Not My Will and The Light in My Window (16 page)

At length she paused. “That’s all.”

“You know what this means?” he asked regretfully.

“Yes, I know.”

“I am very sorry—I never had any idea—” he stammered, at a loss for words.

“If you feel sorry for me because I am losing the money,” Eleanor said quietly, “don’t bother. I don’t care about it at all. Other things are much more important. If I have to sign any papers or anything, I’ll do it now.”

Mr. Hastings arose and went slowly into the inmost room, while Eleanor waited listlessly. Her head ached, and her hands were cold and numb. She wished all this were over so she could go to bed and rest, rest until she wasn’t tired anymore.

Carrying a bundle of papers, the old man returned. “This is the entire file of papers,” he said. “I will have Miss Cox prepare them, and if you care to wait you can sign them after lunch. Completion of the formalities, however, will necessarily await your birthday, ten days from now.”

Mr. Hastings leafed through the documents again, then started at the sight of an envelope that had slipped into the folds of a larger paper.

“The sealed envelope!” he exclaimed.

“What is it?” asked Eleanor curiously.

“Here,” he said, handing her the envelope, “is something your aunt gave me a week before her death. She instructed me not to open it but to keep it for you in case you had reason to claim it. I had forgotten about its existence until just now.”

Eleanor glanced with some interest at the envelope, which bore in a dear, familiar handwriting the words “To my niece, Eleanor Stewart, in case she marries before her twenty-fifth birthday.”

Wonderingly Eleanor tore open the missive, while Mr. Hastings looked on with interest. Eleanor read in a low voice:

Eleanor had become deadly pale. She handed all the papers back to the old gentleman, saying unsteadily, “I don’t understand.”

“I do,” he said with a smile. “You are to be congratulated. Mrs. Edwards has surprised both of us. Instead of forfeiting the inheritance through your earlier marriage, this letter will give you all the property, with your Aunt’s blessing.”

“I … could … have … had … the … money … anyway,” Eleanor said slowly to herself as the enormity of the situation dawned upon her.

“It’s yours—every penny of it!” said Mr. Hastings.

“But I don’t want it!”

Mr. Hastings looked amazed. “Don’t want it?” he repeated uncomprehendingly.

“I never want to hear of it again!”

“Well, I can understand that you are reluctant to profit from any grief so great as that of the death of your aunt, but I believe that in time you will realize that it will be the wisest course for you to take the money and put it to good use in education, travel, and so on.”

“Mr. Hastings,” said Eleanor, her fingers gripping the edge of his desk, “please understand me. My husband is dead. His death was brought about by a misunderstanding concerning this inheritance. The money has brought nothing but a curse into my life. I won’t have a penny of it. I won’t!”

“Miss Stewart!” Mr. Hastings exclaimed in alarm. Eleanor’s voice was rising hysterically, and she was trembling from head to foot.

“I tell you I won’t take it! Take it away! Take it away!”

Calmly, soothingly, Mr. Hastings spoke. “Please sit down, Miss Stewart. We won’t discuss it any further now. We can wait until after your birthday to settle everything.”

“But if I don’t want it, I don’t have to—”

Miss Cox tapped lightly on the door, then opened it. “Mr. Hastings, the man from Hurley’s is here. He can’t wait and wants to know whether you can spare him just five minutes immediately.”

“I’ll see him. Will you excuse me, please, Miss Stewart?”

Mr. Hastings disappeared into the outer office. The new will still lay on the desk, and as Eleanor glanced at it, a quick resolution took shape in her mind. Reaching across the desk, she seized it, then glanced at the closed
door through which Mr. Hastings would be returning soon.

Hurriedly she picked up her purse and stepped through another door, which she thought must lead directly into the hall. It did, and when a few minutes later Mr. Hastings returned to his office, he found it empty and the will gone.

“Miss Cox!” he called. “Did you see Miss Stewart leave?”

“No, I didn’t.” Miss Cox came into the office with alacrity. “Is she gone?”

“Disappeared, taking with her a most important paper. I wonder if I should try to follow her.”

“If I were you,” Miss Cox remarked gravely, “I’d leave her alone. She looks as though she could go crazy any minute.”

“Yes, poor child, she does,” replied the old gentleman. He stepped out into the hall and looked anxiously about. He heard the elevator door closing several floors below and realized that already Eleanor would be mingling with the crowds on the street. He turned back to his office and seated himself at his desk with a troubled air. “Well, I’ll just wait and see if she will communicate with me in a few days. I’ll save this letter that her aunt wrote. It may be useful if she should lose that will.”

The next morning’s mail brought a note from Eleanor. It read–

I
t was dark when the big bus stopped in front of the farmhouse. “Here’s your stop, ma’am,” said the driver, then went back to help Eleanor with her bag.

As the bus drove away, Eleanor took a long look at the house that was her destination before she started up the path. Lights from the windows shone cheerily out across the new-fallen snow, and Eleanor thought,
This is how it looked to Chad when he used to come home from school in the winter.

Picking up her suitcase, she started picking her way along the snowy path leading to the front door.
This isn’t the way we planned it!
she thought bitterly.
We were going to come home together, but now …

Climbing the porch steps wearily, Eleanor set her suitcase down and pushed the doorbell. Hearing footsteps approaching, she steeled herself as if for a blow. This would be hard, but she must atone somehow.

The door opened, and there stood Connie, Chad’s dark-haired, pretty sister.

“I’m—” Eleanor began but was interrupted.

“Why, we thought you weren’t coming! Do come in out of the snow, and I’ll call Mother.”

Connie led the way into a warm, comfortable-looking room and said, “It’s so cold out that you must be chilled through. Sit there by the radiator and get warm.” As she spoke she slipped Eleanor’s coat from her shoulders and propelled her toward a big armchair. Then she excused herself and went out, returning shortly with Chad’s mother.

“Miss Elder, I’m sorry we weren’t looking for you,” said the latter, extending her hand cordially. “When you didn’t come on the noon train we thought you would wait until tomorrow. But your room is all ready.”

Eleanor’s head was beginning to reel with exhaustion, and she longed to be taken to a room—anyone’s room—where she could lie down. But this mistake must be cleared up

“Oh, you’ve made a mistake,” she gasped. “I’m not Miss Elder. You weren’t expecting me! I’m … I’m …”

She faltered, then glanced from the mother’s perplexed face to Connie’s, her eyes finally resting on a third person who had just entered the doorway—grave-faced little Mary Lou.

Mary Lou’s blue eyes opened wide. Her face lit up with a sudden smile, and she came slowly forward, saying, “Oh, I know you, I do! Mother, don’t you know her? She’s Chad’s Ellen!”

At the sound of the beloved name which she had not heard for many weary months, Eleanor’s control began
to leave her. The lump in her heart began to break up, and for a moment she feared she would cry.

But Mrs. Stewart came toward her and said with a sob in her voice, “Mary Lou is right. It
is
Chad’s little friend. Oh, my dear, you don’t know how glad we are to see you!”

She put her arms around the trembling girl and drew her close. Eleanor drew a long, shuddering breath at the kind touch and the loving tenderness in Mrs. Stewart’s face and let herself relax momentarily. Then, remembering her errand here, she stiffened again. Mrs. Stewart let her go and looked keenly into her face.

“Why, you’re a sick child! Now you’re going to lie down while I fix you something to eat. You haven’t eaten, have you?” she said as she saw protest rising in Eleanor’s face.

“No—oh, no, don’t, please! I can’t. I just want to talk to you, and then I must go!”

“You may talk to me, but you may not go away,” corrected the older woman gently. “You are ill, I can see that. You’re not fit to travel.”

“But I can’t stay, and after I’ve talked with you, you won’t want me to. Please let me tell you—”

“Now, now, we won’t talk just yet. You’re going to lie down and then eat. Girls, take Ellen’s bag into Chad’s room.”

Mrs. Stewart led Eleanor through a hall into a typical boy’s room. She removed her little coat, then drew up a small rocking chair as she said, “Since supper is almost ready, perhaps it would be better for you to eat first and rest afterward. But sit here and relax a bit while I go see to things. We are celebrating tonight. Marilyn,
my daughter-in-law, is coming to the table for her first meal since her baby was born, and we are making a party of it. If you would like to wash, there is a bathroom just next to this room.”

She started out the door, then returned and, stooping, kissed the pale forehead, saying softly, “This was Chad’s room, my dear, and it has been waiting for you for a long time.”

Left alone, Eleanor looked around the little room with misty eyes. On every side were keepsakes that had belonged to Chad. Oh, she was so tired—why not let go and rest here in this room where Chad had lived before? Perhaps he would come back if she slept here.

But determination struggled to get the uppermost place in her mind. No, she must not! She would not sleep again until she had told these kind people her story. Then they would hate her. Perhaps God would accept that as part of her punishment and forgive her someday.

“I’ll tell them now!” With difficulty Eleanor dragged her aching body from the rocking chair. Stepping into the hall, she saw a light at the end of the passage.
That must be the kitchen,
she thought and started in that direction.

Pausing to steady herself before she entered, Eleanor took a long look at the occupants of the kitchen. Connie and Mary Lou were hurrying about helping to prepare the meal. Marilyn, looking weak but happy, was sitting in a big chair with Bob perched on the arm, his arm around her shoulder. The mother was standing at the stove with her back to the door. Just as Eleanor was about to enter the kitchen to make them all listen to her story, Mrs. Stewart spoke with a shaking voice, and her words caused her unseen listener to stand electrified.

“Children, I know how you feel. It’s true, all that you say of her. But remember, Chad loved her! I’ve prayed for her every day since he—left us, and now God has sent her to us. I can see that she needs us, and we are going to receive her as one of our own. She is our own. It will break my heart if any one of you fails to do for her all that you’d do for Chad if he were here!”

Connie and Mary Lou threw their arms about her, assuring her of cooperation, while Marilyn wiped her eyes and Bob said huskily, “All right, Mother, if you say so. After all, if Chad loved her, she could not be anything but all right.”

“Thank you, my dears,” smiled the mother, tears running down her cheeks. “Now I’m going to—”

Eleanor waited to hear no more. She turned and fled to her room. She couldn’t face them now. If they would get angry with her she could tell the story, but kindness would kill her.

In the drawer of the night table she found a pencil and some paper and wrote hastily: