Not My Will and The Light in My Window (55 page)

Slowly things grew better. The yellow and black signs disappeared. Then, one morning in the middle of March, Billy, with happy face, greeted her little charges as they were brought in. The Institute was open again!

T
he coming of spring is a time of joy and hope even when there are few trees or shrubs to signal it. There is always the sky overhead, no matter how dreary the lateral view may be. Even through the murky air of Sherman Street the freshness of spring was borne in on the breeze. The buds of the trees in the big yard grew fat and soft, and Billy broke off branches to show her little folks how leaf babies live and grow. Hope’s girls raked the dead leaves off the borders, and for the first time in their lives saw tiny flower spikes push their way through the mold to turn green in the sunshine.

True to his promise, Stan had trimmed the vines and shrubs and was watching the soil in the garden for just the right time to begin spading. Eleanor drew a chart of the garden, marking it off in plots where the older boys and girls could each have a bit of ground for vegetables or flowers. At one side a long strip by the fence would provide a place for the kindergartners to plant some beans, carrots, and zinnias and watch them grow.

Chad was at home again, and his parents watched him with love-filled eyes. He was puzzled by Patsy’s absence but accepted Eleanor’s explanation without question. Billy’s parents lingered in South America, and Billy stayed on in the tower room with Hope. The hardships and sorrows of the winter were past, and to the seminary students who came back after the quarantine was lifted, the Institute seemed the same. The residents of the Palace knew that things were not the same, however.

Phil and Eleanor both showed weariness and strain from the ordeal through which they had passed. Phil was working long hours overtime to make up the work at the college that had suffered from his absence. Eleanor let Hope and Billy take over much of her Institute work and spent more of her time working on the textbook that was overdue at the publisher. At Phil’s insistence Dr. Ben took a vacation and went to Florida to rest for a while and to build up his depleted energies.

“You have to do it, Benny,” Phil said. “Even a doctor has his limitations, and you’ve been out of bounds too long. Get going!”

They all missed him more than they had thought possible. It was strange how the absence of one quiet young man who was always busy and seldom at home could change the atmosphere. Hope and Billy worked industriously with their charges, carrying on dependably and thinking that things would soon settle back into the old routine.

The biggest change was in Stan. All during the epidemic he had labored at Ben’s side, not sparing himself nor counting the hours. With Sam as a faithful shadow he had climbed stairs, carried meals, tended feverish, suffering men, and even scrubbed floors. Through it all he had never lost his cheerful buoyancy, and his smile was a tonic to them all. It was a matter of wonder to them now to see his sober face as he worked alone or sat silently on the hall seat with Riley draped across his shoulders. Hope felt he must be grieving because Billy would not marry him. Yet they had not quarreled she knew, for they often had long talks together in the evening, after the Institute was closed. Perhaps he did not like the city now that spring had come, or perhaps he was becoming weary of his labor with the boys, or homesick to be back in the smaller town where spring would be more beautiful than on Sherman Street.

Even old Sam noticed his abstraction and spoke of it.

“You ain’t sick, are you, Stanny?”

“Nope.”

“You ain’t worried about nothin’, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You thinkin’ ‘bout what I said, Stanny? You under conviction?”

“No!”

“Well, I jes’ wondered. I been prayin’, so you’ll be comin’ disregardless.”

“Oh, shut up!”

Sam looked hurt as he turned away, and Billy, meeting him in the doorway, spoke reprovingly to Stan.

“Shame on you, pal. He only wants to help you.”

“Help me what? I don’t need any help.” And Stan picked up Riley from the workbench and stalked away.

The kitten was the only one who failed to be disturbed by Stan’s moodiness. To him life was one long day of joy, and he tumbled and romped through the Palace and Institute to the delight of all the children. He padded after Stan as he worked and did not appear to notice that his idol no longer laughed and teased him as he had formerly done.

When Ben returned looking brown and rested after two weeks of sunshine, he tried to get Stan to go home for a while, but that idea was ridiculed. No one could understand the change in the lad. All they could do was to pray that whatever was troubling him would be cleared away.

“The troubles of youth are such poignant ones,” said Eleanor to Phil, “and I long to help them bear them. But how can we help if we don’t know where the trouble lies? I’d like to show every one of our youngsters how God can take every hurt and sting and make it into a beautiful memory that brings blessing through life’s long years. Each one has to learn that for himself though.”

“Yes,” he answered, “that’s one of the saddest things in human history. You can’t pass over your experience to the fellow behind you. Even if we knew Stan’s difficulty, we couldn’t promise him a cure. There is One who can. We’ll have to leave it to Him.”

Then one morning a catastrophe struck. Riley had followed Stan from the house and had lingered to play in the driveway. A passing dog spied him, and bounded through the gate to indulge in the age old game of dog chase cat. In panic Riley fled into the street. Stan heard the dog’s bark and hurried to his pet’s rescue—too late. A mail truck, turning the corner, had struck the fleeing kitty and tossed him in a broken heap against the curb. Stan, with
white face and trembling hands, carried the limp little form into the shop and handed it to Sam.

“Won’t you bury him, Sam? I can’t. If anyone asks for me, tell them I’ll be back later. I don’t feel so good.”

That evening as the girls were doing the dishes, Ben and Stan sat at the table in the alcove. Stan seemed even more depressed than usual, and they felt that his mood was due to Riley’s absence. Indeed, it had been hard for all of them to enjoy their meal without the frolicsome little chum who was accustomed to sharing it with them. Each of them, as he rose from a chair or opened a door, found himself looking carefully to avoid stepping on Riley. Then, as the realization that he would not be in their way any more would come to them, there would follow a period of silence as their sick hearts tried to accept the truth.

“I didn’t know a cat could leave such an emptiness behind it,” said Hope as she picked up the saucer that would not be needed tonight.

“I didn’t either,” said Billy with a suspicious catch in her voice. “He was such a loving little soul.”

Ben, in a tone that implied that he was offering comfort, said, “Do you think that even such an unusual cat as Riley had a soul? Isn’t that going a little too far? After all, he was only a cat.”

Stan gazed at him in speechless shock, then burst forth, “How do you know about cats? What’s a soul, anyway?”

Ben shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t say, I’m sure. I was just asking
you
.”

“Well, just because you were never able to find one when you and your fellow butchers carve folks up, you think there isn’t such a thing. How do you know Riley didn’t have a soul? Just what is a soul, I ask you again?”

“Old Aristotle said it was the essence of whatness. I can’t do any better.”

Billy spoke up hesitantly. “It’s so queer to think of Riley being gone. I don’t know
where
he went, nor
why
God made him to be loved such a little while and then be gone. It makes me all the gladder that God has provided something
sure
for us. Death is a real enemy, but we won’t have to meet it alone.”

“You’re right,” answered Ben quietly. “All death is mysterious and awe inspiring. I never get used to it. Every time I meet it, I thank God for the One who conquered it for me.”

Stan rose suddenly, pushed back his chair and stalked from the room. Looking after him Billy said sadly, “I’m so sorry for him, and I’d like to comfort him. I don’t know what’s the matter though. It can’t be just Riley. After all, he
was
just a cat.”

Ben, with the memory of the moods and tempers of the past weeks in his mind, spoke. “I don’t think it is Riley alone. I think Stan’s own soul is the scene of a pretty stiff battle.”

After she was in bed that night, Hope thought over that remark. Did Ben think that Stan was disturbed over his and Billy’s friendship? What would be the outcome of this three-cornered romance? She wondered if Billy herself knew which one of the young men she preferred. Was Stan’s depression due to the realization that Ben also loved Billy? Oh, it was a sorry tangle. She wished Billy had been twins, so that Ben and Stan could each have won one of her! She didn’t want either of them to be unhappy.

Hope did not like to think of the changes that would inevitably come when Billy made her choice. If she chose Ben, then Stan would leave, and with him would go the spirit of fun and camaraderie that had made the Institute so jolly last winter. If she chose Stan, both of them would leave, for Billy had said that Stan would have to go back home ere long to help his father, who was not well. The Institute would never be the same again. What would the kindergarten be without Billy?

Hope did not want things to change. In fact, she did not like the way they had already changed and wished Stan would get over his moods and that they could swing back to the good fellowship of the holiday season. She realized, as she looked back to it, that she had been happier then than at any time since she was a very little girl. With Ben and Stan both loving Billy, she had not been afraid of them and had learned to accept them as brothers. That awful sense of fear and insecurity had left her, and she had learned to enjoy life and be her normal self in this wonderful place to which God had led her when she had called to Him.

Oh, she could not bear to have it all changed! Why did men and women have to fall in love, anyway? It certainly caused a lot of confusion and disturbed otherwise happy and peaceful situations. Hope was very sure she would never again do such a thing, being almost glad she had had that experience with Jerry. It was all over now, and she
could not
love anyone else. She would rather stay in this safe place all her life.

T
he Institute had closed for the night. A cold April rain was blowing in sheets against the window. Inside the big kitchen Hope was putting away the last signs of the cooking class that had just left, while Billy, in the alcove, was preparing busywork for the kindergarten class.

“It’s a grand night for a hot drink,” said Hope, putting the teakettle on the stove. “The boys will be in soon, and they’ll be cold and damp.”

“Stan is already in,” said Billy, cutting carefully around a long-eared bunny. “He went upstairs before your girls left.”

“Why didn’t he stop? Is he sick?”

“No, just grouchy. Honestly, Hope, I could shake him! When he grouches he surely does a good job of it. If I were nearer his size I
would
shake him!”

Hope laughed. “Don’t look at my height and heft so appraisingly. Were you thinking of asking me to do it for you? The answer is no.”

“H’m. I think you might. He deserves it.”

“I don’t think so. He’s much too unhappy to be shaken. I feel sorry for him.”

Billy said nothing for a while but busied herself with her scissors. As Hope looked at her, she wished again that Billy would decide which of the boys she loved and would let them all know it. It didn’t seem quite fair to keep them in such uncertainty.
Billy appeared to read her thoughts, for she spoke slowly, clipping away carefully at her cardboard animals.

“I’m sorry for him too, Hope. Things are pretty tough for him just now. You know, it isn’t kind to pamper youngsters the way Stan has been pampered all his life. No matter how much the parents want to, they can’t go along and protect their offspring from every bump in life. A kid should be allowed to develop a few calluses as he goes along. There wouldn’t be so many blisters later.”

Hope laughed at Billy’s vehemence, but Billy went on.

“Stan never had a real hardship in his life until rather recently. Everything he’s wanted has been handed to him on a silver platter. When he graduated from college, his dad gave him a trip to Mexico as a present. While he was down there in the mountains where he couldn’t be reached, his mother died suddenly. He didn’t even get to see her. He and she had been great pals, and he has had a hard time adjusting. His dad would give him the earth and a fence around it if he could, but he doesn’t know a thing about how to handle him. He can’t see that Stan has grown up, and he bosses him as if he were still in grade school. He wants Stan to go into the bank with him, of course, for Stan is his only son and that bank is his—well, his own creation, you might say. I see his point, too, but every man must choose his own career. If his dad would let him alone, I think Stan would like the bank. But he can’t stand being bossed all the time. It’s a mess. In spite of all my crabbing at him, I’m on Stan’s side. I love him, and I can’t bear to see him unhappy. I thought that if he stayed here this winter maybe Phil could help him. But he’s been so cross lately that no one can do anything for him. I’m worried sick about him. I wish my mother would come home!”

Billy’s voice broke, and she whisked away a tear that had fallen on her paper, then got up hastily and said, “Speaking of Phil, I promised I’d look in on Chad about this time. Katie has gone to her sister’s for the evening.”

She was back in a few minutes with her habitual sunniness, all traces of tears gone.

“Chad is asleep at last. He has been determined all evening that he would wait up for his parents and apologize to them.”

“Apologize? What has he been up to now?”

“Plenty,” Billy giggled. “You missed it by not going downtown with me, as I asked you to.”