The Challengers

Copyright

© 2016 by Grace Livingston Hill

eBook Editions:

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

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CHAPTER ONE

The room was cold. Phyllis shivered as she took her hands out of the dishwater to reach for a pile of plates that stood on the inadequate little table behind her. The table was inadequate because there wasn't room for a larger one. Everything in the tiny dark hole that passed for a kitchenette was cramped. One had to turn around carefully lest something be knocked over.

Phyllis tossed her head to get the refractory lock of hair out of her eyes and, failing, pushed it back with her elbow then shivered again. The apartment was supposed to have heat in it, but the radiators had been stone cold all day, and when she tapped on the door of the landlady's room down the hall there was no answer, although Phyllis was sure she was there. She had heard her scolding her baby but a moment before. But, of course, that was because the rent wasn't paid. When Phyllis remembered that, she beat a hasty retreat back to her cold room. She had no desire to bring down upon her lonely young self a tirade such as her mother had had to endure the evening before, just because she had told the old skinflint that she would not be able to pay the rent for another week.

Unbidden, a great hot tear rolled down her white cheek and dropped into the dishwater.

The dishwater was cold, too. Phyllis had tried to heat some water because the dishes were greasy, leftover from last night to save heating dishwater twice. But the gas had flickered and gone out under the kettle before it was more than lukewarm, and Phyllis had not another quarter to put into the meter to start it again. That meter was always eating up quarters. This cold dishwater in the cold room with the greasy dishes seemed just the last straw, and another tear followed the first one.

But Phyllis Challenger was not a crying person, and with the upper part of her sleeve she wiped her eyes defiantly and applied a little more soap to the greasy plate she was washing, setting her lips firmly. Things did look pretty bleak, but she was not going to let a mere greasy plate in a cold room conquer her. Mother had enough to worry her now without having anyone of her family give way to weakness. If they were all going to starve to death, she resolved that at least she, Phyllis, would die smiling.

When the dishes were done and the clammy towels hung up to dry, she scrubbed away at the ugly sink with a worn old sink brush.

"How I hate you!" she said aloud to the rusty iron sink that the landlady had bought for fifty cents from a junk man when she bungled her rickety old dwelling over into a so-called "apartment" house.

She washed her hands in clear cold water from the spigot many times. She must not waste the soap for mere hands. Thank goodness there wasn't any extra charge for water at least. Of course, there was a water meter in the house, but the landlady looked out for that. She took a good drink of water to still the empty feeling in her stomach and cast a wistful glance at the bread box. Nothing but half a loaf of Mother's homemade bread left. It had been hoarded carefully and was dry as could be, but it would soak in hot water, if she only had a quarter to start the gas with to heat the water. But dry as it was, how good a little piece of it would taste! Only, if she took a piece now and it should just happen that Mother was not able to get any money yet, perhaps this half loaf would be all they would have for the whole family for supper. She measured the loaf with her eye. Cut in thin slices, there was barely enough for a portion each: Mother, Bob, Melissa, and Rosalie.