Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  Sunday morning dawned, their first Sunday in the new apartment.

  “Would you like to go to Sunday school and church with me this morning, Ellen?” asked Chad hesitantly at the breakfast table.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied in some surprise. “I didn’t know you had planned to go. We never used to, you know. There’s some reading I want to do before I see the professor tomorrow, so you won’t mind if I stay home, will you?”

  In spite of his assurances to the contrary, Eleanor knew that he did mind, and as she stood at the window watching him go off down the street alone, she resolved to go with him hereafter, even if it were going to bore her.

  On the following Sunday morning Chad was standing in front of the mirror, struggling with an uncooperative necktie, when he observed Eleanor begin to don her best dress.

  “Where are you going, my pretty maid?” he quoted abstractedly.

  “‘I’m going to Sunday school, sir,’ she said,” Eleanor replied demurely, getting out her powder puff; “that is, if I can find a handsome blond gentleman to take me.”

  “Here’s one who will be delighted.” Chad fairly beamed. “If any other blond gentlemen turn up, tell them you already have an engagement.”

  After a few blocks’ walk, Chad stopped in front of an ugly little building cramped in between two stores on a business street. “Well, here we are,” he said.

  “This?” cried Eleanor, shocked.

  “This is it, dear. I think you’ll like it when we begin.”

  Instead of the cushioned pews that Eleanor had been accustomed to find in church, there were rows of straight, hard chairs. The painted walls were adorned only with Scripture texts. The piano was battered, the song books were ragged. Eleanor began to regret that she had worn her best dress.

  “What made you choose a church like this?” she asked Chad as they sat alone in the back row of chairs.

  Chad smiled at her bewilderment. “I know it must seem pretty bad, but I promised Mom I’d get into some kind of work for the Lord. All the other churches around here looked well able to get along without my talents. This one seemed nearer my size and style, so I tried it, and it ‘fit.’ Then you asked to come, and here we are!”

  “At least it’s different,” Eleanor admitted. “I don’t mean to be critical. But they won’t ask me to do anything, will they?”

  “I think not. Last week they only asked me to read a verse in the Sunday school class. You could do that, couldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “but I’d rather not do anything.”

  Chad smiled.

  The room was filling rapidly, and Eleanor studied the faces about her. They don’t dress as well as the ones I know at school, but their faces are much the same, she thought.

  To her surprise, she genuinely enjoyed the Sunday school class, which was taught by a middle-aged man who knew and loved the Book he taught. His enthusiasm was such a novelty that Eleanor failed to notice the occasional grammatical error she might otherwise have heard.

  But the music was an ordeal. The pianist was absent, and the nervous young girl who was conscripted to fill the vacancy managed to ruin the song service by playing with meticulous slowness in order to avoid errors. The special selection by the choir Eleanor described to herself as “ghastly.”

  The sermon was the first she had heard in more than two years. The preacher—a small, insignificant-looking man with weak eyes that peered through thick lenses-mounted the platform. After one look at him, Ellen resigned herself to being thoroughly bored. She almost retracted the good resolution she had made the previous Sunday, so great was her dismay.

  Yet, as he spoke she became less conscious of the man and deeply conscious of the message. He did not use eloquence, nor did he attempt to play on the emotions of his listeners. He talked with simple, straightforward directness. The title of the sermon was “Bought with a Price,” and for the first time in her life Eleanor heard a clear, understandable statement of what the death of Christ had meant to the world. It interested her exceedingly, but it did not occur to her to apply it to herself.

  Walking home later through the sun-flecked streets, Chad asked pleadingly, “Was it so very bad, Ellen?”

  “It wasn’t bad at all. It was good. I’m glad I went. But I wish I could show that poor pianist how to play. Her efforts were pitiful.”

  “Yes, they were pretty crude,” Chad admitted. “Yet all the time I kept thinking, She’s probably suffering more than I am. She knows it’s bad, but she does it because she loves the Lord.”

  “Do you really think He knows and cares about such little things as that, Chad?”

  “Yes, certainly. If He cares about sparrows and lilies and hungry beggars, He cares about everything in our daily lives. I’m finding out now how much I need Him in everything I do.”

  Eleanor did not answer. This was alien territory to her. She felt again a vague uneasiness that there was this experience in Chad’s life into which she could not seem to enter. She was apprehensive that God would somehow spoil her fun with Chad. For her, work and love were enough. She did her work well and did not feel as though she needed God, and could not understand why Chad did.

  “But I do try,” she told her conscience one day. “I listen when Chad reads the Bible, and I talk about religion whenever he wants to. I go to church and Sunday school and even to prayer meetings sometimes.”

  “But what do you think about when you are there?” Conscience would ask.

  To this Eleanor would not reply, for she knew she usually thought about her work. While the sermon was going on, she planned experiments or labeled slides for illustrations in the professor’s book.

  And yet the seed was falling on good soil, and more and more of the truths she heard being preached and taught were sinking in. She began to feel a vague dissatisfaction with herself; to feel less sure of her own conclusions about life and its meaning. She knew Chad had something she did not possess, and she knew he was longing to share it with her. The Bible readings that had at first bored her became precious, and when Chad prayed she knelt inside the circle of his arm and felt drawn close to God. Chad did not hurry her or urge her to take any step. He wanted her decision, when it came, to be not for his sake but for the Lord’s. So he waited and prayed and trusted. He saw that she was changing and thanked God for it.

  On Sunday night before Thanksgiving the little minister preached again on Christ’s atoning death on the cross. It was only two months since Eleanor had heard him preach the same sermon. He seemed to fear that someone who had never known God’s plan of salvation for mankind would get away without hearing it. So it came into practically every sermon, and today, as on that first Sunday, he made it clear and simple. But there was a vast difference in one listener. The first time Eleanor had listened as one apart. Today it all seemed meant for her. And it came to her overwhelmingly how much she needed this Savior. She forgot all the people around her, and, bowing her head, she came face to face for the first time with the question of her own relationship with the crucified One. Chad saw the bowed head and the tears that softened the proud little face and rejoiced at this sign of the Spirit’s working. But he did not question Eleanor. He knew she preferred to settle the matter alone. When she was ready, she would tell him all about it, and they would rejoice together. So he concentrated on the exams that filled the next few days and waited patiently for the happy time he felt was very near at hand.

  Except for one short trip to the lake in a borrowed car to bring back some dishes and linens to the apartment, Chad and Eleanor had not been there since the beginning of school. Weekends there were household tasks for Eleanor and maintenance work for Chad. Eleanor longed for the cottage, however, and on Tuesday evening the week of Thanksgiving as they munched popcorn and bent over their books in the dinette, she said, “Chad, do you think you could beg off from your work here for this weekend? Wouldn’t it be grand if we could go to the lake tomorrow night and stay until Sunday or Monday? It would make
up for some of our lonesomeness of last summer.”

  “Lady, what an idea!” Chad cried enthusiastically. “Sure, I can get off. I put in a lot of overtime when the engineer was sick, and if he wants me to I’ll put in more later. I have been wishing we could go but was afraid you’d think you had to work.”

  “No, Mrs. Nichols thinks I look tired and has ordered a rest. So—if you can go—the party is on. Oh—” A sudden thought made Eleanor’s face fall. “—your mother won’t expect you home, will she?”

  Chad picked up the darning basket that sat nearby and began to play with the spools of cotton. His face was sober and a bit troubled as he replied, “No. She knows I can’t afford midyear trips home. I had a letter today, though, and they want me to come for Christmas if I possibly can. Bob and Marilyn are to be married, and Bob wants me to be best man.”

  “Can’t we manage the expense some way?” Eleanor asked quickly. “You really ought to go for the wedding.” She longed to add, “Just let me pay for it,” but knew that was impossible.

  Chad was still whirling the spools around his finger. “Ellen, if we can raise the carfare, will you go with me and let me show my family my wife?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t! I know how you feel, dear. I don’t like this secrecy either. But we agreed, you know, and we’ve gone too far to go back now. I wish things were different, but—we can’t tell folks yet.” Her voice was shaky and she upset the basket and spilled the socks all over the floor as she reached for Chad’s hand. “Please, darling, you go without me. Next year I’ll do it. Truly I will. But I just can’t now.”

  “Don’t get so frightened, honey. I won’t do a thing against your wishes. But this is final, and you might as well understand it,” he said firmly, kissing the hands clinging imploringly to his. “I don’t get the idea of your being so upset at the mere mention of going home with me as my wife. But I will not go home anymore without you.”

  Ellen’s heart contained a mixture of emotions, but she decided it would be best to let the whole subject drop for the time being. She did not reply but began picking up the scattered contents of the mending basket, and in a minute Chad spoke again.

  “There’s something I’ve been intending to tell you. I have a surprise for you. Even though, to the casual observer, you are not supposed to be my wife, I have responsibilities to shoulder, so I have taken out some life insurance. I took out enough to protect you if anything should happen to me. The policy came today. Here it is. You’d better take care of it.”

  Ellen opened the large envelope. When she saw the amount of the policy, she was startled and shocked. “Why, you shouldn’t have made it so large,” she cried. “How can you pay it?”

  “I wanted it large enough to keep you comfortably if you had to get on without me. It will be hard to pay for a few years, but I sold my sorrel colt to Bob, and that covered the premium for the first year. After that I’ll just have to hustle to meet the payments. Mother has a small policy which would pay for any burial expenses—” He stopped abruptly as he saw her look of terror. “Darling, don’t look like that! We have to talk about things like this sometimes. As I was saying, Mom has Bob and the girls to look after her, but you’re all mine, and I’m going to look after you the best way I know how!”

  “I love you more than ever for thinking of this,” Eleanor said, whisking away a tear that had fallen to the table. “But let’s put the policy away and forget about it. Anyway, if you should die, I’d want to die too!”

  “Well, my love, I don’t think you’ll have use for the policy very soon—unless you try too many new dishes on me for Thanksgiving dinner! By the way, I think we can borrow my professor’s old car again. I fixed the starter for him last week, so he’ll probably feel indebted to me. We can load it up with all the ‘makin’s’ of a real feast!”

  So the invitation for Christmas was not mentioned again. But Eleanor knew that the matter of the secrecy of their marriage would become increasingly troublesome unless Chad understood once for all that it was not a mere whim on her part that sealed her lips. She resolved that the next time the subject came up, she would tell him of Aunt Ruth’s strange will.

  * * *

  The day before Thanksgiving was cold, and as Eleanor descended from the streetcar at the corner, a few snowflakes stung her face. Chad had apparently arrived home first, for the familiar old car was parked at the curb, and as she turned in at the walk Chad came through the door with his arms full of bundles.

  “It’s about time you arrived, my lady,” he greeted her. “I’ve loaded my suitcase and those cans of cookies and all that stuff you left on the table. Are your comb and toothbrush packed?”

  “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. We’d better take our heavy coats. It’s down to twenty degrees now, and that lake can be the coldest place.”

  Chad carried down Eleanor’s suitcase while she followed with her cameras. They stopped at the market long enough to buy groceries to last through the holidays, then headed toward the lake and the cabin in the woods.

  * * *

  From beginning to end it was an ideal holiday. The cabin was dark and cold when Ellen and Chad arrived, but a fire was already laid in the fireplace, and in a moment it was snapping and crackling merrily. Then Chad ran downstairs and built a fire in the furnace, and soon the whole house was warm despite the chill wind outside. All night the wind roared about the cottage, and when they wakened it was to a world wrapped in white.

  “Oh, Chad, look! Isn’t it grand? Snow for Thanksgiving! I never knew it to come so early before!”

  “I like it because it reminds me of last Christmas-only I like it even better now without all the other folks around.”

  Eleanor dimpled. “Once or twice I was glad of having a few folks around to shelter me. You courted so fast I was afraid and ran away.”

  “Yes, you did—not! You were almost as smitten as I was. You still are a bit peculiar, but I liked you then, and I like you better now—even if you are peculiar.”

  “You’re a conceited man, and I … love you,” Eleanor finished with a tone of finality. “Do you realize we’ve been married about two-thirds of a year? It’s time we stopped talking like honeymooners and began to be bored with each other, isn’t it?”

  “Lady of the Lake, get me straight on this.” Chad said earnestly, looking straight into the little face, “I didn’t marry you because it seemed the wise and prudent thing to do. I married you because I had lost my head over you. I love you more every day—hence I lose a little more of my head every day. I expect to wind up as a modern Headless Horseman if I stay around you, which I intend to, and so the honeymoon will last as long as we do.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “I’m hungry too. Forgive me for introducing such a crass note into this beautiful conversation, but when do we eat, and will it be breakfast or dinner when it arrives?”

  “We’ll have breakfast, then go for a hike in the woods. That will give us a good incentive to get dinner.”

  After breakfast they donned their heaviest wraps. Chad made a trip to the basement and came back carrying a pair of Mike’s old galoshes, only slightly too large, and something else that Ellen hailed with delight.

  “My old coaster! I haven’t seen that sled for years. Oh, what fun we’re going to have!” Then she noticed the galoshes and said, “That gives me an idea. I’m sure Mary must have left a pair around here too.”

  A search of the closets yielded a pair of overshoes that were wearable with the toes stuffed full of paper. Chad also found an old leather coat of Mike’s and a cap that made him look like Daniel Boone. Ellen seized a discarded knitted scarf of Mary’s and a pair of fur mittens she had once owned. Then together they floundered out into the wonderful white world.

  Dragging the sled behind them, they climbed to the hilltop. There Chad sped down the snow on the side facing the meadow and made a slide that led down over the slope almost to the road beyond. Again and again they sat on the sled and flew down the hill, laughin
g at an occasional spill in the snow and rejoicing in the clear, cold air.

  “I used to think this was fun, even though I had to slide alone,” panted Eleanor. “But I didn’t really know what fun was, I can see. There isn’t any fun alone at all.”

  “Another thing that’s no fun,” said Chad meditatively, gazing at the blue sky, “is starving to death. Once there was a man in the Russian wilderness—”

  “All right, all right,” Eleanor laughed. “We’ll go back and get dinner. I know a hint when I hear one.”

  Chad pulled Eleanor on the sled all the way back to the house and spilled her into the big drift by the door, after which he pulled her out, brushed off the snow, and kissed the cheeks rosy with cold.

  “Now for that much-heralded dinner, my love. I hope it doesn’t take as long as Mom’s Thanksgiving dinners do. She always begins about four-thirty in the morning.”

  “It won’t,” Ellen assured him. “The chicken—excuse me, the turkey—has already been roasted, and I have only to warm it up, according to the man in the delicatessen. The potatoes will cook in half an hour, and all the other things come out of cans. Our Pilgrim ancestors would be shocked, but our feast will suit us, so let them worry!”

  Chad set the table, opened the boxes of cookies and cakes Eleanor had baked, emptied the canned cranberry sauce into a festive cut, glass dish, and set out butter and pickles while Eleanor made salad and prepared vegetables. As a finishing touch, Chad cut out a magazine picture of a pumpkin pie and gave it the place of honor, “in memory of the pumpkin pie that isn’t here.”

  When the potatoes were mashed, the gravy thickened just right, and the chicken and rolls taken from the oven, Ellen placed them all on the table with an air of triumph and said, “I don’t care if most of it did come out of cans; it’s a dinner to be proud of, and I think it calls for a real thanksgiving.” She spoke lightly, but Chad answered in a serious tone.