Not My Will and The Light in My Window (3 page)

The old lawyer glanced with troubled expression at pretty Eleanor, but she hastened to reassure him. “Don’t let that worry you, Mr. Hastings. Auntie and I understood each other. I have a great work to do and shall never think of marriage, I assure you.”

T
he next two years flew happily by. Eleanor might have been lonely had she stopped working long enough to think about it, for she made no friends and few acquaintances. No place on earth offers such seclusion as a great city. In a small town, everyone knows everyone else’s private life and feels free to question and discuss at will. But among the millions of tiny atoms composing the population of a large city, one atom can easily escape notice altogether.

Eleanor chose a university in just such a city. Having been out of school for several years, she was older than most of the students and had little sympathy with the lighthearted frivolity of the average youth about her. Her purpose in life was so compelling, her absorption in her work so complete, that she did not feel at all the currents of campus activities flowing and eddying about her. She was a good student and gave careful and diligent
preparation to all her studies. English, psychology, and math, however, were to her only necessary and uninteresting tasks that must be done as a part of her preparation for her life work. But in the biological laboratory she was in her element and utterly happy.

Old Professor Nichols, world-renowned scientist, author, and teacher, took an unusual interest in her. Professor Thorne, Eleanor’s high school teacher, was a favorite former pupil of Professor Nichols and wrote enthusiastically of Eleanor’s abilities and interest. And the professor, who had long ago abandoned hope of making any real impression on the hundreds of young folks who filled his lecture rooms each day—at night they appeared in his dreams as conglomerate masses of saddle shoes, lurid neckties, and sloppy sweaters—found in her just the assistant he needed to aid him in the great task to which his remaining years were dedicated. He hoped to publish a textbook that would give to future generations the truths he had so painstakingly acquired during his years of study and research. He had longed to find someone to help him—someone who could catch his vision and materialize his dreams. Eleanor, with her skill with microscope and camera, and with her quick understanding, seemed to have been sent to him for that specific purpose. Together they labored in the laboratory or darkroom, often far into the night. He rejoiced over her patience and persistence and was thankful to the kind Providence who had sent him such an invaluable helper.

Still Eleanor puzzled him. “Miss Eleanor, why
do
you work so hard?” he asked one day, watching her flushed face and too-bright eyes bent over the specimen before
her. “Don’t you ever go to any of the—er—functions most of the young people are so enamored of attending?”

“Never,” replied Eleanor promptly.

“I am overjoyed to have you evince such an interest in our work, especially since my own eyesight is growing less reliable all the time. But—er—even if I am half-blind, I am aware that anyone as attractive as you should spend some time in the company of gentlemen somewhat younger than I. Don’t you know any?”

Professor Nichols was surprised by the earnestness with which Eleanor answered.

“No, I don’t know any and, frankly, am not interested. I don’t want even to think about men. I said I would give my life to work, and I will. I always do as I say and always shall!”

“Well, Miss Stewart, I admire your courage and determination, but that is a strong statement to make.” He laid down his work and looked at her intently as he said, “A long life has taught me that we can’t always do as we will.”

“I think we can, if we will hard enough,” insisted Eleanor, adjusting her microscope with precision.

“Even considering that there are forces against which our own wills are powerless?” continued the old man, his eyes keenly upon her.

“For instance?” she inquired coolly.

“Well,” he replied slowly, “there might be lack of money, for one thing. Failing physical powers are another. Or there is … death. Surely your will could not conquer that.”

“Oh, of course I’m not silly enough to think that. But before I chose my lifework I had met death—in
fact, it was one of the signposts on my way. My aunt’s death gave me the inspiration to devote my life to fighting the disease that killed her. Through her death I also inherited the money that will make it possible for me to educate myself for this work. And as for physical disability, I’m not afraid of that for a while. I intend to live quietly, study hard, and keep my mind on my purpose. And I
will
achieve it. I never give up!”

“Well, Miss Eleanor,” replied the professor soberly, “may God bless you in your ambition! I have devoted my whole life to a cause which I considered worthy, but now that I am bested by blindness and age, my prayers will be with you as you carry on.”

Eleanor lifted her head. “Prayers?” she inquired with a smile.

“Yes. Don’t you pray over your work?”

“Why, no. Why should I? I do my best. How could prayer help?”

“Prayer is difficult to explain to one who has not experienced it. To me, the One who framed all these things with which we work, ‘without whom was not anything made that was made,’ is so all-wise and all-good and all-powerful that I need Him on my side. I feel so utterly weak and insufficient when I stand before His wonders that I just have to pray to Him for guidance in my work.”

Eleanor bent over her task in silence for a few moments. Then she spoke, with some hesitation. “I think I understand you, and yet I can’t see it that way. I believe in God, of course. Studying science has made me sure of Him. Such a wonderfully ordered and designed universe never came by chance. I respect His laws too highly to
not believe in Him, but that is as far as I can go with you. Those laws are unchangeable and control everything. I think if I work hard enough I’ll find the ones I need. But,” she concluded triumphantly, “it will take
work,
not prayer.”

The old professor did not reply. The years had taught him that this bright head bending diligently over the table would have to be bowed under difficult circumstances before Eleanor would really understand his meaning. Further words were useless. He merely said gently, “If the day comes when you need help, Miss Eleanor, perhaps it will comfort you to remember that your old professor prayed—not only for this work, but for
you.
”

It had been a long time since anyone had shown any personal interest in Eleanor, and this unexpected kindness touched her deeply. When she spoke there was a break in her voice. “Oh, I do appreciate that, and please don’t think me hard. I’m really not. I do get lonely, and I wish I had time for other things. If I could believe in prayer, maybe I could pray and let God do the work and I could rest sometimes. But I don’t think things get done that way. This is my job, and I’m going to do it myself. I do care for your interest, though, and if anyone’s prayers are answered, yours will be.” Then she smiled as she concluded, “You pray, and I’ll work.”

“Seriously, Miss Eleanor,” the professor said, “you would work all the better if you took an evening off sometimes to go to a party or some such affair.”

Eleanor valued this friendly old man’s advice, and, since she really had been lonely, she began to make friendly overtures toward some of the young people for
whom she had previously been too busy. Soon she was accepting invitations to parties, concerts, and plays, and only then realized how much she had missed the social life she had known. Professor Nichols was right; she did work better after occasional playtimes.

C
hristmas was approaching—her second Christmas in college.
It means nothing to me,
she thought.
When Aunt Ruth was here it meant parties and presents, but now if I get any presents I’ll have to buy them myself!
Her thoughts flew back wistfully to Christmases she had known at the cottage in the woods, with the candlelight church service at midnight and, whenever possible, sleigh rides through the starlit night around the frozen lake. Then she thought of last Christmas Eve, which she had spent in the laboratory at work. It had been two o’clock in the morning when she had looked up triumphantly from the finished slides, having captured a rare and hitherto-unphotographed form of life after weeks of pursuit. At dawn she had crept into bed and slept through the whole day.

“This year I’ll spend all Christmas week in research at Newton Library,” she promised herself. Eager to begin,
she made a special trip to the library before school closed, hoping to leaf through the wonderful volumes in anticipation. But there was a sign on the door, “CLOSED UNTIL JANUARY SECOND FOR REMODELING.”

Now what shall I do with myself?
Eleanor wondered as she crossed the campus on the way back to her room. So intent was she on her own thoughts she hardly noticed a cheery woman who looked at her keenly and then halted beside her.

“Why so glum, young lady?”

Eleanor looked up quickly, then smiled. “Why, Carolyn Fleet! I didn’t recognize you. With that red cap on, I thought you were some little freshman out for a lark.”

“Well, I’m not—and you haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m disappointed,” Eleanor admitted. “I had planned to spend all next week in research at Newton Library—and now I find it closed.”

“Why, what a thought! You can’t mean it. No one works Christmas week!”

“I do,” Eleanor corrected her. “Or at least I wanted to.”

“I’m glad you can’t,” Carolyn said flatly. “That’s no way to spend Christmas.”

“I haven’t any other way,” said Eleanor. “I haven’t any family. I can’t think of another thing to do.”

“Let me think for you. I can show you how Christmas should be spent, given the proper wherewithal.”

“Well, go ahead and suggest,” continued Eleanor with a slight show of interest.

“First, for myself, I would like to go back East for
Christmas where my mother and father are keeping my two youngsters while Fred and I study here. With Christmas coming on I wonder more and more whether even an education and a salary raise are worth being away from Jerry and Dottie during the holidays. Of course, I know they are,” she added hastily, “but if I don’t do something for somebody or his children, I’m going to sit and howl all Christmas week. So I think I’ll adopt you and some other homeless youngsters and make Christmas merry for you in spite of yourselves!”

“Well, I’m willing to be an experiment.” Eleanor smiled.

As they parted Carolyn said, “A two-room apartment may not be the best setting for a Christmas celebration, but it’s all I have to offer. Now if only I had an ancestral farmhouse nearby—but all my ancestors were storekeepers in Connecticut.”

That night, as Eleanor lay in bed, the idea came. Before she was dressed the next morning she telephoned Carolyn and asked excitedly, “Would a big log cottage in the woods do as well as an ancestral farmhouse, Carolyn?”

“Do? It would be perfect. But who has one?”

“I know of one less than two hours’ drive from here that we are free to use. As Christmas is on Monday there will be a long holiday. Can you use it?”

“Eleanor,” said Carolyn with earnestness, “you are nothing less than an angel from heaven! Just leave it to me to show you a good time. How many folks can you put up overnight in this made-to-order cottage?”

“Twelve, by squeezing a bit. I was there once for a house party, so I remember. The owner says we can use
it, but we will have to bring our own linens, as the house hasn’t been opened in two years.”

“Len, you’re a honey. And whoever the owner is, tell him I love him. I’ll get a crowd together right away. I’ll be the official chaperone and go around and gather up an assortment of other young people stranded here for the holidays.”

Eleanor looked forward to the house party with mixed emotions. After Aunt Ruth’s death she and Mary had closed the cottage, and she had not been near it since. She had thought she would never want to go back again, but now she found herself looking forward in keen anticipation. It would be wonderful to see the woods blanketed in snow, to watch the moon rise over the sparkling pines and birches on the hills, and to skate out on the lake with the wind fighting against her. It was exhilarating to defeat the wind!