“Fever, pneumonia, and one or two other things are all we have to fight, I judge,” he snorted. “I wonder if the fool girls of this day are worth the trouble they cause!”
But he was working as he talked, and he stayed all night. Mrs. Stewart sent the girls to bed, then took up her place in the bedroom beside the doctor, laboring with him to fan the little spark of life and keep it from being extinguished.
As they worked, Mrs. Stewart told the doctor such parts of Eleanor’s story as she knew, and together they tried to picture the happenings of the past two years that had culminated in this night’s tragedy.
When morning came Eleanor still lay breathing hoarsely, but sleeping. At first she had stirred and moaned in pain, but as the hours passed she sank into a deep slumber.
Connie came the next day to take her mother’s place at the bedside. But before Mrs. Stewart lay down to rest, she made a long-distance call to the university and asked for the dean of women. Then the two troubled women, actually hundreds of miles apart yet united by their concern for Eleanor, tried to piece together facts that might be of assistance in helping her.
“She insisted she had no relatives, Mrs. Stewart. Are you an aunt?”
“No, I am no kin. But she was a—dear friend of my son, who was killed there over a year ago.”
“Oh, I remember. Well, Eleanor has apparently been near a break for some time. She was formerly a brilliant student, but last quarter her work disintegrated and I was much concerned after I talked with her several days ago. I feared just such a crash as this but had no chance to warn her, as she wouldn’t talk and seemed anxious to leave as soon as possible. Then I went to her room yesterday morning and found it empty.”
“Has she no friends who should be notified?” asked Mrs. Stewart.
“None that I know of,” came the answer. “Inquiries that I made yesterday disclosed the fact that all last quarter Eleanor was decidedly reserved and unfriendly. She worked with Professor Nichols up until a year ago, and he valued her work highly. However, he is in California and quite ill himself. I know of no other friends.”
Mother Stewart walked back to the bedside and looked down at the flushed face on the pillow.
“Poor little wanderer!” she exclaimed. “We may never know what brought her to this. Watch her carefully, Connie dear, and if you need me don’t hesitate to call. I shall lie down, for I’ll be busy again tonight, I can see.”
As the day passed the fever mounted, and with it came delirium. That night the endurance of both Dr. Leigh and Mrs. Stewart was tested, and the next time the doctor returned, he brought a nurse.
For days Eleanor lay tossing in delirium, talking in broken sentences, which helped the watchers to learn more of her story. Sometimes her voice was pleading: “Auntie, please let me go with the others. I’ll be good, truly I will.” Sometimes it was sullen and angry: “You’re cheating, Aunt Ruth, and I can beat you at that game.” Again there was happy, carefree laughter, which startled them, as it seemed so normal: “Chad, look at that! Oh, bring the camera, quick!” or, “Chad, we’ll come back here and build a laboratory in the woods and show the whole world what a team we are!” The tones became businesslike as Eleanor said, “Professor Nichols, the last slides weren’t good enough. I’ll get what you want if I have to stay up all night.”
Then there were hours when the battle in her soul over the money was laid bare—when they heard her pleading with Chad to be patient until she was twenty-five—when over and again she prayed, “Oh, God, save Chad for me, and I’ll give up the money and love and serve You forever.”
Other hours there were when she talked of her Picture Gallery of memory, and the listeners were almost able to tread it with her. Then when the pictures faded and she begged piteously for a recollection of Chad’s face, the listeners felt the tears run down their cheeks, though hers were hot and dry. Once she said to Marilyn and Bob as they sat by her, “Carolyn, you and Fred understand, don’t you? I daren’t let myself cry, for I could never stop.”
So often did the name Carolyn occur that Connie searched Eleanor’s bags and purse for some clue to its owner. And when she found Carolyn’s address, she wrote, telling her of Eleanor’s illness. Carolyn, her tender heart reproaching her for her failure to contact Eleanor, took several days’ leave from her schoolroom and came to help with the arduous task of nursing. Mrs. Stewart learned from her many new things about Eleanor, and Carolyn wept when she was shown the pitiful little note of confession.
“It is hard for me to forgive myself for not helping her more after Chad died. I had no idea that they were married, but I had always thought that they were suited to each other and expected they would marry eventually. I wonder why Eleanor didn’t tell me.”
“It all seems to hinge on a large sum of money she was to inherit,” said Mrs. Stewart perplexedly. “Apparently Chad didn’t know about the money at first, for she constantly pleads for his forgiveness. Last night she said, ‘Chad, if you’ll live and go on loving me, we’ll work together for your Lord.’”
After a few minutes of silence Mrs. Stewart spoke again. “Are you a Christian, Mrs. Fleet?”
“Yes, I am, though I confess I have been a rather careless one. But I have prayed for Eleanor ever since Chad’s death, even though I haven’t contacted her as I should have. When I think of what she must have endured before the baby came, my heart aches.”
“Mrs. Fleet,” said Mrs. Stewart, tears coming into her tired eyes, “I am trying to learn to trust my Lord in this matter as in others. But the thought that I may never know Chad’s baby is the hardest cross I have ever had to bear.”
Carolyn tried to console her. “Perhaps when Eleanor is better we can find out where the baby is and get it again. Is it a boy or girl?” she added.
“We don’t know even that. The note tells us all that we know except what we have learned from her delirium.”
For many sleepless days and nights nothing availed to give the sufferer any relief from her delirious fever, and the doctor grew increasingly troubled. In spite of all that could be done, the battle seemed to be a losing one.
One night the flame of life burned lower than ever, and both Carolyn and Mrs. Stewart watched all night apprehensively. Over and over their own hearts were wrung by her cries.
“Oh, please bring back my baby. It’s not a puppy! It’s my own little baby!”
Mrs. Stewart hid her face in her hands while Carolyn tried to quiet the troubled girl.
“No, don’t try to hold me! If you don’t bring the baby back, I’ll have to go after it. I can’t go to heaven to see Chad without the baby!”
“Yes, yes,” said Carolyn soothingly. “Just go to sleep, dear, and we’ll see about the baby later.”
“No, I want it now. You haven’t any right to hide it from me. He’s my own little son—my little Chad!”
Mrs. Stewart hurried from the room, sobbing. Bob and Marilyn, wakened from their sleep in the adjoining room, came to the door to see if they could help. The pleadings became even more frantic. Eleanor could scarcely be held in bed. At last, in her ravings, Eleanor’s eyes lighted on Marilyn’s face, and reaching out both arms to her, she implored, “Oh, won’t you get my baby?”
“Yes—oh, yes,” faltered Marilyn, and before the others could stop her, she ran into the other room and came back with baby Patty in her arms. With white face and eyes brimming with tears, she laid the tiny flannel bundle on the pillow by Eleanor, and said, “Here it is, dear. Now won’t you go to sleep?”
A peaceful look came over the agitated face. With a long, sobbing breath, Eleanor lay back and said, “Yes—I will go to sleep now.”
And she did. Hour after hour she slept, her pulse growing fainter all the while. Baby Patty, having unconsciously prolonged a life, was put back to sleep in her bassinet, and Carolyn was prevailed upon to take a few hours of needed rest. Mrs. Stewart watched alone.
About four o’clock she telephoned hurriedly for Dr. Leigh, then knelt by the bed in ag
onizing prayer, pleading for the life of this one who had wronged her, that she be allowed to live in order to learn of God’s love to even His erring children.
Mrs. Stewart never knew how long she knelt there, but as she remained waiting for the Lord to speak to her she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw that it was Eleanor’s. She had awakened.
“Chad’s mother?” Her lips formed the words.
“Yes. And your mother, dear.”
The brown eyes filled with tears, and the lips quivered. “I’m afraid,” came the weak tones. “Can you hold me?”
With a prayer for strength, Mother Stewart gathered the sick girl into her arms, and Eleanor laid her head on the shoulder that had once pillowed her husband’s head. Kneeling there by the bed, with Eleanor in her arms like a tired baby, Mrs. Stewart started to sing. The restless form grew quiet again as the mother sang softly the hymns of faith and assurance that had often stilled her own soul. She grew cramped and cold but dared not move. One song seemed to soothe more than any other, and over and over she sang it:
Oh, what wonderful, wonderful rest,
Trusting completely in Jesus I’m blest;
Sweetly He comforts and shields from alarms,
Holding me safe in His mighty arms.
Dr. Leigh had come and stood watching in the shadows. Once he carried in a chair and placed it at Mrs. Stewart’s back, then resumed his post at the foot of the bed, where his keen eyes could study the sleeper. After another half hour had passed, he reached for one limp hand and began to count the pulse. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. He straightened the pillow and lifted Eleanor back on it, then stooped to raise Mrs. Stewart. Placing her reverently in the easy chair, he said, “When I left yesterday I wouldn’t have given two cents for her life. Now she’s on the uphill road. And you did it, Margaret Stewart!”
Eleanor rested and slept for a week. Carolyn took her leave, promising to come again when school was out. Tenderly those who remained did everything possible to help Eleanor regain her strength and rejoiced to see her response to their care.
Mary Lou appointed herself Eleanor’s personal attendant, feeding her, looking out for her every need. This relieved Mother Stewart, who was needed, now that the crisis was over, to look after two new patients in the rooms upstairs. However, several times each day she came in with cheery greetings, and every night she slept on the cot in the corner. As soon as Eleanor was able, she remonstrated at this arrangement, feeling sure that it was uncomfortable to Mrs. Stewart. But that good lady only replied, patting the thin hand, “You are more dear to me than you know, Eleanor Stewart, and I’m taking no chance on any more trouble. If I sleep poorly in your room, I wouldn’t sleep at all out of it. So you may as well resign yourself to my company until you’re strong enough to put me out!”
“I’d never do that,” Eleanor said. “I can’t understand why you love me or do so much for me. But I’m just weak enough to enjoy it, so I lie here and am thankful for all of you. I wish I had known you years ago, Mother. It would have made such a difference.”
Softly Mrs. Stewart replied, “While we are being thankful, let us not forget who brought us together and thank Him for all He has done.”
“I do,” said Eleanor shyly, “but I still don’t understand how you can be so nice to me. If you just knew how wicked I’ve been. I must tell you—”
A hand came over her lips. “Not another word now. Of course you want to tell me the whole story, and someday you shall, when you are stronger. Then we will bury the bad things and the sad things forever and sort out the glad things to keep in our hearts. But you’re not ready for that yet, so just rest and know we all love you.”
Eleanor needed no verbal reminder of that love, for all day little acts of kindness showed her what a place she had already been given in the affections of the family. And to the lonely girl who had never known family life before, this was a sweet new experience.
Mary Lou considered Eleanor her own personal possession. “You were Chad’s, you know,” she said gravely, “and I was Chad’s special sister. I think God sent you to me to cure the lonesomeness.”
“I’m sure He sent you to me, precious sister,” Eleanor said quickly. “I never had a little sister before, and I didn’t know how much I needed one.”
“I ’spect we need each other. Do you mind if I talk about Chad, Eleanor?” she continued respectfully.
“I’d love it, dear. It seems to bring him nearer. Someday when I get well I’m going to the cottage at the lake where we used to go together and see if I can find a good picture of him. I want one so badly!”
“Chad loved you awful much. I know he did,” averred Mary Lou stoutly. Then a sudden thought occurred to her, and she questioned, “Say, didn’t he have a nickname he called you? Have you got a name not so proper as Eleanor? Didn’t he call you Ellen?”
A look of pain passed over the pale face. “Yes, that was his pet name for me, Mary Lou, but I don’t think I could quite stand it if anyone else used it. In high school my friends called me Len. Do you like that?”
“Yes, I do,” replied Mary Lou, her eyes shining. “It sounds more ‘folksy,’ as Mrs. Hunt, our kitchen lady, says. Now I have to go help Mother fix the trays for upstairs. Good-bye, Len.”
Connie was more reserved than Mary Lou, but Eleanor soon grew to admire and love her dearly. She had a quick mind, a ready wit, and a love for all things beautiful. Every unoccupied minute of the day found her at the piano, sometimes practicing scales and arpeggios but more often losing her soul in a flood of beautiful music. Had Eleanor suspected that Connie played to help while away the tedious hours of convalescence, she would have been correct.
Often in the evening Bob and Marilyn would sing with Connie, and it was with a sweet pain that Eleanor heard once more the choruses that she had first heard from Chad at the lake. Sometimes Mrs. Stewart sang, too, and on those occasions her rich voice led all the others. Mary Lou liked to join the group, and on hearing her uncertain renditions of the tunes, Eleanor smiled to remember Chad’s remark, “When Mary Lou and I want to sing, we go to the woods to do it.” None of the family ever even smiled at her erratic warblings, however, and always welcomed her into the group around the piano.
Eleanor’s heart ached when she saw the companionable happiness of Bob and Marilyn, but she hid her pain, determined to bring no further shadow into the home of these dear ones who had done so much for her. Bob was inclined to be restrained in her presence, although he seemed to want to be friendly. As their acquaintance ripened, Eleanor saw in Bob many traits that reminded her of Chad, although the brothers were vastly different in appearance. Marilyn was, as Chad had once said, “jolly and comfortable.” Her laugh came quickly and brightened the household with its contagion. Eleanor reflected often on what a comfort Marilyn must have been to Chad’s family during this last sad year.
This was a happy, busy household, with each one taking part in the work. The boarders in the little sanitarium upstairs were not really ill, but rather folk who needed rest and quiet. The tonic of cheerful courage that emanated from Mrs. Stewart seemed to do them more good than any doctor’s prescription.
As Eleanor lay in her room listening to the cheerful bustle of the household outside her door, she longed to regain strength enough to take some part in it. The most desirable thing in life she could think of just now was to be able to work and rest in this contented house, made especially dear to her because every room in it had been visited by Chad’s spirit and had echoed to his boyish voice.
I wonder if I’ll ever want to go back to school, she thought one day, lying wanly on her pillows. I don’t seem to care about anything anymore. I haven’t any ambition. I suppose the time is coming when I’ll have to start some kind of lifework again, but just now it’s so nice to lie here and rest.
Eleanor’s mind, once so keen and analytical, seemed to partake of the lethargy of her body and was occupied with no thoughts more weighty than Mary Lou’s chatter of the little
chicks in the brooder house, or the question of what color hat Connie should buy to wear with her new suit, or—most interesting of all—Marilyn’s day-by-day accounts of her care of baby Patty.
Mrs. Stewart’s companionship and love were especially treasured by Eleanor, whose whole love-hungry nature went out to her in a passionate devotion. And the mother heart, still aching over the loss of her firstborn, found consolation in caring for this one who had been so dear to him. Both Eleanor and the older woman looked forward to the time for opening up the past with its “bad things, its sad things, and its glad things.” Eleanor felt she would not really begin life again until that was done.
She had one other uneasiness about which she never confided.
It was a bright April morning. When Eleanor awoke there was a cardinal singing in the bare tree outside her window, and the fresh scent of spring was in the air. Mary Lou brought in her breakfast tray, then announced importantly, “Connie and I are going to drive to Woodstock today. It’s over thirty miles, and it’s a real large city. Mother is letting me miss school to go.”
“How nice! What are you going to do over there?”
“Buy things!” Mary Lou rose up on her tiptoes with pent-up excitement. “Connie’s going to get her new hat, and Marilyn needs some housedresses, and we’re going to pick them out, and we’re going to get some socks and shirts for Bob, and Mom needs some sheets and towels—and I have eighty-three cents to spend!” She paused, breathless. “Oh, and Connie and I are both going to get new shoes.”
Eleanor laughed at her exuberance. “You’re surely going to have a grand day. I wish I could go along.”
“Oh, I wish you could go too,” said Mary Lou with longing in her voice. “I’ve never been to Woodstock since I can remember. Will the stores be much larger than they are in Benton?”
“Oh yes,” Eleanor assured her. “It will be wonderful for you.” Then a sudden thought struck her. Laying down her toast, she said confidentially, “Mary Lou, if I give you some money, will you and Connie do some shopping for me?”
Not My Will and The Light in My Window Page 13
