Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  “I think something gave way in my brain when he read that,” Eleanor said. “I was sure I was out of my mind. I felt driven by demons. I destroyed that will, then I came here, and you know the rest. Mother, why did you care for me, and how can you be so good to me, knowing all I’ve done?”

  Mrs. Stewart drew a long breath, then took one of the thin, trembling hands in her own as she said, “I did it because I loved you. We all love you. I’ve prayed for you every day since Chad’s funeral. Your face that day told me you needed prayer. And as I’ve prayed, I’ve grown to love you until you are now as one of my own, and I never intend to let you go.”

  “But I did such awful things,” Eleanor protested.

  “God has forgiven you,” Mrs. Stewart pointed out soberly. “Am I to judge when He forgives? The things you did were wrong, certainly, but not too great for Him to pardon. And your own sorrow has been too great for me to add to it by censure. But I want to say one thing, dear, and then we will close the subject forever. Don’t blame yourself too much. You didn’t really know what you were doing when you gave the dear baby away. If you only had had a mother or sister with you, she would have kept you from doing that heartbreaking thing. But God comforted me when I learned about the baby that night you came here, and He will comfort you. Though we cannot be with and care for your little son, He can. You and I will be in constant prayer that he will grow to be a good man, one who will serve and honor the Lord all his life. So even though separated, we can do much to shape his life.”

  “Mother,” exclaimed Eleanor, her face brightening, “that helps me so much.”

  The only sounds in the room were the music of a bluebird on the bough outside the window and the clatter of pans from the kitchen where Mrs. Hunt bustled about.

  Mrs. Stewart placed her hand over the thin one that was lying on her knee and said, “Len, every sorrow or pain that comes to us can be used for God’s glory. If we grow bitter or rebellious, the suffering has been in vain. But if we learn from it sympathy and forbearance, it can become a blessing that will bear fruit for Him. You have given your life to Him to use as He sees fit. Let Him take all these things also and bless you through them. You have a long life ahead of you, dear, if God wills, and in spite of the sad past it can be a happy one.”

  “You believe strongly in prayer, don’t you, Mother?” asked Eleanor, running her finger over the pattern in the sofa.

  “Indeed I do! You yourself are a proof that God hears and answers. I asked Him to send you, and He did.”

  “If I ask Him to give back my baby, do you think He will do it?” There was a note of hope in Eleanor’s voice, and Mother Stewart hesitated before replying.

  “I can’t say, dear. He will if it is best. But perhaps the baby is in a place where he will be cared for better than we could do it. Perhaps it isn’t God’s will to bring him back. Those other parents love him, too, you know. I can’t say what God will do, Eleanor, except that He will do what is best for everyone concerned. We will just pray that His will may be done.

  “Now you’re going to rest while I help Mrs. Hunt get the trays ready for the folks upstairs. Then you and I will eat at the little table in the south window.”

  When Mrs. Stewart left the room, Eleanor arose and walked slowly about, happy to be on her feet again. On the piano she found a picture of Chad’s father. For some minutes she stood looking into the tired, kind eyes, then said softly, “You’re like my Chad. I’m glad you were there when he got Home.”

  By its side was a photograph of Chad, which Eleanor decided must have been taken at the time he graduated from high school. This young boy, however, bore such little resemblance to the man who had been her husband that Eleanor turned away with a sigh.

  As soon as I can, I’ll go to the cottage and find a picture I like, she thought.

  Eleanor’s eyes fell on the piano keyboard, and, as though motivated by a sudden remembrance, she seated herself and began to feel out a tune uncertainly. When Mrs. Stewart returned she broke off playing and asked, “Mother, what is this tune? Do you know it? I can’t remember where I have heard it before, but all the time I’ve been getting better it has been running through my head.”

  “My dear,” said Mrs. Stewart, “I sang that tune to you for about two hours the night we were afraid you wouldn’t live. That was the only thing that would quiet you.”

  “Oh, won’t you sing it again now?” Eleanor begged. “I’ll play for you.”

  The rich tones went directly to Eleanor’s heart once more, with their message of peace and trust.

  Oh, what wonderful, wonderful rest,

  Trusting completely in Jesus I’m blest;

  Sweetly He comforts and shields from alarms,

  Holding me safe in His mighty arms.

  As they ate the tempting lunch Mrs. Hunt brought in, they talked of many things. Little incidents Mother Stewart related told Eleanor much of Chad’s happy background. She heard, too, of the night when the doctor dad left them and Mary Lou was born.

  “We never realized how bad my husband’s heart was,” commented Mrs. Stewart, “although I knew he worked too hard. Dr. Leigh kept advising him to stop and take a long rest, but he felt he was needed, and wouldn’t. Then came that evening. He went out on a call and got caught in a snowstorm. Before he could get home the car stalled, and he walked about two miles through the deep drifts to get home to me—knowing that Mary Lou was expected at any time.

  “As soon as I saw his face I knew he was ill. It was a terrible night. The telephone went out of commission. So I sent Bob and Connie together to the next farm to get help. Chad stayed with me. The neighbor’s wife put her children to bed and came with her husband as fast as she could. But they were too late. The baby was born soon after, but Daddy was … gone.

  “Chad told me once that it was that experience that made him decide definitely to be a doctor. He had thought of it before, but after that night he knew he could do nothing else.” Tears were in Eleanor’s eyes as she finished.

  “At first I thought I would die, too,” continued Mother Stewart, “but I had to live for the children. The road has been hard and lonesome, but God has given me grace for each day, and He has given much happiness too. He never makes the burden too heavy, and He has taught me the meaning of real joy. It is something that goes deep into the heart and has nothing to do with outside circumstances.”

  “I hope the Lord will find me as ready to learn as you have been,” said Eleanor humbly. “He has given me a big advantage to start with by placing me here where you can teach me. Will you let me stay until I learn how to go on alone?”

  “Let you stay!” exclaimed Mother Stewart in surprise. “Why, you are my own daughter now, and this is your home. You are to stay until you want to leave—and I hope you won’t ever want to do that.”

  After lunch Eleanor tried to help clear away the dishes, but found her hands too weak to be trusted. So she lay on the couch again. When Mrs. Stewart returned from the kitchen, Eleanor said, “There’s one thing we’ve forgotten to talk about. Even though I am your daughter, I’m going to pay my expenses here. Please, Mother, don’t object, or I won’t feel that I belong. I know that doctors and nurses and medicine all take money, and if you’ll tell me what it has cost you, I’ll write a check. I can’t pay for the love and care you’ve given me, nor for the kindness of the girls and Bob, but I can pay the other bills, and I must.”

  “Can you afford it, Eleanor?” Mother Stewart asked in surprise. “Remember, you will have no money from your aunt’s estate.”

  “I know that. But since Auntie died I’ve seldom spent all the monthly income she left me. I was paid for working with Professor Nichols at the university, and I never had time to be extravagant. Then my father and mother left some stock that pays me about twenty-five dollars a month, and Chad had life insurance that pays fifty dollars.”

  “Chad had life insurance for you?” exclaimed his mother in surprise.

  “Yes, he took it out just as soon
as he got back that fall. He said he had sold his colt to get the money.”

  “God surely led him there,” mused the mother. “We wondered what became of the money he wanted more than his precious colt.”

  “I have the cottage and farm, too,” Eleanor added, “but they just about pay for taxes and upkeep. If I really need money, I can rent the cottage. It is a lovely place.”

  “Don’t worry about it now,” instructed Mrs. Stewart. “Just rest and grow strong. You may pay your bills and help here as you see fit. You are a part of the family, and we all work together. What we want most now is for you to feel that you belong.”

  “I do already,” returned Eleanor gratefully. “No one could want to run away from such a place. I’ll write to the university tomorrow and have them send my trunk.”

  “It is here now.” Mrs. Stewart smiled.

  “Really!” exclaimed Eleanor in amazement. “When did you send for it ?”

  “When you were sick. It is in the back hall. Bob will move it into your room for you anytime you want it.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad! Maybe he can move it tonight. Chad’s Bible is in it, and I want it.”

  “Now,” said Mrs. Stewart, rising and going to her desk, “there is a letter here I want you to read, but I am going to help you back to your room first and leave you alone while you read it. You need to rest before the girls get home, for Mary Lou will probably be so full of her trip that she will be all over the house talking to everyone at once.”

  Back in her own room, Eleanor lay with the letter in her hand. It was addressed in Chad’s writing to his mother and was postmarked 11:30 on that last night he was alive. He must have mailed it just before he was struck.

  Dear Mom: [she read]

  I’m writing just a note tonight for I need your help—I mean your prayer help. It will mean a lot to me to know you are with me in this. I want you to pray for Eleanor. I told you about her last summer, and you must have guessed how much she means to me. I wish you could know her. Some day you shall. The day I bring her to you as a daughter will be the happiest day of my life. I can’t tell you much about her, for I haven’t the words. She’s good and fine and brave, and so sweet that it makes my breath come fast when I think of her. But she has a terrific problem in her life just now and needs help. It isn’t her fault entirely, but she has to make the decision. The problem is such a big one and the consequences of a decision are so great they stagger me. But it has to be done. Some day I’ll tell you about it. But I must go to her now. Pray for us both, Mother, that she may be true to the Lord in her decision and that I may love Him better because I love her so much.

  Give my love to Bob and the girls. I’ll write a real letter in a couple of days. Lots of love to my Mom,

  Chad

  Eleanor read it through twice, then lay with the letter under her cheek while she rested. As she drifted off to sleep, she whispered, “God does answer prayer, doesn’t He, Chad?”

  The sound of a door slamming and a rush of feet along the hall awakened Eleanor from her doze. She heard Mary Lou call, “Mom, oh, Mom, where are you?” Then she heard Mrs. Stewart’s cautiously whispered answer, “Sh! Darling, Eleanor is asleep. Not quite so wild!”

  Feeling rested after her nap and eager to see what the girls had bought, Eleanor threw off the blanket and slipped into her pumps. Voices came from the kitchen, and as she turned down the hall in that direction she was gratified to notice that she felt stronger and surer of step than when she had arisen that morning. She was really getting well!

  As she paused in the kitchen door, Mary Lou looked up from the armful of bundles she was putting on the table, and cried, “Oh, it’s Len! And she’s up! Oh, you’re so pretty! Can I kiss you?” It was fortunate that the doorframe was there, or both of them would have gone down in the wild rush Mary Lou made. Mother Stewart caught her and pulled her back.

  “Careful, little Indian!” she cautioned. “Eleanor is a bit unsteady yet. Now, if you want to kiss her, do it quietly.”

  Eleanor opened her arms, and the little girl snuggled close and lifted her face. “Oh, I love you so much. It’s like a Christmas present to have you here.”

  Eleanor returned the caress and whispered softly, “You’re a dear little sister.”

  Then the parcels were opened. Connie’s hat and the new purses, gloves, and shoes had to be admired, and the zipper case presented to Mother.

  “Why, bless your heart,” she exclaimed. “I’ve wanted one of these for years, but I thought only bankers and stockbrokers could afford them. What made you do this for me, Len?”

  “Oh, it’s such a little compared with what you have done for me,” she replied. “I wanted to do something for the folks who have been so good to me these long weeks. I lost a birthday while I was sick, so I wanted to celebrate today, and that’s the only way I knew.”

  “Did you really lose a birthday?” asked Mary Lou anxiously. That was a major catastrophe!

  “I think I must have.” Eleanor smiled. “I was twenty-four when I came, and the calendar says I’m twenty-five now. I don’t remember seeing a birthday lying around, so I must have lost it.”

  Chuckling, Mary Lou began to jump about and up and down as if animated by a hidden spring, as once more she looked over her treasures. Finally Mother Stewart bade her go with Connie to put away their purchases and change their dresses. She kept running back, however, to recount some exploit of the day, and at last Mrs. Stewart sighed. “We may as well listen to it and get it over with. Mary Lou, you take Eleanor into the living room and tell her about your trip while Connie and I help Mrs. Hunt with supper.”

  So off they went to the davenport, where Mary Lou settled Eleanor on the cushions, then sat cross-legged on the floor beside her and chattered away like a little magpie. She described the stores, the beautiful windows, a flat tire that two men had to fix, a little room called a “nelevator” that went up and down, the ten-cent store where she wanted so badly to stay, the banana split at the ice cream parlor, and a dozen other things. In the midst of the recital she made several trips to the kitchen, from each of which she returned with smiles and shining eyes.

  “Do you ever sit still?” asked Eleanor, watching the restless little feet that were now pushing the big rocker back and forth vigorously.

  “Not ’less I have to. I do sit still at school ’cause I should. It would shame Mom very badly if I was naughty at school. Do you like school, Len?”

  “Yes, I do. I have always thought it was fun to learn things.”

  “Well, I don’t. But I’m going to keep on and study hard and some day be a doctor.”

  “A doctor!” exclaimed Eleanor in surprise.

  “Yes.” Mary Lou nodded emphatically. “I truly am. There’s always been a Dr. Stewart, and Bob and Connie don’t want to be doctors. So it has to be me. There are lady doctors, aren’t there?”

  “Oh yes,” Eleanor assured her. “I once planned to be one myself.”

  “Oh, Len!” Mary Lou’s face lighted up. “I have the nicest idea. You go on and be one, and you and I can have a doctor’s office together.”

  “I don’t know,” replied Eleanor musingly. “Perhaps I will someday. When I get better we’ll see.”

  “I’d like that almost as well as doctoring with Chad,” continued Mary Lou. “Were you and Chad going to be doctors together, Len?”

  “Yes, we were, dear—but God had something better for Chad,” Eleanor replied softly.

  “If that was God’s way, then it’s better for you too. That’s what Mom told me when he went away, and it made me feel not so bad anymore.”

  It surprised Eleanor that she could talk of Chad so easily now. She had thought she never could speak his name again, but here she was almost enjoying the conversation about him. He seemed so near now.

  “Supper!” called Connie from the dining room.

  “Oh, let me lead you out,” begged Mary Lou of Eleanor. So she gave the little girl her hand, and Mary Lou proudly led the way to
the dining room and placed Eleanor in a seat next to herself.

  Bob sat at the head of the table and reverently asked God’s blessing on the food and those who partook of it. Then Mary Lou undertook the duty of seeing that Eleanor was supplied with bread and vegetables, salad and milk.

  “Gracious, little sister!” exclaimed Eleanor. “You must want to fatten me up for the market.”

  “I want you to get well,” whispered Mary Lou in a low voice, “so we can begin doctoring.”

  When the table had been cleared in readiness for the dessert, Mary Lou left the room and shortly reappeared, carrying a huge apple pie decorated with lighted candles. Before Eleanor had done more than open her mouth in surprise, Connie started to sing, and they all joined in.

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday, dear Eleanor,

  Happy birthday to you.

  “We didn’t have a cake,” explained Mary Lou, “but pie tastes better anyway. And here’s a birthday present for you. We didn’t know you had had a birthday, or we would have brought you something really nice.”

  She laid a white box on Eleanor’s plate. When the string was untied, it proved to be an assortment of salted nuts, and Eleanor exclaimed, “How did anyone guess that I’m very fond of these?”

  Mary Lou laughed delightedly. “It wasn’t a guess. I knew. That summer Chad was home, he and I went to Benton one day, and he bought nuts to send to his best girl, who was a regular squirrel over them, he said. I know that was you.”

  Mrs. Stewart glanced anxiously at Eleanor as Mary Lou burst forth in this way. How would she take this casual mention of Chad? Then as Eleanor laughed gaily and answered, “That was a joke with us, and I love you for remembering it,” the mother drew a breath of thankful relief. She knew that the healing for which she had prayed was a blessed fact.

  After the dishes were washed, the family gathered in the living room, and Connie brought out a new book of choruses. Tired but happy, Eleanor sat and listened as the voices blended in one song of praise after another. It was good to be part of this loving family. She was beginning to realize how much she had missed by holding aloof from them. She had staggered and fallen carrying her heavy burden alone, when all the time these stronger ones could have upheld and strengthened her.