“Miss Stewart!” Mr. Hastings exclaimed in alarm. Eleanor’s voice was rising hysterically, and she was trembling from head to foot.
“I tell you I won’t take it! Take it away! Take it away!”
Calmly, soothingly, Mr. Hastings spoke. “Please sit down, Miss Stewart. We won’t discuss it any further now. We can wait until after your birthday to settle everything.”
“But if I don’t want it, I don’t have to—”
Miss Cox tapped lightly on the door, then opened it. “Mr. Hastings, the man from Hurley’s is here. He can’t wait and wants to know whether you can spare him just five minutes immediately.”
“I’ll see him. Will you excuse me, please, Miss Stewart?”
Mr. Hastings disappeared into the outer office. The new will still lay on the desk, and as Eleanor glanced at it, a quick resolution took shape in her mind. Reaching across the desk, she seized it, then glanced at the closed door through which Mr. Hastings would be returning soon.
Hurriedly she picked up her purse and stepped through another door, which she thought must lead directly into the hall. It did, and when a few minutes later Mr. Hastings returned to his office, he found it empty and the will gone.
“Miss Cox!” he called. “Did you see Miss Stewart leave?”
“No, I didn’t.” Miss Cox came into the office with alacrity. “Is she gone?”
“Disappeared, taking with her a most important paper. I wonder if I should try to follow her.”
“If I were you,” Miss Cox remarked gravely, “I’d leave her alone. She looks as though she could go crazy any minute.”
“Yes, poor child, she does,” replied the old gentleman. He stepped out into the hall and looked anxiously about. He heard the elevator door closing several floors below and realized that already Eleanor would be mingling with the crowds on the street. He turned back to his office and seated himself at his desk with a troubled air. “Well, I’ll just wait and see if she will communicate with me in a few days. I’ll save this letter that her aunt wrote. It may be useful if she should lose that will.”
The next morning’s mail brought a note from Eleanor. It read–
Mr. Hastings:
I refuse to take the money. I tore up the new will and threw it in the river. Now you can’t force the money on me. It will do more good and less harm if given to the Xenia Laboratories as the old will specified. For my part, I will only try to forget all the pain it has given me.
Thank you for your kindness.
Sincerely,
Eleanor Stewart
It was dark when the big bus stopped in front of the farmhouse. “Here’s your stop, ma’am,” said the driver, then went back to help Eleanor with her bag.
As the bus drove away, Eleanor took a long look at the house that was her destination before she started up the path. Lights from the windows shone cheerily out across the new-fallen snow, and Eleanor thought, This is how it looked to Chad when he used to come home from school in the winter.
Picking up her suitcase, she started picking her way along the snowy path leading to the front door. This isn’t the way we planned it! she thought bitterly. We were going to come home together, but now …
Climbing the porch steps wearily, Eleanor set her suitcase down and pushed the doorbell. Hearing footsteps approaching, she steeled herself as if for a blow. This would be hard, but she must atone somehow.
The door opened, and there stood Connie, Chad’s dark-haired, pretty sister.
“I’m—” Eleanor began but was interrupted.
“Why, we thought you weren’t coming! Do come in out of the snow, and I’ll call Mother.”
Connie led the way into a warm, comfortable-looking room and said, “It’s so cold out that you must be chilled through. Sit there by the radiator and get warm.” As she spoke she slipped Eleanor’s coat from her shoulders and propelled her toward a big armchair. Then she excused herself and went out, returning shortly with Chad’s mother.
“Miss Elder, I’m sorry we weren’t looking for you,” said the latter, extending her hand cordially. “When you didn’t come on the noon train we thought you would wait until tomorrow. But your room is all ready.”
Eleanor’s head was beginning to reel with exhaustion, and she longed to be taken to a room—anyone’s room—where she could lie down. But this mistake must be cleared up
“Oh, you’ve made a mistake,” she gasped. “I’m not Miss Elder. You weren’t expecting me! I’m … I’m …”
She faltered, then glanced from the mother’s perplexed face to Connie’s, her eyes finally resting on a third person who had just entered the doorway—grave-faced little Mary Lou.
Mary Lou’s blue eyes opened wide. Her face lit up with a sudden smile, and she came slowly forward, saying, “Oh, I know you, I do! Mother, don’t you know her? She’s Chad’s Ellen!”
At the sound of the beloved name which she had not heard for many weary months, Eleanor’s control began to leave her. The lump in her heart began to break up, and for a moment she feared she would cry.
But Mrs. Stewart came toward her and said with a sob in her voice, “Mary Lou is right. It is Chad’s little friend. Oh, my dear, you don’t know how glad we are to see you!”
She put her arms around the trembling girl and drew her close. Eleanor drew a long, shuddering breath at the kind touch and the loving tenderness in Mrs. Stewart’s face and let herself relax momentarily. Then, remembering her errand here, she stiffened again. Mrs. Stewart let her go and looked keenly into her face.
“Why, you’re a sick child! Now you’re going to lie down while I fix you something to eat. You haven’t eaten, have you?” she said as she saw protest rising in Eleanor’s face.
“No—oh, no, don’t, please! I can’t. I just want to talk to you, and then I must go!”
“You may talk to me, but you may not go away,” corrected the older woman gently. “You are ill, I can see that. You’re not fit to travel.”
“But I can’t stay, and after I’ve talked with you, you won’t want me to. Please let me tell you—”
“Now, now, we won’t talk just yet. You’re going to lie down and then eat. Girls, take Ellen’s bag into Chad’s room.”
Mrs. Stewart led Eleanor through a hall into a typical boy’s room. She removed her little coat, then drew up a small rocking chair as she said, “Since supper is almost ready, perhaps it would be better for you to eat first and rest afterward. But sit here and relax a bit while I go see to things. We are celebrating tonight. Marilyn, my daughter-in-law, is coming to the table for her first meal since her baby was born, and we are making a party of it. If you would like to wash, there is a bathroom just next to this room.”
She started out the door, then returned and, stooping, kissed the pale forehead, saying softly, “This was Chad’s room, my dear, and it has been waiting for you for a long time.”
Left alone, Eleanor looked around the little room with misty eyes. On every side were keepsakes that had belonged to Chad. Oh, she was so tired—why not let go and rest here in this room where Chad had lived before? Perhaps he would come back if she slept here.
But determination struggled to get the uppermost place in her mind. No, she must not! She would not sleep again until she had told these kind people her story. Then they would hate her. Perhaps God would accept that as part of her punishment and forgive her someday.
“I’ll tell them now!” With difficulty Eleanor dragged her aching body from the rocking chair. Stepping into the hall, she saw a light at the end of the passage. That must be the kitchen, she thought and started in that direction.
Pausing to steady herself before she entered, Eleanor took a long look at the occupants of the kitchen. Connie and Mary Lou were hurrying about helping to prepare the meal. Marilyn, looking weak but happy, was sitting in a big chair with Bob perched on the arm, his arm around her shoulder. The mother was standing at the stove with her back to the door. Just as Eleanor was about to enter the kitchen to make them all l
isten to her story, Mrs. Stewart spoke with a shaking voice, and her words caused her unseen listener to stand electrified.
“Children, I know how you feel. It’s true, all that you say of her. But remember, Chad loved her! I’ve prayed for her every day since he—left us, and now God has sent her to us. I can see that she needs us, and we are going to receive her as one of our own. She is our own. It will break my heart if any one of you fails to do for her all that you’d do for Chad if he were here!”
Connie and Mary Lou threw their arms about her, assuring her of cooperation, while Marilyn wiped her eyes and Bob said huskily, “All right, Mother, if you say so. After all, if Chad loved her, she could not be anything but all right.”
“Thank you, my dears,” smiled the mother, tears running down her cheeks. “Now I’m going to—”
Eleanor waited to hear no more. She turned and fled to her room. She couldn’t face them now. If they would get angry with her she could tell the story, but kindness would kill her.
In the drawer of the night table she found a pencil and some paper and wrote hastily:
Mrs. Stewart:
You wouldn’t let me tell you what I came for. I heard what you said just now, and I can’t stay. Don’t love me or pray for me anymore, for I’m too wicked, and I’m sure God wouldn’t want you to.
Chad and I were married two years ago, and I wouldn’t let him tell because I wanted my aunt’s money. So God took him away from me. Then last August when our baby came, I gave him away because I didn’t want him.
I didn’t mean to hurt Chad. He was so dear, but I can’t find his face anymore, so I know God is angry. The rest of you must forget me too.
Eleanor Stewart
Eleanor drew on her hat and coat, picked up her bag, and in a moment had slipped quietly out the front door.
Once on the highway, she ran until she was breathless, walked awhile, then ran again. The wind tore at her skirt and almost drove her off the road more than once. Her feet were like lead, but she must not stop here in the bright moonlight.
Past the little schoolhouse, over the long bridge, over what seemed like miles of highway until finally Eleanor recognized the corner leading up to the little church. Here she stopped, spent, and crept behind a big tree to lean against it and rest her pounding heart.
Up over the hill came the headlights of an automobile. She cowered farther back into the shadows until it passed, then started on again. Down the hollow, up the other hill past the dark church, and on into the silent yard behind it.
She knew just where to go. There were two tall pines keeping watch over the long mound she was seeking, and there in the moonlight she knelt and traced his name on the gray stone with her cold fingers. With all her heart she wished her name were on it, too, that she were lying down there beside him, rested and quiet.
Loneliness and trouble, perplexity and sorrow, rolled over Eleanor in such a flood that the world began to reel around her. Clutching the stone desperately, she cried, “Oh, Chad, I can’t go on!” Then she slipped down into a heap on the snow-covered mound.
* * *
Back in the farmhouse, Bob and Marilyn had gone into the front bedroom and stood looking down into the basket where tiny Patty lay.
“Poor little baby.” Bob laughed. “She’s going to look like her daddy.”
“She’s a lovely baby,” said Marilyn loyally, “and I’m glad she’s dark. If her hair curls like yours, I’ll be perfectly happy.”
“If she has your disposition, Lyn, I’ll be perfectly happy,” Bob returned. “You’re such an easy person to love!”
He turned her face toward his and with a kiss said softly, “I liked you at seven, I loved you at seventeen, and I’ll still love you at seventy!”
Marilyn thanked him with shining eyes, then turned to tuck the covers more warmly about the little one. In the hall they could hear Mother knocking at the door of Chad’s room to announce supper. At first she knocked lightly, then more loudly. Finally she called in an anxious voice.
“I’m going to go see what’s up,” Bob told Marilyn and started down the hall. He entered Chad’s room just in time to hear his mother cry out in anguish. With a white face she turned and reached out her arms to Bob, who caught her.
“She’s gone!” exclaimed Mrs. Stewart brokenly. “Oh, my Chad’s little baby!”
Connie snatched the note and read it aloud while the others stood in shocked silence and Mrs. Stewart sat and wept for the little grandchild she would never see. Loving arms stole around her to comfort her, and at length she wiped her eyes and said, “Forgive me, dears, for my weakness. This is a greater grief than death, but it isn’t beyond the help of our heavenly Father. We’ll have to let Him take this burden, as He has all others.”
In a puzzled tone Mary Lou spoke. “But I don’t know what she meant. Where did Eleanor go ?”
Mrs. Stewart sat up sharply. “Oh, how thoughtless we’ve been! Where did she go, indeed? It’s a bad night to be out, and there’s no bus at this hour.”
Bob was already getting into his coat, and as the mother went for her own, she directed the girls. “Marilyn, into bed at once, child. Connie, have a hot bath and plenty of blankets ready. Mary Lou, keep the soup warm and get the hot water bags ready. The poor girl was ill when she came!”
Hurriedly Bob and Mrs. Stewart climbed into the car and drove off, praying for guidance about the road to take. They kept the headlights dim, that they might see more clearly into the shadows on both sides of the road, and neither spoke for a while. Finally Bob burst out, still keeping a sharp watch on his side of the road.
“Mom, I don’t get it at all. Chad was so straightforward and hated anything that wasn’t fair and square. How could he ever have fallen in love with a little—” He sought momentarily for an adjective—“snip like she is! Why, the way she wrote back after Chad left was abominable!”
“Son, let’s not judge her,” came the reply in broken tones. “Chad’s death was a shock to us all, and how much more to her! If her baby was born in August, Chad couldn’t even have known it was coming! I believe that grief and shock have unbalanced her.”
“Well, that was a bad break, Mom,” Bob conceded. “Think of Marilyn’s having to face that. But,” he argued, “why didn’t she tell us and let us help her?”
“That I can’t answer, Bob. The mention she made of money throws some light on the situation, but it’s not clear yet. I’m trying to realize that they were married when Chad was at home that last summer. I knew there was something on his mind, but he wouldn’t talk, and I put it in the Lord’s hands to work out. He did do a wonderful work in Chad’s heart that year.”
“Yes, there was a change,” admitted Bob. “All his carelessness and recklessness seemed gone, but I thought he was just worried over the farm work and my leg.”
“I was sure it had to do with this girl. He showed us her picture once and asked me how I’d like her for a daughter. She looked sweet and good, and I can’t think Chad misjudged her. Remember how he spoke of her in that last letter?”
“Yes, I do. But it doesn’t tie up with what she says. And giving away Chad’s baby!”
Mrs. Stewart sobbed for a few moments before answering. “That’s hardest of all. It’s like a knife thrust through my heart. But if I’m suffering, how is she feeling? I’m frightened, Bob! We’ve come four miles and haven’t found her. Where is she?”
“Perhaps someone else picked her up and gave her a ride,” Bob suggested.
“Not another car has passed, and we haven’t seen anyone. We were only a few minutes behind her!”
They had reached the crossroad, and Bob backed the car and turned. Slowly they drove back, with hearts growing more anxious. Twice Bob thought he saw someone, but when he got out to investigate, he found only a snow-covered stump or a pile of brush. Finally they came to the big white gate leading from the main road to the cemetery. As always, Mrs. Stewart’s eyes turned sadly to the two mounds under the pines. Then she clutched Bob�
�s arm.
“Stop, oh stop! There, Bob, by the stone. Oh, we should have known she would come here!”
Bob was already running up the slope toward the pines.
Eleanor was lost. If she could only find her way home, Chad would be there with a tiny baby in his arms. But in every direction she turned, she ran into an impenetrable thicket that beat her back with icy blows and tore at her body with sharp, thorny branches. She was sore and cold and her chest hurt when she breathed. But she had to get home to Chad and the baby! She struggled to her feet in another attempt but fell again. Once more she arose to go on, but strong hands held her back. In fear she cried out, striking at the hands, but slipped back into the blackness. Fighting out of it, she beat at the encircling arms bearing her away, then heard Chad say, “Quiet, little sister, it’s all right now. Mom, you’ll have to drive. You’re not man enough to hold this little wildcat down.”
Chad wouldn’t call her a wildcat! She must get away. Desperately she struggled, but the strong arms held her tight, and now the blackness was getting thicker and thicker. She was tired. It would be easier to let go and sink into it than to fight anymore. Now the waves were pounding on the stone slabs on Lake Shore Drive. This time she would let go and sleep in the lake forever. Let go … let go …
Connie and Mary Lou were standing in the door waiting as Bob came up the steps with his unconscious burden. Her eyes wide with fear and sympathy, Connie led Bob directly into the bedroom where she had prepared a bed. As soon as he could get away, Bob tiptoed softly into Marilyn’s room to tell her what had happened. Kneeling with his arms about her, he concluded, “I’m afraid for her, darling, but I did my best, for Chad’s sake. All we can do now is pray.”
That was a busy night. While working over Eleanor, Mother Stewart said once, “Thank God for that warm coat. She’d have frozen without it. As it is, I fear this is a bad night’s work. Mary Lou, tell Bob to call Dr. Leigh.”
Dr. Leigh arrived as rapidly as he could and heard the story with a grave face.
Not My Will and The Light in My Window Page 12
