Not My Will and The Light in My Window (20 page)

Then came the story of the trip to church on the Sunday after Thanksgiving. “I haven’t any idea who that preacher was,” Eleanor declared. “But I’m sure God sent us there that day, for I never had a minute’s peace from then on until I told Chad everything. But that was after we came home. It must have been a shock to him, but he didn’t scold me. He did try to show me the right way, and I know he was praying all the time that I’d decide to tell the truth and trust God for the future. That last night—oh, Mother, how can I tell it?—he kissed me good-bye and went to the lab. I know now that he went there to pray. And even while he was probably on his knees in prayer, I decided against the right way. I determined to keep the secret and get Aunt Ruth’s money. That was the night that—oh, it hurts so, Mother—he … never came back!”

The mother dropped her sewing from her lap and gathered the weeping girl close. For the first time that she could remember, Eleanor knew the comfort of a mother’s arms, and from that haven she sobbed out the rest of the story.

“I did make him glad at the last, for I put on his ring and told him we’d tell everyone at once. But when he … went … I thought God had turned His back on me. So
I changed my mind and put the ring away. The day of the funeral I couldn’t even look at you for fear I’d collapse and tell the whole story.”

Fumbling for a handkerchief, Eleanor wiped her eyes, drew a long breath, and resumed her tale. “Even when I knew the baby was coming, I wouldn’t give in. I can’t tell you much about that time, for I don’t remember. There’s a sort of haze over it all. I went to the cottage and hired a dear Swedish woman to live with me, and it seemed as though Chad were there too. I still remember how close he seemed, and how I could even talk to him. I wasn’t unhappy at all. It’s hard to believe it was just a year ago.”

Noticing that Mother Stewart’s eyes were growing misty, Eleanor hesitated for a moment, but at the quiet words “Go on, dear,” she obediently continued.

“This—oh, this is the hardest of all, Mother. I know that Chad is with the Lord, and even though I blame myself for his death, I can’t grieve too much knowing how happy he is. But oh, Mother—how can I go on without my baby? How could I ever have done such a thing? I ask myself those questions over and over and realize I must have been absolutely out of my mind!”

“Why
did
you do it, dear?”

“I don’t remember very well. I remember thinking he would burden me and keep me from going on with my work. It wasn’t money, for I had all I needed. I could have placed him in some home until I finished school, but my mind was so unsettled I couldn’t think at all. Oh, if I could do it over again!”

Her voice was broken, and her hands were twisting the already-wet handkerchief into knots. Mrs. Stewart
feared the effect that this emotional outburst would have on her, yet knew Eleanor would not be at ease mentally until she had poured out this great heartful of trouble she had kept to herself so long. Praying for wisdom, the older woman continued. “Tell me about him, dear. What did he look like? How large was he?”

“I don’t know much. I wouldn’t look at him. The nurse said he weighed ten pounds, so he must have been quite large for a baby, though he seemed tiny. I don’t remember ever really looking at his face,” she repeated dismally. “He wasn’t strong, you know. The doctor was worried about him at first, but by the time the man … took him away, the doctor said he was all right.”

“How did you arrange the adoption?” Mother Stewart asked in forced tones. Her heart ached for the girl, but her own grief was about to overwhelm her.

“The doctor did it. I only made one requirement—that the parents must be Christians. I must have thought I was making a concession to Chad—I don’t know. I wanted to get it all over with and get back to school. They took him away, and I never kissed him once!”

For some time they sat in silence. Then, thinking the story concluded, Mother Stewart began to speak, but Eleanor interrupted.

“Let me go on. There’s only a little more. I want to be done with it. When I did go back to school, I was tormented with trying to remember Chad’s face. The harder I tried, the more hazy it became. Then I got to thinking of the baby, and finally I couldn’t study or concentrate on anything. I think the dean has told you how my schoolwork went to pieces. I began to blame Aunt Ruth and you for it all. I blamed Auntie for making my
marriage difficult, and you because your influence made Chad feel as he did about it. At last things were so bad I thought I would go crazy if I couldn’t feel near to Chad and see his face again. I thought, if I confessed to my lawyer and you, that God would do something for me—perhaps give back Chad’s memory.”

On hearing about the trip to the lawyer’s office and the discovery of the second will, Mrs. Stewart sympathized with Eleanor.

“I think something gave way in my brain when he read that,” Eleanor said. “I was sure I was out of my mind. I felt driven by demons. I destroyed that will, then I came here, and you know the rest. Mother, why
did
you care for me, and how
can
you be so good to me, knowing all I’ve done?”

Mrs. Stewart drew a long breath, then took one of the thin, trembling hands in her own as she said, “I did it because I loved you. We all love you. I’ve prayed for you every day since Chad’s funeral. Your face that day told me you needed prayer. And as I’ve prayed, I’ve grown to love you until you are now as one of my own, and I never intend to let you go.”

“But I did such awful things,” Eleanor protested.

“God has forgiven you,” Mrs. Stewart pointed out soberly. “Am I to judge when He forgives? The things you did were wrong, certainly, but not too great for Him to pardon. And your own sorrow has been too great for me to add to it by censure. But I want to say one thing, dear, and then we will close the subject forever. Don’t blame yourself too much. You didn’t really know what you were doing when you gave the dear baby away. If you only had had a mother or sister with
you, she would have kept you from doing that heartbreaking thing. But God comforted me when I learned about the baby that night you came here, and He will comfort you. Though we cannot be with and care for your little son, He can. You and I will be in constant prayer that he will grow to be a good man, one who will serve and honor the Lord all his life. So even though separated, we can do much to shape his life.”

“Mother,” exclaimed Eleanor, her face brightening, “that helps me so much.”

The only sounds in the room were the music of a bluebird on the bough outside the window and the clatter of pans from the kitchen where Mrs. Hunt bustled about.

Mrs. Stewart placed her hand over the thin one that was lying on her knee and said, “Len, every sorrow or pain that comes to us can be used for God’s glory. If we grow bitter or rebellious, the suffering has been in vain. But if we learn from it sympathy and forbearance, it can become a blessing that will bear fruit for Him. You have given your life to Him to use as He sees fit. Let Him take all these things also and bless you through them. You have a long life ahead of you, dear, if God wills, and in spite of the sad past it can be a happy one.”

“You believe strongly in prayer, don’t you, Mother?” asked Eleanor, running her finger over the pattern in the sofa.

“Indeed I do! You yourself are a proof that God hears and answers. I asked Him to send you, and He did.”

“If I ask Him to give back my baby, do you think He will do it?” There was a note of hope in Eleanor’s voice, and Mother Stewart hesitated before replying.

“I can’t say, dear. He will if it is best. But perhaps the baby is in a place where he will be cared for better than we could do it. Perhaps it isn’t God’s will to bring him back. Those other parents love him, too, you know. I can’t say what God will do, Eleanor, except that He will do what is best for everyone concerned. We will just pray that His will may be done.

“Now you’re going to rest while I help Mrs. Hunt get the trays ready for the folks upstairs. Then you and I will eat at the little table in the south window.”

When Mrs. Stewart left the room, Eleanor arose and walked slowly about, happy to be on her feet again. On the piano she found a picture of Chad’s father. For some minutes she stood looking into the tired, kind eyes, then said softly, “You’re like my Chad. I’m glad you were there when he got Home.”

By its side was a photograph of Chad, which Eleanor decided must have been taken at the time he graduated from high school. This young boy, however, bore such little resemblance to the man who had been her husband that Eleanor turned away with a sigh.

As soon as I can, I’ll go to the cottage and find a picture I like,
she thought.

Eleanor’s eyes fell on the piano keyboard, and, as though motivated by a sudden remembrance, she seated herself and began to feel out a tune uncertainly. When Mrs. Stewart returned she broke off playing and asked, “Mother, what is this tune? Do you know it? I can’t remember where I have heard it before, but all the time I’ve been getting better it has been running through my head.”

“My dear,” said Mrs. Stewart, “I sang that tune to
you for about two hours the night we were afraid you wouldn’t live. That was the only thing that would quiet you.”

“Oh, won’t you sing it again now?” Eleanor begged. “I’ll play for you.”

The rich tones went directly to Eleanor’s heart once more, with their message of peace and trust.

As they ate the tempting lunch Mrs. Hunt brought in, they talked of many things. Little incidents Mother Stewart related told Eleanor much of Chad’s happy background. She heard, too, of the night when the doctor dad left them and Mary Lou was born.

“We never realized how bad my husband’s heart was,” commented Mrs. Stewart, “although I knew he worked too hard. Dr. Leigh kept advising him to stop and take a long rest, but he felt he was needed, and wouldn’t. Then came that evening. He went out on a call and got caught in a snowstorm. Before he could get home the car stalled, and he walked about two miles through the deep drifts to get home to me—knowing that Mary Lou was expected at any time.

“As soon as I saw his face I knew he was ill. It was a terrible night. The telephone went out of commission. So I sent Bob and Connie together to the next farm to get help. Chad stayed with me. The neighbor’s wife put her children to bed and came with her husband as fast as
she could. But they were too late. The baby was born soon after, but Daddy was … gone.

“Chad told me once that it was that experience that made him decide definitely to be a doctor. He had thought of it before, but after that night he knew he could do nothing else.” Tears were in Eleanor’s eyes as she finished.

“At first I thought I would die, too,” continued Mother Stewart, “but I had to live for the children. The road has been hard and lonesome, but God has given me grace for each day, and He has given much happiness too. He never makes the burden too heavy, and He has taught me the meaning of real joy. It is something that goes deep into the heart and has nothing to do with outside circumstances.”

“I hope the Lord will find me as ready to learn as you have been,” said Eleanor humbly. “He has given me a big advantage to start with by placing me here where you can teach me. Will you let me stay until I learn how to go on alone?”

“Let you stay!” exclaimed Mother Stewart in surprise. “Why, you are my own daughter now, and this is your home. You are to stay until you want to leave—and I hope you won’t ever want to do that.”

After lunch Eleanor tried to help clear away the dishes, but found her hands too weak to be trusted. So she lay on the couch again. When Mrs. Stewart returned from the kitchen, Eleanor said, “There’s one thing we’ve forgotten to talk about. Even though I am your daughter, I’m going to pay my expenses here. Please, Mother, don’t object, or I won’t feel that I belong. I know that doctors and nurses and medicine all
take money, and if you’ll tell me what it has cost you, I’ll write a check. I can’t pay for the love and care you’ve given me, nor for the kindness of the girls and Bob, but I can pay the other bills, and I must.”

“Can you afford it, Eleanor?” Mother Stewart asked in surprise. “Remember, you will have no money from your aunt’s estate.”

“I know that. But since Auntie died I’ve seldom spent all the monthly income she left me. I was paid for working with Professor Nichols at the university, and I never had time to be extravagant. Then my father and mother left some stock that pays me about twenty-five dollars a month, and Chad had life insurance that pays fifty dollars.”

“Chad had life insurance for you?” exclaimed his mother in surprise.

“Yes, he took it out just as soon as he got back that fall. He said he had sold his colt to get the money.”

“God surely led him there,” mused the mother. “We wondered what became of the money he wanted more than his precious colt.”

“I have the cottage and farm, too,” Eleanor added, “but they just about pay for taxes and upkeep. If I really need money, I can rent the cottage. It is a lovely place.”

“Don’t worry about it now,” instructed Mrs. Stewart. “Just rest and grow strong. You may pay your bills and help here as you see fit. You are a part of the family, and we all work together. What we want most now is for you to feel that you belong.”

“I do already,” returned Eleanor gratefully. “No one could want to run away from such a place. I’ll write to the university tomorrow and have them send my trunk.”

“It is here now.” Mrs. Stewart smiled.

“Really!” exclaimed Eleanor in amazement. “When did you send for it ?”

“When you were sick. It is in the back hall. Bob will move it into your room for you anytime you want it.”

“Oh, I’m so glad! Maybe he can move it tonight. Chad’s Bible is in it, and I want it.”

“Now,” said Mrs. Stewart, rising and going to her desk, “there is a letter here I want you to read, but I am going to help you back to your room first and leave you alone while you read it. You need to rest before the girls get home, for Mary Lou will probably be so full of her trip that she will be all over the house talking to everyone at once.”