Not My Will and The Light in My Window (45 page)

So Hope came to have a kind of peace—not the kind that comes from fulfilled desire, but that which comes when self is laid aside and service for others fills one’s days. She had not forgotten her unhappiness, but it was pushed out of sight for the time by new friends and new work. The busy present took all her time and left no opportunity for daydreams of what might have been. The pranks and escapades of Ginny, Rosa, and Sylvia kept her laughing at and with them, and with their ceaseless chatter
flowing around her she could not concentrate on her troubles. So her thoughts were less and less of herself.

Hope and Billy became fast friends. They worked harmoniously together, Billy’s gay vivacity complementing Hope’s sober quietness. She visited Billy’s home and, seeing the luxury there, was led to appreciate the depth of Billy’s love for her work which could impel her to leave that gracious home. She grew daily more fond of Dr. Ben and wished Billy would learn to love him as he loved her.

For herself, love was a thing of the past; but she did long to see these two friends find happiness together. Billy had become as dear to her as a sister, and she liked Dr. Ben more than any man she had ever met—unless, of course, it be Dr. King. Even for the latter, whom she admired and respected in a way that was almost hero worship, she had not the feeling of real friendship that she had for Ben. Perhaps it was because of his slight lameness, perhaps because of his diffidence, which was like her own self-consciousness, that her heart went out to him in sisterly sympathy.

Hope had no other interest in any man, nor did she ever expect to. She wanted only to be left alone here to live and serve as she chose. It was here at the Institute that she had found security when life seemed full of dangers and uncertainty. Here she would stay as long as she was wanted. Even though she had no real fondness for cooking and sewing, Hope had been willing to do both as a means of obtaining the security she sought. Her reward had come with the clearer vision that the last few weeks had brought, for now she saw these humble tasks glorified. They were no longer drudgery but became shining channels of service for Christ.

P
hilip and Eleanor King saw the change in Hope and rejoiced therein. As she became increasingly interested in her work, she forgot herself in her interest in the girls who needed her. Those working with her saw the change within, expressed in her face, which had in repose often seemed sullen. Now, in the animation that lit it as she talked to the girls, her real beauty became apparent. She was not gay and lighthearted as Billy was, but the bitter twist had left her lips. When she was alone with her classes she could be heard laughing with the girls. They accepted her as a friend, loved her devotedly, and asked for no other reward than her quiet smile of approval when they had done well.

“That girl is rather strikingly beautiful when she forgets her complexes and lets her personality have a chance,” said Philip one evening as he and Eleanor stood in the office doorway and watched Hope chatting animatedly with a group of fifteen year olds. “I can hardly believe that she is the same girl I found here when I came home in August. She served a well cooked meal, but I was afraid she’d sour the cream when she looked at it. No one could have convinced me that she could ever look like this!”

“Isn’t it a wonderful illustration of what God can do when His love shines into a life? Hope is happier now because she is doing something for someone else and not brooding over her own real or imagined wrongs. She still has her moody moments, but they come more rarely and leave more quickly than at first. Some day I hope the barriers will be broken down so that I can
help her as I long to do. The change in her has been so marked that I am encouraged to hope that ere long we can see her moods banished for good. She may surprise us all some day.”

“We shouldn’t be surprised at anything. Talk about the Seven Wonders of the World! I’d like to write a book about the Unnumbered Wonders of God’s Grace!”

“When you do, be sure you put me in it. The fact that He has taken me, and forgiven me, and trained me, and used me—”

“And made you the sweetest helpmeet a man could have—don’t leave that out, Len. I’ll put in
two
chapters about His gracious dealing with
me
. Even that would not tell the story.

“We never
can
tell the whole story, Phil. But we can pass the good news along and maybe help someone like Hope occasionally. I’m sure God sent her to us for just that purpose.”

Hope, also, felt that her coming to Henderson House had been the leading of God. She had been frightened, lonely, and unwanted. Her life had been of no value to anyone, and the memory of her unhappy love affair had mocked her whenever she saw the happiness of more fortunate girls. She had been insulted and driven from her position and her abode. Then in her need she had called out to God. He had sent her here to serve, and in that service she had found contentment and a kind of happiness. Not the blissful life of companionship and love that she had expected to have with Jerry, but a substitute joy that, although less thrilling, was comforting in its sense of security.

The evenings when she had no classes were apt to be lonely, for Eleanor, who seldom went out evenings, devoted herself to Chad until his bedtime and then worked on a textbook that she expected to publish in the spring. When Dr. King had an evening at home, which was all too rare an occasion, it called for a family
celebration, and Hope did not intrude nor interrupt except in case of emergency. So the unoccupied evenings began to hang heavily on her hands.

To fill the time and to drive away thoughts of what might have been and never would be, Hope began to read and study some of the books from the bookcases in the hall. She had always liked to read but never before had had access to such books as these. Often until far into the night she read, racing to finish one fascinating volume that she might start another tomorrow. Poetry, classical fiction, travel, science—she read them all. When Dr. King gave her permission to read such books as she might choose from his private library in the tall cases that reached to the living room ceiling, Hope entered into a new and deep experience. She learned to study her Bible and to read the comments on the various chapters from the pens of the world’s greatest preachers and theologians. She read devotional writings of the saints of all ages. As she read, her horizons broadened and her soul expanded. In the biographies of these saints she learned of depths of love and heights of consecration of which she had never before known and thrilled to these stories, wishing that it might have been her lot to live so courageously for Christ. Why were some Christians called to such noble service, whereas others, like herself, had to go through ignoble experiences?

This train of thought would remind her of Dr. King and Eleanor. Surely they were just as great in their love for God as the saints of other centuries. They had given their lives to His cause and were serving Him with complete devotion. It made one feel almost awed to think of it. Why had not she—Hope Thompson—been chosen for such service? Small wonder that the Kings were happy. God had given to them His unusual favor. They seemed to belong to a special inner circle to which she had not been admitted. For some reason that Hope could not understand, the Kings had been chosen for great happiness and she for sorrow.

Then she would remember her answered prayer and the privilege that was now hers of working at the Institute. She would put aside the thoughts of envy and would plan busily for the next day’s work. God
had
been good to her, and if He wanted
her to serve Him through unhappiness and loneliness she would do it to His glory!

In November a change came that put an end to the lonely evenings. Billy’s parents were planning a trip to South America, and it was decided that during their absence Billy should stay at the Institute under Eleanor’s protecting wing. The study back of Hope’s room was turned over to her, but after two days the girls decided to put both beds into the tower room and use the study for a living room.

“I can’t bear to sleep in this big room alone,” said Billy. “I get the weejies in there all by myself. We need a place to entertain our friends anyway.”

She made a trip out to her home and came back with a truck half full of furniture.

“Here’s hoping Mother will have forgotten about these things by the time she gets back,” she said. “I took a little here and a little there, and pushed the other furniture about so she won’t be too much shocked all at once.”

Hope wondered how the mother could fail to be shocked by the disappearance of a davenport, two easy chairs, a bookcase, three lamps, two tables, and four or five rugs. Hope had learned that whenever Billy wanted anything, her indulgent parents provided it, so she dismissed her concern and helped arrange the furniture in the study. When it was done they all admired the cozy room, and Phil predicted sure and speedy capitulation of any gentlemen friends who might come to call.

“There will be none,” said Billy. “Will you never learn, Dr. King, that my life is dedicated to Henderson Institute, and the boys don’t follow me down here? Hope is no more interested in them than I am. We are going to love each other and won’t miss the little man that isn’t here.”

“There’s always Dr. Ben, however,” said Phil. “He’s the little man who
is
here. When are you going to stop your foolishness and put him out of his misery, Wilhelmina?”

“I’m not!” snapped Billy. “And you’re not being a bit funny! Can’t you learn that I mean what I say?”

Philip laughed as he said, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much!”

Billy merely made a wry face and went on arranging the books in the bookcase. Later she said to Hope, “Phil and Eleanor are so much in love with each other that they want everyone else to be in love, too. But I’m not joking. If ever I do fall for a man, it won’t be for a doctor!”

It was hard for Hope to understand how Billy could fail to love Dr. Ben. He loved her with such patient devotion that it seemed she
must
reciprocate. But ere long a new factor—a new man—entered the picture, and Hope thought she saw the reason for Billy’s indifference to Ben.

T
he boy’s handicraft classes had been without a leader, and Dr. King was much concerned about it. The streets were full of boys who could have been interested in the Institute had there been someone to go out and bring them in and teach them to use their hands in ways less harmful than stealing tires, breaking windows, or gambling in vacant lots. In one room of the church basement a few lads labored to construct model airplanes, but they needed the help of an older man. Harry Norris, at Bethel College, was in training for just such a position, and in another year he and his wife would be on the staff. At present their program of study was too heavy to permit any more than a few hours work each week, and this did not suffice to gather in the great number of boys who needed to be reached by the Institute program.

Dr. King had his “Recruits,” a group that had grown up about him and loved him loyally. Each year saw numbers of them leaving his classes and going out into the world to work for a better education or to seek greater opportunity than Sherman Street offered. Everywhere they went they bore testimony to the value of time and money spent in salvaging boys and girls.

Yet there were other boys growing up who would not come to the Institute unless attracted by a vigorous program of sports and crafts. Juvenile delinquency was strong in the neighborhood, and the taverns that abounded were schools of crime. The situation was the subject of earnest prayer on the part of the workers.
“Some place God has the man for us,” said Philip, “and in His time He will lead him to us. He sent Hope for our girls. We can trust Him to provide for our boys.”

As Thanksgiving drew near Eleanor planned a dinner for the staff. After the sunrise service in the auditorium of the church, the Institute would be closed for the day. Dr. Ben had no home, Billy’s parents were away, and Hope never spoke of her home to her friends. Therefore, all of them were invited to dinner with the Kings.

“If you want to, you may each invite a guest,” Eleanor added when giving the invitation. “That turkey Mother sent weighs twenty pounds, I believe. So go into the highways and byways and gather them in.”

But the highways and byways yielded no guests. Dr. Ben had no patients who would not have friends around them on the feast day. Billy could not separate any of her beloved babies from their families, and her friends of her own age were busy with other plans. Hope knew no one in the city whom she could invite. The Mission over on Water street was giving a dinner to all the homeless men in the district. So the guest list for the dinner at the big house was short—just Hope, Billy, Dr. Ben, and old Dr. Cortland, the president of Bethel College at which Philip taught. Even that last guest was denied them, for he called the evening before to say that he would have to leave the city that night to visit a sick sister.

“Well—it will be just the family, I guess,” said Eleanor ruefully as she turned from the telephone. “Each of you will have to account for about four pounds of turkey. Poor Dr. Cortland was disappointed, for he does appreciate a meal in the home of friends. He says that his housekeeper is a good cook, but that food needs the sauce of fellowship to season it rightly.”

“I’m disappointed myself,” said Billy. “I’d like to show off my social graces in a different crowd. Even one new face would add a bit of zip to the situation. O for another man—just any man for a change!”

“You don’t need another man,” said Hope. “Take Dr. Ben. I don’t want a man or even half a man. You can have
all
of him.”