“We have that remedied,” she retorted, laughing unsteadily.
“Eleanor, I love you,” said Philip. “Can’t we serve our Master together, if He is pleased to spare us?”
She drew a long breath, then lifted her eyes to the pines on the hill above them, and the shadow of an old pain crossed her face. Philip saw it, and his eye held sympathy and understanding. Softly he spoke. “I know what you are thinking, dear one, and we must speak of it now so it will never trouble us again. Because of the sorrow that has been the share of each of us, we can help each other. My own grief over Lorraine makes me capable of understanding what the loss of Chad meant to you. But they are gone now. Their memories will always be a blessing to us. They are safe and happy in that land where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. You and I are left behind. Why God took them and left us, we will never know. But we do know that there is work to be done here, and the way will be harder if we have to go alone. God, who gave us each a beautiful experience of love once, can do so again. I believe both Chad and Lorraine would want us to marry if we love each other. I do love you, and I’m daring to hope that you love me a little bit.”
She turned to face him fully, and the shadow was gone as she spoke quietly. “Not just a little bit, Phil. I love you dearly, and if we can go on together here, it will make me happier than I ever expected to be again.”
Then his arms were around her, and his kiss was on her lips.
Sometime later Eleanor asked softly, “When did you begin to care, Phil? If you were so angry at me, how could you learn to love me?”
“I think I really started to love you in March, when you last came to Bethel. I felt you didn’t approve of me, and it seemed tremendously important that you should. That started all the questioning and self-analysis. I resented it and you, but up in the woods I knew that I loved you. And I had a sign that let me hope you loved me, though you might not know it.”
“Why—what—I don’t know what you mean.”
He laughed at her confusion, but his tone was serious as he said, “One night when the battle was hardest, and I was losing, it came over me with a rush that if I lost that battle, I’d lose your friendship. And I could not bear that. When I thought how empty life would be without you, I knew I loved you. Then, in almost the same instant, came the realization that our friendship meant much to you, also, or you would never have written a letter every word of which must have caused you pain. That knowledge broke me down. I cried like a baby that night, and the next day I started back. And here I am.”
“Yes, here you are, and here I am, and God willing, we’ll travel the rest of the way together.”
The shadows were lengthening across the church lawn, and still they sat and talked. The barriers that had always been between them were gone forever, and they could face together whatever the future might hold.
“Perhaps God will want me to go back to the institute,” said Philip. “I think that is the only really unselfish work I ever did. When I was down there, the needs of those poor, ragged, hungry boys and girls growing up in that ugly district pressed upon me until I forgot myself. If God wants us to go back and live there, will you mind?”
“Oh, no! Often I’ve longed to be back there. Perhaps God is calling us to that place. Working there with you I would be supremely happy.”
“There is a movement to get a full-time resident superintendent. That would mean living there. Would you take Chad down there to live? It isn’t an ideal place in which to raise a child.”
“Other children just as dear to the Lord as he is are born and reared there,” came the quiet reply. “We would always have our own home, which would be Christ-centered and guarded by His angels. If God wants us to go there, it will be the safest place in all the world for us, for it will be the center of His will.”
The arm across Eleanor’s shoulders tightened as Philip said huskily, “With you as a helpmeet I am ready for whatever service He has for me.”
“Where are you staying now? You can wait a few days before going back to the city, I hope.”
“I had planned to take the late bus back to Woodstock and catch the midnight train. I can take a room at the hotel there and come out and see you and the Little Chap again. I don’t have to be in the city until Friday. That would give us three days to visit and make some plans. Is that all right?”
“It certainly is not! Mother Stewart has plenty of room, and you are going to stay with us.”
“They might resent my being there,” he said slowly. “They are the family of your husband, and—”
“Oh, they’re not like that! Mother will be happy for me, and so will they all. If I came home without you I would have to bring a better excuse than that. You will come, won’t you?”
“It certainly is an unorthodox situation, but if you say it is safe, I’ll risk it. It’s worth some risk to be near you.”
Little Chad returned, tired of his play. Philip lifted him to his knee, and Chad leaned trustfully against the friendly shoulder.
“Where is your little boy?” he asked.
“In heaven with his mother,” Philip answered simply.
“My daddy is in heaven too,” Chad informed him. “l guess he’ll take care of your little boy there.”
“Perhaps he will. How would you like to be my little boy while we live here on the earth, and let me be your other daddy to take care of you and your mother?”
“Oh, I’d like that,” Chad exclaimed, his eyes shining. “Patty and Bobby Boy have a daddy—he’s Unka Bob—and I’d like one. Will you be my daddy right away?”
“Not right away, dear,” said Eleanor hastily. “It will mean that you and I leave Grandma and live in the city. We will have a great many things to do first. You and I will have to work hard to get ready.”
“And I have to go back to the city and get a home ready for you to live in. But I’ll be back before long.”
Chad’s lips quivered, and a disappointed little voice said, “But I want a daddy. Can’t Mother and I go with you? You could help with our work, and we’d go fast. And then Mother and I could help you get the house ready. I have waited so long for: a daddy.”
Philip and Eleanor laughed, then Eleanor started to explain to Chad, but Philip interrupted.
“Oh, Eleanor, you could! Why wait? We have both suffered so much that it seems a shame to waste even a day.”
“I don’t know what to say. I am confused. It seems so—”
“Just say yes,” Philip suggested. “Finney once told his students that a man is just half a man without a woman. Help me to begin without delay to do a whole man’s work.”
As Eleanor hesitated, Chad, not knowing quite what it was all about, but sensing her indecision, leaned over and hugged her, whispering, “Please, Miss Honor!”
Eleanor laughed shakily and said, “I don’t seem to have any choice.”
“You have the entire choice,” Philip assured her gravely. “I want you to do exactly as your heart dictates.”
She sat quietly for some minutes, watching the lengthening shadow of the pines. Philip and Chad sat waiting. Her face was very serious, but when she looked up the sadness was gone.
“This is no time for subterfuge,” she said. “I do want it as soon as possible.”
Chad, realizing that a momentous decision had been reached, was ready for a change of subject. “Let’s go home. I’m hungry.”
“Oh, we should,” said Eleanor, looking at the sun now low in the west. “I’m afraid we’ll be late for supper.”
They started down the gravel pad. As they passed the church door Eleanor turned to Philip. “Come and see our little ‘church in the wildwood.’ The door is never locked.”
They walked reverently into the cool sanctuary and stood in silence at the altar. The setting sun shone in through the plain glass windows and lighted the three faces with its glory. Philip slipped to his knees and drew Eleanor down beside him. There, in the quiet of that sunset hour, two who had learned
obedience through the chastening hand of a loving Father thanked Him from full hearts for His love and faithfulness and laid their lives on the altar in service for Him.
Then with little Chad walking between them, they turned toward home. Service and love were ahead of them, and God would lead the way.
Copyright 1950, 1978 by Harriet Buttry
Moody Press Edition, 1992
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
All Scripture quotations, unless noted otherwise, are from the King James Version.
ISBN: 0-8024-4688-4
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America
To the young men and women of our
Bible schools and seminaries
who go forth to carry the gospel of salvation
into the Sherman Streets of our great cities
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1
Another day … and another chance … and if I don’t find work today I’ll start home tonight. “Oh, dear God, please help me to find a job and a place to stay. I just … can’t go home!”
With a deeply drawn breath that wavered in spite of her effort to hold it steady, the girl buried her face in the pillow and drew her coat closer about her shoulders. In the other corner of the rest room of this large railway station the young mother who had come in during the night was preparing to catch an early train. In the washroom other women and children were hurrying about. Of course they were hurrying! They were all going some place, and their trains would soon be leaving. In a minute she must get up and join them and give the impression that she, too, had to catch a train. Oh, if she only did! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know where you were going and to have someone waiting for you at the end of the trip? To really belong some place where folks loved you and wanted you?
It was more awful than she had dreamed it could be, to live as she had been doing for the past three days. If she had heard of any other girl doing such a thing she would have been disgusted and shocked. Yet the events of the past week had happened so unexpectedly and so swiftly that she had had to do something, and this was all that occurred to her. Sleeping in railway stations was certainly not a thing to be done by the kind of girl she had always thought herself to be, and she had a horrible fear all the time that the ever-present attendants would discover her secret —that she never caught a train at all but just pretended to be stopping over, so that she could sleep on the comfortable couches of the rest room. She had not dared to stay at the same station twice, and even in this great city there were only a few such rooms as this, where she could check her suitcases in the locker and get a real rest. If she did not find a room today she would have to go home.
Maybe that was what she was ordained to do. Surely the circumstance of losing her job and her room both in one week was such an unusual one that it must have been decreed by fate. None of it was of her planning or even her fault. She never had liked Mr. Skeen, that assistant department manager, but she had not had any trouble with him. She had hardly spoken to him and certainly did not know he was the kind of man who would act as he had done last Monday when he had come in and found her alone working overtime. Ugh! She became sick even yet when she remembered how startled she had been when she turned from her desk and found his smirking face close to hers and his clammy hand on her arm. She could still hear his grunt of astonishment as she gave him a shove that landed him in the wastebasket. Before he could get up she had snatched her purse and fled from the room. As the elevator door had clanged behind her, she had heard the office door bang but had reached the street without pursuit and caught a bus at once. What a mess! She had thought that such things did not happen to good girls. But she had not been to blame; she knew she had not. And if it happened once it could happen again. There might be danger of finding such a man in any office. What should be done?
Who could have thought up a more improbable coincidence than to have had to leave her room at Mrs. Moon’s the same night. Of course she could have stayed, but who would want to after finding the landlady’s daughter rummaging through her suitcases and dresser drawers? Who would have dreamed that a room in a hotel or the YWCA could not be found for even one night? There had been nothing to do but go to the station, and she could not stay there indefinitely—work must be found first, and then a room, that the threatening prospect of a return home might be dispelled.
Hope Thompson, don’t be a baby! You know you don’t want to go home today … or ever! So up and at it. You have to find a place today.
She came from the washroom twenty minutes later, looking as if ready for travel, and joined the stream of humanity that was pouring from the train sheds toward the long ramp that led to the street above. Waiting on the sidewalk for the streetcar that would carry her to the heart of the city, she breathed again her waking prayer, “Please, God, help me to find a place to stay. I just can’t bear to go home.”
At the employment office Hope sat waiting her turn. For three days she had gone wearily from one such office to another. Several times the placement women had wanted to send her out on a prospective job. Each time Hope had been reluctant, and another had been sent instead. How could she ever dare to go into an office again to work? Some strange man might try to kiss her. She could not tell the efficient women at the placement desks about this fear, and she realized that they would not keep trying to help her if she were not willing to go out and apply for work.
The woman at this desk had been more kindly than any of the others, and Hope determined that when her turn came today she would ask if there were any places where the work would be among women only. Just now she felt very definitely and decidedly that she had no use for men!
When her turn came Hope managed, with flushing face and rapidly beating pulse, to state her unusual request. For a moment the woman looked at her in amazement, then her gaze softened. Perhaps she herself had once been a frightened small-town girl in a large city. Perhaps she had enough sympathetic understanding of human nature to recognize that the girl before her was near a complete breakdown. She spoke meditatively, shuffling the papers in the file drawer before her.
“I don’t know—I can’t think of such an office at all. Would you like a place in a dress shop? Have you had any experience in selling?”
“No—but I could try.”
The woman shook her head. “That wouldn’t do. The manager specifically asked for an experienced saleswoman. I’m afraid, my dear, that we haven’t any such place. Won’t you try a large office? We have one place open …” She was interrupted by a girl from a desk in another corner of the room.
“It’s that Henderson girl again. She says they must have someone today, and for you to send out the first person coming in who can boil an egg!”
The woman turned and look at Hope. “Can you boil an egg?”
In spite of her nervousness, Hope laughed. “Yes, I could even boil two at a time without disaster.”
“Would you take a place as a mother’s helper and part-time cook?”
Hope thought quickly. A place as cook would probably mean a place to room also. She was really a good cook, although not fond of cooking. She did like to care for children, and had enough experience of that kin
d to satisfy anyone. It would be a place to stay while hunting for a better job.
“Yes, I would.”
The woman looked through the file drawer again and drew out a card. “Clean—refined—good cook … they don’t care so much about that now, I guess. H’m … a Christian. Are you a Christian?”
The woman looked embarrassed at having to ask that question, but Hope answered quickly, “Oh, yes, I am. I’ve been a church member since I was thirteen. I’ve always been regular in attendance at both church and Sunday school.”
“Well, I don’t see what difference that makes to your employer, but that’s not my business. I’ll fill out this card, and you can go out at once.”
Fifteen minutes later Hope found herself on the streetcar. In her purse was a card addressed to Mrs. Philip King, 1239 West Sherman Street. As she rode along with her purse clasped tightly in her hand, and with her eyes on the streets through which she was passing, she felt a growing sense of panic at the step taken. What had she got herself into? Should she stop now before it was too late and go back and tell that woman at the agency that she must look for another cook for Mrs. King or Mrs. Henderson, or whoever it was that wanted a person to boil eggs? No, she could not do that. The agency people would not try further to help her. They would be too disgusted with her for being so fussy. Her only alternative was to go home, and she did not want to do that. As long as she lived she did not want to go home—not even for a visit.
The district through which she was passing was a shabby one. The high buildings and busy streets of the downtown section had been left far behind. This was a region of small factories, run-down frame apartment buildings, small shops with unattractive merchandise in not-too-clean windows, and more taverns than she could count. The houses had no yards, and the front doors opened onto small porches leading directly to the sidewalks. Some of the yards were three or four feet below the level of the walk, and by the dingy curtains at the windows Hope deduced that people lived in these basement hovels. How terrible it all was! She had heard of slums and thought that they probably were somewhat like Mrs. Moon’s rooming house, which had been one of a long row of brick flat buildings on a side street where the smoke of passing trains got on the curtains and where the children often played in the streets because the backyards were full of drying clothes. But this was so much worse that Mrs. Moon’s neighborhood seemed to her, as she looked back on it, like a pleasant, homey suburb. How could anyone live here? And why should anyone in this community be wanting a cook? For she was now nearing her destination. Sherman Street was only a block south of this car line, and the next street was where she would get off.
Not My Will and The Light in My Window Page 27
