Not My Will and The Light in My Window

by Francena H. Arnold

  It was useless to argue with him, so Hope did not try. When she wrote, she filled her letters with news of the Institute and left personal matters out. Each letter from Stan was full of fresh assurance and plans.

  Went to the country today. Would you like to live on a farm? I’m no farmer, but you are, and you could do the plowing and corn husking while I plied my trade as a banker.

  And—

  Would you rather live in a chicken coop or in an abandoned root cellar? Those are the only things I can find that aren’t occupied. I think we could be very happy in either. I would always try to see that you got the best root or the most comfortable roost.

  And one day—

  I’ve found it! It’s an old house just at the edge of town. It doesn’t look like much now, but when we get it remodeled it will be a honey. We have just been practicing all these months at the Institute. When we turn our talents and abilities loose on our own home the world will see something! How’s the hope chest coming?

  In early June Billy’s parents came back to the city, and a week later the trustees met at the Institute to decide just what was to be done with the buildings. The next morning after devotions, Phil and Eleanor laid a plan for the summer before Hope.

  “This is going to be no place for queens and princesses this summer,” said Phil. “That fire was just what was needed to start a big ball rolling here. The trustees decided yesterday to make us completely over. The church is to be cleaned and redecorated above, the basement remodeled for the nursery and kindergarten. (I can see Billy’s fine Spencerian hand in those plans.) The old barn is to be made over for the carpenter and machine shops. This house will have a new furnace, and the second floor will be an apartment for Billy and Ben and a convalescent ward for Ben’s patients. Benny really wasted no time in getting on the good side of his prospective father-in-law! Katie and Tom’s apartment is to be moved to the third floor, and the basement will become the household arts department. Isn’t that better than we dared dream even on New Year’s Eve?”

  “How can we work with so much building and changing?” queried Hope.

  “We won’t be able to do much. Romilda will keep the nursery open, with the help of some of the big girls. The rest of the work will have to be discontinued until fall. So I’m discharging you two girls for the summer.”

  As the realization of his meaning came to her, Hope’s face showed her dismay. Eleanor hastened to reassure her.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Hope. I have another place for us. Chad and I are going home for the summer, and we want you to go with us.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t! Your mother doesn’t know me, and—”

  “No, but she knows about you, and she needs help on the farm during the canning and harvesting season, and she asked me to bring you.”

  “Could I be of use? Is there work enough to keep me busy?”

  “Indeed there is. I’ve seen the time when Marilyn, Connie, Mary Lou, and I were all of us busy as bees, to say nothing of Mother and Mrs. Hunt. Mother will keep you busy enough to satisfy you, I promise you. Now don’t try to think up another excuse.”

  “I won’t. I’d love to go.”

  So on a bright June morning, they loaded into the Kings’ car, Hope and Chad in the front seat and Eleanor with the bags and boxes in the back. Phil packed them in and told them good-bye.

  “I know I don’t need to tell you to drive carefully,” he said to Hope. “You know that you have all my dearest possessions and future hopes in this car. I’m trusting you with priceless treasure. God’s hand is with yours on the wheel. Good-bye, son. Mind Mother, and help Grandma, and have a good time with Sport. That’s all you need to do.”

  He turned to the backseat and leaned through the window to give Eleanor a last kiss. “Good-bye, little mother. Be good and take care of my one and only wife. I’ll be up in August to greet my snub-nosed little daughter—I hope,” he whispered.

  29

  It was good to be in the country again. The clean, fresh air, the smell of the pine woods, the scent of hay fields, the pungent odor of vegetation when the dew lay heavy on it were a pleasant contrast to the smoke-laden air of Sherman Street. Hope had always loved farm life, and she soon fitted into the Stewart regime as if she belonged there. There was a vast difference between her grandfather’s melon and vegetable acres and this large, modern dairy farm. Yet, she was quick and adaptable and soon was at home in any department, helping in the kitchen, the barn, the garden, and the cannery. She could lend a hand with the cleaning and the laundry, or with the care of the patients in the small convalescent hospital that Mother Stewart conducted on the second floor of the big farm house.

  Chad had talked so much of life on the farm and told so many stories about the members of the family that Hope felt she knew them before she reached the farm. She was at home among them at once. Mother Stewart was all that Hope had ever dreamed of in the way of motherhood. Mary Lou was shy and quiet, but responded quickly to Hope’s friendly manner, and the two became close friends as they worked together. Before Hope had been there a week the entire family, including Marilyn and Bob, who lived on the other side of the orchard, seemed like old acquaintances.

  Hope went berrying with Chad and Mary Lou and Bob’s little Patty. She took small Bobby for rides on her strong shoulders. She helped to get Chad’s old crib up from the basement and cleaned it in preparation for Connie, Dick, and wee Paul. She seemed indefatigable, and Mother Stewart wondered audibly how they had ever got along without her.

  Eleanor, watching her, was glad to see the enjoyment Hope received from every phase of country life. Nevertheless, she noticed also that the shadow that had come again at the time of Billy and Ben’s engagement was still in Hope’s dark eyes. She did not know what had occurred between Hope and Stan before he left the Institute but had known all winter that Stan was much interested in this strange and temperamental girl and guessed that their relationship had reached some crisis. Loving Hope as she did, and sensitive to her every mood, Eleanor prayed much during those summer weeks that the barriers that seemed to hold Hope back from happiness would be swept away. Eleanor could do nothing but pray, for when she tried to draw near to the girl and offer the help that was needed, she was met by the same wall of reticence that had always been between them.

  Hope herself, while enjoying this vacation from the city’s noise and heat, had not left her problems behind her. When the day’s work was done and they gathered on the front porch for a restful hour before going to bed, she found herself out of tune with the family fun and fellowship. As always, she was an outsider. Eleanor tried to draw her into the group, but she would usually plead weariness and slip away to her own room where she would lie and think of the happy group she had just left and wonder what it would be like to really be one of them.

  She would picture Eleanor and Mother Stewart together in the swing, and the old surge of bitterness would come to the top again. Anyone who had such a mother as that all her life, a mother who just overflowed with love, couldn’t help but be happy. She loved Eleanor and certainly did not want her to lose any of the joy that was such an integral part of her, but she herself felt infinitely older and wiser than the lighthearted Eleanor. Hope could not dwell on her unhappiness too long, however, for sleep always interrupted her musings. A new day brought work and pleasant companionship that pushed the shadows into the background.

  A long letter from Billy told of the great improvement in the invalid and of plans for the wedding in the fall.

  Guess it will have to be here at Grandpa’s, for he can’t go to the city and Ben says he won’t wait one day past October first. So Mom and Dad are delivering me over to the jailer on that date, and little Billy will be no more. There will just be Wilhelmina, the Doctor’s Wife. Oh, Hope, I’m so frightened! You just have to come and help me through the ordeal. I can’t do it without you.

  One thing I know. Stan Dykstra is not going to be in the wedding party. Three times he and I have been through weddings toge
ther, and each time he has spoiled it for me. When I was five Aunt Dot was married and I was the flower girl, and just before we were to start down the aisle Stan pulled a thread on my dress. It was a Kate Greenaway dress, and the skirt was chain-stitched on, and Stan pulled the wrong thread. The wedding was delayed while Mom sewed me together and Grandpa spanked Stan. Then when I was eleven Aunt Grace was married, and Stan stepped on my toe and I yelled, “Ouch!” just when Uncle Lee kissed Aunt Grace. No one in the family loved me for a whole week! When Lois and Pete were married I had my first formal. It was an exquisite creation and the pride of my life. Stan stepped on it as we went down the stairs and tore the whole tail off it. Do you wonder that Alyce and Joe thought of eloping and that I don’t want Stan in my wedding party?

  Ben came down for a few hours last night, and we had lots of fun drawing plans for our apartment. Sometimes we agree and sometimes we don’t. If it is over some minor detail that we disagree I give in sweetly, but if I really want my way I just wink at Dad and he sees that I get it. Mom gets some funny ideas in her head, but Dad and I usually come out victorious. Today she was all for having an arch between the dinette and kitchenette. She thinks it will be so nice if Ben can see me frying his pancake. None of that for me. When I cook I want a very stout wall between me and the world so that neither sight nor sound can filter through. Dad saw my distress and told Mother that those old Palace walls were too substantial to be so carved up. So I get to keep my kitchen door.

  By the way, when are you going to put poor Stan out of his misery? You really do love him, I know, for you can’t fool Billy. Why don’t you let loose of all your pride and prejudices and take the plunge? Stan says he is coming up there, if he doesn’t hear from you very soon.

  Hope did not read that last paragraph to Eleanor, though they laughed together over Stan’s clumsy accidents at his sisters’ weddings. Hope could not talk to anyone about her feeling for Stan. It was something to be faced alone, for there was no one who could understand or help. Hope wished she did not have that feeling of resentment about Eleanor’s happiness, for there was something about Eleanor that seemed just made for comforting others. Many times Hope had almost broken down and sought the shelter of that friendship and love that was ready for her, but the wall could not be so easily removed. Since coming to the farm, Hope had been drawn to Mother Stewart and wished she could confide in her, but the reticence of years tied her tongue, and she tried to push her problem into the background and fill her days with work that would help her to forget self.

  The receipt of Billy’s letter, with its threat of Stan’s arrival in person, put an end to Hope’s evasion. She had to decide now what was to be done. She must either say yes to Stan or say no so decidedly that he would believe her and leave her alone. She could not say yes, much as she longed to, for she could not, would not cheat Stan. He was too good and fine to have anything but the best in life, and she could not give that to him. Her first love had been given to another, and now that that love had gone she did not trust any other. Nor could she be sure, either, that she could face the things life might bring to her. Even Stan’s wealth could not be insurance against trouble or illness or sorrow; when these came she might fail to stand under them. It was much better to stay in the shell of reserve she had built around herself than to go outside and risk the possibility of more disappointments.

  “I’m a coward,” Hope acknowledged to herself, “but I can’t help it. Life can be terrible, and the more happiness you have, the more you can lose. I’m not taking any chances!”

  30

  For two weeks the weather had been intensely warm. Even the nights had brought little relief. The sun had shone day after day with an almost furious zeal. The men working in the fields had to rest during midday and work far into the night to avoid sunstroke or heat exhaustion. Each day they hoped for rain and saw the hours pass without it. The first cutting of hay was all baled and in the sheds, the corn had been cultivated for the last time, the small grains, ripened early by the intense heat, had been threshed, and the fields of stubble lay bare under the hot sun.

  “If we don’t have rain soon,” said Bob, mopping his forehead as he stopped by the well for a drink, “the corn will be ruined. The leaves are badly curled now. I don’t see how this drought can last.”

  “In Elijah’s time it didn’t rain for three years and six months,” said Mary Louise comfortingly from the window of the shed where she and Hope were preparing tomatoes for canning.

  “Well, here’s hoping we won’t have to wait that long!”

  “We won’t,” said Mother Stewart calmly. “It’s fixing for a storm now. I can tell by the feeling of the air. When it comes it will be a real one,” she added with the wisdom of experience.

  She was right. That night they were awakened by the sound of wind. Hail followed and then rain. It seemed that the floodgates had been opened, and all the waters of heaven poured forth. When morning came, the barn lots were lakes, the cement road was a mere ribbon between two miniature rivers, and the sloping drive had become a cascade of muddy water. All day it rained, and all night, and then another day. Bob reported that the creek at the back of the lower pasture was out of its banks and rising steadily.

  “The old bridge will go if the creek rises much more. If it weren’t on that high spot it would be under water now. It can’t last if the water rises to its floor. The current is too strong for those old pilings.”

  Still the rain fell. That evening Phil drove in for a weekend with his family and reported that in many places the highways were under several inches of water. In some few spots they had been closed to traffic.

  By the next afternoon the rain had ceased, though the skies continued leaden. Mother Stewart and Mary Louise drove into town for some groceries, Hope had gone with Bob and Marilyn to see how some young stock fared in a distant pasture, and the Kings had the farm to themselves. It was a welcome bit of home life to them after their separation. Eleanor and Phil sat in the swing with Chad perched on the porch rail nearby. There were many bits of news that were interesting—the progress of the remodeling, the condition of the kindergarten without Billy, the number of new babies that had arrived, the state of the gardens, and many other items. Chad listened for a while, then when the conversation swung to a discussion of summer school at the college and became too involved for his understanding, he slid from his perch and started around the house.

  “Don’t go away, son,” said Eleanor. “We are going over to Uncle Bob’s to see the new twin calves when the folks get back.”

  “Okey doke! I’ll be on the back porch.”

  It was half an hour later when Eleanor and Phil were startled by the appearance at the steps of a white-faced little figure. It was Patty, breathless and sobbing. They sprang up, and Phil stooped to question her.

  “Oh, Uncle Phil, hurry! It’s Bobby—on the old bwidge. Chad has gone to him, but he says for you to come quick!”

  At the realization of the child’s meaning Eleanor caught her breath sharply. Phil spoke quickly.

  “Where is it, Len? Can I reach it in the car?”

  “Yes—oh yes!”

  “You stay here—I’ll go to them,” commanded Phil.

  “No, I must go,” cried Eleanor, and in spite of Phil’s protests, she climbed into the backseat with Patty. As they drove, Patty, grown quieter now that she had unloaded her responsibility onto older shoulders, told her story.

  “Daddy told Bobby that after we’d had our naps we’d go to Berry’s over on the back road and get us a puppy. Then Daddy and Mother left us in bed and went to see about the calves. When I woked, Bobby was gone. I came to see if he was with Chad, but he wasn’t. We looked and looked an’ nen we saw him way off by the bwidge. We ran after him, but he kept going, and Chad sent me after Uncle Phil. There’s so much water.”

  “You did right, honey,” said Eleanor through white lips. “Here, Phil, turn into Bob’s yard. We go out through his back lot and down the old road there. It would be
a mile and a half at least if we went by the highway, and we haven’t time!”

  Phil swung the car up to the side door. “Patty, you wait here for Daddy, and when he gets here send him down to us as quickly as he can come.”

  As the little girl ran to the steps the car sped through the gate and started down the gravel road that led along by the hay field. The car lurched and swayed over the ruts and occasionally skidded in a muddy stretch, but not once did Phil lessen his speed. It seemed an interminable distance to the fringe of trees that marked the creek’s banks.

  As they came at last in sight of the bridge, an anguished moan broke through Eleanor’s white lips. “The bridge is gone! Oh, dear Father, where are our boys?”

  Then in a quick gasp, “Oh, Phil! There! Among the willows!”

  The car slid to a stop, and Phil was out, jerking off his shoes even as he stepped from the door.

  “I’ll have to swim for them. You be ready to give me a hand from the bank when I get back. And pray, little mother, pray!”

  The old bridge was broken in two. The end closest to them stretched out into the waters that swirled around its pilings, but the other end had been pulled loose from the shore and floated downstream several rods to a clump of trees that had caught and held it. It was still upright, and its planks formed a raft to which clung two small frightened boys, while around them the muddy water boiled and churned.

  Phil slid from the bridge and started across the current. In ordinary times he could have waded the creek. Now its swift flood, filled with all sorts of debris, appalled him. He was a strong swimmer, however, and the first trip across was made quickly. As Eleanor watched him, she knew what he had to do. Bobby must be brought back first for he could not be trusted to wait alone. She prayed both for the little lad who must be left behind on the unsteady raft and for the man who had the difficult task of bringing a three year old across that rushing stream. It was not easy to persuade Bobby to forsake the boards that to him represented safety or to get him to cooperate in the hard swim back. But he had been taught obedience, and slowly but surely Phil and Bobby drew near to the waiting Eleanor. With her mind on Chad waiting alone back in the willows she ran to the broken end of the span and reached for Bobby. Phil clung to the side and gave Bobby a boost that enabled Eleanor to draw him up beside her. Phil turned quickly for the trip back to the raft, and, with a reassuring wave to Chad, Eleanor turned to take Bobby back to the car so she would be ready to help Phil when he should return with the older and heavier boy.