Not My Will and The Light in My Window (48 page)

Hope slept very little that night. All through the hours, until the morning light reflected from the stained glass windows of the old church, she tossed and tumbled on the davenport, thinking of what Billy had said, of the story of Elva Lee’s little brother, of Stan’s persistent efforts to be friendly, of her own surly attitude. She became more and more ashamed as she reviewed all that had transpired since Thanksgiving Day and wished sincerely that she could go back and live those days over again. If she had such a chance she would try to accept Stan wholeheartedly as a fellow worker and as Billy’s special friend—perhaps her fiancé. Billy’s frank appraisal of her actions had been humiliating because it
was true. Hope
had
been unfair and unjust. She had carried her grudge against Jerry into her relationships with these others who were in no way to blame. Going back still further, she realized in this hour of self-analysis that she had let her grievance against Daddy and Mother Bess embitter her so much that her whole attitude of life was warped. Yet how could she help it? The wrong they had done her had been so great, her childhood had been so full of loneliness and frustration, that it was impossible not to be affected by it.

Yet Hope’s common sense told her that to let the wrongs of the past hinder and hamper her present life was foolish indeed. She had found a place to work where she felt secure and could be happy. She had seen a vision of Christian service that gave her new hope for a life of peace and comparative happiness. She would bury the past with its sad memories and face toward a future dedicated to such service.

The first faint beams of dawn were showing in the room when Hope finally reached that decision. All night she had debated and reasoned with herself. Now, with the coming of a new day, she was ready for a new start.

But—and the thought brought her a sense of panic—would the others be willing to start afresh also? Would Stan, who had been rebuffed so often, care to be friendly at this late date? Would Billy forgive and forget the sharp words of last evening and be willing to go back to the old footing? Could the Kings ever trust and love her after her ill temper and pettishness? She knew, in this humbling hour, that she wanted more than she could tell, their complete forgiveness. She had never in all her life asked forgiveness from anyone and shrank from the ordeal. However, if she wanted to win back the place lost, she must pay the price. There, in the gray dawn of that December morning, Hope fought and won a difficult battle. She was cold and tired when she arose from her knees, but her heart was at peace, and her face reflected the victory.

It was not easy, even now, to do what must be done, but with her customary straightforwardness Hope did it. To Billy first she made her apology, and Billy replied with a hug and a kiss. Then she went to Philip and Eleanor and told them of her shame at her failure and her desire to set it all right. Eleanor
drew her down onto the davenport, saying quietly, “We can’t tell you how glad we are, Hope. We’ve been praying for this.”

Phil, on the other side of her, said in that grave, kind voice that always seemed to reach down into Hope’s heart, “Can you tell us about it, Hope? Carrying a heavy load alone, when there are others to help you, is a most unwise way. You have been such a fine helper here and have fitted into our staff so beautifully that we have grown very fond of you. To Len and me you have become as dear as Billy—like a young sister to us. In our family here we share burdens, as well as joys. Let us help you, little sister.”

Hope wanted to tell them the whole story—the loss of mother, the even greater loss when Daddy married again, the years of loneliness, the collapse of her dream of happiness. She wanted to make them understand just why she was so often sad, and why she resented Stan. She wanted to open up her heart and show these kind friends how much she loved them and how she longed to please them and to fit into her place in their friendship. But the years of silence and repressions had left her unable to speak freely of the things close to her heart, so she only answered haltingly.

“I guess it all started a long time ago. Someone wronged me in a way that made my childhood very unhappy. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it, and I felt very lonely. Then I thought I had a chance at happiness again—I was sure it was going to be all right. And I was disappointed and hurt again—so deeply hurt that I felt I could not stay at home anymore. I came to the city, and things did not go well here either.”

She went on to tell of her need for a position and a home, of how she had cried to God last August, and of how He had led her here.

“I was so sure that He was leading me that I began to be happy. I loved working here. I felt so shut away and secure that I wasn’t afraid any more. Then Stan came. He looks very much like the person who hurt me—so much like him that all the things I was trying to forget came back to plague and sting. Then Stan began to tease me, and I resented that. I’m very much ashamed of my irritation and pettiness. There is no excuse for my actions, for Stan can’t help how he looks, and Billy says he is really fine
and good. You have all been kind and patient with me, and I do appreciate it. If you’ll forgive me, I want to make a new start. Do you think I can?”

“I know you can,” said Eleanor. “If you’ll trust God, He will see you through the hardest places. He will forgive everything, if you come asking in Jesus’ name, and He will let you start entirely new. I know that. He has done so much for me that I can say absolutely that He will never say no when a humble heart asks for forgiveness.”

“But you haven’t acted as I did. You never
could!
”

“Listen, little sister,” said Phil, “we don’t speak of it very often, for there is still much of pain in the memories. But Len and I know our Lord through deep experiences with Him. He forgave us willfulness and pride and sin against His love. His forgiveness is not limited by the size of the sin—only by the repentance of the sinner. If that is real, forgiveness is full and free.”

“Let’s kneel together and tell Him about it,” said Eleanor.

So they prayed together, and Hope went from the room with tears in her eyes and gratitude in her heart for such friends. No one knew what she said to Stan, but when they gathered in the office for the morning devotional period, the two came in together from the sewing room. Hope was quiet and embarrassed, but Stan’s casual manner dispelled all awkwardness. It was one of Dr. Ben’s mornings with them, a treat to which they all looked forward, and he it was who read and gave them the thought for the day. Surely it was the Holy Spirit who led him to talk on “old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” Billy’s hand reached out and clasped Hope’s sympathetically, and from across the circle Phil and Eleanor gave her reassuring smiles. When Dr. Ben had finished, they all prayed. As they went forth to the day’s work, it was with hearts knit with a new bond.

A
s the days passed and Stan became integrated into the work of the Institute, they wondered how they had ever done without him. In a hundred ways he made himself useful. He went on errands in Billy’s car, he repaired the furniture and equipment, he invented more efficient ways to operate the heavy schedule of work, he supervised the work of Sam Pawley, the janitor and handyman, and he took a vast load of detail from Phil’s overburdened shoulders. He accompanied Phil two evenings each week to the Mission over on Water Street, where services were held for the drifters and down-and-outers who gathered in that backwater of the stream of the world’s activities. He had a remarkable knack of making friends with even the worst reprobates in the audience, and, although he left the personal work to Phil and his helpers from Bethel College, his presence and friendliness were invaluable.

Stan’s best work, however, was with the boys. He was an expert woodworker, and before he had been there two weeks he had acquired and set up a lathe and an electric saw and had outfitted the shop with a complete array of excellent tools. Only Billy knew that those tools and machines had come from the shop that had been Stan’s pride in his own home. In this shop he taught the boys how to plan and build, not only the airplanes they delighted in, but many a piece of furniture or bric-a-brac. The basement and attic of the King’s Palace, as Stan had dubbed the big house, yielded much wood that could be utilized, and the old
barn was a veritable treasure trove. The trustees gave permission for its dismantling, and the partitions and mangers turned, under the boys’ hands and Stan’s teaching, into tables and shelves and cabinets.

Saturday afternoons Stan went with his boys to nearby vacant lots where they practiced football. When the snow put a stop to that, he persuaded the men at the nearest fire station to flood one of the lots and he taught the boys to play hockey. His energy seemed limitless, and his resourcefulness supplied the answer to many difficulties.

When he discovered that Hope needed more kitchen equipment and some yard goods for her sewing classes, he wrote and sent out, with Phil’s permission, form letters to two hundred churches whose addresses he had obtained from Bethel. In these he told of the work of the Institute, giving several human interest stories that touched hearts and stirred them to action. He solicited kitchen supplies, sewing materials of every kind, and skates of all sizes for the boys and girls. He told no one except Phil of this project but mimeographed and addressed the letters himself.

When the replies began to come in, the girls were surprised and overwhelmed. Boxes arrived by mail, by express, by personal delivery. Every kind of utensil was there, from a patent nutmeg grater of ancient vintage to a soup kettle so large that Billy took it over for a bathtub for her nursery. There was much merriment as they unpacked the boxes and barrels, for some of the church societies had apparently welcomed Stan’s letter as suggesting a dumping ground for the overflow of local attics and closets. They did not confine their gifts to the things requested but sent clothes, toys, faded and worn curtains, outmoded hats and discarded shoes.

There were all sorts of books, from
Goldilocks
to Baxter’s
Saint’s Rest
, and a thirty-five volume set of
The Lives and Loves of European Nobility
. The latter Stan used to make low stools for the kindergarten. Billy insisted that he patent the idea, but he refused, saying that all truly great men contributed their best ideas freely to mankind. The climax of the collection was reached when one box yielded ten dozen pairs of half-hands. None of the recipients knew what they were until Romilda identified them and showed a picture of her grandmother wearing just such
mitts. Even Stan’s ingenuity was unable to find any use for them, but Billy saved them with a vague idea that she might make rag dolls of them some day.

When all the things had been sorted, one room on the third floor of the palace had to be set aside as a storeroom. There most of the donations were packed away to be drawn upon at a future date. The big bundles of cotton materials went to the sewing classes, the toys went to the shop to be reconditioned, and forty-three pairs of skates gladdened the hearts of the girls and boys.

Stan had furnished a large second-floor room of the Palace as his bedroom and study. When he discovered, on calling at Dr. Ben’s office downtown for some medicine for the little ones, that Ben slept on a couch there, he insisted that the doctor share his room. Phil, distressed to think that he had never inquired how or where Ben lived, joined Stan in his insistence, and Ben came hesitantly, yet gladly. The two of them ate at the restaurant on the corner for a few days, but it was dreary fare, and when they asked Eleanor’s permission for the girls to feed them in the big kitchen she could not say them nay. So they made a budget, set a price for their meals, and Hope’s Hashery, as Stan called it, became an established institution. Of course Hope was head cook. Billy helped faithfully but had no knowledge or experience to match that which Hope had acquired during her busy, practical life. So Hope made the menus and supervised Billy’s share of the cooking. The scheme worked to the satisfaction of all, and the old kitchen often rang with laughter as the young folks ate or worked together.

Dr. Ben appreciated this fellowship more than anyone understood, for he had been without any family ties for more than ten years, and to have this homelike place open to him was a rare experience. Hope enjoyed it also. With Billy’s presence to give her moral courage, she felt at ease with Ben and Stan. The discussions over the dinner table of every subject imaginable stimulated her intellect and spirit. Billy and Stan were always gay, no matter how weary they might be. The four of them formed a lively group. Phil and Eleanor, from their own rooms, would smile in sympathetic understanding when the argument waxed warm and loud, or when Stan’s voice would be carried to them in song.

As December advanced the weather grew colder. The old furnace burned steadily, but the rooms were huge, the radiators and water pipes clogged with rust and lime, and the hot water circulated sluggishly. Billy caught a cold that put her to bed and caused Dr. Ben some anxiety. They all realized that the Palace was not as comfortable as it had been in August. When they prayed together in the church one morning, Eleanor’s petition was for a solution to the heating problem.

“What does she expect?” said Stan later to Hope and Ben. “Does she think God will revitalize that old furnace or miraculously clean out those aged pipes?”

“I don’t know,” Hope answered. “They have such a habit of expecting God to take care of every need that even an old house and a decrepit furnace do not shake their faith.”

“How does she expect that God might do it?” asked Stan rather sarcastically.

Ben answered slowly, for he sensed Stan’s skepticism. “I don’t think she has any idea, or even cares,
how
God might help. My belief, founded on a year’s acquaintance with the Kings, is that she did not stop to wonder about that. She just had a need and turned it over to Him.”