Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  I have written a long letter to my father, explaining everything, and he will take care of the legal matters. Oh, Eleanor, I am so happy to be able to give your baby back to you.

  I am asking Father and Edith not to tell Phil where the baby has been sent. That will be the only fair way for you. And Phil doesn’t care. If he ever should get lonely for the little son he would not accept, I hope you can forgive him and be kind to him.

  I am very tired, for I have written a long letter to Phil, also, telling him many things I cannot say when I talk to him. May God bless and keep all my dear ones until we meet again by His throne.

  Lorraine

  As Eleanor finished reading, silence reigned. Everyone was marveling at God’s goodness. Little Chad lay sleeping in his grandmother’s arms, and she looked as though earth could hold no greater joy for her.

  At last Eleanor broke the tension with a laugh. “This is the most humbling moment of my life!” she exclaimed. “I have just realized that this little person’s willfulness, which I have sought for months to eradicate, is an inheritance not from the Rev. Dr. Philip King but from Eleanor Stewart!”

  Mother swayed gently in the swing. “Are you going to tell Philip King where the baby is—and who he is?”

  “I will, if he ever wants to know. I would never inflict on anyone else the anguish I have endured. But I’ll not volunteer the information. He can let me know through Mrs. Carder if he ever wants to see the Little Chap, and in that case he can visit him as much as he wishes. I owe the Kings a great debt for caring for my baby when I wouldn’t.”

  “Poor Dr. King. I am sorry for him,” said Dick from his perch on the porch rail beside Connie. “He looked haggard during commencement week.”

  “With good reason,” returned Eleanor. “Lorraine’s death came just before the close of school, and, with Dr. Hale ill, the burden of everything was on Phil’s shoulders.”

  “How is Dr. Hale?” asked Mother solicitously. The president of Bethel ranked high on her prayer list.

  “Not so well, Mother,” replied Eleanor. “I doubt if he will be able to start school next year.”

  “I heard a rumor before I left,” added Dick, “that the board was thinking of appointing an assistant to take over the work, a sort of president pro tem. I think that no one actually expects Dr. Hale ever to carry the whole burden again, but they don’t want him to resign. The new assistant would be in training, as it were, for the day when Dr. Hale will be gone.”

  “Who are they considering?” asked Mother. “It will take a big man to fill that spiritual giant’s shoes.”

  “Dr. Cortland could do it,” remarked Eleanor. “I think he could accomplish a great deal in such a position. He never appears to be doing much, but somehow things happen when he is about. I think it is because he never does anything in his own strength, but relies wholly on the Lord.”

  “Well, campus opinion is divided between him and Dr. King for the position,” said Dick.

  “Oh, Dr. King is too young!” cried Eleanor in dismay. “He is clever and capable, but it would be tragic to make him president of Bethel College.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been done yet,” consoled Dick. “I was just peddling campus gossip. But he does have a reputation for accomplishing things, and for getting other folks to work too. And Dr. Cortland is pretty slow compared to P. K., the whirlwind accomplisher!”

  “I don’t care if he is slow,” Eleanor retorted. “He is a fine scholar and a dear old saint. I think he could be just as clever an administrator as Philip King if he desired.”

  “Better tell that to the trustees,” said Dick. “For myself I’d vote for the dear old doctor, but I’m sure that Philip King will make a gilt-edged impression on the board.”

  “This is surely a matter to be prayed about,” stated Mother, shifting the weight of the child in her arms. The action disturbed him, and the blue eyes opened, then gazed in sleepy bewilderment at the strange faces. The tiny chin began to quiver, then two pleading arms were lifted to Eleanor.

  “Miss Honor, take!” he demanded, and with a surge of joy Eleanor caught her little son into her arms and smoothed his hair.

  “Miss Honor it shall be today,” she said. “But tomorrow I’m going to add a new word to your vocabulary. I can hardly wait to hear you say Mother.”

  For Eleanor that summer flew by on joyous wings. She had her little Chad, and was released from the ache and remorse that had never left her since they had been separated. She watched him grow strong and tall; she taught him and began to train the strong will into loving obedience. She learned to see the world anew through baby eyes just growing into observant childhood. Every day was a glad adventure.

  Each morning Eleanor awakened with a prayer of gratitude in her heart when she realized that in the crib by her side lay the precious child who was left to her as a reminder of her life with Chad. Her whole being throbbed with the joy of God’s great mercy and His love in returning her lost child. At work or at play, her heart was lifted up in thanksgiving. Life might bring more of trouble or of pain—it surely would—but the calm peace of her soul could not be disturbed. She knew her Guide and would rest confidently in His leadership.

  Little Chad’s lips soon learned to say “Mother,” although occasionally he would forget and say “Miss Honor.” After a few puzzled inquiries for “Mum-mum,” he seemed to forget that lovely girl who had been mother to him. Several times he asked hopefully, “Daddy tum?” But as the days passed, the fascinations of the farm and the love and caresses of his new family crowded old memories from his baby mind. He was the darling of the family, bringing memories as he did of another Chad who was now waiting in heaven.

  And he grew to love them all. He trotted after “Mammaw” as she inspected her flowers, he romped with Connie and Mary Lou, and he and baby Patty toddled about the lawn hand in hand, little Chad trying to help the “baby,” as he called her. He rode Bob’s shoulder to the chores. “I’ve long needed another man around here,” Bob confided to him. “You and I will stick together for our own protection now.”

  In July Eleanor took little Chad and went for two happy weeks at the lake with the Fleets. In that lovely place where every corner of the house and even the woods and hills outside held memories of the other Chad, she rested as she had not been able to do before. And when she returned to the farm, Mother Stewart was happy to see the change in her. For the first time since they had known her, they began to feel that this was the laughing girl Chad had loved.

  One day a letter came to Eleanor from Philip King, stating that Lorraine had asked him to give Eleanor the little pearl ring she had worn. He was having the set tightened and would send it later. After thanking Eleanor for her care of Lorraine during those last weeks, he scarcely mentioned himself except to say that he was well and learning to go on living. “One does somehow.” Of the Little Chap he said nothing, and Eleanor tightened her lips at the neglect.

  A letter from Billy told of days spent at the institute, of grand preparations for the trip to the cottage in August.

  Dad and Mother are having as much fun as I am. Their problem child is a problem no longer. They are so interested in the work that if I wanted a yacht, all I’d need to do would be to tell Dad I needed it at the institute. Angela comes down occasionally but stays only long enough to get the files in a mess. She wouldn’t come at all except for the fact that she wants P. K. to remember that she is still alive.

  P. K. practically lives here. He is very sad and quiet and works hard with the boys. And his sermons on Sundays are great! Isn’t it strange how decent and likeable he is here and how absolutely unbearable he is when he gets to strutting about the halls of learning?

  Dick was back in the city working at an express depot during the day, and his evenings—well, Mary Lou insisted they were all spent in writing long letters to Connie. That young lady was preparing to start to Bethel College in September, and she and Mother were deep in wardrobe plans. Marilyn came often along the orchard pat
h to help with the canning, while Patty and Chad played together under Mary Lou’s watchful eye.

  The first week in September Dick came up to the farm for a few days’ vacation. The first evening of his visit he coaxed Connie out for a walk, and when they returned Connie held out her left hand to her mother in joyous delight. There sparkled a shining new diamond ring.

  “I would have liked to get her a great big diamond,” Dick said in bashful explanation. “But I had to get it now so that she could be tagged as mine before those other men at Bethel saw her.”

  “It’s a lovely ring,” said Mother. “I’m happy for my dear girl, and I’m glad that God has answered my prayers for her life. To know that Connie and you will be working and singing together for the Lord gives me great happiness.”

  Later that evening Connie and Mary Lou were helping with the dishes while Eleanor and Dick sat on the porch swing and talked.

  “Now do you realize the far-reaching effects of your Christmas invitation?” Dick said, unable to keep off the all-engrossing subject for long. “Future generations may rise up and call you blessed because of that little bit of charity.”

  “Could be,” said Eleanor meditatively.

  “Don’t ever tell anyone this,” Dick continued, “or they might think I was out of my mind. But before I had been here half an hour I had made up my mind that Connie was the only girl for me—and on Christmas Day she knew it! But she wouldn’t say yes until last week.”

  “She probably meant to all the time,” pointed out Eleanor, “but wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. But she loved you at once. That’s the Stewart way. Bob and Marilyn loved each other from first-grade days. Chad and I fell in love at first sight. When the Stewarts love, it’s for all time, and don’t you forget it. I wish you long years of happiness, Dick. Connie will make a wonderful minister’s wife.”

  “I never thought of that,” said Dick in surprise. “I just thought how much I loved her.”

  “How are things going at Bethel?” asked Eleanor, changing the subject.

  “Oh, so-so. They have made some improvements on the campus during the summer. There are some dandy new tennis courts.”

  “What about the vice-presidency?”

  Dick looked more serious. “I saw Billy the other day, and she said Dr. King had been appointed vice president, to be in active charge of Bethel under Dr. Hale’s instruction. It’s what a lot of folks have been expecting. He is no doubt in training for the presidency.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Eleanor. “I wouldn’t say that in public, and now that it has happened we must pray that it will work out for Bethel’s good—and for Dr. King’s good too.”

  “I will say this for him,” continued Dick. “He has seemed different this summer, very quiet when on the campus. Bill Wilson says he has been living at the institute part of the time.”

  Eleanor’s face lighted. “Perhaps Lorraine’s death has done for him the thing I have longed for—taken him out of himself and aroused him to really unselfish service. The thing that always troubled me about him was his unbounded egotism. He never seemed to forget self for one minute.”

  “That’s the way I felt,” returned Dick. “In every speech and action he seemed to be concentrating on himself—on the impression he would make. Even his prayers seem to be arguments designed to convince God that Philip King’s plans for the work were superior to any that He Himself might have!”

  “Oh, Dick!” reproved Eleanor.

  “Don’t you feel that way?” he defended himself.

  “Well, yes, a little,” she admitted, laughing. “But I wonder why he is so willful. He is just the antithesis of Dr. Cortland, who lives so close to Christ that his own personality seems completely submerged. When he talks, it is not himself who is lifted up—it is Jesus Christ. And his classrooms become in very truth ‘holy ground.’”

  “Wouldn’t it be fine if Dr. Cortland could be president?” asked Dick wistfully. “I’d like to see him run an institution. It would be like George Mueller’s orphanage.”

  “It surely would be a monument of faith,” agreed Eleanor. “It could be done. Dr. Cortland believes that we should, in all the affairs of life, seek first God’s kingdom and His righteousness and leave with Him the care of all our personal needs. He has lived that way for forty years. I’d like to see Bethel run that way too.”

  “So would I. But Philip King is the one who will probably rule over Bethel’s destiny and shape its future course.”

  “If we have sincerely prayed, Dick,” said Eleanor, making room on the swing for Connie, who was just coming out the front door, “we do wrong to worry. God took my life and reshaped it, and He can work out His plan even through Philip King. Let’s pray—not doubt!”

  * * *

  With two fascinating subjects to work on, namely baby Patty and little Chad, Eleanor found her interest in photography reviving. Uncle John fitted up a room in the basement where she could work, and she soon found her old skill returning. Pictures of the babies brought exclamations of pleasure from all who saw them, and Eleanor was persuaded to submit some of them to a children’s magazine for illustrations. To her surprise and joy, they were enthusiastically received, and she soon had orders for as many as she could send.

  In going about the farm and the woods, Eleanor found many interesting subjects to add to her collection of slides, and when Connie and Dick came home at Christmas time, she delighted a group of young people at the church one evening by showing many of her beautiful slides and giving an extemporaneous talk about God’s works as seen through the microscope. Her only thought was to contribute to the evening’s enjoyment and to give these country young people a glimpse into a fascinating world with which they might not be acquainted. But the results were far-reaching. In late January Eleanor received a letter from Philip King, to whom Dick had one day described the lecture and slides. Dr. King had conceived the idea of having Eleanor present a series of lectures at Bethel, using the same topic she had used before.

  We have a fund for just such a purpose, and if you can give the lectures, we will arrange to give you the chapel hour for two weeks. They would be a most fitting supplement to the science courses, and I am sure that all the students would be greatly profited by the lectures.

  Eleanor was astounded at the offer and was somewhat inclined to refuse it. Mother, however, urged its acceptance. Eleanor could well be spared from the work just now—Little Chad would be cared for by herself—and, most important of all, this might be God’s call to wider service.

  Eleanor knelt down by her bedside and prayed over the problem, then rose from her knees feeling that God was indeed calling her to Bethel. So the letter of acceptance was written.

  In preparing the lectures, Eleanor was brought back into the world of science that she had left three years before, and, though at times painful memories sprang up, she really enjoyed the study and preparation. Never before had she approached any study with the object of glorifying God through it all, and she soon found herself absorbed and thrilled with the magnitude and beauty of God’s works.

  * * *

  In March she left for the city, promising to bring Chad the most wonderful toy fire engine to be found in the shops when she returned.

  “And will you be a good boy while Mother is gone?” she asked almost tearfully.

  “Yes, I will be good, Mother.” Then he added for emphasis, “I truly will, Miss Honor.” So Eleanor kissed him and was gone.

  It was pleasant to meet old friends at Bethel. Eleanor had some talks with Dr. Cortland that inspired her with new courage. She visited the institute with Billy and rejoiced over the improvements there. Billy’s father was growing much interested in the institute work, and Billy was planning a campaign of her own to get her father and some of his wealthy friends to endow the institute so that it could afford to hire a full-time resident pastor. Dr. King was still preaching on Sundays but had little time for weekday work there.

  Yet with all the joy of being bac
k at her old school, Eleanor had an uneasy feeling that all was not well there. The spiritual life of the school seemed to have lost some of its depth and fervor. Dr. Cortland’s facial expression was sad, and many of the students seemed to feel dissatisfied with a vague something in the atmosphere. Yet no one could lay a finger exactly on the trouble.

  Outwardly the school seemed to be progressing. There was talk of a building campaign to provide a new library and science hall. Everywhere was an air of brisk activity.

  Eleanor saw Dr. King every day, but he was always busy. If his sorrow had had any deep effect on him it was not discernible. He looked as calmly self-sufficient as ever, and the only change in his appearance was an added amount of gray in the wavy brown hair. The one white lock was not nearly so conspicuous as before.

  Dr. King listened to the lectures with interest, and, when they were over and Eleanor was ready to leave for the farm, he insisted on driving her to the station in his car.

  “The train is late, I see,” he remarked as they scanned the bulletin board. “That isn’t surprising—and it will give me time to ask you something important.”

  “What is it?” asked Eleanor wonderingly.

  “Would you consider a position on the lecturing staff at Bethel?”

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed without a moment’s hesitation. Then, seeing his surprise, she went on. “I do thank you for the offer, and I never dreamed of anything so big coming to me. But I don’t wish to leave my little son in order to come back to school and live. He needs his mother—and she needs him.”

  “Certainly,” Dr. King agreed without conviction. “Well, I hardly hoped you would accept, but you can always remember that you once had such an offer. And someday Bethel is going to be a famous school where teaching will be an honor.”

  “As long as it stays a spiritual school, that is all I will ask,” replied Eleanor soberly.

  “Well, of course, it will do that too. But you just watch and see our progress. Then when we are famous, think back that you might have been on the faculty—and perhaps it will help erase your shame at not knowing Jezebel from Beelzebub.”