“Where would we go?” asked Connie, with not too much interest. She had hoped to have a pupil in the canning factory before long.
“My cottage by the lake,” spoke up Eleanor. “It has stood vacant for over two years now. It should be used occasionally, at least. The Fleets are going to rent it for July, and Billy is going to take a dozen institute children up there in August. But I want you folks to use it during the last two weeks in June.”
“It sounds tempting.” Mother hesitated. “But I don’t like to go away and leave all the work piled on Marilyn and Eleanor and you, Bob.”
“We’ll keep Miss Knowles in the sanitarium for two weeks longer, which will help a little,” he replied. “And we’ll get along somehow. Any extra work will be amply paid for by the thought of you ladies down there in the woods basking in the breezes, doing fancywork, reading books—or anything else you may choose to do. What do you say, Mom—will you go?”
“Please, let’s go!” Mary Lou threw herself impetuously into her mother’s arms. “It would be such fun.”
Connie said nothing but looked eagerly into her mother’s face.
“You could drive it in a half day,” Eleanor went on, “and that oughtn’t be too tiring. It is one of the loveliest spots I know. There are deep woods, a lake with a grand beach for swimming, and everything for your comfort, except food, already in the cottage. At this season the other places on the lake will be full of vacationers, so there will be plenty of young folk around to liven it up for Connie and Mary Lou.”
“Eleanor, don’t you want to go?” asked Connie suddenly.
“Yes, I want to go,” Eleanor said slowly, folding her handkerchief carefully into a little square, not looking up, “but I couldn’t stand it. I was unspeakably happy there with Chad, and every corner has its own sweet memory. It would be a comforting experience to me if I could go, but—” her voice dropped low “—the day I left there the last time, old Hulda, who had been living with me, said, ‘Will you be comin’ back and bringin’ the little one?’ I can’t go back there without him. So I’ll stay here.”
As none of the others spoke, Eleanor continued. “The cottage isn’t mine outright. It is only mine for my lifetime, then it must become the property of my oldest heir. My lawyer and the lawyer who arranged the adoption papers both know this. So some day, when I am gone, my boy will receive the cottage and go back to the place where his parents learned to love each other. While I live, I hope to use it wisely as my Lord would wish. But I can’t go back there without him.”
The family sat in sympathetic silence. After a few moments, Eleanor spoke cheerfully again. “But you haven’t said yet that you will go. Please, Mother, won’t you do it—for me?”
“Please do, Mom,” begged Bob. “You need just such a rest cure to make you completely well.”
“Well,” Mrs. Stewart said slowly, “it does sound alluring indeed. So if you two are sure you can manage here, I am willing to go for two weeks.”
Mary Lou jumped up with a shout and began to go around and kiss everyone in turn to demonstrate her joy. Connie’s face reflected her pleasure.
“Then it’s settled,” said Eleanor happily. “We’ll all hustle with the work so that you can get off next Monday morning.”
“Monday morning,” chanted Mary Lou joyfully. “Monday morning.”
“Oh, I forgot,” remarked Eleanor casually. “One of the students at school needed a quiet place to work on a thesis, so I rented out one room at the cottage. You folks won’t be bothered though. There’s plenty of room for all.”
“Is it a he or a she?” questioned Bob shrewdly.
“A he,” remarked Eleanor, smiling.
“A theological student?”
“Yes.”
“Sings tenor, I believe?”
“Why, Bob, how astute you are!” exclaimed Eleanor. “How did you ever guess it?”
“Because I don’t trust that Dick Dunlap,” replied Bob, grinning. “He’s a sister-snatcher if ever I saw one. Connie, did you know about this?”
“If he bothers you, Mother, you can send him to a hotel to write his thesis,” suggested Eleanor.
“Or perhaps I could stay home and help with the farm,” continued Connie demurely.
“Children, stop your teasing,” commanded Mother. “I like Dick, and, as we need a man in the house, I’ll be glad to have him there. It’s going to be a grand vacation.”
“I think so too,” declared Mary Lou with exuberance.
A little smile that played around the corners of Connie’s mouth made the others suspect that she thought so too.
* * *
After Mother and the girls left, Eleanor’s days were busy ones. She helped Mrs. Hunt in the kitchen, she kept the big house in order, she cared for the tiny new chicks in the brooder house, and she worked with Uncle John in the vegetable garden. Every day was full, and every night found her too tired to lie awake and grieve over her empty arms. She had learned to leave her troubles “in the secret of His presence,” but somehow there was still the memory of the tearful blue eyes and the quivering lips of the little lad who had not wanted to leave her.
On the second Friday afternoon Eleanor and Marilyn sat resting on the shady back porch. Suddenly Eleanor spoke. “Marilyn, why couldn’t you and Bob take a few days off and go to the lake too?”
“I’d love to,” was the reply. “Do you think it would be possible?”
“Yes, I do. Bob said he wasn’t going to start laying by the corn until Tuesday. We can manage nicely for three or four days. Mrs. Hunt can take care of the house, and Miss Knowles can keep on with the sanitarium. I can help Uncle John with the chores.”
“I wish we could,” said Marilyn wistfully. “It would be a lovely change, and I haven’t had a real trip since our honeymoon.”
“Well, you need a change, and I’m going to see that you get it,” Eleanor assured her. “Here comes Bob now. Let’s see how good a persuader I am.”
So successful was Eleanor that the next morning saw everyone up bright and early that the start to the lake might be made before the day became hot.
“While you’re there, Bob,” said Eleanor packing fresh vegetables and fruit into a large basket, “will you please do a few things for me?”
“If I can,” replied Bob. “What would you like?”
“Look the house over carefully and see what needs to be done in the way of repairs. And I have a long list of things for you to bring back. Most of it is my photographic equipment. I am eager to get started at picture-making again, although I must be sadly out of practice by now. Then these books I have listed will be in the case by the fireplace. That won’t be too much, will it?”
“No,” assured Bob. “We could bring back a whole library in place of all this food you are sending along. Do you think we’ll eat this much?”
“I’m sure that the folks will have eaten all they took with them and that they must be paying fancy prices for fruit and vegetables and eggs if they are buying them there. The local folk take advantage of summer visitors.”
As they were getting into the car, Mrs. Hunt emerged from the kitchen. She placed a large white can and several boxes on the backseat.
“Cookies and cake,” she explained. “They will be glad to get them after eating store cookies.”
Then Bob stepped on the starter, and, with Marilyn and Patty waving gaily, the car vanished around the turn in the drive.
Eleanor went slowly back into the quiet house. How she had longed to go with them! To roam once more through the woods she had loved since childhood; to see the blue sky over the lake at night; to sit on the beach listening to the little ripples swishing over the rocks of the pier; to dig in the garden she and Chad had planned; to lie on the hilltop and just rest. She was so tired. But it seemed as though the Lord wanted her here, and His way was best.
Eleanor wandered into her room, threw herself across the bed, and then, in spite of all her reasonings and her good resolutions, gave way to tears.
The loneliness and pain were too much.
At last she lay exhausted and quiet, and the Comforter’s voice spoke to her soul, bringing reassurance in place of sorrow and peace where the storm had raged.
“Oh, dear Savior, forgive me,” she whispered. “I’m weak, and I keep stumbling, and I seem to lose my way again and again. But I do love Thee, and I do want to live for Thee, even though it means pain and sacrifice. Send me whatever will be for Thy glory, and help me to accept it joyfully for Thy sake. And oh, dear Christ, take care of my little boys—my Chad that I gave away, and my Little Chap who needs a mother.”
After a while she arose, bathed her eyes, and rearranged her hair. Her face was peaceful again. Mrs. Hunt, in the kitchen, heard her singing:
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.
Just before noon Eleanor saw the mailman’s car coming up the road, so she ran down the walk to meet him. There were three letters for her, and she sat down on the porch swing to read them. First there was a letter from Carolyn, then a note from Dick describing the good times they were having at the lake.
The third letter was addressed in a strange handwriting, but when Eleanor saw the postmark she tore it open eagerly.
Dear Mrs. Stewart:
We have been distraught here by our inability to care for Lorraine’s baby. He refuses to eat or sleep and has cried so much for Miss Honor that we decided to ask you if you could take him for a while. We reached that decision last night, and this morning before we could write you a package arrived from Phil, containing a letter that Lorraine had left in her desk, to be given to me after her death. There was also a letter for you which I am forwarding. It will explain itself, and no words of mine are necessary. All I can say is that my daughter Edith and I are almost overwhelmed at the marvelous way in which our Father works. We can only praise Him now.
We have a friend who will be passing through Woodstock (which is near you) next Monday afternoon. If convenient for you to meet her, she will bring the baby that far. Will you call me collect and let me know?
I know that Lorraine died happy in the knowledge that her baby would be taken care of. And I, her father, can only say, “God bless you and the little one.”
Sincerely yours,
James W. Ferguson
Eleanor’s heart pounded so hard she could scarcely see. Her hands shook as she opened the letter from Lorraine.
Dear Jochebed:
(What a thing to call me! thought Eleanor.)
The princess is too tired to care for your little Moses, even though she loves him. And the heavenly Father knows that only one person can care for him properly—his own mother—yourself.
Eleanor ceased reading. The letter fell to the floor while the world reeled and swayed as the full significance of Lorraine’s words dawned upon her. Jochebed! Moses’ mother! Paid for caring for her own son!
When the sky and earth had ceased their whirling, and when the breath had consented to return to her body, Eleanor bent down for the letter and proceeded to read. Her eyes shone as the story of God’s loving dealings with His children unfolded. For the first time she learned that the Little Chap had been adopted, in place of Lorraine’s own baby, who had lived for only a few short hours and then slipped away to heaven.
Eleanor bowed her head, and through her sobs came the words, “Oh, Chad, He does fix things when we let Him.”
On Monday afternoon two dusty cars rolled up the driveway to the big farmhouse, and the happy vacationers clambered out, glad to be at home again. Mary Lou ran into the house immediately, calling, “Len, oh, Len, we’re home!” while Bob and Dick began to unload the bags and bundles. The ladies came up the steps, to be met by Mary Lou saying in a puzzled voice, “Len is gone.”
“Gone? Why?” asked mother in disappointment.
“I don’t know. She isn’t here, and Mrs. Hunt says she went to Woodstock.”
“Here’s a note,” said Connie, looking on the hall table.
They all clustered around while Connie read the contents of the note.
Dear folks:
I received word that a boarder must be met at Woodstock so I’m going over today. Will be back on the four o’clock bus.
Len
“Bless her heart,” said Mother, removing her hat. “She certainly is a dependable little helper. I wonder who the boarder is—must be someone from a distance. It’s too bad she had to go on the bus.”
“I wish sometime we could have a little boarder,” said Mary Lou. “I get so tired of big ones all the time.”
“Cheer up, Sisterkin,” said Bob. “In these days anything can happen. Maybe this is a dwarf or a gnome coming to live with us.”
Mary Lou giggled. “You’re so funny sometimes,” she remarked.
Mrs. Hunt came in from the kitchen. “Now I know you are all hot and tired from your drive,” she said. “Here is a big pitcher of grape juice, and if I were you I would just sit down on the porch and get cooled off and rested.”
So the whole party adjourned to the front porch and sat there reveling in the pleasure of being home again.
Mother looked strong and well. Dick, Connie, and Mary Lou were glowing with suntan, and even Bob and Marilyn looked relaxed and rested by the little excursion they had taken. Baby Patty trotted about, glad to be back in this familiar place, stealing sips of grape juice from first one and then another on the porch.
“Well, I guess we’d better be heading for home,” said Bob, setting down his glass and standing up to stretch his legs. “Tell Eleanor I put all her things in her room. I hope I brought the right stuff. I’ll be over tomorrow to talk to her about the cottage.”
He swung Patty up to a perch on his shoulder, and they were just starting for the car when Mary Lou called out, “There’s the bus!”
Seven pairs of eyes alighted on the familiar yellow-and-brown vehicle that had just pulled up at the dusty roadside. They saw Eleanor step down, then looked on in amazement as she came up the walk with a little boy in her arms.
“Oh, it is a little boarder!” exclaimed Mary Lou in glee. “It is!”
But no one paid any attention. All stood speechless before the radiance on Eleanor’s face as she mounted the steps.
Then she spoke with a catch in her voice. “Do you know our new boarder?”
“It must be the King baby!” exclaimed Connie. “The Little Chap!”
“Yes,” replied Eleanor, her voice shaking. “The King’s adopted son. Mother, oh, Mother, why didn’t I guess it before? Look at him, Mother! Don’t you know who he really is?”
The mother gazed with paling cheeks at the smiling baby who had nestled his head against Eleanor’s shoulder as if he couldn’t get close enough to her. Then she looked at Eleanor’s face. Her eyes went back to the baby’s face, and as he met her gaze he gave her a smile, a three-cornered crooked smile that took her back a quarter of a century.
With a sob she held out her arms. But the Little Chap only clung the closer to Eleanor. So Mother Stewart clasped them both close, saying as she did so, with tears running down her cheeks, “I do know. He’s our baby—our own little Chad! Oh, Father in Heaven, we thank Thee!”
* * *
Later, when the little boy had been persuaded to leave Eleanor’s shoulder for his grandmother’s eager arms, Eleanor read Lorraine’s letter to the rejoicing family. At times during the reading her voice broke as she remembered how dear Lorraine had been to her. Mother Stewart openly wiped her eyes once or twice while the others listened in sympathetic silence.
Dear Jochebed:
The princess is too tired to care for your little Moses, even though she loves him. And the heavenly Father knows that only one person can care for him properly—his own mother—yourself. Oh, Eleanor, I am so shaken by my realization of how much God loves us, even in our weakness and sin, that I can hardly write
.
This afternoon, when you told me your story and it dawned upon me that my little boy—the one I have called my own ever since they brought him to me after my own tiny son died—was, in reality, your son, I wanted to shout aloud for joy. For I have lain awake many hours during these last weeks wondering what will happen to him when I am gone. It has become plain to me that I shall soon be leaving you, and I have been deeply troubled for my little nameless son. You must have observed that Phil has never cared for him at all. So I could not burden him with an unwanted child. Then, in my deepest distress, God sent you, the baby’s own mother. It can be nothing but God’s intervention in our lives that shaped events in this way.
Just think, Eleanor, when my father went to that sanitarium where you were, both Phil and I were in a hospital—he seriously injured by the automobile accident, and I mourning for the baby that didn’t live. Poor Father! He was frantic and did the only thing he could think of. Perhaps it did save my life, for I loved the Little Chap from the start.
But it was three months before we dared tell Phil that our little son—the Phil, Jr., we had longed for—had not lived and that a strange child was taking his place. When we did tell him, he had a relapse and almost died. Then, even after he got well, he never accepted the child he considered an interloper. I love Phil, but I’ve loved the little one, too, and at times my heart has been torn in two.
But now I am more happy than I have been in two years. I really don’t mind going, but my heart aches for Phil. I know, Eleanor, that you and he seem to antagonize each other, but that is because you don’t know him as well as I do. He has always been my “shining knight,” and I love his proud self-confidence. It will be a sad time for him when I go, but God can comfort him.
My father will help you get the adoption papers fixed up for the baby. Edith and her husband signed the others, as we were both so very sick. Phil has never bothered to change them.
Not My Will and The Light in My Window Page 23
