Monday morning while the Little Chap banged with his toys in his playpen, Eleanor and Mrs. King knelt together in prayer for Mother and for the surgeon whose hand would perform the operation. Together they waited through the hours until a messenger boy brought the telegram, “All is well.” Then together they wept for joy.
Lorraine King had learned many hard lessons during the months since her baby’s birth. She had been a sincere Christian for many years, but life had been easy and she had never had to learn how to lean on One stronger than herself for constant help. But when the storm clouds piled high in the heavens, when the winds of adversity blew strong, she learned to cling close and ever closer to her Rock of Safety and had found in Him comfort and strength. Trial and testing had refined her, and the pure gold of her character shone through all the weakness and pain that handicapped her frail body.
No wonder her husband worships her, thought Eleanor. I almost could myself.
As the weeks flew past and the Little Chap grew strong and sturdy under Eleanor’s loving care, he learned to toddle about on his own chubby legs. Gradually Eleanor came to have more and more time to devote to Lorraine, relieving her of the oversight of Nellie, the maid; reading to her; running errands—and gradually taking over the full care of the house as well as the baby. For it was evident to the anguished eyes who watched her that Lorraine was not getting better. Rather, as spring came on, she grew weaker, and the agonizing heart attacks became more frequent. Often it was suffocating for her to lie down, and Eleanor knew that many nights Philip sat all night with Lorraine cradled in his arms. He never complained but frequently he arrived at school with dark rings under his eyes, and he lacked some of his old jaunty self-confidence as he went about his teaching and his institute work.
His indifference to the Little Chap infuriated Eleanor. She wrote one day to Mother:
I still have an “almost” red-headed temper, I fear. I had hoped it had rusted thoroughly through disuse. But P. K. has revived it. Mother, why should any man dislike his baby? I believe sometimes that he would like to let himself go with the Little Chap—that he finds himself loving him in spite of himself—but he seems to draw back willfully. The Little Chap will toddle across the floor and hurl himself at the honorable P. K.’s legs, calling, “Daddy, Daddy,” and for a few minutes P. K. seems to enjoy it. Then he will deliberately disengage the little arms, put the Little Chap in his playpen without saying a word, and proceed to forget that he exists. Perhaps I oughtn’t judge him so harshly, for I myself have much to be forgiven. But I can’t understand it.
It isn’t jealousy. As much as Lorraine loves the baby, he never comes between her and Phil for a minute. She enjoys the Little Chap all day, but when it is time for Phil to come home, baby and I do a vanishing act and those two almost forget that anyone else exists.
I am glad, though, that they enjoy each other’s company. For I fear Lorraine will never be strong again. The doctor said recently that there was no immediate danger—but I don’t like what that word implies.
Did I tell you what my newest name is? It is Miss Honor. Nellie, the maid, calls me Miss Eleanor, and last week the Little Chap began calling me Miss Honor. It amused Phil and Lorraine so that he repeated it, and now I am Miss Honor all the time. I have more names than I need—while that poor baby has none. When I’m alone with him I sometimes call him Chad but won’t allow myself to do it often. No more heartbreaks, if I can help it.
Love,
Len
Through the daintily curtained open window the scent of blooming lilacs came into the room where Lorraine lay still on the bed. Several weeks ago was the last time she had felt able to sit in the big easy chair. Now when the hours of pain came, she was propped up in bed with pillows. Her eyes were shadowed and full of pain today as she watched the Little Chap toddling back and forth in his play. For several days she had insisted on his playing in the bedroom as much as possible, and Eleanor’s heart ached for both the mother and the child—the mother knowing that separation was coming soon, and the child not knowing.
Sensing Eleanor’s unvoiced sympathy, Lorraine finally said softly, “Eleanor, you have been like a dear sister to me this spring. Somehow I know that you understand. It must be because you’ve suffered too!”
“Yes,” came the halting reply, “I have suffered, and I have found help in my suffering. I know that His grace sustains you too.”
“Yes, His grace is sufficient for me,” replied Lorraine, leaning back and closing her eyes. “But sometimes I feel that I have had more than my share of suffering. Then I pray to have that sinful thought taken away. Eleanor—you are strong in spite of anything you may have suffered.”
“No, Lorraine, I am not strong—in my own strength. But God has been doing wonderful things for me, and it is His strength that keeps me going. He forgave me so such that I shall never be finished praising Him.”
“Could you tell me, Eleanor?” the sick girl asked softly. “I’ve always felt that there was some great tragedy in your life, and I feel that it has something to do with the two pictures on your dresser—your husband and your baby. The baby is cute. He looks a bit like the Little Chap.”
Eleanor’s face went white. Then, with a prayer for courage, she said, “Lorraine, that isn’t my baby’s picture. It is my husband as a little boy. My mother-in-law gave it to me, and I keep it to help me realize how my baby may look. I never saw my baby.”
“Never saw him?” exclaimed Lorraine, now frankly interested. “Why?”
“Because … I … oh, Lorraine, I never expected to tell this story again. But somehow I feel that God wants me to tell you today.”
The Little Chap, tired of play, had wandered over to Eleanor’s chair and was tugging fretfully at her skirts to be picked up. She lifted him into her lap and began to rock him slowly as she began her story. She would have preferred not to take a stranger into her house of memory. But God seemed to be constraining her to do so. Perhaps somewhere in the story was a message of comfort for the sufferer on the bed. So down the corridors of memory they went together.
The shadows were long on the lawn outside, and the Little Chap was sound asleep in her arms, when Eleanor finally finished the narrative. Lorraine looked at her with eyes bright with unshed tears and then spoke with a quivering breath.
“God did lead you to tell me that story, Eleanor. Some day you will know why. His ways are wonderful, and His love is so kind that I want to shout for joy. I hear Phil coming. Take your little Moses and put him to bed. I’m so glad you told me.”
Eleanor looked with alarm at Lorraine as she rose to comply. Could she be delirious? Perhaps the story had excited her unduly. Softly she walked out of the room with the sleeping boy and bent to lay him in his crib. As she did so her eyes rested upon the picture of baby Chad on her dresser. “He does look a bit like the Little Chap,” she conceded. “Dear God, please take care of my baby, wherever he is.”
The next morning Lorraine seemed better and asked for her writing materials.
“I don’t think you are strong enough,” Eleanor protested dubiously. “Why don’t you let me write your letters for you?”
“Sorry, not this time,” said Lorraine, smiling sweetly. “Please, just a note or two. I won’t overdo.”
So Eleanor propped her up with pillows and swung the bed table around in front of her.
“That will be fine,” said Lorraine happily, taking up her pen. “You can put Moses to play in his pen while you go to your Bible class.”
“Moses!” exclaimed Eleanor. “Have you really named him at last?”
“Surely. Don’t you like it?”
“Well, not exactly. It doesn’t fit his appearance.”
“I’m sure Phil will think it is quite fitting.” Lorraine smiled.
Eleanor left in perplexity and did not pursue the subject further. When she returned at the end of the hour, the writing materials had been put away, and Lorraine lay sleeping contentedly.
A few weeks later Mot
her Stewart walked slowly down the pathway leading to the mailbox. Gradually her strength was returning, and she was drinking deeply of the beauty and fragrance of the spring flowers this lovely May morning. Opening the box, she found a letter from Eleanor. Seating herself on the bench under a blooming apple tree, she tore open the envelope.
Dear ones at home:
Lorraine has gone from us. She fell asleep in my arms last night, with Phil on his knees beside her. It was hard to bear!
Today she looks so happy and sweet and peaceful that I couldn’t possibly wish her back. But, oh, Mother, pray for Phil. He has been shut up in his study all day. Lorraine’s father and sister came, and I caught just a glimpse of Phil’s face as he opened the study door to let the father in. It was so pitiful! I went back to my room sick with the memory of a night when I suffered a similar loss. I wish I could comfort him, but only the Lord can do that.
I thought perhaps at last his heart would open to the Little Chap, but when I suggested this to Lorraine’s sister, Mrs. Carder, she feared it would only antagonize him more to see the baby now. Pitiful, isn’t it?
Mother, what ever will become of the Little Chap? I wish they would let me take care of him permanently. Pray that somehow God will care for him and give him a mother.
I’ll write more later when I feel better.
Love to you all,
Len
Mother walked slowly back to the house, the letter in her hand. Already she was trying to think of some way in which she could help this perplexing situation. The whole family became greatly concerned for poor, motherless Little Chap, whose father did not love him, and many prayers were offered for a solution to the problem.
The following week another letter came from Eleanor.
Dear Mother:
I know you must think I have forgotten you. I am so glad you are getting well and strong again. But please don’t try pitching hay this summer. I’ll be home soon to take over all the work. Last year I was an invalid, and you bossed me about. This year our situations are reversed. And what a boss I’ll be!
Only one week more of school, then I will walk out of here with my sheepskin. It has taken me six long years to get one little degree! Wouldn’t my good aunt be ashamed of the child she thought was so brilliant? Well, I’ve learned a lot of other things besides, and, though I’ll never have a diploma to show for it, I have become an expert in finding “joy out of sorrow, peace after pain.”
Just now I’m glad I’m so busy, for I don’t want to be homesick for the Little Chap. Mrs. Carder took him home with her. Lorraine’s father lives with her, and he seems to feel a special attachment to the baby. Phil, true to form, paid no attention to the whole procedure, but I have the odd impression of having seen him crying over the baby’s crib the night after the funeral. I had a severe headache and Mrs. Carder had given me some medicine and put me to bed on the cot in the nursery. I seem to remember waking and seeing Phil there with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking with sobs. But next morning he was as indifferent and cool as usual, so I must have been dreaming.
That day, they took my Little Chap away, and he cried and kicked and reached out his little arms for me until it almost broke my heart. Yes, I’m paying the price now for letting myself love him so much. But the joy was worth it.
I’ll be home on June 7, and I feel now as though I never want to leave again. Oh, I almost forgot to ask—Dick wants to know if Bob needs an extra hand for the summer. He thinks an Arizona rancher could learn to be a dairyman without too much difficulty. Or perhaps he wants to learn to help with the canning. Ask Connie if she would like to teach him. He is most desirous of finding some work on our farm.
Love to you all,
Len
It was June again on the farm. Eleanor had come home late the night before, and now she sat with Mother Stewart in the morning sunshine on the big porch swing, drawing in long breaths of the fragrant country air.
“You look tired, dear,” said Mother Stewart, patting the small hand with her own toil-worn one. “You are emotionally exhausted, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, Mother, I am tired,” Eleanor admitted. “I do live intensely, and seeing Lorraine fade away has wrung my heart. Then it was hard to have to give up the Little Chap just when he was getting so strong and sturdy and full of mischief.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her voice was tremulous.
“But you have help in your trials, don’t you?” probed Mother Stewart.
“Yes, I do—and I need a lot of it. I haven’t any strength of my own at all. But the Lord gives His, and I go on. Somehow I feel that it was all His will, and so I have no regrets. Now I want to get busy with the work, and soon I’ll be fat and sassy again.”
Baby Patricia toddled out of the screen door that Marilyn held open, and Eleanor held out hungry arms for her.
“Bless her heart, she’s out bright and early to see her Auntie Len. I was going to come over and inspect your new home this afternoon, Marilyn,” said Eleanor, cuddling the little girl close.
“Come right ahead,” was the invitation. “I can’t stay long now, for I have bread rising. But I wanted to say hello, so Patty and I rode over on the truck with Bob.”
“You and Patty both look so sweet,” exclaimed Eleanor impetuously. “No wonder Bob has the air of a millionaire.”
“I’ve never noticed that.” Marilyn laughed. “Next time I see him I’ll look for it. I’m eager to show you our house,” she said, changing the subject. “My father and brother painted it for us, and Dad says he will put in a furnace next fall. And I begged clippings and seeds and roots from both of my mothers until my garden is almost as nice as theirs—given a little time to grow.”
“Given a little weeding too,” added Bob, coming up the steps. “That garden has enough weeds to keep our eminent botanist-sister busy for a year classifying them. Some day I’m going in there with a scythe.” He looked teasingly at Marilyn.
“Oh, no, you’re not,” she retorted, smiling. “I’ll handpick those weeds. I’ve been so busy with my vegetable garden I have neglected everything else, but next week Patty and I will tackle those flower beds. Won’t we, precious?”
“Pull flowers,” murmured Patty ecstatically, nodding. Everyone laughed.
“Truer words were never spoken,” commented her father. “Come on, Marilyn. I have visions of the bread running down and out the door. Eleanor, come see us soon. In fact, come for supper—how about tonight?”
Marilyn added her invitation, so Eleanor consented, and the little family walked down the path, Patty waving a happy good-bye over Bob’s broad shoulder.
“What a good-natured baby she is,” Eleanor commented. “So different from the Little Chap. He wasn’t really naughty, though, Mother. He was just determined. He didn’t particularly want to do bad things-he just wanted to have his own way.”
“And therein,” remarked Mother Stewart, “lies the essence of original sin. We all do that until God renews our hearts.”
“And I am the chief of sinners in that respect,” confessed Eleanor. “Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly that the Little Chap should be carefully trained and disciplined. I know the distress that can come from willfulness.”
Mother was always ready to give another the benefit of the doubt. “Perhaps Lorraine spoiled him because she was too ill to care for him properly,” she said.
“That’s exactly it,” agreed Eleanor. “She never had the strength to do battle with his stubborn little will. And Dr. King didn’t care enough to do it. So the young tyrant ruled supreme—until I arrived. Mother, you should have seen the battles we had! Fortunately he loved me, so that helped—but it was a stormy time for everyone.”
“How did his mother feel about it?”
“Well, she knew that his health depended on his being made to do certain things at the proper times—eat, sleep, and so on. Oh, yes, and take cod liver oil.” Eleanor smiled reminiscently. “But she couldn’t stand to see us differ. So all the disputes betwee
n His Royal Stubbornness and Miss Honor had to be conducted in the back of the house with the doors closed. Such times we had! But the Little Chap soon learned that I could outdo him at his own game.”
“Poor Little Chap,” sympathized Mother. “Didn’t he dislike you for this strictness?”
“No, he liked me better every day, and after he learned that I meant business he became quite obedient. But the little rogue knew that I wouldn’t cross him in front of his sick mother. So when we were in her room he did as he pleased, with the smuggest look on his face. When we left her room he put on obedience again, just like a little suit. A little suit that didn’t fit too well.” Eleanor laughed.
“Oh, Mother, I miss him so!” she exclaimed suddenly. “And that makes me yearn more for my little Chad too. The pain almost tears my heart in two. Will it always be so?”
“You know where to find comfort, dear.”
“Yes, Mother, and I am ashamed to complain, for He does help me every hour. Out of my hardest experience He has brought blessing. But I am still inclined to want my own way sometimes, so keep on praying for me, Mother. I tried to teach the Little Chap submission—and my Lord is trying to teach me.”
* * *
That night Bob and Eleanor walked home to the big farmhouse with a new and exciting plan in mind. They found the whole family sitting on the porch.
“Mother!” began Bob. “How would you and the girls like to go on a vacation?”
“Oh, vacation!” squealed Mary Lou. “Where?”
“Is your name Mother?” asked Bob in mock reproof. “Let’s let the most important lady speak.”
“Why—I don’t see how I could, children.” Mother Stewart hesitated. “Who would do the work here? And where would we go? And where would the money come from?”
“One question at a time,” replied Bob, sitting down on the steps. “First, the work. Len and I can look after things, and you all need a rest—even Pest, here.” He pulled Mary Lou’s pigtail affectionately.
Not My Will and The Light in My Window Page 22