Not My Will and The Light in My Window (29 page)
Read Not My Will and The Light in My Window Online
Authors: Francena H. Arnold
Quickly Eleanor sketched out a plan in her mind. As soon as her classes were over she sped to Dr. King’s office and excitedly confronted that startled young man.
“Dr. King, I know you will be surprised at my coming here like this, but I had to ask you an important question,” Eleanor began. “Would you still like to find a full-time nurse for the baby?”
“Sit down, Mrs. Stewart,” came the cordial invitation. “Yes, I certainly would. Lorraine is definitely not improving in health, and unless she gets more rest she will never gain strength. I am … much concerned about her.” Dr. King walked to the window and looked out.
In a moment he turned back. “Have you any suggestions as to a nurse?” he asked briskly.
“Yes—myself,” smiled Eleanor.
“You?”
“Yes. Don’t look so incredulous, please. I meant it. Would I do?”
“Why, yes,” came the answer in delighted tones.
“You would do admirably. But how do you have time to take on a responsibility like that—and, if I may ask, why do you wish to?”
“As for the first question,” began Eleanor, “you know I don’t really need the credits on all the classes I am enrolled in. I could drop everything except Bible, which I do need in order to graduate. Surely your maid could care for the baby during that hour every day. Then all the rest of the day I could care for him, and Mrs. King needn’t be worried at all.”
“This sounds like a direct answer to prayer.” Dr. King smiled. “But why have you made this sudden decision?”
“The truth is,” said Eleanor, her clear eyes looking straight at her questioner, “I need the money. Mother is ill and needs a very expensive operation, and this was the only way I could think of to earn extra money to contribute. And you know I love to care for the baby. I believe I could get him to eat—to bring his weight up to normal. And I have hopes of erasing his tantrums from the scene.”
Dr. King sat in thoughtful silence for a moment.
“May I try?” persisted Eleanor.
“You certainly may,” he said finally, in a tone of relief. “I believe that the Lord is answering our prayers through you. Lorraine is nearly worn out. So shall I tell her you will come?”
“Yes. I’ll come today if you want me.”
“Fine!” The brown eyes beamed. “Come in early this afternoon and find out all about what there is to do. I can’t tell you anything about that—you know fathers are rather stupid when it comes to naps and formulas and understanding children in general.”
“Not all fathers,” Eleanor could not resist remarking. Then, lest she appear rude, she quickly said, “Thank you so much. This means a great deal to me.”
“Thank
you,
Mrs. Stewart,” said Dr. King, rising to open the door. “Not every baby is as privileged as ours—to have an eminent botanist for a nurse!”
Eleanor laughed, and they parted. Then she hurried to her room, took out her writing materials, and wrote:
Dear Bob:
Today I am stepping into the role of big sister and am asking you to let me have my share of the family responsibilities and burdens. If Chad were here, he would want to do whatever he could in any family crisis. Won’t you please let me take his place now?
A little bird—if birds wear pigtails—told me of Mother’s illness today. Why didn’t any of you mention it before? You probably didn’t want to worry me. I could scold you. But that’s not why I’m writing so quickly.
I know that the operation and nursing care, plus extra expenses for help at home, will cost a great deal of money. At one time I could have paid for the whole thing outright. I can’t do that now, but I intend sending—if you will let me—as much money as I can spare each month until this thing is all behind. I may be able to send as much as a hundred dollars a month.
Here is the reason why—I’ve got a job! I am to take care of the King baby full time now, and they will give me room and board and fifteen dollars a
week. Part of this, plus Chad’s insurance checks, can now come to you. Will that make it possible to have the operation? Please, please tell me the truth. For if it still isn’t enough, I have another plan.
Please don’t object to this, Bob. Make Mother see that I must do it. I feel that God has definitely provided me with this opportunity to help.
Let me know all about Mother. She is so dear to me that I get shaky every time I think of her being ill. If you need me in person, I’ll come and bring the King baby with me.
Love to all,
Len
Eleanor walked briskly back from the mailbox and straight up the steps to the King apartment. There lay Lorraine on the sofa.
“Eleanor Stewart!” she cried joyously, sitting up with sudden energy. “This is too good to be true.”
“I think so too,” smiled Eleanor. “I’m going to enjoy it, I know.”
“You’re a direct answer to my prayers,” continued Mrs. King. “Last night I was so discouraged I felt I simply couldn’t go on another step but would have to go home to Dad and my sister Edith, who would take care of the baby. But I don’t want to leave Phil! So, all alone in the middle of the night, I knelt down and asked God to send someone I could trust with the little chap. And He sent you!”
Eleanor sat down cross-legged on the floor beside the couch where Mrs. King lay and said, with a squeeze of the thin hand that had reached for her own, “Mrs.
King, God answered both our prayers. I need the work, and you need my help. I am sure that He planned it. Now if you’ll just tell me what is expected of the fulltime nurse to His Royal Highness, I’ll try to get settled before His Majesty wakes up.”
By the time Little Chap awoke from his nap, all the instructions had been completed and Eleanor was ready for their walk in the park. She walked into the nursery smiling. The Little Chap laughed in glee and held out his arms. She lifted him and held him close for a moment before she spoke. “Let’s go for a walk now.”
The air was cold, so Eleanor tucked several robes around the little boy before starting off. As she did so, the blue eyes met her gaze with a loving, trustful look.
“You adorable little laddie!” she exclaimed. “You surely have changed! When I first knew you, you were a screaming little skeleton. Now you look like a sweet baby. Soon I’ll have you walking around like a big fellow. Do you want to do that?”
The baby laughed and bounced up and down with eagerness to start.
“All right, we’re going,” said Eleanor, beginning to push the carriage down the street. “And by the way, angel boy, do me a favor, will you?”
The blue eyes looked around in uncomprehending amusement.
“Just when we’re alone,” said Eleanor with a catch in her voice, “may I call you little Chad?”
A few days later the mailman left Eleanor a letter from the farm. It was addressed in Mother’s handwriting. Eagerly Eleanor tore open the envelope, then held
the letter on her lap and tried to read while she fed the Little Chap his breakfast.
Dear daughter:
Your letter came yesterday, and that you may know that you really belong to us and have a part in our burdens as well as our joys, I want to tell you first that we didn’t even argue about accepting your help. Your check, with what we have in the bank, will take care of the hospital bills nicely, and the money you can send each month will pay for a woman to take my place here in the sanitarium until I am able to work again. I couldn’t refuse it, dear, for I had left the matter in my Father’s hands and told Him I would follow as He led. So I accepted it as His leading.
Bob and I drove to Woodstock last night and made arrangements for me to enter the hospital Friday. The operation will be on Monday. Don’t worry, dear. I am not fearful. I know the surgeon. He is an old friend of my husband. And I have great confidence in him. But better than that, I have absolute confidence in my heavenly Father, and I am sure that all will be well. Connie will keep in touch with you.
I know you are happy in caring for the Kings’ baby. The experience may be trying for you in some ways, but if you are convinced that you are following the Lord’s leading, there is no other thing to be done. God will bless you, I am sure, and as you give loving care to the little boy who needs it, somehow and someplace your own little one will be cared for too.
Write me often, dear. Your letters will cheer my hospital room.
Love,
Mother
Eleanor’s heart was reassured. Mother was in God’s hands, and He would care for her. As she went about her work—cooking the baby’s cereal, sitting by him as he played, tidying up his room and putting away his clothes, taking him out for an airing—her heart was lifted almost constantly in prayer, yet there was no real anxiety. Whatever came would be all right because it was God’s will.
Monday morning while the Little Chap banged with his toys in his playpen, Eleanor and Mrs. King knelt together in prayer for Mother and for the surgeon whose hand would perform the operation. Together they waited through the hours until a messenger boy brought the telegram, “All is well.” Then together they wept for joy.
Lorraine King had learned many hard lessons during the months since her baby’s birth. She had been a sincere Christian for many years, but life had been easy and she had never had to learn how to lean on One stronger than herself for constant help. But when the storm clouds piled high in the heavens, when the winds of adversity blew strong, she learned to cling close and ever closer to her Rock of Safety and had found in Him comfort and strength. Trial and testing had refined her, and the pure gold of her character shone through all the weakness and pain that handicapped her frail body.
No wonder her husband worships her,
thought Eleanor.
I almost could myself.
As the weeks flew past and the Little Chap grew
strong and sturdy under Eleanor’s loving care, he learned to toddle about on his own chubby legs. Gradually Eleanor came to have more and more time to devote to Lorraine, relieving her of the oversight of Nellie, the maid; reading to her; running errands—and gradually taking over the full care of the house as well as the baby. For it was evident to the anguished eyes who watched her that Lorraine was not getting better. Rather, as spring came on, she grew weaker, and the agonizing heart attacks became more frequent. Often it was suffocating for her to lie down, and Eleanor knew that many nights Philip sat all night with Lorraine cradled in his arms. He never complained but frequently he arrived at school with dark rings under his eyes, and he lacked some of his old jaunty self-confidence as he went about his teaching and his institute work.
His indifference to the Little Chap infuriated Eleanor. She wrote one day to Mother:
I still have an “almost” red-headed temper, I fear. I had hoped it had rusted thoroughly through disuse. But P. K. has revived it. Mother, why should any man dislike his baby? I believe sometimes that he would like to let himself go with the Little Chap—that he finds himself loving him in spite of himself—but he seems to draw back willfully. The Little Chap will toddle across the floor and hurl himself at the honorable P. K.’s legs, calling, “Daddy, Daddy,” and for a few minutes P. K. seems to enjoy it. Then he will deliberately disengage the little arms, put the Little Chap in his playpen without saying a word, and proceed to forget that he exists. Perhaps I
oughtn’t judge him so harshly, for I myself have much to be forgiven. But I can’t understand it.
It isn’t jealousy. As much as Lorraine loves the baby, he never comes between her and Phil for a minute. She enjoys the Little Chap all day, but when it is time for Phil to come home, baby and I do a vanishing act and those two almost forget that anyone else exists.
I am glad, though, that they enjoy each other’s company. For I fear Lorraine will never be strong again. The doctor said recently that there was no
immediate
danger—but I don’t like what that word implies.
Did I tell you what my newest name is? It is Miss Honor. Nellie, the maid, calls me Miss Eleanor, and last week the Little Chap began calling me Miss Honor. It amused Phil and Lorraine so that he repeated it, and now I am Miss Honor all the time. I have more names than I need—while that poor baby has none. When I’m alone with him I sometimes call him Chad but won’t allow myself to do it often. No more heartbreaks, if I can help it.
Love,
Len
T
hrough the daintily curtained open window the scent of blooming lilacs came into the room where Lorraine lay still on the bed. Several weeks ago was the last time she had felt able to sit in the big easy chair. Now when the hours of pain came, she was propped up in bed with pillows. Her eyes were shadowed and full of pain today as she watched the Little Chap toddling back and forth in his play. For several days she had insisted on his playing in the bedroom as much as possible, and Eleanor’s heart ached for both the mother and the child—the mother knowing that separation was coming soon, and the child not knowing.
Sensing Eleanor’s unvoiced sympathy, Lorraine finally said softly, “Eleanor, you have been like a dear sister to me this spring. Somehow I know that you understand. It must be because you’ve suffered too!”
“Yes,” came the halting reply, “I have suffered, and I
have found help in my suffering. I know that His grace sustains you too.”