Not My Will and The Light in My Window (50 page)

That last word usually ended the argument, for it amused Stan, and he would change the subject. But Sam was persistent and came back again and again. At last Stan issued an ultimatum.

“I’m getting tired of this, Sam. If you can’t keep still about it, I’ll quit talking to you altogether.”

To which Sam meekly replied, “Well, I won’t talk then. But I’ll pray, disregardless.”

A
s Christmas drew near, Hope learned that busy days could become even busier. Even on Sherman Street Christmas meant good cheer. Eleanor’s mother had sent many boxes to help brighten homes and fill dinner tables. Billy’s parents sent a check from South America that paid for a great quantity of warm mittens, caps, boots, and sweaters. The college students brought their share, and the churches on the mailing list sent boxes and barrels. Every Institute family would be reminded by these gifts that it was the birthday of the Giver of all good gifts.

Two days before Christmas the big church was as busy as the busiest beehive. In the basement Billy gave out toys and oranges to her excited babies, while the radio in the corner filled the air with carols. In the workshop Stan helped to put the last touches on the shelves, tables, lamps, and stools that would gladden many a proud parent’s heart. Hope and her girls, in the kitchen, packed the cookies and cakes and candies in gay boxes that the girls would take home to the little brothers, sisters, and parents who had all too small a share of the “goodies” of life.

At eight o’clock the program was given. An orchestra from Bethel led the music, and the Christmas carols rang out with just as much fervor from the old church on Sherman Street as from any trained choir in the city. For, this season, Sherman Street forgot poverty and handicaps and sang with happy hearts and voices,

The next day Stan and Billy departed for Stan’s home for a week of rest and fun, the three Kings left for the farm where a happy Christmas awaited them, and Hope was left at the Palace with Katie and Tom Berg for company. Eleanor had suggested that she go home also, but Hope preferred to stay at the Institute, insisting that she would be happy just to get a few days rest there.

As she stood at the tower window the morning of the twenty-fourth and watched the car with Phil and Eleanor and Chad in it go out of the big gate and head north at the next corner, her heart felt unaccountably heavy. She turned back to the quiet house and sought for something to keep her hands busy. Everything had been left shipshape. Then she tried to sew on a dress started the week before but was surfeited with sewing and soon put it aside. Even the bright yarns that she and Billy and Eleanor were knitting into an afghan for the bed of a dear old invalid seemed dull and uninteresting. Katie and Tom were doing some last minute errands of their own, and the huge old house was empty and lonely. For the first time in all the months since she came to the city, Hope admitted to herself that she really wanted to go home. She wanted to but had not the courage.

Ever since the humbling experience of three weeks ago, her thoughts had been turning to the folks at home. With the knowledge that she herself needed forgiveness, there had come the willingness to forgive those who had wronged her. With the bitterness gone from her heart, her mind had been filled with pictures of the bungalow on Lockwood Street, of Jack and Judy chasing each other from basement to attic, of Mother Bess making Christmas cookies in the kitchen, of Daddy stealing in the back way with a tree to be decorated. She had always been Daddy’s right-hand man when he trimmed the Christmas tree. This was the first Christmas ever spent away from him. Would he miss her as much as she was missing him? Probably not, for he had his own family to which she did not really belong. She had
nothing, no one. For just a minute Hope was tempted to let the old flood of bitterness overflow again. Then she remembered the experience so recently passed.

God has forgiven me, and so have the folks here after I acted so crabby and rude. I’ve forgiven Dad and Mother Bess, and I won’t remember the bad things anymore. I couldn’t go home so soon, for I might forget and get ugly again. But I’ll keep on growing and maybe by summer I can go back and show them I’ve forgotten the years when all I was to them was a “capable little helper.”

When the other Institute folk had been buying and wrapping gifts for loved ones, Hope had done the same. Stan, who had an extensive knowledge of small boys and their desires, had helped her select a model airplane outfit for Jack. For Judy there was a “magic skin” doll that so fascinated Billy, Eleanor, and Hope herself that they were loath to pack and ship it. For Mother Bess Hope had chosen a lovely blouse in just the shade of blue that most became her, and for Daddy there was a book of travels beautifully illustrated in color. Daddy longed to see the queer and outlandish places of the world, yet, except in his imagination, had never been out of the Midwest. There were several games and puzzles and an assortment of nuts and candy. Hope prayed that the home folks would read in the gifts the message of love and forgiveness that as yet she could not tell them.

She had received several large packages that she had saved to open on Christmas morning, along with the ones the Institute family had left. But as the hours passed and the loneliness pressed more heavily upon her, she was tempted to open them now. If she did that, however, there would be nothing to do tomorrow. She resisted the temptation, therefore, and after eating a solitary lunch decided to go out for some fresh air. There was no interesting walk in this neighborhood, but remembering several invalids to whom Eleanor often read, she started out with some magazines and books in a briefcase.

It proved to be a more interesting occupation than Hope had anticipated, and before she realized it, the afternoon was gone. Having promised Eleanor that she would not be out alone after dark, she hurried along with her head down against the wind. In
turning a corner she bumped into a man who had been hurrying in the opposite direction. Both slipped on the icy walk and landed together in the gutter.

“Miss Hope! Oh, I’m sorry!” came Dr. Ben’s contrite voice as he hastened to help her to her feet.

Hope laughed as they stooped together to pick up her purse and briefcase and his bag. “It didn’t hurt at all. I should not have been tearing along at such a pace. I promised Eleanor I’d not be out late alone.”

“Well, you’re not alone now. If you’ll come up to Mallorys’ with me while I give Mrs. Mallory a quick once over and assure her that she’s not dying, I’ll be ready to go home with you. My car’s just down the street a bit.”

After Mrs. Mallory had been attended to and they were headed for home, Dr. Ben said, “What’s for supper, cook?”

“Nothing exciting. Katie and I have a nice dinner planned for tomorrow. But for tonight, there’s warmed over pot roast, and dessert is chocolate pudding.”

“That’s not bad. However, the chocolate pudding will taste just as good after midnight as it does now. Let’s go out for supper, my treat, and then out to the Haldane Heights church where the Scandinavian Choral Club is singing
The Messiah
. What say?”

“I say yes! That will make it a lovely Christmas Eve.”

It was an evening Hope never forgot. They had dinner in a glittering dining room overlooking the lake, while an orchestra played such music as she had never heard. Then the long drive out to the Heights and two hours of ecstasy as she listened to that grandest of oratorios. She had heard a small club at home attempt to sing parts of it and had heard other parts over the radio. But here, two hundred of the best voices in the city sang in such perfect harmony that Hope was almost breathless with the beauty of it. She turned once to smile her appreciation at Dr. Ben, but he was sitting so quietly with his head on his hand and his eyes closed that she thought he was asleep. The poor chap had so few minutes of relaxation that it was no wonder he dozed when he could. But as the majestic strains of “And the Glory of the Lord” rang through the church, Hope realized that he had not
been asleep, for he caught his breath and his hand clasped hers as it lay on the armrest between them. When the “Hallelujah Chorus” began, he was instantly on his feet and stood in rapt silence until it ended. In silence, too, he led her to the car after it was all over, and they drove many blocks before either spoke.

Finally he said, “That will carry me through many weeks of Sherman Street and Mrs. Mallory’s pseudo ills.”

“It was heavenly!”

“Heavenly is right. I’m not much of a musician now, but if I can sing that chorus in heaven with Billy at my side—well, that will be glory for me!”

It was the first time he had ever mentioned his feelings about Billy, and Hope hardly knew what to say, so she answered rather diffidently.

“I suspected that I was a stand-in for Billy when you squeezed my hand.”

Ben laughed heartily. “I beg your pardon for that. I was so carried away by the music that I had to let someone know. My thoughts haven’t been with Billy
all
evening though. I’ve enjoyed very much getting to know you better, and I hope I can count you as one of my special friends. It’s sort of a relief to talk to someone about my feelings for Billy. How did you guess it?”

“Guess it? I didn’t have to guess. It sticks out all over you.”

“Is it that bad? Does she resent it, do you think? You are with her so much that you ought to be able to help me. Where
do
I stand?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Ben, really I don’t. I’m for you, if that’s any help. She’s prejudiced against doctors—so she says. Dr. King tells her she’s trying to convince herself. I don’t know. Since Stan came he seems to occupy most of her thoughts.”

Dr. Ben looked at her, then stopped and gave his full attention to driving. As he told her good night at her door, after they had raided the icebox and eaten the chocolate pudding, he thanked her again for the assurance of her friendship, and she answered, “This evening has been one of the high spots of my life. I’ve heard bits of the
Messiah
before but never all of it. I didn’t dream it was so—so—” She stopped helplessly.

“That’s it,” said Ben. “It’s beyond words.”

“I keep thinking,” she went on, “if an oratorio, written by a man, is so breathtakingly grand, what will the real thing be like?”

“Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard—” he answered. Then after another silence, “Good night again, dear friend. Let’s empty our stockings together in the morning.”

The Palace on Sherman Street

Christmas Day—8:00 P.M.     

Dear Daddy,

It has been so long since I wrote you a real letter that I am starting early this evening and am going to make this a “doodun” as Judy used to say. I thought of you all many times today and almost wished I had been able to go home. It really didn’t seem best, so I will save my money for a long visit in the summer.

I hope you all had a nice day and received many fine gifts. Before I go further, I want to thank you for the box of gifts. Everything in it was lovely. The housecoat is so exquisite in its pastel colors that I almost hated to put it on for fear of soiling it. I tried it on just to see how it looked and wore it almost all day! It was sweet of you and Mother Bess to send it. The wooly slippers from Jack are just what I need. The floors of this old house are
cold
these winter mornings. Tell Judy I think the box of stationery is a hint for me to write her a letter, and I’ll do it in a few days. The box of homemade cookies will be a treat for a long time,
if
I can hide them well enough. And the fruitcake—yum, yum!

Grandpa and Grandma sent a box of goodies, too, with a nice warm scarf and a pair of skating socks. I do hope I can get a chance to skate occasionally.

Only Dr. Ben and I and Mr. and Mrs. Berg are here. All the rest have gone for a few days’ vacation. So far as I can discover, Ben never takes a vacation. He and I opened our packages this morning in front of the fire in the hall. We had a lot of fun helping each other and exclaiming over the gifts. It seemed to me there was no end to them. The Kings gave me a new Bible, which I sorely needed, and Billy and Stan together gave me a reading lamp. Dr. Ben’s gift was a pin made from some shells a missionary friend sent him from the South Pacific. He gave Billy one almost like it, he said. I can’t begin to describe it, for it is a most delicate bit of beauty. I received gifts also from the Bergs, from Sam Pawley, the janitor, and from at least forty of my girls. My room tonight looks like The Old Curiosity Shop.

Ben and the Bergs and I had dinner together. Then he tried to teach me to play chess. Awful! As a chess player I’m a grand fizzle. Ben tried not to appear disgusted, but as I saw him getting more and more amazed at my dumbness, I grew so sorry for him that I suggested we quit and make fudge. I was on solid ground there, and the fudge was a success. Imagine my surprise when Ben told me he had never before seen fudge made! If he had never seen it made, he at least knew what to do with it.

In all my hastily scribbled letters I have never told you much about the folks here. I think I’ll do that tonight. It is so much fun to write here in bed with my new housecoat on and my new lamp shining just right that I could almost write a book. I have the checkerboard on my lap for a desk. If you can’t read this letter, that’s the reason.

Where shall I begin? Guess I’ll start at the bottom and work up. I presume that Sam Pawley is at the foot of the ladder, intellectually and financially. Poor old Sam! He isn’t very bright, and he works here for just enough to feed and clothe himself. He doesn’t want any more money—says he just wants to live here. He is busy by the time I wake up—firing the furnaces, cleaning the walks, and getting the Institute ready for the day’s activities. No matter how late we work, he is still at it when the rest of us quit. He has a one-track mind, and that track is completely given over to the Lord’s business. He can hardly read or write his name, yet somehow he has learned a lot of Scripture and can
quote it very aptly. Dr. King says he is the most valuable personal worker at the Mission.