Not My Will and The Light in My Window

Not My Will

The Light in My Window

A
lex and Jean Stewart stood by the playpen and, with arms about each other, watched the determined efforts of the tiny girl inside to reach the ball that had rolled away from her. She could not crawl, but she reached and wriggled and hunched herself toward it with a great effort. Inch by inch she struggled, panting with exertion until at last, when she had achieved her desire and held the treasure in her dimpled hand, she was too tired to play, but fell asleep instead with a smug little smile on her face.

The two watchers laughed at her efforts and cheered when she won. Then, as they looked at the little sleeper, Jean said, “Isn’t she a persistent mite? She is that way about anything she wants. She worked all during her ride this morning to catch the Tinkertoy that I had hung on the hood of her carriage. But she finally got it.”

Alex smiled proudly at his tiny daughter, then sobered at a sudden thought that came to him. “I hope she won’t be like her aunt Ruth,” he said with a note of pain in his voice.

His older sister Ruth had been a laughing, lovely girl, dear to the hearts of her parents and younger brother. She had a sunny disposition, and the old home echoed to the laughter of the brother and sister. During those years Alex Stewart was sure that whatever Ruth did was right. Now, looking back from the vantage point of later years, he realized how much she had imposed on his boyish affection and the strong love of her parents. When she had set her mind to a course of action she would willfully pursue it, “against wind, tide, or flood,” her mother used to say. And the remonstrances of her parents, and the frequent punishments that came her way, were equally unavailing. At eighteen, against the pleadings of her whole family, she had married a man unworthy of her.

For fifteen years now Ruth had borne with a bitter, unbroken spirit the results of her willfulness. Her husband had been dead several years, but his influence on her life remained. She was still attractive and could have married again had she wished. She had money enough to have permitted her to live a life of varied interests and pleasures. But the bitterness of her spirit poisoned her entire outlook. The sins of one man had aroused her contempt for all men. The energies that should have been used for good were consumed in hatred and scorn, and the laugh that had once been so gay was now cynically sharp.

And so a tone of regret crept into Alex Stewart’s voice as he admitted that baby Eleanor, even in such small matters as lost bottles and straying balls, seemed to partake of the determination of Ruth Stewart Edwards. He brushed back a soft golden ringlet from the baby brow and spoke again.

“A strong will is an asset if rightly used. Ruth could have become a beautiful woman—probably a happy wife and mother all these years—if she had used that will in a better way. I don’t want to
break
Eleanor’s will, but it’s going to be a job to control it!”

Jean, the wife and mother, straightened the blanket over the little one and, as they turned away, said in a tone of quiet faith, “We must pray much for our lovely baby, that the heavenly Father will guide her and give us wisdom to train her.”

Before the little playpen was exchanged for a walker, however, a short trip away from home ended in a tragic railroad accident, and baby Eleanor was robbed of both parents.

Aunt Ruth was the only relative left in the world to care for the mite. At first she was appalled at the task that confronted her of rearing the little orphan. But the heart that had thought itself closed forever to affection opened slowly but surely to the touch of baby hands, and soon Aunt Ruth was lavishing upon this delectable little morsel of humanity all the pent-up love of her intense nature. She began to plan and dream again—she who had thought her dreams were all past. She was glad now for the wealth that had only burdened her before, for with it she could give Eleanor every opportunity that she had once desired for herself. This baby was hers—all
hers—and she would mold and shape the young life in the way she desired it to be, and no one would tell her no!

Then began the struggle that was to last more than twenty years. And yet, despite the clash of wills, there was strong mutual love between the little girl and her aunt. The sore and bitter heart of Ruth Edwards attached itself fervently to the orphaned child, and she poured out the accumulated affection of her childless life on Eleanor, who returned in full measure all her devotion. Ruth learned to play games with Eleanor; they worked together over difficult arithmetic problems; they laughed over amusing incidents at school or at play.

And they fought. Not with angry words or loud disputation but with strong determination on both sides. Of course, when Eleanor was tiny, Aunt Ruth usually had her way, and the clashes were rare, for so great was her love for this little girl that she crossed her only when necessary. And when Eleanor did set her heart on the nice, bright red penny candy in the store window, Auntie took away the sting of refusal by buying a whole box of delicious and expensive chocolates. However, there were several memorable clashes that left both participants really ill.

One never-to-be-forgotten struggle came when Eleanor was in the first grade and sat in front of a redheaded, toothless, and altogether fascinating little boy named Jackie Dennis. Jackie was entranced by Eleanor’s bobbing brown curls and showed his devotion by small gifts of gum balls and pencils, and one day he presented her with a ring he got for a penny at the school store.

The little gilt ring precipitated a crisis, for when Eleanor arrived home from school that afternoon she
proudly displayed it to Aunt Ruth and made the startling announcement that when she grew up she was going to marry Jackie Dennis. She was totally unprepared for the storm that descended upon her head.

“You must never think of that boy again. You must not walk to school with him anymore; you mustn’t even speak to him,” Aunt Ruth commanded.

“I will if I want to,” replied the stubborn little girl.

“You
must
not.”

“But I
will
.”

This struggle lasted for weeks and was still going when school closed. But it was pushed into the background by the fun of leaving the big city for the cabin in the woods to which they retired each summer.

In September Aunt Ruth had a surprise for Eleanor. They were not going back to the big house on the boulevard. Aunt Ruth had bought a beautiful new brick bungalow in the suburbs. One of the very nicest things about it, Aunt Ruth told Eleanor, was that Mike and Mary, the couple who served as handyman and cook, would live by themselves in an apartment over the garage, thus leaving the two of them living alone together. “And that’s what we’ve always wanted, isn’t it, dear?”

To Eleanor the new home was almost as good as fairyland. The lawn was lovely and green and the garden full of flowers. There were big trees with many kinds of birds, and inside the house Eleanor had the prettiest little room all to herself.

Of course, Eleanor had to go to a new school. She had been living in the new home a whole month before she realized that Aunt Ruth had won and she wasn’t seeing Jackie Dennis anymore. Then she was furious.

“I’ll run away,” she resolved. “I’ll find my way back to the boulevard and find Jackie and go live with him forever and ever.”

But before she had time to carry out her plan, Aunt Ruth gave her a bicycle, which she very much wanted, and in the fun of learning to ride, her anger faded. She met new playmates at school, too, and with so many new and engrossing interests to engage her attention, Jackie’s red hair and gum balls were at last forgotten. But a bit of resentment lay in her heart.

Then, when Eleanor started high school, she met Dale Truman. The freshman class was planning a Halloween party in the gym, and Dale asked Eleanor to attend with him. In delight she came to Aunt Ruth.

“Aunt Ruth, our class is going to have a Halloween party in the gym, and the nicest boy, Dale Truman, asked if he could take me to it. May I go with him?”

Her heart sank as she read her aunt’s face even before she spoke.

“No, Eleanor, I do not think it would be wise. If you would like to have some of your girlfriends in for a Halloween party at home, you may.”

“But, Auntie—”

“Now, Eleanor, you mustn’t try to argue. Auntie knows what is best for you,” she said with a disarming smile.

“I don’t care. I want to go. All the girls are going, and lots of them are going with boys. I think it’s mean!”

“We won’t discuss it any further,” said Ruth Edwards, setting her lips in determination.

That night Eleanor sobbed out her disappointment into her pillow. Suddenly she remembered something
she had not thought of in a long time: a little boy with his front teeth out, looking in vain for her at school. The long-buried resentment flamed up. She was naturally a straightforward child, and although very determined in her efforts to achieve her desires, she had always struggled openly and fought fairly. Lying in bed, with her cheeks wet with tears, she looked back over many incidents of her childhood and realized that most of the lovely toys and delightful trips had been bribes.