“Oh no! Please Mommy! I’ve got to watch for Mary Lou!”
“Well, you’ll have to watch inside.”
“No! Please! I don’t want to go in.”
“I’m sorry, dear. But you can see from the window. Come on quickly. It’s getting dark.”
She started in, but Chad hung back, watching, anxiously down the street. Eleanor did not realize that he was not following her until she reached the door. Then she spoke once more.
“Chad!”
At that tone, Chad straightened up, drew a long breath, then said, “Yes, Miss Honor, I will come.”
She gave him a reassuring hug. As they turned toward the door again, Chad cried, “Oh, here they are, and it’s two twucks, Mommy!” Then he was down the walk like a small whirlwind, greeting Mary Lou and Uncle Bob.
A half hour later, when Hope came back from her errand, the entire Institute family was busy. In the hall were boxes and packages of all shapes and sizes. Phil and Stan were carrying cartons and cases to the basement, while two strange men were tossing logs through the coal bin window.
“Isn’t that a breathtaking answer to prayer?” asked Eleanor as Hope came into the hall. “I never once told the folks we were cold, but someone must have, for the members of Mother’s church sent a whole truckload of logs! They say they will send more if we need them. We’ll have fire in these old fireplaces on cold days and be snug as bugs!”
“What’s all the rest of the stuff?” asked Hope curiously.
“Two barrels of potatoes and three of apples. I’m going to have fun with those apples. You’d better be looking up some apple recipes for your classes. I wish you had seen the canned fruit. You must go down in the basement and see it all. Every woman in the church sent some canned fruit or vegetables. There is cabbage and carrots and celery from their root cellars. That pile of boxes there is for Christmas. Mother never does things by halves.”
Looking at the boxes, Hope agreed with her.
“It will take them another half hour to unload,” continued Eleanor. “That gives us time to get supper. Suppose you all come and eat with us tonight. I want you to meet my brother and sister, and I could do nicely with some help in the kitchen.
Hope and Eleanor bustled about, Phil came in with some logs and built a fire in the living room, and soon the additional warmth made the room comfortable. When Dr. Ben came in at six o’clock he gave Billy permission to get up and come out wrapped in a heavy robe. He put her carefully in a big chair and placed a hassock at her feet.
How can she help but love him? mused Hope, setting the table. “He loves her so much, and he’s so nice all through.”
Just then Stan came in, and his joy at seeing Billy up was so great that Hope felt confused. Stan is nice, too. He loves Billy, and she loves him, I’m sure. Oh dear! It’s a mess! She can’t marry both of them. I don’t want either of them to be hurt.
The workers came in, led by Chad and a tall, sweet-faced girl whom he proudly introduced as Mary Lou. Eleanor introduced her brother, Bob, and his brother-in-law, Jack, who had driven the other truck.
During the meal Hope listened to the exchange of questions and answers and news from the farm. She learned more about Eleanor’s family than she had known before. There was the mother, or Mom, as Bob called her, and Bob had a wife, Marilyn, and two children, Patty and Bobby. There were Connie and Dick and Baby Paul, who lived some place else where Dick was pastor of a church. And there was Mary Lou. It all sounded like a lovable family such as Hope had always yearned to belong to. No wonder Eleanor could be so happy all the time. Life had been extremely kind to her.
“How would you fellows like to go over to the church to our men’s meeting?” asked Phil, as they arose from the table. “It’s not a mission service, it’s our Bible class, made up mostly of Christian men who have been saved at the Mission. I think you’d like it.”
“I’m sure we would,” answered Bob, “but we’d better get downtown to see about our hotel rooms. We had reservations at the Standford, but there’s been some sort of mix-up, and we want to try to get it straightened out.”
“Now listen here, Bob Stewart!” cried Eleanor. “We have only twenty-eight rooms in this house. Phil bought six army cots last week at an auction. If you think of going downtown, I’ll disown you.”
After the men had gone to the church, Billy sat in the big chair and watched Hope and Eleanor clear the table. Mary Lou and Chad were playing with Tinker Toys on the floor. The flames leaped and crackled about the logs on the hearth, and Billy said, as she felt the heat all about her, “Stan thought you were a bit batty to pray for heat, Eleanor, but you got the heat, so who cares if you are batty. Let’s sing the doxology!”
16
Everyone connected with the Institute had learned to love Stan as a friend and helper, but to two of them he became even more. The first of these was Riley, the kitten Stan had picked up in the alley. Nominally the kitten belonged to Chad, and the little boy loved it dearly. However, it attached itself to Stan and was his devoted follower. At meals the kitten sat on his feet or crawled up his arm and perched on his shoulder. As Stan worked in the shop Riley often sat in the window over his bench. When he lounged in one of the big chairs that Billy had placed before the fireplace in the end of the great hall, Riley could usually be found draped over his shoulder, purring in his ear. Stan protested loudly that he did not like cats, that Riley was a nuisance, and that he should never have rescued him. However, his touch was always gentle, and if Riley did not meet him at the door, he went in search of the kitten.
The name “Riley” was given to the kitten by Billy, because of the life of ease and freedom from care which the kitten lived, calmly appropriating to itself the softest chairs and warmest spots in the house. “You live the life of Riley,” she would say when she had to lift it from a chair before she could sit down, or would find it curled up on her pillow. So the name stuck, and Riley lived his contented life among them.
The other devotee to Stan was Sam Pawley, the janitor. He had been with the Institute for more than fourteen years, ever since the night he had stumbled into the Mission on Water Street and heard a young student from Bethel College tell the story of a Savior who died that such as he might be saved eternally. Sam had not known that he needed to be saved, but as the knowledge of his need was driven home to his half-drunken brain, the realization of his condition shocked him into sobriety. When the invitation was given, he went forward to seek that Savior. His earnestness touched the hearts of the workers, and as the weeks went by and the genuineness of his conversion was demonstrated, he was given work at the Institute. Sam had never been an intellectual giant, and years of drinking had dulled his mind. Yet, he showed an understanding of the truths of salvation that astounded them all.
“He is a demonstration of the fact that spiritual truths are spiritually discerned,” said Philip in talking to his Christian education class one day. “I have seen men with the highest degrees our universities offer who could not comprehend the plan of salvation as Sam does. And such a memory! He can’t even remember to eat his meals regularly, but he knows all the Bible verses he needs to use in pointing a soul to the Lord. If all Christians were as zealous as Sam Pawley we would really evangelize the world in this generation.”
When Stan came, Sam accepted him at once and gave him almost reverential love. Stan seemed to embody all the things Sam admired but could never hope to achieve—good looks, facile speech, gay spirits, and a keen mind.
“You’re a smart feller, Mr. Stan. You’re smart enough to be president, I betcha, some day,” he would say as he watched Stan designing some bit of woodwork or tinkering with an electrical repair job the complexity of which utterly confused Sam. Wherever Stan worked he could depend on having Sam look in on him every half hour or so to ask some wistful question, often apparently just for the purpose of getting attention. As in the case of Riley, Stan pretended disinterest or annoyance, but he always answered patiently and kindly, and found countles
s ways to help the faithful Sam.
On nights when he was not busy, Sam always went over to the Mission, where his simple testimony had led many another wanderer to the fold. As often as he could, Sam persuaded Stan to accompany him, and ere long Stan began to arrange his work so that his nights at the Mission coincided with Sam’s. It became a common sight on Water Street to see the two of them hurrying to the hall or out on the street persuading men to go in to the meeting. As time went on, Sam appeared to be studying Stan with a troubled air, and one night as they were banking the fire in the church, he spoke sadly.
“Mr. Stan, I wisht you was a Christian.”
Stan looked up in surprise. “Why I am, Sam,” he said.
“A really born-again one?” asked Sam persistently.
“Just a Christian, Sam. Isn’t that enough? What’s wrong with me, anyway, to make you ask such a question?”
“Nuthin’ wrong, Mr. Stan, effen you’re saved. But everthin’s wrong effen you ain’t.”
“Well, what makes you think I’m not? Can there be saved Christians and unsaved Christians?”
That seemed to puzzle Sam for a moment, and then he said, “No, I reckon not. Effen you ain’t saved, you’re lost. So you ain’t a Christian.”
“But I say I am a Christian.”
“But you’re dodgin’ an’ won’t say you’re saved. So effen you won’t say so, it mus’ be it ain’t so. Disregardless of what you call yourself, I’m gonna ask God to save you.”
He resumed shoveling coal into the furnace, and Stan gazed at him in resentful bewilderment. Then he laughed good-naturedly and said, “OK, fellow. Do it disregardless.”
That was the first of many discussions. Sam’s theology was simple and direct, and, try as he would, Stan could not dodge the issue. Sometimes he would become so irritated that he would not talk with Sam for hours, but the meek patience of the other always overcame his resentment, and the comradeship would be resumed only to be disturbed again in a short time by Sam’s efforts to win Stan.
“Don’t you b’lieve all that?” he would question anxiously, as they returned from a meeting where Phil or one of the students had preached and pleaded with the power of the Holy Spirit.
“Sure, I believe it. But he wasn’t preaching to me. I’m not like that gang.”
“Yes, it was to you. ‘All we like sheep have gone astray,’ he said, and that means you as well as Dan Hagan.”
“Now listen, Sam. You can’t feed me that line. I haven’t gone astray like Dan Hagan. He’s an ex-convict, and if he doesn’t straighten up soon, he’ll be a convict again. Do you think I’m that bad?”
Stan’s face showed his distress, and his voice quavered. “I didn’t say that, Mr. Stan, honest I didn’t. But it says, ‘All we have gone astray,’ an’ that means lost, I betcha.”
“Well, I’m not lost, so quit worrying. I know where I am, and I like it here, and I’m not lost.”
“Jist thinkin’ so don’t make it so. You’re lost disregardless.”
That last word usually ended the argument, for it amused Stan, and he would change the subject. But Sam was persistent and came back again and again. At last Stan issued an ultimatum.
“I’m getting tired of this, Sam. If you can’t keep still about it, I’ll quit talking to you altogether.”
To which Sam meekly replied, “Well, I won’t talk then. But I’ll pray, disregardless.”
17
As Christmas drew near, Hope learned that busy days could become even busier. Even on Sherman Street Christmas meant good cheer. Eleanor’s mother had sent many boxes to help brighten homes and fill dinner tables. Billy’s parents sent a check from South America that paid for a great quantity of warm mittens, caps, boots, and sweaters. The college students brought their share, and the churches on the mailing list sent boxes and barrels. Every Institute family would be reminded by these gifts that it was the birthday of the Giver of all good gifts.
Two days before Christmas the big church was as busy as the busiest beehive. In the basement Billy gave out toys and oranges to her excited babies, while the radio in the corner filled the air with carols. In the workshop Stan helped to put the last touches on the shelves, tables, lamps, and stools that would gladden many a proud parent’s heart. Hope and her girls, in the kitchen, packed the cookies and cakes and candies in gay boxes that the girls would take home to the little brothers, sisters, and parents who had all too small a share of the “goodies” of life.
At eight o’clock the program was given. An orchestra from Bethel led the music, and the Christmas carols rang out with just as much fervor from the old church on Sherman Street as from any trained choir in the city. For, this season, Sherman Street forgot poverty and handicaps and sang with happy hearts and voices,
“Ring, ring, happy bells!
Christ, the Lord, is born!”
The next day Stan and Billy departed for Stan’s home for a week of rest and fun, the three Kings left for the farm where a happy Christmas awaited them, and Hope was left at the Palace with Katie and Tom Berg for company. Eleanor had suggested that she go home also, but Hope preferred to stay at the Institute, insisting that she would be happy just to get a few days rest there.
As she stood at the tower window the morning of the twenty-fourth and watched the car with Phil and Eleanor and Chad in it go out of the big gate and head north at the next corner, her heart felt unaccountably heavy. She turned back to the quiet house and sought for something to keep her hands busy. Everything had been left shipshape. Then she tried to sew on a dress started the week before but was surfeited with sewing and soon put it aside. Even the bright yarns that she and Billy and Eleanor were knitting into an afghan for the bed of a dear old invalid seemed dull and uninteresting. Katie and Tom were doing some last minute errands of their own, and the huge old house was empty and lonely. For the first time in all the months since she came to the city, Hope admitted to herself that she really wanted to go home. She wanted to but had not the courage.
Ever since the humbling experience of three weeks ago, her thoughts had been turning to the folks at home. With the knowledge that she herself needed forgiveness, there had come the willingness to forgive those who had wronged her. With the bitterness gone from her heart, her mind had been filled with pictures of the bungalow on Lockwood Street, of Jack and Judy chasing each other from basement to attic, of Mother Bess making Christmas cookies in the kitchen, of Daddy stealing in the back way with a tree to be decorated. She had always been Daddy’s right-hand man when he trimmed the Christmas tree. This was the first Christmas ever spent away from him. Would he miss her as much as she was missing him? Probably not, for he had his own family to which she did not really belong. She had nothing, no one. For just a minute Hope was tempted to let the old flood of bitterness overflow again. Then she remembered the experience so recently passed.
God has forgiven me, and so have the folks here after I acted so crabby and rude. I’ve forgiven Dad and Mother Bess, and I won’t remember the bad things anymore. I couldn’t go home so soon, for I might forget and get ugly again. But I’ll keep on growing and maybe by summer I can go back and show them I’ve forgotten the years when all I was to them was a “capable little helper.”
When the other Institute folk had been buying and wrapping gifts for loved ones, Hope had done the same. Stan, who had an extensive knowledge of small boys and their desires, had helped her select a model airplane outfit for Jack. For Judy there was a “magic skin” doll that so fascinated Billy, Eleanor, and Hope herself that they were loath to pack and ship it. For Mother Bess Hope had chosen a lovely blouse in just the shade of blue that most became her, and for Daddy there was a book of travels beautifully illustrated in color. Daddy longed to see the queer and outlandish places of the world, yet, except in his imagination, had never been out of the Midwest. There were several games and puzzles and an assortment of nuts and candy. Hope prayed that the home folks would read in the gifts the message of love and forgiveness that as ye
t she could not tell them.
She had received several large packages that she had saved to open on Christmas morning, along with the ones the Institute family had left. But as the hours passed and the loneliness pressed more heavily upon her, she was tempted to open them now. If she did that, however, there would be nothing to do tomorrow. She resisted the temptation, therefore, and after eating a solitary lunch decided to go out for some fresh air. There was no interesting walk in this neighborhood, but remembering several invalids to whom Eleanor often read, she started out with some magazines and books in a briefcase.
It proved to be a more interesting occupation than Hope had anticipated, and before she realized it, the afternoon was gone. Having promised Eleanor that she would not be out alone after dark, she hurried along with her head down against the wind. In turning a corner she bumped into a man who had been hurrying in the opposite direction. Both slipped on the icy walk and landed together in the gutter.
“Miss Hope! Oh, I’m sorry!” came Dr. Ben’s contrite voice as he hastened to help her to her feet.
Hope laughed as they stooped together to pick up her purse and briefcase and his bag. “It didn’t hurt at all. I should not have been tearing along at such a pace. I promised Eleanor I’d not be out late alone.”
“Well, you’re not alone now. If you’ll come up to Mallorys’ with me while I give Mrs. Mallory a quick once over and assure her that she’s not dying, I’ll be ready to go home with you. My car’s just down the street a bit.”
After Mrs. Mallory had been attended to and they were headed for home, Dr. Ben said, “What’s for supper, cook?”
“Nothing exciting. Katie and I have a nice dinner planned for tomorrow. But for tonight, there’s warmed over pot roast, and dessert is chocolate pudding.”
“That’s not bad. However, the chocolate pudding will taste just as good after midnight as it does now. Let’s go out for supper, my treat, and then out to the Haldane Heights church where the Scandinavian Choral Club is singing The Messiah. What say?”
Not My Will and The Light in My Window Page 37