Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  “I am a bit tired, dear,” replied the older woman with a patient smile. “We have been in such a hurry-scurry to get the fireplace built before you came. I’ll be all right again before long.”

  “I hope so,” returned Eleanor with loving concern. “I don’t like to see you looking so weary. I am afraid you worked too hard getting ready for Dick and me.”

  “Oh, no! The girls did it all. I’m just a bit tired. I’ll be all right.”

  “It was grand of you to give Bob and Marilyn the little house and ground for their own,” said Eleanor a few minutes later. “They will be happy in their own place-but what will you do without them?”

  “Oh, Bob will continue to run the farm. I can’t spare him from that. But now that their little family is growing, they should have their own home. Bob has been such a good son he deserves all I can give him. We will get along here fairly well—and next year, unless the Lord has other plans, you can stay with me while Connie goes to school.”

  “I’d love that!”

  “I think God sent you to us when we needed you,” said Mother Stewart, patting Eleanor’s hand lovingly. “You are a comfort to us all.”

  “Thank you, Mother. I love you all and want to do all I can for you to show it. You don’t know how much you’ve done for me.”

  Then silence reigned, broken only by the snapping and crackling of the blazing logs on the hearth.

  Outside the snow glistened in the morning sunshine, and in the distance, on the hill behind the church, two tall pine trees decked in gleaming white mantles stood firmly against the blue winter sky.

  Merry shouts were heard outside, and Eleanor and Mother hurried to the window to see the fun. Connie and Marilyn, returning with the group from sledding, had tripped Bob, rolled him in a great drift, and were washing his face with fluffy handfuls of the snow, while Dick and Mary Lou looked on in glee. Bob finally shook himself loose from his tormentors and made a lunge at Dick, knocking him into the deep snow. Over and over the two rolled. The girls stood and hurled snow at them until there appeared to be five animated snowmen running around the yard, chasing each other with snowballs. Then the rosy-cheeked snowmen tramped on to the front door, only to be met by an adamant Mother Stewart.

  “Into this parlor with all that snow on you? The very idea!” She laughed. “Down to the basement, all of you, and sweep off before you set foot in my house.”

  “Woe is me!” Bob drew a doleful face. “Turned out of my home by my own mother! Come on, girls and boys—let’s not subject ourselves to any further inhospitality here.”

  “Oh, Len, you missed such fun,” said Mary Lou, the first up from the basement.

  Eleanor only smiled, then Dick, who had just emerged from the regions of banishment, rubbed his cold nose against her cheek and whispered, “Eleanor, I’ll never thank you enough for bringing me. This has been the greatest fun I ever had!”

  He smiled cryptically, then dashed off to his room to brush his hair for dinner. “Now what has he been up to?” pondered Eleanor, observing the cocky tilt of his retreating shoulders. “Homesick, indeed!”

  Mrs. Hunt covered herself with glory when the Christmas feast was set on the table. Turkey, cranberries, squash, potatoes, gravy, biscuits, salad, fruitcake, pie, and nuts were all there, in tempting and aromatic array.

  “Oh, boy!” exclaimed Dick with enthusiasm. “Eleanor, just think of the poor souls who had to stay at school over the Christmas holidays and are even now gazing upon cafeteria trays in the deserted lunchroom.”

  “Poor things!” echoed Eleanor.

  After dinner Mother went to her room for a nap. Bob tucked Marilyn and baby Patty into the sled, and they set off to see Marilyn’s family. Mary Lou curled up in a chair with The Swiss Family Robinson, and Connie and Dick donned snowshoes and returned to the woods to gather some bittersweet and glossy greens they had admired.

  Eleanor was left alone. She donned her heaviest wraps and slipped out the side door into the clear, cold winter air. Drawing deep breaths to fill her lungs, she realized how invigorating it was in comparison with the smoky city air to which she had been accustomed.

  Her footsteps turned toward the road leading to the pines on the hill. Less than a year ago she had fled down this same road in lonely desperation, and now—how changed her life was! The despair and grief were gone. In spite of the separation from Chad, she was not even lonely, for she had found the companionship of One who had filled her life with joy again.

  Eleanor found the little church closed and silent, and the ferns and flowers she had last seen on the hillside were now blanketed with snow. But the faithful little evergreens stood firm, vivid against the white background.

  Snowdrifts covered the steps, but Eleanor felt her way up carefully. At last she stood at the top, and there before her were the two graves that she sought, covered with freshly cut boughs of cedar and spruce.

  Bob and Dick must have done this when they went with the milk this morning, thought Eleanor. It was kind and beautiful of them to remember Chad and Father Stewart amid all the festivities.

  With mittened hands Eleanor brushed the snow from the bench and seated herself. Many were the quiet hours she had spent in this peaceful place last summer. Now the vast expanses of unbroken snow, the mantled hush of the winter woods, and the cedar-covered bed where Chad lay sleeping, even while his soul was rejoicing in the glory of a better land—all brought Eleanor to a sense of nearness to God. She bowed her head and prayed.

  As she thus communed with her Father, all her burdens and small cares slipped away, and she realized a new gladness in being even a small part of God’s plan, a tool in His hands to be used as He saw fit. The old willful Eleanor was gone—buried, perhaps, in the grave under the cedars. A new Eleanor was now truly the bond servant of Christ, voluntarily yielding to Him a life full of talents, ready for service.

  A cardinal fluttered to a branch close by and began his message of “good cheer, good cheer.” Eleanor started and realized it must be high time to start back. Before leaving, though, she knelt by the stone that said “CHAD” and prayed again.

  “Dear Father, I thank Thee for loving me and saving me and bringing me out of my darkness into this place of peace and service. I thank Thee that I had Chad for a while and that he is now with Thee. I thank Thee for my baby—our baby. I know that he is in Thy care. If it be Thy will, may I find him some day. But if not, then please let me trust Thee that he is safely in Thy care. Take him and me and use us both for Thy glory. Amen.” Eleanor patted the cedar boughs. “Good-bye for now, darling,” she said. “You do know that God has healed all my willfulness, don’t you?”

  One morning in late January Eleanor met Dick as he came from the school post office. His hands were bulging with mail.

  “Did you leave any for me ?” she asked gaily.

  Dick shook his head. “Nope. I got it all.”

  “It looks as though that fat envelope might be for me,” continued Eleanor. “I surely recognize the handwriting.”

  Dick’s face reddened, and he slipped the telltale letter into his pocket.

  “How often does Connie write?” continued Eleanor with a sisterly interest.

  “Not often enough,” growled Dick. “Don’t tease me, Len. I can’t stand it. I thought you knew I had heart trouble.”

  “Since when?” asked Eleanor, suddenly concerned.

  “Oh, Christmas time,” replied Dick airily and started away.

  Eleanor called him back. “Please forgive me, Dickie boy. I won’t tease you anymore. In fact, I give you my blessing. I’ll bake pies for your wedding.”

  “Perhaps we’d better just elope,” replied Dick, making a wry face. “I don’t trust your pies. But on the whole—” he began to walk away, so that his words merely floated back to Eleanor’s eager ears “—it’s … not … such … a … bad … idea!”

  “Well, I never!” she exclaimed to herself happily. “I really started something, I guess.” Then she went on into the post off
ice.

  The clerk handed her a letter addressed in Mary Lou’s distinctive handwriting. She smiled at the sloping letters, but the smile faded from her face as she broke open the envelope and read the contents.

  Dear Len,

  No one knows I am writing this, but I think you should know that Mother is sick. She says she isn’t, but she doesn’t smile much anymore and Connie cried last night and Bob said he didn’t care if we all had to go hungry but Mother must go and have an operation. And Mother said there wasn’t enough money to pay for that and for a nurse to take care of the saniterrium while she was gone and she would be all right. It makes me afraid and I think you should know. If we had not built the fireplace and bought a new truck we would have more money, but God can fix it anyway, don’t you think? I prayed last night and at recess at school today, but I am pretty little and I’d like for you to help me pray. Don’t you think if we all pray God will send the money to make Mother well? Patty has a new tooth and took her first alone steps today.

  Your loving sister,

  Mary Lou

  Eleanor found it impossible to concentrate on her next class.

  What will they do there with Mother sick? she pondered while the lecture droned on and on. And how will they ever pay for the operation? But Mother must have it, if I have to—why, of course! I will help pay for it myself! They’ve done so much for me, here is my opportunity to repay it a little.

  Quickly Eleanor sketched out a plan in her mind. As soon as her classes were over she sped to Dr. King’s office and excitedly confronted that startled young man.

  “Dr. King, I know you will be surprised at my coming here like this, but I had to ask you an important question,” Eleanor began. “Would you still like to find a full-time nurse for the baby?”

  “Sit down, Mrs. Stewart,” came the cordial invitation. “Yes, I certainly would. Lorraine is definitely not improving in health, and unless she gets more rest she will never gain strength. I am … much concerned about her.” Dr. King walked to the window and looked out.

  In a moment he turned back. “Have you any suggestions as to a nurse?” he asked briskly.

  “Yes—myself,” smiled Eleanor.

  “You?”

  “Yes. Don’t look so incredulous, please. I meant it. Would I do?”

  “Why, yes,” came the answer in delighted tones. “You would do admirably. But how do you have time to take on a responsibility like that—and, if I may ask, why do you wish to?”

  “As for the first question,” began Eleanor, “you know I don’t really need the credits on all the classes I am enrolled in. I could drop everything except Bible, which I do need in order to graduate. Surely your maid could care for the baby during that hour every day. Then all the rest of the day I could care for him, and Mrs. King needn’t be worried at all.”

  “This sounds like a direct answer to prayer.” Dr. King smiled. “But why have you made this sudden decision?”

  “The truth is,” said Eleanor, her clear eyes looking straight at her questioner, “I need the money. Mother is ill and needs a very expensive operation, and this was the only way I could think of to earn extra money to contribute. And you know I love to care for the baby. I believe I could get him to eat—to bring his weight up to normal. And I have hopes of erasing his tantrums from the scene.”

  Dr. King sat in thoughtful silence for a moment.

  “May I try?” persisted Eleanor.

  “You certainly may,” he said finally, in a tone of relief. “I believe that the Lord is answering our prayers through you. Lorraine is nearly worn out. So shall I tell her you will come?”

  “Yes. I’ll come today if you want me.”

  “Fine!” The brown eyes beamed. “Come in early this afternoon and find out all about what there is to do. I can’t tell you anything about that—you know fathers are rather stupid when it comes to naps and formulas and understanding children in general.”

  “Not all fathers,” Eleanor could not resist remarking. Then, lest she appear rude, she quickly said, “Thank you so much. This means a great deal to me.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stewart,” said Dr. King, rising to open the door. “Not every baby is as privileged as ours—to have an eminent botanist for a nurse!”

  Eleanor laughed, and they parted. Then she hurried to her room, took out her writing materials, and wrote:

  Dear Bob:

  Today I am stepping into the role of big sister and am asking you to let me have my share of the family responsibilities and burdens. If Chad were here, he would want to do whatever he could in any family crisis. Won’t you please let me take his place now?

  A little bird—if birds wear pigtails—told me of Mother’s illness today. Why didn’t any of you mention it before? You probably didn’t want to worry me. I could scold you. But that’s not why I’m writing so quickly.

  I know that the operation and nursing care, plus extra expenses for help at home, will cost a great deal of money. At one time I could have paid for the whole thing outright. I can’t do that now, but I intend sending—if you will let me—as much money as I can spare each month until this thing is all behind. I may be able to send as much as a hundred dollars a month.

  Here is the reason why—I’ve got a job! I am to take care of the King baby full time now, and they will give me room and board and fifteen dollars a week. Part of this, plus Chad’s insurance checks, can now come to you. Will that make it possible to have the operation? Please, please tell me the truth. For if it still isn’t enough, I have another plan.

  Please don’t object to this, Bob. Make Mother see that I must do it. I feel that God has definitely provided me with this opportunity to help.

  Let me know all about Mother. She is so dear to me that I get shaky every time I think of her being ill. If you need me in person, I’ll come and bring the King baby with me.

  Love to all,

  Len

  Eleanor walked briskly back from the mailbox and straight up the steps to the King apartment. There lay Lorraine on the sofa.

  “Eleanor Stewart!” she cried joyously, sitting up with sudden energy. “This is too good to be true.”

  “I think so too,” smiled Eleanor. “I’m going to enjoy it, I know.”

  “You’re a direct answer to my prayers,” continued Mrs. King. “Last night I was so discouraged I felt I simply couldn’t go on another step but would have to go home to Dad and my sister Edith, who would take care of the baby. But I don’t want to leave Phil! So, all alone in the middle of the night, I knelt down and asked God to send someone I could trust with the little chap. And He sent you!”

  Eleanor sat down cross-legged on the floor beside the couch where Mrs. King lay and said, with a squeeze of the thin hand that had reached for her own, “Mrs. King, God answered both our prayers. I need the work, and you need my help. I am sure that He planned it. Now if you’ll just tell me what is expected of the fulltime nurse to His Royal Highness, I’ll try to get settled before His Majesty wakes up.”

  By the time Little Chap awoke from his nap, all the instructions had been completed and Eleanor was ready for their walk in the park. She walked into the nursery smiling. The Little Chap laughed in glee and held out his arms. She lifted him and held him close for a moment before she spoke. “Let’s go for a walk now.”

  The air was cold, so Eleanor tucked several robes around the little boy before starting off. As she did so, the blue eyes met her gaze with a loving, trustful look.

  “You adorable little laddie!” she exclaimed. “You surely have changed! When I first knew you, you were a screaming little skeleton. Now you look like a sweet baby. Soon I’ll have you walking around like a big fellow. Do you want to do that?”

  The baby laughed and bounced up and down with eagerness to start.

  “All right, we’re going,” said Eleanor, beginning to push the carriage down the street. “And by the way, angel boy, do me a favor, will you?”

  The blue eyes looked around in uncomprehending
amusement.

  “Just when we’re alone,” said Eleanor with a catch in her voice, “may I call you little Chad?”

  A few days later the mailman left Eleanor a letter from the farm. It was addressed in Mother’s handwriting. Eagerly Eleanor tore open the envelope, then held the letter on her lap and tried to read while she fed the Little Chap his breakfast.

  Dear daughter:

  Your letter came yesterday, and that you may know that you really belong to us and have a part in our burdens as well as our joys, I want to tell you first that we didn’t even argue about accepting your help. Your check, with what we have in the bank, will take care of the hospital bills nicely, and the money you can send each month will pay for a woman to take my place here in the sanitarium until I am able to work again. I couldn’t refuse it, dear, for I had left the matter in my Father’s hands and told Him I would follow as He led. So I accepted it as His leading.

  Bob and I drove to Woodstock last night and made arrangements for me to enter the hospital Friday. The operation will be on Monday. Don’t worry, dear. I am not fearful. I know the surgeon. He is an old friend of my husband. And I have great confidence in him. But better than that, I have absolute confidence in my heavenly Father, and I am sure that all will be well. Connie will keep in touch with you.

  I know you are happy in caring for the Kings’ baby. The experience may be trying for you in some ways, but if you are convinced that you are following the Lord’s leading, there is no other thing to be done. God will bless you, I am sure, and as you give loving care to the little boy who needs it, somehow and someplace your own little one will be cared for too.

  Write me often, dear. Your letters will cheer my hospital room.

  Love,

  Mother

  Eleanor’s heart was reassured. Mother was in God’s hands, and He would care for her. As she went about her work—cooking the baby’s cereal, sitting by him as he played, tidying up his room and putting away his clothes, taking him out for an airing—her heart was lifted almost constantly in prayer, yet there was no real anxiety. Whatever came would be all right because it was God’s will.