Not My Will and The Light in My Window (52 page)

“Do you suppose that they tackled the drive to Bethel in this blizzard? I hope we won’t have to go dig them out.”

“You won’t,” said Ben. “I saw them when I was out. They didn’t go to Bethel.”

“Well, where are they, and what are they doing? This is no night to go window shopping.”

“They’re not window shopping. When I saw them they were washing feet.”

Hope and Billy looked at each other in bewilderment, and Stan stared, his mouth open in astonishment. Then he spoke.

“What’s the joke? We’ll tumble.”

“No joke at all. They are literally doing just that. I stopped at Moore’s over on Finley Street to give Mrs. Moore some medicine before I came here. The Kings had gone over so that Eleanor could change Mrs. Moore’s bed and bathe her. While they were there it dawned on Phil that it must be quite difficult for Mr. Moore to bathe, being very feeble and weighing almost three hundred pounds. Mr. Moore confessed that he could not reach his feet to bathe them. He just puts them in a pan of water and soaks them occasionally and then lets them dry. So when I left, Philip King, B.D., Th.D., Ph.D., and what have you, was down on his knees in front of old Matt Moore, washing his feet. And don’t any of you dare laugh!”

A smothered sound came from the corner where Billy’s head was buried in a pillow. Then she raised her face and gulped, while the tears brimmed over.

“I’m not laughing. I could die of a broken heart right now. I just can’t stand to think of it—it’s so wonderful—what God can do to a person, I mean.”

“You’re a bit incoherent, Wilhelmina, but I gather it’s quite an earth-rocking incident,” stated Stan.

“It is. You folks never knew Philip King as he was when I started at Bethel. If you had you’d know why I c-cry!”

“But we didn’t and we don’t. So you’d better explain,” Stan urged.

“I can’t, but I’ll try. He was director of practical work, and the students who took Christian Ed had to get their assignments from him and work under his direction. We were all quite silly over him. Not seriously, of course, for he was married. But just a bit wacky, if you know what I mean.”

“I think we do,” said Stan slowly. “But I don’t see why. He’s no god of love and beauty.”

“Oh, but he was
then
. A regular Apollo. Quite
the
boy! The kind the girls swoon over.
I
didn’t swoon, but a lot of them did, figuratively, of course.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Ben flatly.

“Neither can I,” joined in Hope. “He is handsome enough I suppose, but he’s just not the type.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll admit that God
could
change the type if He wanted to. Or will you?”

“Ye-es,” answered Ben slowly. “I guess He could. Of course He could. It doesn’t often happen.”

“Well, it happened this time. It’s quite a story, and I don’t know all of it. But I do know that a year ago last summer something happened that shook Phil’s ego. I have an idea about it, but it’s not my story, and I don’t think I should tell it. Since then Phil has bowled me over by the completeness of his surrender. He had turned down a number of apparently better offers and has chosen this tough assignment. He may be a Ph.D. to you, Bennie, but the degree I would put after his name is B.S.C.”

“Meaning what?” asked Stan, after a moment’s thought had failed to give them the answer.

“Bond Servant of Christ,” answered Billy softly. “Did any of you ever hear him preach on that? I suppose not, as you’re all comparative newcomers here. He preaches that sermon by request once each year at Bethel, and if I can find out what this year’s date is, I’ll escort you all down. When you’ve heard him preach, and when you’ve remembered how he lives it—why then you’ll feel as humble as I do.”

After Billy’s speech, there was silence in the group. The fire had burned low on the hearth, Ben was stretched out in relaxation on the rug, and Stan and Billy were talking in low tones together. At the sound of stamping feet in the vestibule they all sat up. Phil and Eleanor came in, laughing at the picture they knew they must make. From head to foot they were snow covered, and their cheeks were red from the cold and the tussle with the drifts. Hope sprang up to help them with their wraps, then seated Eleanor on the hassock while she brushed and dried her
hair. Ben threw another log on the fire, and they all found their drowsiness gone at the entrance of this gust of fresh air.

“Sit down, Phil, and dry your feet,” commanded Billy. “I’m going out and make some hot chocolate. It will warm you wayfarers.”

Ben sprang up quickly and followed her. Stan turned to Hope and said, “If you’ll produce a corn popper I’ll get the corn. My sister put some in my suitcase when I came back last week, and I haven’t thought of it since.”

So, as midnight drew near, they forgot the storm outside while they talked and ate popcorn and cookies, and drank the hot chocolate. Eleanor, resting on the hassock and leaning against Philip’s knee, said thoughtfully, “Another year gone! Doesn’t it make you just a little sad to see it go? It has been such a nice year.”

Philip twisted one of her bronze curls around his finger as he answered. “It has been a good and a full year. It has held joy and love and service, and God’s gifts have been given without measure. What more can we ask?”

“It’s been a grand year,” said Billy. “The very best thing that happened in it was the day Dad discovered this old Palace. I just
love
it!”

“So do I,” agreed Eleanor. “I was all keyed up and ready to live in some dreary, crowded, smelly apartment near here, and though I knew the Lord would take care of us, I still felt like a martyr. Then He sent this, and now I feel almost ashamed to be so comfortable.”

“Sometimes I feel that way, too, but it surely makes life a lot more pleasant for all of us. When Dad and Mother come home, I’m still going to live here.”

“H’m. That’s what
you
think,” retorted Stan. “Wait until your daddy hears of those plans. He won’t give up his lamb child
that
easily.”

“Much you know about it,” said Billy smugly. “I have methods of my own, and Daddy will come across. He always does.”

“Yep, poor guy, he does. Well, enjoy your freedom while you can, Wilhelmina. The next year may bring—oh, lots of
things. Even wedding bells, maybe. You’ve never obeyed your dad, but you are going to obey your husband. It is decreed.”

“I never
disobey
my dad. I just get him to tell me to do what I want to do. That makes everybody happy.”

Eleanor had been watching Hope’s face as they talked of the events of the past year, and at the sadness she saw there her heart was moved with pity.

“Let’s not look back,” she said. “Let’s each tell of something we want to do for the Institute this year. You start, Ben. What’s your favorite dream for Sherman Street?”

“All my dreams center around Sherman Street,” answered Ben quickly. “The biggest and best day of my life was that one last spring when Dr. Scott asked me to take over here. I thought I was out of this neighborhood for good. I didn’t want to come back even for those two weeks. Now I never want to leave. My most insistent dream at present is for a convalescent home for the kids who are dismissed from the hospital. I keep them there as long as I can, for even the County Hospital is better than most of these homes. If I had just a couple of big rooms and a practical nurse I’d have me a picnic!”

“I’ll put you and your little hospital in my will,” said Stan.

“I’d rather someone would put us in his prayers. You look too healthy for me to be interested in your will.”

“We’ll all pray for that hospital,” said Eleanor. “Now, Billy, it’s your turn. Your dream will have to do with the babies, I’m sure.”

“Well, it does, indirectly. If I were talking about my own private desires I’d plan to kidnap one or two of those babies and keep them for myself. Stan says it isn’t being done in the best circles though, so I’ll restrain my impulses and think of something else to do for Sherman Street. Oh, I know! I want most of all to get those awful saloons out. Little Rocco Garcia came to nursery sick this morning, and Romilda said he was
drunk!
He’s only three years old! I cried, but I was so mad I could fight. If I could just see every tavern between Water Street and the tracks shut up tight, I’d dance like David before the ark!”

They laughed at her vehemence, but Philip said seriously, “Billy has voiced my New Year’s wish exactly. The taverns of this neighborhood stand as the greatest hindrance to any really
permanent and constructive program. I’m proud of my Recruits, but for each boy that we integrate into our work, there are a hundred that the taverns draw down into their maw. There’s only one Henderson Institute in one hundred square blocks, and there’s an average of more than one tavern to a block. This is surely the stomping ground of the adversary!”

“True, as no one knows better than I,” said Dr. Ben. “However, I know, too, that the work pays. You see, I came out of all this myself. It’s tough, but with God’s help it can be done. The adversary is strong, but He that is with us is greater than all the combined forces of evil. We’re winning some grand victories in this front line trench.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Ben. I’m not doubtful of final victory, but I grieve at the boys and girls who are lost as the battle goes on. Even at that, I wouldn’t dodge any of the conflict. The rewards are priceless. We don’t produce a Ben Madison every year, but an occasional one makes it worthwhile.”

Ben’s face flushed at this praise and to cover his self-consciousness and turn the attention of the group in another direction, he said, “What does the lady of the manse want most in the coming year?”

“Oh, I don’t even have to stop to think. I want this yard fixed up for a playground for the children—a little bit of the kind of outdoor life that is every child’s birthright. I want them to play here and pick flowers and grow a few posies and vegetables of their own. I want them to learn that carrots come from the earth, rather than from a dirty store. Every child should have a
little
of God’s outdoors in his life.”

“I predict that you’ll get your wish, O Queen!” said Stan. “In fact, come February I’ll prune your grapevines and shrubbery, and in the spring I’ll even spade your garden. That’s a promise.”

“Thank you, my friend. Now you tell us your hopes for the future. Maybe I can help you.”

“My hopes for the future are too sacred to be discussed. Only in the dark do I ever dare look at them myself. So I’ll tell, instead, of what my New Year’s resolution is. I made only one. I am
not
going to elope with Billy this year.”

Billy sat up with a bounce. “Why, you—you—you big quitter! I’d like to know why not!”

“Because I promised your mother I wouldn’t.”

“Honest Injun?”

“Honest Injun. That was the last thing I said to her.”

“That was a low-down trick. As if she didn’t trust
me!
Why I told her myself I’d never try
that
again.”

“Again?” queried Eleanor, looking from one to the other.

“Yep, again. When the first attempt failed, I promised Mom that I’d wait and have a regular wedding with all the fixings. I keep my word. You wouldn’t have needed to promise, anyway, Mr. Dykstra. I wouldn’t
let
you elope with me.”

“Good! I must make a note of that in case you forget.”

“Did you really try to elope?” asked Hope in bewilderment.

“We sure did. And we would have succeeded except for a flat tire. Too bad! I might have been a married man now if fate hadn’t interfered.”

Eleanor noted the twinkle in Stan’s eye and the twitching of the dimple in Billy’s cheek and said laughingly, “You two don’t make sense. However, we’re all relieved to know there’ll be no elopement. Now Hope, what’s your dream for the Institute?”

“I’m going to make my dream come true. I can, and it will be lots of fun. I’m going to give a whole truckload of watermelons away in Sherman Street.”

Her matter-of-fact announcement fell like a bombshell in their midst. Several gasps were heard from different parts of the circle. Then Stan’s voice, weak and subdued, asked, “Did you say a truckload of watermelons?”

“Yes, I did. Why, I heard some of the girls say they had never
tasted
watermelon.”

“I can believe that. But, lady! A truckload! What are you—a millionairess in disguise?” asked Stan.

“No, I’m no millionaire. My grandfather raises acres of watermelons every year. They are his chief crop. When I was in high school I did something that pleased him, and he gave me an acre of ground for my own. I get the money for all the melons grown on that acre, and if I want him to, I know he will send
them to me instead of selling them. I will pay for the gas for the truck, and I can do as I please with the melons.”

Ben whistled in amazement, and the others looked as if they were struggling to accept such a story. Stan gazed at Hope for a few moments, then solemnly turned to Billy.

“Our engagement is off, Bill. I’m courting a watermelon queen. Look out, Hope! Here I come. Boy, oh boy! Watermelons by the truckload!”

“Really, truly, cross your heart, Hope, could you have a truckload of watermelons all for your own self?”

They all turned at this question from the bedroom door. Chad, in flannel robe and “bunny slippers,” stood blinking in astonishment.

“Sonny boy, what are
you
doing up at this hour?” asked Eleanor, as Phil picked up the little boy and tucked the edges of the robe about his legs.

“I wanted a drink, and I called and you didn’t answered, so I came out. Could Hope really have such a many watermelons, Mother?”

“Let’s not talk about watermelons now. Let’s get the drink and go back to bed. It’s almost midnight.”

“Is it almost New Year’s time, Mummy? Can’t I stay up and hear the whistles? Patsy said they’d blow. Can’t I,
please
, Miss Honor?”

Phil’s eyes met Eleanor’s over the tumbled yellow curls, and at the entreaty in his she said, “If Daddy will wrap you in a blanket and hold you tight, you can stay just this once.”

“Oh, goody! And does Hope really have enough watermelons to fill a truck? Do you, Hope?”