Not My Will and The Light in My Window (6 page)

“I’m yours, all right,” she said, smoothing the golden waves of hair back from his brow. “But I was never called a Naiad before.”

“I’m glad of that. No one else should have the right. But let’s see what else Scott says about you.

“Hm, he meant you, sure enough. He was just born a century or so too soon. He was a mystic and had a vision of futurity and saw you in it.”

She laughed at his nonsense, and he continued to read.

“Hm, that doesn’t fit. I’ll have to doctor it a bit—‘raven’s wing’—no, it has to be altered. I’m not very good at poetry—but wait a minute. Ah, here it is:

Eleanor gave him a push that tumbled him over backward as she cried, “I am
not
red-headed.”

“Not red-headed? Well, what are you then?”

“Just … just …
almost
red-headed,” she admitted with a laugh. “And if I’m Ellen of the Lake, who are you? Fitz James?”

“Not on your life. I’m Malcolm, the guy who got the lady. Don’t you remember the end? Poor Malcolm was chained to Ellen for life by the king’s necklace! And if
his
Ellen were half as sweet as mine, he didn’t want to ever be unchained. Ho-hum, it’s almost eleven o’clock. Come on, Almost-Red-Head, let’s call it a day.”

From that night on, Chad seldom called her anything but Ellen, and when they went back to the city, the little volume of Scott went with him.

E
leanor had thought that they would spend the summer at the university, going to the lake for the short vacation between terms. But in early May, Professor Nichols began to talk of a trip East to do some work with a Dr. Kinsolving at the Xenia Laboratories.

“And of course I want you to go with me, Miss Eleanor,” he informed her. “You are my second pair of eyes, and in that way you can keep on with the illustrations you are preparing for the textbook.”

For the first time Eleanor began to question the advisability of her impulsive marriage to Chad. She was eager to go East with the Professor and take advantage of the opportunity of working in the wonderful Xenia Laboratories, but how could she leave Chad? Every time she saw him he was dearer, and she was sure he would not want her to leave him for the summer. She pondered
long over this weighty problem, but it was solved for her in an unexpected way.

One evening when Eleanor met Chad for dinner, she immediately perceived that he was troubled. As they sat at the table, he handed her a letter from home. She read—

Chad took the letter away from Eleanor again and placed his big hand over her smaller one. “Listen, Ellen,” he said pleadingly, “I just have to go to Mother. She needs me. Old Bob is probably worrying himself into a fever over all this. But I can’t think of leaving you here alone.”

Ellen laughed. “Why, I stayed alone last summer, and it didn’t worry you.”

“I didn’t know you then,” he corrected her. “But somehow I remember a sort of dissatisfied feeling all last summer. That must have been why.”

They both laughed, then Chad’s face resumed its serious expression. “Ellen, won’t you go home with me? You’d love it. They’d all love you, and in spite of Bob’s illness we would have a wonderful summer.”

“Chad, how could I?” she cried. “We’d have to tell we’re married.”

“I know it, honey, but that wouldn’t hurt, would it? I can’t leave you behind, and I can’t stay here when they need me.” Chad’s face brightened. “Let’s do away with this secrecy and tell the whole world,” he suggested eagerly. “If the old professor wants to fire you, we’ll struggle along somehow.”

Eleanor was touched by the longing in Chad’s voice. But she knew a reason, of which Chad was unaware, why their marriage must remain a secret. So studying intently the pattern in the tablecloth in order not to see the pain she knew would come into her husband’s eyes,
she said, “Oh, Chad, we can’t! Please don’t tempt me with any more descriptions of summer on the farm with you. I’m having an awful time trying to be wise and sane for both of us. We would enjoy the summer, but there would be a price to pay later. Remember our work, dear.”

“Lovely lady, you’re right as usual—but what will you do here alone all summer? That’s what I don’t like.”

Drawing a long breath, Eleanor looked up into his troubled face. “Fate seems to have taken care of that problem. Professor Nichols has decided to go East this summer to do some work and wants me to go along and help him. I don’t want to go and leave you, but now it will be all right. He really does need me.”

Chad demurred again. “It still isn’t right,” he argued. “After all, we are married, and those weeks apart will be endless. Now if only Mother didn’t need me …” he mused.

“But she does need you, dear, and Professor Nichols needs me. We’ll both go where duty calls us, do our work well, and look forward to a happy reunion in the fall. We can write often, and the time will pass quickly.”

“It will drag, and you know it,” Chad said emphatically. “But you are right about duty and all that.” Then his eyes flashed as he continued, “Some day, Ellen, I’m going to take you home with me—and I hope it won’t be long.”

“And I’ll go gladly and proudly, dear,” she replied. “But just now we have a goal—a worthwhile one—to work toward. Some day we’ll tell the world!”

At the railroad station, when it was actually time for Chad to leave, Ellen’s resolution almost failed her. Together
they stood in the middle of the great waiting room, and Ellen tried to think of the bright, casual things she had prepared to say to Chad. But they were all gone. Instead, a little voice inside was whispering to her.

“Speak the word,” it said. “He could still buy you a ticket and take you with him. He doesn’t want to go without you. Think how nice a whole summer with him as his wife would be. Think of his family, waiting to meet you. Speak the word, and when the train pulls out you’ll be sitting beside him on the seat. Just say, ‘Chad, let’s—’”

“Chad, it’s time to go,” Ellen almost screamed, to drown out the maddening little voice. “Good-bye, darling. I’ll see you in the fall.” Choking back the tears that were threatening to come, she drew his head down and kissed him, gave him a push through the gate, and almost ran from the station.

A
fter the first pain of separation had worn off, Chad was genuinely glad to be at home again. He had missed his family more than he had realized. It was good, too, to be active again in the outdoors, after two years of confining study, and it was good to know that by keeping the farm running he was contributing to the rapid recovery of his brother.

But, along with the joy of reunion with his family, there came to Chad an uneasiness about the state of his own soul. So many things about the farm reminded him of his idolized father, who combined care of souls and bodies in one ministry of healing, and who talked freely to his two sons about his ideals for manhood as he busied himself at farm tasks between calls on his patients.

Driving the tractor across the fields one sunny morning, Chad pondered one statement of his father’s that kept recurring to his mind: “A man isn’t fit to be a
doctor who can’t doctor souls as well as bodies. Sometimes if you cure the soul, the body will take care of itself.”

“If Dad were here he’d say I’m not fit to be a doctor, then,” Chad told himself. “My soul certainly needs some doctoring before I can do anything for anyone else’s. I couldn’t even take care of the soul of a … a cow! All the folks here think I’m wonderful, but if they only knew the spiritual mess I’m in!”

One event after another drove barbs into Chad’s tender conscience. On Saturday night Bob seemed troubled. “What’s the matter, old boy?” Chad asked him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“You could, but I don’t know if you would,” replied Bob hesitatingly.

“If it’s within my powers, I promise it in advance.”

“Well, it’s my Sunday school class that I’m concerned about at present.” Bob smiled at the look of dismay that crept over Chad’s face. “You asked for it, remember. Will you teach it for me until I’m back on my feet?”

“I promised—and I will. But I fear I can’t do a very good job of it.”

“You’ll have to get the Lord to show you how. I couldn’t teach them at all if He didn’t map out everything for me in advance.”

Late that night Chad’s head was bent over his Bible and the quarterly.
But,
he thought,
the Lord isn’t showing me how. Bob must have a better acquaintance with Him than I have.

On Sunday afternoon Connie said, “Chad, I have charge of the meeting tonight, and just for a little variety, how would it be if you took fifteen minutes or so to
tell us country young’uns about mission work in the big city, and about some of the big churches you have visited there?”

“Mission work?” Chad asked blankly.

“Yes, you know—some of the well-known rescue missions, neighborhood houses, or wherever you’ve been. We’d like to hear about it,” Connie said eagerly.

“Con,” said Chad with a show of assurance he did not feel, “I’ve never been to any of them. They really work us at school, you know. As for big churches, I’ve visited a few, but that was a long time ago, after I first went down there, and I couldn’t describe them very well now.”

“Oh, all right,” replied Connie in disappointment. “I suppose you
are
busy. But if I were right there in the same city, I’d make time to see some of the things people are doing for the Lord.”

Chad retired behind a book he had picked up from the table and did not answer.

Mary Lou was Chad’s faithful follower all through the day, devoting to him as much time as she could squeeze in between her little household duties, always faithfully performed. Even when he struggled at night over the family bookkeeping, Mary Lou sat at his elbow perfectly quiet, now and then patting his arm or running to get him a sharp pencil at his request.

One day she stood in the barn watching him milk. He looked up to see a troubled expression on her face.

“What’s the matter, Susie?” he said. “All the troubles of the world dumped on your little gingham shoulders?”

“There’s something that’s bothering me,” she replied seriously, “and I wish someone would help me.”

“Suppose you tell Brother,” he suggested. “If it’s what to name the kittens or whether to make your doll’s dress pink or blue, I’m not sure I can help you, but I’ll try.”

Mary Lou smiled. “It’s nothing like
that.
You’re so funny sometimes. This is something the minister said that I don’t understand.”