trees. She had not been up to the pasture with him once that summer, and she was only coming now to show it to that stranger. Peter knew just how it would be, and his resentment got too much for him. There stood the empty wheel‐chair and he glared at it, as if it were his worst enemy, and the cause of all his troubles. He looked round, and saw there was no one at hand, and no sound of anyone came from the hut. In a sudden burst of rage, he rushed at the chair, and gave it a spiteful shove which sent it rolling down the steep slope. It moved easily, gathered speed, and then plunged headlong out of sight.

He flew up the mountain as though he had wings and hid behind a big blackberry bush. He wanted to see what happened to the chair, but had no desire for Uncle Alp to catch him. With wicked glee he watched it, far below, bouncing off the rocks and leaping on until it crashed to its final destruction. He leaped for joy at the sight and laughed aloud. He told himself that now that horrid girl would go away and everything would be as before. Heidi would be free to go with him up to the pasture often, every day perhaps. The real badness of what he had done had not yet occurred to him, nor any idea of what consequences it might have.

Heidi came out almost at once, followed by her grandfather carrying Clara. The shed door was wide open and she could see that the place was empty. She ran round to the back of the hut, and came back looking puzzled.

‘What’s the matter, Heidi?’ asked her grandfather. ‘What have you done with the chair?’

‘You said it was in front of the door, but I can’t see it anywhere,’ she replied.

A strong gust of wind just at that moment sent the shed door slamming back against the wall.

‘Perhaps the wind has blown it away,’ Heidi cried, looking anxiously about. ‘Oh dear, if it has rolled right down to Dörfli, we shan’t get it back in time to go.’

‘If it has fallen as far as that, we shan’t get it back at all,’ said her grandfather. ‘It will be broken in a hundred pieces.’ He went to look over the edge, and murmured to himself, ‘That’s curious.’ He saw the chair, and realized that to fall where it had, it would have had to turn a corner on its way from the shed!

‘Oh, how dreadful!’ Clara wailed. She was really upset. ‘Now we shan’t be able to go today — I shan’t ever be able to go — because I shan’t be able to stay here without my chair. Oh, what shall I do?’

‘We’ll go up to the pasture today anyway, as we planned,’ Grandfather told her kindly. ‘After that, we’ll see.’

That satisfied them both. He went indoors and returned with an armful of rugs, which he spread out in the sunniest spot he could find, then he settled Clara on them. He fetched their milk, and brought out Daisy and Dusky from their stall.

‘I wonder where that boy’s got to,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘He’s very late.’ Peter had not given his usual whistle.

When the girls had finished their breakfast, he picked Clara up and the rugs and said, ‘Now we can go, and we’ll take the goats with us.’

Heidi went happily ahead, with a hand on each animal’s neck. They were so pleased to be with her again that they pressed against her on either side so that they almost crushed her between them. When they reached the pasture, they saw the other goats grazing peacefully in little groups and Peter stretched full length on the ground.

‘Hi, I’ll teach you to pass us by, you lazy rascal,’ cried Grandfather. ‘What do you mean by it?’

Peter shot up at the sound of that voice. ‘No one was up,’ he replied.

‘Did you see anything of Clara’s chair?’ asked Uncle Alp.

‘What chair?’ Peter mumbled sourly.

Uncle said no more. He found a sunny place for Clara and settled her there.

‘How’s that?’ he asked, and she replied, ‘As comfortable as if I was in my chair, thank you. And oh, isn’t it lovely here?’

‘Now enjoy yourselves,’ said Uncle Alp, as he prepared to leave them. ‘Your dinner is in the bag over there in the shade. Get Peter to give you as much milk as you want, but see he takes it from Daisy. I’ll come back for you in the evening, but I must go down now to see what’s become of the chair.’

There was not one cloud in the deep blue sky. The great snowfield sparkled, and the massive bare peaks stood out clearly against the unbroken blue. The two girls sat side by side, as happy and contented as could be. From time to time one of the goats came and lay down beside them. Snowflake came most often, and nestled against Heidi until one of the others came and drove her away. So Clara learnt to recognize each one. Some came right up to her and rubbed against her shoulders, a sure sign that they trusted her. Presently Heidi thought of the meadow where all the flowers grew, and wished she could go and see if they were as beautiful as last year, but Clara could not go till Grandfather returned in the evening, and by then the flowers would probably have closed their petals for the night. She wanted to go so badly that after a little she said hesitantly:

‘Would you mind if I left you alone for a few minutes, Clara? I want to go and look at the flowers. Wait a minute, though,’ she went on, as an idea came to her. She picked some handfuls of grass and spread it on Clara’s lap. Then she brought Snowflake over and gave her a little push to make her lie down. ‘There, you won’t be alone, now,’ she said.

‘Go and look at the flowers for as long as you like,’ said Clara. ‘I shall be quite happy here with Snowflake. It’ll be fun to feed her.’ So Heidi ran off, and Clara gave the grass to the little goat blade by blade. Snowflake took it gently from her hand, already quite at home with this new friend. To Clara this strange new experience was very exciting. To be here, all by herself, and out of doors in such a beautiful place, with this little goat eating so trustfully out of her hand — was all so delightful. She had never expected to know such happiness, and it gave her a new idea of what it must mean to be like other girls, well and free, to run about and to help people, instead of always having to be the one who sat still and was waited on. The thought seemed to add an extra radiance to the scene, and a deeper glow to her own happiness. She put an arm round Snowflake’s neck. ‘I should like to stay here for ever and ever,’ she murmured aloud.

Heidi meanwhile had reached the flowery meadow, and was gazing ecstatically at the yellow carpet of rock‐roses, and the blue gleam of harebells, the sweet‐scented primulas, and dozens of other flowers. Suddenly she raced back to Clara, arriving beside her quite breathless.

‘Oh, you simply must come too,’ she exclaimed. ‘The flowers are so beautiful, and they might not be the same later on. Don’t you think I could carry you?’

Clara shook her head. ‘You couldn’t possibly, Heidi. You’re smaller than I am. Oh, if only I could walk!’

Heidi looked round for inspiration. Peter was sitting higher up the slope, staring down at them, as he had been doing for an hour or more, as though unable to understand how it had happened. He had destroyed the hateful chair, so that Clara could not be moved about, and yet here she was, where he least wanted to see her and, of course, Heidi was with her. He could hardly believe his eyes.

‘Come down here, Peter,’ called Heidi.

‘Shan’t,’ he replied.

‘Oh, you must. I want you. Quick!’

‘Shan’t.’

Heidi got angry and ran a few steps towards him, her eyes flashing. ‘If you don’t come at once,’ she stormed at him, ‘I’ll do something you won’t like. I mean it!’

Her words disturbed him. He had done a dreadful thing, but up till now he had not cared because he thought no one knew about it. But Heidi sounded as though she might and, if she did, she would be sure to tell her grandfather, and Peter did not like that prospect at all. Reluctantly he got up and said, ‘All right, I’ll come, if you don’t do what you said.’ He sounded so anxious that Heidi forgave him.

‘Of course I won’t,’ she cried. ‘Come on. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

When they got back to Clara, she told Peter to prop her at one side, while she took the other, and together they helped her to her feet. So far, so good, but Clara could not keep upright without support.

‘Put your arm round my neck,’ Heidi told her, ‘and Peter, give her your arm, and then we’ll be able to help her along.’ Peter had never done anything like this before, and though Clara took hold of his arm, he kept it stiffly down at his side which did not help her much.

‘No, not like that, Peter,’ said Heidi. ‘Make a crook with your arm, so that Clara can lean on it. And for goodness’ sake don’t let it give way. That’s better. Now we shall manage it.’

But still they were not very successful. Clara flopped heavily between them, and Peter was taller than Heidi, so that Clara was all up one side and down the other. However she tried to put one foot in front of the other, though she drew it back very quickly.

‘Try just putting one foot down firmly,’ Heidi advised her. ‘I’m sure that would hurt less.’

‘Do you think so?’ asked Clara, rather doubtfully, but she tried it, and cried joyfully, ‘You’re right. That didn’t hurt nearly so much.’

‘Try again,’ urged Heidi, and Clara did so, taking several more steps.

‘Oh Heidi,’ she cried then, ‘look at me. I’m walking! I’m walking!’

‘Yes, you are, you are! All by yourself! Oh, I wish Grandfather was here!’

Clara still kept hold of Heidi and Peter, but with each step they could feel her getting steadier on her feet. Heidi was quite wild with excitement.

‘Now we can come up to the pasture every day, and wander about wherever we like,’ she exclaimed, ‘and you’ll never have to be pushed about in a wheel‐chair again. Oh, isn’t it wonderful?’ And Clara agreed from the bottom of her heart. Nothing could be more wonderful to her than to be strong and able to get about like other people.

It was not much farther to Heidi’s special spot, where Clara was able to sit down on the warm grass among all the profusion of beautiful flowers. She was so affected by all that had happened to her that she was silent as she gazed at all their lovely colours and smelt their delicious scents. Peter lay down in the long grass and was soon fast asleep, but Heidi could not keep still. She wandered away over the meadow, then the exciting memory of what had happened to Clara sent her flying back again.

Some time later a few of the goats, led by Finch, came slowly towards them. As a rule they avoided this meadow, for they did not like grazing among the flowers, but now they came with deliberate steps as though to remind the herdsboy that he had left them alone too long. Then Finch saw the girls, and gave a loud bleat. The others took up the cry and all came trotting up to them. Peter woke with a start and rubbed his eyes. He had been dreaming of the wheel‐chair, still undamaged, standing outside the hut, and when he first opened his eyes, he thought he saw its brass studs gleaming in the sun. But it was only the yellow of the flowers which his sleepy eyes had caught, and the horrid memory of what he had done returned to him. Even if Heidi said nothing, he was afraid it would be found out sooner or later. In that state of misery he behaved with unusual meekness, and let Heidi order him about as she liked.

After a while they took Clara back to the pasture, and Heidi fetched the lunch bag. She had seen the good things her grandfather had put in it, and when she had threatened Peter earlier on, she had meant that he wouldn’t get his share of the food. But she had forgiven him, and now divided it equally into three. They were all hungry as it was long past noon, but neither Clara nor Heidi could eat all that had been provided for them, and after they were satisfied, Peter found himself with a second portion as big as his first. He ate it all, to the last crumb, but somehow did not enjoy it as much as usual. He felt as though something was gnawing at his inside, and the food lay heavily on his stomach.

They had eaten so late that they had not long finished their meal when Uncle Alp arrived to fetch them home. Heidi saw him coming, and ran to meet him, eager to be the first to tell him the great news. She was so excited that she could hardly get the words out, but he gathered what she meant very quickly, and his face lit up. He went on to where Clara was sitting, and gave her an understanding smile, as he said, ‘Something attempted, something won.’

He helped her up and made her walk a few steps, putting one arm round her waist, and holding the other before her to hold on to. With this firm support, she walked with much more confidence than before. Heidi skipped joyfully beside them, and the old man looked as though a great happiness had come to him. After a little, he picked Clara up in his arms, and carried her. ‘We mustn’t overdo things,’ he told her. ‘It’s time to go home now,’ and he set off with her down the path, for he could see she had had quite enough for one day and needed rest.

When Peter went down into Dörfli that evening, he saw a knot of people staring at something, talking and elbowing each other aside to get a better view of it. Peter wormed his way through them to see what it was all about — and saw the remains of Clara’s chair. There was enough of it left still to show how fine it had been.

‘I saw it when the carriers brought it,’ said the baker. ‘It must have cost a lot of money, I’ll be bound. I can’t think how such a thing could have happened.’

‘Uncle Alp said the wind might have blown it down,’ a woman said, looking at the quality of the red leather.

‘Let’s hope he’s right,’ remarked the baker, ‘— or someone will smart for it. The gentleman in Frankfurt is sure to want the matter looked into, and then there’ll be trouble. But no one can say I had a hand in it. I haven’t been near the hut these two years or more.’

There was more talk of the same kind, but Peter had heard enough. He slunk away and ran home as if he thought someone was after him. The baker’s words frightened him, and he was afraid that a policeman might arrive from Frankfurt any moment, and that everything would come out and he would be sent to prison. His hair stood on end with horror at the mere idea, and he reached home in such a state, he could neither speak nor eat, but went straight to bed and hid under the bedclothes, groaning aloud in his misery.

‘Peter must have been eating sorrel again, and given himself stomach‐ache,’ said his mother. ‘Just listen to him.’

‘Give him a little more food to take with him tomorrow,’ Grannie suggested kindly. ‘Give him some of my bread.’

As Clara and Heidi lay in bed that night, looking at the stars, Heidi said suddenly, ‘I’ve been thinking. Isn’t it a good thing God doesn’t always give us just what we’re asking for, even though we pray ever so hard? Of course, it’s because He knows something else will be better for us.’

‘What makes you say that now?’ asked Clara.

‘When I was in Frankfurt I prayed so hard to be allowed to go home at once, but God didn’t let me, and I thought He had forgotten me. But if I had gone home then, you would never have come here and got well.’

Clara considered this, then she said, ‘But in that case, perhaps we ought not to pray for anything, because God knows — as we don’t — what is best for us.’

‘I don’t think that’s quite right either,’ Heidi replied quickly. ‘We ought to pray to Him every day to show our trust, and that we know that everything comes from God. If we forget Him, then sometimes He lets us go our own way, and then things go very wrong with us. Your grand‐mamma told me that, and everything turned out as she said it would. So now we ought to thank Him for making you walk.’

‘I’m glad you reminded me,’ Clara agreed. ‘I was so happy, I’d almost forgotten my prayers.’

Next morning Uncle Alp suggested they should write and invite Mrs Sesemann to pay them a visit as they had something special to show her. But the children had planned a better surprise still for Grandmamma. They wanted Clara to practise until she could really walk alone before Grandmamma heard about it, and they asked Uncle Alp how long he thought it would take. He said about a week, so their next letter to Ragaz contained a pressing invitation for her to come up the mountain in about a week’s time, but they did not tell her why.

The next days were the happiest Clara had known on the mountain. Her waking thought each morning was, ‘I am well! I can walk!’ Each day she went a little farther alone, and the exercise gave her such an appetite that Uncle Alp cut her bread and butter thicker each day, and filled the mugs again and again with milk, and nodded and smiled to see it all disappear so rapidly. In this pleasant fashion the week passed.