Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  Hope did not like to think of the changes that would inevitably come when Billy made her choice. If she chose Ben, then Stan would leave, and with him would go the spirit of fun and camaraderie that had made the Institute so jolly last winter. If she chose Stan, both of them would leave, for Billy had said that Stan would have to go back home ere long to help his father, who was not well. The Institute would never be the same again. What would the kindergarten be without Billy?

  Hope did not want things to change. In fact, she did not like the way they had already changed and wished Stan would get over his moods and that they could swing back to the good fellowship of the holiday season. She realized, as she looked back to it, that she had been happier then than at any time since she was a very little girl. With Ben and Stan both loving Billy, she had not been afraid of them and had learned to accept them as brothers. That awful sense of fear and insecurity had left her, and she had learned to enjoy life and be her normal self in this wonderful place to which God had led her when she had called to Him.

  Oh, she could not bear to have it all changed! Why did men and women have to fall in love, anyway? It certainly caused a lot of confusion and disturbed otherwise happy and peaceful situations. Hope was very sure she would never again do such a thing, being almost glad she had had that experience with Jerry. It was all over now, and she could not love anyone else. She would rather stay in this safe place all her life.

  23

  The Institute had closed for the night. A cold April rain was blowing in sheets against the window. Inside the big kitchen Hope was putting away the last signs of the cooking class that had just left, while Billy, in the alcove, was preparing busywork for the kindergarten class.

  “It’s a grand night for a hot drink,” said Hope, putting the teakettle on the stove. “The boys will be in soon, and they’ll be cold and damp.”

  “Stan is already in,” said Billy, cutting carefully around a long-eared bunny. “He went upstairs before your girls left.”

  “Why didn’t he stop? Is he sick?”

  “No, just grouchy. Honestly, Hope, I could shake him! When he grouches he surely does a good job of it. If I were nearer his size I would shake him!”

  Hope laughed. “Don’t look at my height and heft so appraisingly. Were you thinking of asking me to do it for you? The answer is no.”

  “H’m. I think you might. He deserves it.”

  “I don’t think so. He’s much too unhappy to be shaken. I feel sorry for him.”

  Billy said nothing for a while but busied herself with her scissors. As Hope looked at her, she wished again that Billy would decide which of the boys she loved and would let them all know it. It didn’t seem quite fair to keep them in such uncertainty. Billy appeared to read her thoughts, for she spoke slowly, clipping away carefully at her cardboard animals.

  “I’m sorry for him too, Hope. Things are pretty tough for him just now. You know, it isn’t kind to pamper youngsters the way Stan has been pampered all his life. No matter how much the parents want to, they can’t go along and protect their offspring from every bump in life. A kid should be allowed to develop a few calluses as he goes along. There wouldn’t be so many blisters later.”

  Hope laughed at Billy’s vehemence, but Billy went on.

  “Stan never had a real hardship in his life until rather recently. Everything he’s wanted has been handed to him on a silver platter. When he graduated from college, his dad gave him a trip to Mexico as a present. While he was down there in the mountains where he couldn’t be reached, his mother died suddenly. He didn’t even get to see her. He and she had been great pals, and he has had a hard time adjusting. His dad would give him the earth and a fence around it if he could, but he doesn’t know a thing about how to handle him. He can’t see that Stan has grown up, and he bosses him as if he were still in grade school. He wants Stan to go into the bank with him, of course, for Stan is his only son and that bank is his—well, his own creation, you might say. I see his point, too, but every man must choose his own career. If his dad would let him alone, I think Stan would like the bank. But he can’t stand being bossed all the time. It’s a mess. In spite of all my crabbing at him, I’m on Stan’s side. I love him, and I can’t bear to see him unhappy. I thought that if he stayed here this winter maybe Phil could help him. But he’s been so cross lately that no one can do anything for him. I’m worried sick about him. I wish my mother would come home!”

  Billy’s voice broke, and she whisked away a tear that had fallen on her paper, then got up hastily and said, “Speaking of Phil, I promised I’d look in on Chad about this time. Katie has gone to her sister’s for the evening.”

  She was back in a few minutes with her habitual sunniness, all traces of tears gone.

  “Chad is asleep at last. He has been determined all evening that he would wait up for his parents and apologize to them.”

  “Apologize? What has he been up to now?”

  “Plenty,” Billy giggled. “You missed it by not going downtown with me, as I asked you to.”

  “I had two classes, and Eleanor and Phil had been gone all day, and somebody had to stay.”

  “I know. I was just talking. Well, we had a field day, I can assure you. I was to meet the royal family at Denings and bring Chad home while Phil and Eleanor caught the train for Elwood. (I do hope this rain won’t spoil the rally. The Elwood group has worked so hard for it.) Well, when I met them they both looked rather fagged. Outfitting a family must be a tough job. Eleanor said she had done nothing all day but drag Chad out of places he shouldn’t be. We went up to the fourth floor to look at some drapes Mother had written about, and when we started down Chad balked at the elevators. I don’t blame him. My stomach will never keep up with my body on them.

  “Chad saw an escalator in the distance and headed for it. We all streaked after him, but he kept ahead. He had no inhibitions to interfere with his progress, whereas we had a few. He was going so fast to keep out of Phil’s reach that he didn’t notice it was an ‘up’ escalator. He made a leap for the steps, landed on the second or third one, and was carried back up and neatly deposited on the floor just as Phil arrived. For a moment he was stupefied; then as Phil grabbed him Chad went off into gales of laughter, and kept saying, ‘It just scwaped me off.’ Everyone around us was laughing, but Phil’s and Eleanor’s faces were a bit pink. Chad wanted to do a repeat performance, but we dragged him away.”

  Billy giggled in remembrance, and Hope joined her. Chad’s spells of perversity were a constant source of entertainment to the young people.

  “Well, that’s not all,” continued Billy. “We had just reached the first floor when Eleanor remembered that she wanted something in the notions department. Not daring to take Chad back, she parked her men at the street door, and she and I went back. When we returned ten minutes later, we found real fun! Phil was chasing Chad through a revolving door. Oh, it was funny! No matter which side Phil was on, Chad was on the other, laughing like a little hyena. Phil’s face was red as a beet, and all his dignity had fled. A sizable crowd had gathered, and some bets were being placed when Eleanor arrived on the scene and attacked from the rear. All the way home Chad and I giggled, but remorse hit him at bedtime, and he’s had a restless evening. He won’t be happy now until he has convinced them of his repentance.”

  “Isn’t he a dear?” said Hope. “I just love little boys. They are so refreshingly direct in their naughtiness. Chad is always lovable and cunning.”

  “Yes, he is. I wish I could kidnap him. When I marry I want lots of naughty little boys and girls. It’s so much fun to love them into being good.”

  “If love will make him good, Chad should come out all right. I never saw a child so loved. Eleanor can hardly be separated from him long enough to do anything. Only the pressure of something like the Institute would ever take her away from him, I believe. Phil is so—so—tender to him. I never saw a father before who left all the discipline to the mother. It’s a good thing Eleanor can be so
strict.”

  Billy looked at Hope meditatively, then started to speak, but a noise at the door interrupted her. Both girls turned at the sound of stumbling feet in the hall, then sprang from their chairs in amazement as Sam Pawley almost fell into the room. The water ran from him in streams, and he was gasping in exhaustion.

  “It’s a—it’s afire!” he cried. “The whole Institute. Call the fire ingine!”

  24

  Billy flew up the stairs, calling for Stan, while Hope darted for the telephone. Even as she reached for the receiver she heard the wail of the siren and knew someone had sent in the alarm. Stan came down the stairs in leaps with Billy close behind him, and all of them rushed out onto the side porch. They would have gone farther, but the fire truck stood in the driveway, firemen were swarming all over the court, and policemen who had come with them were forbidding any closer viewpoint. Through the windows of the church basement a dull, red reflection showed, and when the door was opened clouds of black smoke poured out. In spite of the rain a crowd gathered as Sherman Street began to realize that its beloved Institute was burning. A dozen of the Recruits appeared, as if by magic, and managed to be everywhere at once. From the shelter of the porch Hope and Billy and Stan watched as the huge hose was dragged through the basement door.

  “How did it start, Sam?” asked Stan of the chattering figure behind him.

  “I dunno, Stanny. I come in and found it all smoky. I’da come after you sooner, but I had to get your lathe out first.”

  “You had to—what?”

  “Get your lathe out. It mighta got burnt. It’s over by the barn. I’ll go watch less’n somebody steals it.” Before Stan could comprehend his purpose he was gone.

  “What did he say, Stan?” asked Billy curiously. “Where’s he going?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The poor dumb dodo! He carried out the lathe, and it must weigh two hundred pounds. He did it before he called us. Oh, the dope!”

  “What will Phil and Eleanor think when they get home?” wailed Billy. “What will we do without the Institute?”

  The Institute did not go, however. In another hour the engines had gone, and only two firemen and a policeman were left on guard. The stone walls of the old church stood firm and beautiful in the rain, and the firemen reported that no damage except for smoke had come to the auditorium.

  “Things in the basement are pretty bad,” one said. “Don’t try to go in. The electricity is turned off. It probably started from wiring in the wall.”

  Dr. Ben came out of the crowd that was slowly dispersing and followed the girls as they went back into the hall.

  “I got here just as the first engine did,” he said, “but I couldn’t see Sam and I was worried. Then I saw him out by the barn. I couldn’t get past the police to join you. Who gave the alarm?”

  “Sam did, but he waited to carry out Stan’s lathe first,” reported Hope.

  “Carry out the lathe?” gasped Ben. “Why, he couldn’t.”

  “He says he did. Stan was disgusted,” added Billy.

  “Poor old Sam!” said Hope. “He’s always in bad with Stan. I suppose he saved the lathe because it was Stan’s.”

  “Brr …” said Ben as he took off his coat. “Let’s fire up. The radiators are cold and the fire banked for the night. I’m chilled through.”

  He lighted the fire in the hall and stood warming his hands by the blaze. The girls, realizing that they too, were chilled and damp, drew near to the comforting warmth.

  “I didn’t feel cold out on the porch, but I’m freezing now,” chattered Billy. “Hope, weren’t you saying something about a hot drink?”

  “Yes, I was—a couple of hours ago. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.”

  “I hope Stan brings Sam in. He’ll have to sleep here tonight. His room is soaked,” stated Billy.

  Hope turned toward the kitchen, but as she passed the side door, she heard someone fumbling at the latch and ran to open it. Stan staggered in with the unconscious form of Sam in his arms. With an exclamation, Ben hurried to meet him.

  “Glad you’re here, Doc,” panted Stan. “He’s out completely. I found him in the shadow of the barn in a puddle. He’s more than half drowned.”

  “Here—put him here,” ordered Ben, lifting his coat from the settee where he had tossed it.

  As Stan laid his burden down, Ben bent over Sam for a closer look. He reached for one of his limp hands and felt anxiously for the pulse.

  “Hope, can I have some hot, strong tea in a jiffy? Billy, will you get a couple of blankets and warm them? Stan, bring some towels and help me get these wet clothes off.”

  As Ben talked he was taking a hypodermic needle from his bag and filling it from a small bottle. Before he took the towel Stan offered he gave Sam an injection, and then, with his eyes anxiously watching the blue lips of the unconscious man, he helped Stan rub the chilled body.

  “Such complete cold I’ve never met,” muttered Stan. “His temperature must register absolute zero. The poor guy’s been out over an hour in that rain, and it’s so cold it’s almost sleet.”

  “It’s not just exposure,” said Ben. “It’s his heart I’m afraid of. I’ve known for months that it was bad, and Hope says he carried the lathe up the basement steps.”

  “Yep. Did you ever hear of anything so sappy?” questioned Stan.

  “It was stupid,” answered Ben wrapping a warm blanket about the frail figure. “But, depend on it, it was what Sam considered to be his duty.”

  Hope came in with the steaming tea, and after Ben had put a stimulant into it they forced a few drops through Sam’s blue lips. The girls brought hot water bags, and one was placed at Sam’s feet and another inside the blanket, that the chilled body might receive its warmth. Stan knelt by the settee and rubbed the old man’s feet while Ben worked and watched at his side with ever-increasing anxiety. For many minutes there was no reaction to their labors, and the girls looked on fearfully. Was Sam already dead?

  At last the eyelids fluttered, then opened. Sam’s weak voice gasped, “It’s cold!”

  “Yes, I know, Sam,” said Ben soothingly. “Here, take this hot tea. It will help.”

  Sam obediently swallowed several spoonfuls, but it was a great effort and he had to stop for breath.

  “Where’s Stanny?” he asked.

  “Here, old chap. I’m right on the job. Just you lie still and rest.”

  “Did the lathe—get burnt?”

  “No, it’s all right. The Recruits put it in the barn and locked it up.”

  “I’m glad—I was skeered—it was so heavy—it hurt me.”

  “Oh Sam, why did you do it?” groaned Stan. “It was too heavy for you.”

  “It mustn’t get burned.”

  “I know. But I could have moved it.”

  “No, oh no!” cried Sam in agitation. “You mighta got burned. An’ you ain’t ready to die, Stanny!”

  They stood about in shocked silence as they realized why the old fellow had done this apparently foolhardy thing. Then Stan spoke again, with a catch in his voice.

  “It was too much for you, Sam.”

  “I know—it was. But I—didn’t keer. I ain’t skeered. I ain’t fitten—but He—saved me—disregardless.”

  Sam’s voice faded away, and his eyes closed. Ben had his finger on the weak pulse, and Billy whispered, “More tea?” Ben shook his head.

  “No use. He’s almost gone.”

  As the realization of his meaning came to her, Billy looked piteously, first at Stan, then at Ben. As she started to sob, Stan put his arm about her and turned her toward Ben.

  “Take her away from here, Benny. She needs you now, and your work here is done. I want to stand by Sam. God bless you both.”

  Chad was calling from his bedroom, and Hope, with tear-filled eyes, hurried to him. When she came back Billy was crying in Ben’s arms in the study and Stan was drawing a blanket over the still form on the settee. When Phil and Eleanor came in from their late train, old Sam
’s body had been taken away, and four sober young people were gathered in the study, waiting to tell them the story.

  25

  Having been raised in a small community where neighbors were friends and friendships were cemented by long years of companionship, Hope had attended many funerals. But as long as she lived, Sam Pawley’s funeral would stand out in her memory. He was an illiterate old man who had spent all his life in the slums of a great city. He had labored at the most menial work. Yet for his funeral the little Mission on Water Street was all too small, and the auditorium of the church had to be used. A thorough inspection showed that it had not been weakened by the fire, so the Recruits and the girls from Hope’s high school group, headed by Hope and Stan, aired and cleaned the beautiful sanctuary in preparation for the last time Sam would enter the place he had tended with such loving care. Billy and Ben drove out to the suburb where Billy’s parents lived and came back with her father’s station wagon filled with choice palms and ferns and flowers from the conservatory, and banked them in verdant beauty about the altar.

  When it was time for the service and the ones who were Sam’s best friends entered the room, it seemed already a hallowed place. A bright April sun shone through the stained glass windows. A man whom Hope had never seen sat at the little organ playing softly and, in spite of the organ’s shortcomings, filling the auditorium with marvelously sweet melody.

  Phil read some of the passages of Scripture that had been Sam’s favorites, and as Hope listened, she felt again a great thrill of thankfulness that she had been led to cast her lot among these people. She had never realized the beauty and majesty of the Scriptures until she had heard Phil read them. When Phil spoke of Sam and how he had given his life in what he deemed the service of the Institute, his strong voice faltered and almost broke.

  Across the aisle from the pew where Hope sat between Billy and Stan, a number of men were grouped together. Some few were prosperous looking businessmen, several were shabby and ill kempt. Most of them were ordinary laboring men from the mill and shops about Sherman Street. One thing they all had in common—each wore a white carnation in his lapel, as did the man at the organ.