Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  “No, sir, you shan’t do the cooking in this family. If I can get a germ under the slide, I can get an egg into the pan. To the kitchen—ready, march!”

  She tied on an apron, and Chad slipped into one, too, “just in case you miss your aim.” Then he said, “Lovely lady, I’m sorry if I hurt you with my teasing. Bob and I have always teased Connie and Mary Lou, and I just do it without thinking. Don’t you really like it?”

  Eleanor smiled ruefully. “I guess I don’t like being reminded of my ignorance. And I never had anyone to tease me before. I’ll have to get used to it, won’t I?”

  “In a month you’ll love it,” Chad assured her. “Now, as for the eggs, I could do this for you, but instead I shall lend my moral support.”

  The first egg broke all over the table. The second ran through Eleanor’s fingers to the floor. The third broke into the bowl properly. But by the time there were four eggs in the bowl, there were three on the floor and table.

  “How shall we ever clean up this mess?” asked Eleanor in dismay.

  “Easy,” responded Chad promptly. He went to the door and whistled, and the hound came loping up the steps and into the kitchen. In a few minutes he had departed, leaving behind only clean egg shells.

  “As for the floor,” Chad promised, “I shall scrub it with my own little hands.”

  Never again in her life did Eleanor break eggs into a bowl without remembering Chad leaning his elbows on the table and saying, “Not too fast there. And not too rough. Eggs are like women—handle them gently, but firmly.”

  That evening they sat side by side before the crackling fire of pine knots in the big living room. Eleanor had found a basket of pine cones in the store room, and now, as she threw them on the fire one by one, she began to talk to Chad of the difficult hours she had spent here before Aunt Ruth’s death. He drew her closer as he realized how lonely her life had been and how many of the joyous experiences of youth she had been denied. He had long ago discovered deep within her the possibilities of a wonderful womanhood, and her capacity for love humbled him, knowing it was all poured out on himself. Restrained with others, she talked freely to him, and as he sat and watched her, he wondered what sort of woman she would have been, given a normal childhood.

  “A penny for your thoughts.” She smiled, brushing her hands on her skirt after emptying the basket.

  “That’s a small sum for such priceless thoughts. However, I’ll give them to you. Believe it or not, I was thinking of you and wishing I could take you home and show you off to my folks. Let’s do it, Len!” he exclaimed impulsively.

  “Oh, no,” she cried in panic. “I can’t, really, Chad. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you? Some day I’ll be proud and happy to go home as your wife. But not until I’m done with Professor Nichols’s work. He’d not like it at all. Oh, you won’t tell, will you?”

  Chad was surprised at this outburst. “Of course not, if you feel so strongly. I guess we would have tough sledding if you lost out with the Professor. I promised, and I’ll keep my word. But I want to walk in the front door with you and say to them, ‘Look what I found.’ That’s what Bob and Con and I used to say. But none of us ever had such a find as this!”

  “What do you suppose they would say?” queried Eleanor. She was glad to get Chad to talking about his family, instead of that dangerous topic.

  “Let me see.” Chad pretended a deep study. “Con would bite off her nails in jealous rage. Bob would be sure to break his engagement to Marilyn. Mom would ask if you could milk cows, and when you said, ‘Oh, so that’s where milk comes from!’ she would die of shame on the spot.”

  Eleanor’s chin elevated. “I could learn to milk if I wanted to.”

  “Of course you could, but if you’re real smart you won’t want to. I shudder to think of the oceans of milk I’ve coaxed from that herd in my day.”

  “Aren’t there such things as milking machines?”

  “Listen to her!” Chad addressed the leaping flames in the fireplace. “Pretty soon she’ll be telling me the difference between clover and alfalfa.”

  After a moment’s silence, during which Chad got his hair pulled for this piece of impertinence, he continued in a softer tone. “Joking aside, honey, they’d all love you to death. Mom would be happy to think her son had married so well, and you and Con would be chums from the start. Bob is quiet, but he’s a deep one. He and I used to tease Mom by singing a song to her, ‘I want a girl just like the girl that married dear old dad!’ Guess we meant it, for Bob went and proposed to Marilyn, who is very much like Mom, and I often see things about you that remind me of her.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Eleanor said seriously. “I don’t know your mother, but I know that’s a real compliment, and I treasure it.”

  Chad went on. “There’s one member of the family, though, who will adore you for two reasons. First, because you’re you. Second, because you’re mine. That’s Mary Lou. I’m her special big brother, and all I say and do are just right to her. Poor little girl. You know, she never saw Dad. She was born the night he died. Some day I’ll tell you all about that. It was hard, and I can’t talk much about it yet. But I guess that’s why I feel the way I do about Mary Lou. To have had a dad like ours and never to have known him!”

  Eleanor held his hand tightly. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “I never remember seeing either my mother or father.”

  Chad looked down at the bright head and said tenderly, “And you didn’t even have any brothers or sisters to make things easier.”

  “No one but Aunt Ruth. She was as sweet as she could be, but I used to want other children so badly.”

  “I think every child has a right to a big family,” Chad mused. “I used to say I’d have at least a dozen of my own, but that was before Dad left us and I found out just what it means to keep them fed and covered with clothes!”

  “Just think, Len,” he continued. “Some day we’ll have children of our own. I guess every fellow wants a son, and I certainly do. And I want a cuddly, lovable little girl like Mary Lou. But I’d want her to be like you, too, so I could get acquainted with the little girl I never knew, who grew up to be the big girl I adore!”

  Moonlight on the lake. The weather had turned warmer, and as they sat there, Chad sang softly under his breath. Eleanor had noticed that his favorite songs were hymns. Now and then she joined in a hymn she knew, but many of Chad’s songs were new to her—short little choruses, mostly about loving Jesus Christ and serving Him.

  “You think a lot about God, don’t you, Chad?” she asked once.

  “Not as much as I should, I guess. Out here in the woods with just you and me and the stars, He seems pretty near. When I’m at home with Mom and the others He seems to be sitting right in the parlor with us. But when I get so busy at school, I’m sorry to say I forget Him sometimes. I’m rightly thankful for Christian parents and for the training I got. I am a Christian, even though I don’t talk much about it. But college has changed some of my ideas and mixed me up on others. When I get through school and have time, I’ll have to clean up my spiritual life like Mom cleans up her darning basket. I’ll sort out all the ideas and mend the holes and put everything in order.”

  Eleanor had listened with interest and now she ex- claimed, “Well, I never could make God seem real. Aunt Ruth never let me miss a Sunday at church, but I invented a game. I locked my ears tight against what the preacher said, and as I look back now I can’t remember a single word I ever heard.”

  “Aren’t you a Christian, Len?” Chad asked soberly, with disappointment in his voice.

  “Yes, I guess so. In my heart I believe that Christ died for sinners. But all the ideas that used to satisfy me seem to be so obsolete on the campus. And, anyway, I have found out that to succeed in any really big work you have to give your whole heart and mind to it. I believe that the work we have chosen to do will be of immeasurable benefit to the world. That is a religion in itself. And it leaves not much time for going around saving
souls or things like that.”

  “Bob and Con both take their religion more seriously than I do,” Chad remarked. “They were just born good. Bob has a class of boys at Sunday school that is the talk of the town. Con speaks well and is always being elected president of something or other. She and Bob sing beautifully and often are invited to help at meetings in other places.”

  “Didn’t you ever sing with them?”

  “Not by invitation.” He laughed. “They don’t think much of my ability. When Mary Lou and I want to sing, we go to the woods.”

  “I like to hear you,” Eleanor insisted loyally. “And I like those choruses.”

  “You’re prejudiced, Mrs. Stewart. By the way, I like that name.”

  “So do I. It means the only real happiness I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “Are you happy now, Len?” Chad asked in a low tone.

  “So much it hurts.”

  “God willing, dear,” he said with a kiss, “I’ll keep you that way.”

  * * *

  Rain was falling in sheets on the shingle roof. Eleanor and Chad were on the floor before the big bookcases, looking through old books covered with the dust of years.

  “Listen to this, Eleanor,” Chad said suddenly. “When I was in high school, we studied Lady of the Lake, and last night when you stood for a moment on the hill above the lake, I thought of that, and I just now found this description of Ellen—

  “With head upraised and look intent

  And eye and ear attentive bent,

  And locks flung back and lips apart

  Like monument of Grecian art,

  In listening mood she seemed to stand

  The guardian Naiad of the strand.

  “It fit you so well that I decided you were Ellen, my Lady of the Lake.”

  “I’m yours, all right,” she said, smoothing the golden waves of hair back from his brow. “But I was never called a Naiad before.”

  “I’m glad of that. No one else should have the right. But let’s see what else Scott says about you.

  “And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace

  A nymph, a naiad or a grace

  Of fairer form or lovelier face.

  “Hm, he meant you, sure enough. He was just born a century or so too soon. He was a mystic and had a vision of futurity and saw you in it.”

  She laughed at his nonsense, and he continued to read.

  “A chieftain’s daughter seemed the maid

  Her satin snood, her silken plaid

  Her golden brooch such birth betrayed.

  And seldom was a snood amid

  (What is a snood, anyway?)

  Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid.

  (Yours are wild when you’ve been up on

  the hill in a wind.)

  Whose glossy black—

  “Hm, that doesn’t fit. I’ll have to doctor it a bit—‘raven’s wing’—no, it has to be altered. I’m not very good at poetry—but wait a minute. Ah, here it is:

  “Whose shining locks to shame might bring

  The plumage of the cardinal’s wing.”

  Eleanor gave him a push that tumbled him over backward as she cried, “I am not red-headed.”

  “Not red-headed? Well, what are you then?”

  “Just … just … almost red-headed,” she admitted with a laugh. “And if I’m Ellen of the Lake, who are you? Fitz James?”

  “Not on your life. I’m Malcolm, the guy who got the lady. Don’t you remember the end? Poor Malcolm was chained to Ellen for life by the king’s necklace! And if his Ellen were half as sweet as mine, he didn’t want to ever be unchained. Ho-hum, it’s almost eleven o’clock. Come on, Almost-Red-Head, let’s call it a day.”

  From that night on, Chad seldom called her anything but Ellen, and when they went back to the city, the little volume of Scott went with him.

  Eleanor had thought that they would spend the summer at the university, going to the lake for the short vacation between terms. But in early May, Professor Nichols began to talk of a trip East to do some work with a Dr. Kinsolving at the Xenia Laboratories.

  “And of course I want you to go with me, Miss Eleanor,” he informed her. “You are my second pair of eyes, and in that way you can keep on with the illustrations you are preparing for the textbook.”

  For the first time Eleanor began to question the advisability of her impulsive marriage to Chad. She was eager to go East with the Professor and take advantage of the opportunity of working in the wonderful Xenia Laboratories, but how could she leave Chad? Every time she saw him he was dearer, and she was sure he would not want her to leave him for the summer. She pondered long over this weighty problem, but it was solved for her in an unexpected way.

  One evening when Eleanor met Chad for dinner, she immediately perceived that he was troubled. As they sat at the table, he handed her a letter from home. She read—

  Dear Son:

  I would rather do almost anything than write this letter to you. Your schooling has already been much delayed, and I had hoped you could go on with no further interruptions. I know you had planned on doing some hard work this summer. But I have no one else to turn to, and I know you’d want to help.

  Bob fell yesterday and broke his leg. A rung of the haymow ladder gave way. Mary Lou found him unconscious at the foot of it, and it almost frightened her to death. He is at the hospital now, resting as well as we can expect. But he is beginning to fret already about the work. Uncle John can’t carry on alone. He means well, but you know him. We can manage for a few weeks until school is out, but I fear you’ll have to come home for the summer’s work. You know how I dislike to ask this, and Bob and Con are heartsick over it. Only Mary Lou is pleased. All she can think of is that you’re coming home. That’s enough for her. Between sympathy for Bob and joy over the prospect of seeing you, she’s almost torn in two.

  I must hurry into town now. We will write every day. Don’t worry, for the doctor says Bob will be all right. And I know that God’s hand is in this, as in everything. It is comforting to rest in Him.

  Mother

  Chad took the letter away from Eleanor again and placed his big hand over her smaller one. “Listen, Ellen,” he said pleadingly, “I just have to go to Mother. She needs me. Old Bob is probably worrying himself into a fever over all this. But I can’t think of leaving you here alone.”

  Ellen laughed. “Why, I stayed alone last summer, and it didn’t worry you.”

  “I didn’t know you then,” he corrected her. “But somehow I remember a sort of dissatisfied feeling all last summer. That must have been why.”

  They both laughed, then Chad’s face resumed its serious expression. “Ellen, won’t you go home with me? You’d love it. They’d all love you, and in spite of Bob’s illness we would have a wonderful summer.”

  “Chad, how could I?” she cried. “We’d have to tell we’re married.”

  “I know it, honey, but that wouldn’t hurt, would it? I can’t leave you behind, and I can’t stay here when they need me.” Chad’s face brightened. “Let’s do away with this secrecy and tell the whole world,” he suggested eagerly. “If the old professor wants to fire you, we’ll struggle along somehow.”

  Eleanor was touched by the longing in Chad’s voice. But she knew a reason, of which Chad was unaware, why their marriage must remain a secret. So studying intently the pattern in the tablecloth in order not to see the pain she knew would come into her husband’s eyes, she said, “Oh, Chad, we can’t! Please don’t tempt me with any more descriptions of summer on the farm with you. I’m having an awful time trying to be wise and sane for both of us. We would enjoy the summer, but there would be a price to pay later. Remember our work, dear.”

  “Lovely lady, you’re right as usual—but what will you do here alone all summer? That’s what I don’t like.”

  Drawing a long breath, Eleanor looked up into his troubled face. “Fate seems to have taken care of that problem. Professor Nichols has decided to go East this summer to d
o some work and wants me to go along and help him. I don’t want to go and leave you, but now it will be all right. He really does need me.”

  Chad demurred again. “It still isn’t right,” he argued. “After all, we are married, and those weeks apart will be endless. Now if only Mother didn’t need me …” he mused.

  “But she does need you, dear, and Professor Nichols needs me. We’ll both go where duty calls us, do our work well, and look forward to a happy reunion in the fall. We can write often, and the time will pass quickly.”

  “It will drag, and you know it,” Chad said emphatically. “But you are right about duty and all that.” Then his eyes flashed as he continued, “Some day, Ellen, I’m going to take you home with me—and I hope it won’t be long.”

  “And I’ll go gladly and proudly, dear,” she replied. “But just now we have a goal—a worthwhile one—to work toward. Some day we’ll tell the world!”

  At the railroad station, when it was actually time for Chad to leave, Ellen’s resolution almost failed her. Together they stood in the middle of the great waiting room, and Ellen tried to think of the bright, casual things she had prepared to say to Chad. But they were all gone. Instead, a little voice inside was whispering to her.

  “Speak the word,” it said. “He could still buy you a ticket and take you with him. He doesn’t want to go without you. Think how nice a whole summer with him as his wife would be. Think of his family, waiting to meet you. Speak the word, and when the train pulls out you’ll be sitting beside him on the seat. Just say, ‘Chad, let’s—’”

  “Chad, it’s time to go,” Ellen almost screamed, to drown out the maddening little voice. “Good-bye, darling. I’ll see you in the fall.” Choking back the tears that were threatening to come, she drew his head down and kissed him, gave him a push through the gate, and almost ran from the station.

  After the first pain of separation had worn off, Chad was genuinely glad to be at home again. He had missed his family more than he had realized. It was good, too, to be active again in the outdoors, after two years of confining study, and it was good to know that by keeping the farm running he was contributing to the rapid recovery of his brother.