Not My Will and The Light in My Window (54 page)

“It isn’t
reform
they are thinking about, at least not as the world thinks of reform. All the reforms in the world don’t do any good if the root of evil isn’t killed. That can only come through Christ—through regeneration in Him. That’s what the Institute was founded for—to point men to Him. I don’t think the Kings and Billy and Ben are fanatical. That means unreasonably zealous, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, and that’s what I think they are. Too much religion is apt to unbalance folks. Look at Sam. He’s a pest!”

“I’ll admit Sam is queer. He hasn’t much mentality. It’s better for him to be over-religious, as you call it, than to be like some of those fellows who stare at us when we go on the street. The Kings and Billy and Ben will never be like that. They’re jolly and kind and well-balanced, and I wish I were more like them.”

“Don’t worry. You’re getting there fast.”

“Thank you. That’s the nicest compliment you could give me.

“You’re welcome. Where do I come in? I’m the only heathen in the bunch, and when you all get together I feel smaller and smaller until I’d be glad to crawl into a termite hole if I could find one small enough. Sometimes—there’s Ben and Wilhelmina looking for us. Let’s give them one more good whirl before we go home.”

After that night on the ice, Ben and Billy seemed to find more and more occasion to be together, and Hope grew more and more puzzled as to the situation. Sometimes she would be sure that Billy loved Ben, and her heart would rejoice. Then some word or act would remind her of the tie that seemed to exist between Billy and Stan, and her perplexity would return.

Billy developed an interest in the domestic arts that amused the whole staff. Her evenings were spent at the sewing machine, and kindergartners began to blossom forth in new bibs, then pinafores and coveralls. It was an event that brought forth a box of chocolates from Ben and a corsage of garlic and carrot tops from Stan when she appeared at dinner one night in a dotted swiss blouse and a skirt of the blue that made the violets in her eyes even deeper in hue.

“I did it all, every stitch, my own self,” she cried, whirling around before them.

The applause that ensued brought the Kings to the door to add their admiration and congratulations.

“It’s beautiful, Billy,” said Eleanor, gazing fondly at the small seamstress. “What are you going to make next?”

“Next? Nothing! This is my graduation dress. I’m quitting. I don’t like to sew, but I wanted to know how, so I could if I had to.”

“Oh,” groaned Stan, “what a relief! I was afraid a shirt for me would be next.”

“No. No more sewing. Next I am going to learn to cook.
Really
cook, not just help Hope.”

“Oi, oi! And who’s going to eat your messes?”

“You, at first. When I learn better, I’ll cook for all of us.”

True to her word she began her culinary studies at once. If she could slip away from the nursery at the time the classes met, she would work with Hope’s girls. Whenever she had a few hours off, she could be found in the kitchen wearing a white uniform
and a desperately earnest expression, which combination Stan dubbed her “make-up as a cook.”

One evening when he came in from the Institute and saw the light in the kitchen, Stan tiptoed to the door and stood watching her. With the cookbook propped up before her, she was measuring ingredients with such intentness that the watcher in the doorway went entirely unobserved until he began to sing.

Billy had whirled around at the sound of his voice and stood speechless and swelling with wrath. Then the storm broke.

“Oh, you—you—I—I wish you’d choke on your old song! You think you’re funny, don’t you? Well, you’re not. You’re just plain mean!”

Stan laughed shamefacedly. Then, as he saw the small chin begin to quiver and the blue eyes begin to fill with tears, he went around the table and put his arms around her.

“’Scuse, honey. I didn’t know it would hurt. Come on, let loose and have a cry if you want to …”

As she sobbed he talked to her in low tones, and soon she grew quiet. Neither of them saw Hope come to the door, take in the scene, then retire hastily into the back hall. Stan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and said, “Wipe your nose, darling. You’re a big girl now.”

Billy laughed shakily. “Thanks, pal, for the tonic. You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours. If you’ll wait till they’re done you can have a tart.”

Hope, back in the study, shook her head. Billy and her love affairs were too much for her!

T
here had often been epidemics of disease in the Sherman Street District. The old buildings with their faulty sanitation, the overcrowding, and the lack of proper food and clothing all were conducive to the spread of any germs that might be abroad. There would continue to be epidemics of many sorts. However, the scourge that struck that year was to go down in Henderson House history as
the
Epidemic. Nothing like it had been known before, nor would be again, Dr. Ben hoped.

After the cold days of the first part of January, a sudden warm spell brought about the “January thaw.” The snow and ice melted into dirty water that stood in puddles on the broken sidewalks and backed up in the filthy gutters. Instead of following the pattern of most January thaws and lasting a week, it continued on into February. A few yellow and black quarantine signs had been seen shortly after Christmas, but suddenly, before the Institute staff knew what was happening, the signs were everywhere. Each day there would be new absences from the classes. Dr. Ben would be out until long after dinner time on his calls. Billy’s babies were most affected, and as she counted her charges each morning and missed little faces that had grown dear to her, she grew grave and sad.

“Can’t
anything
be done to keep it from spreading?” she cried desperately. “Oh, if I could only keep them in the nursery day and night, I know they’d be better off. I hate to tell them
good-bye at five o’clock, for I never know who will come back!”

“They would be safer here,” admitted Ben. “But it can’t be done. I fear you won’t be able to have them in the daytime much longer. The Board of Health is considering closing the schools and kindergartens, and forbidding children to attend any public gathering.”

“Oh, no! Why, it’s lots better at the nursery than in those cold, smelly houses!”

“I know
we
think so, but we’ll have to accept what comes and obey like soldiers.”

One by one the older boys and girls began to drop out. Then influenza and pneumonia struck, hitting old and young alike. The hospitals were full, and the public health nurses went from house to house, working under all sorts of handicaps and through almost impossibly long hours, trying to stem the tide of death. The closing order came from the Board of Health, and the Institute, which a short time before had hummed with life, became oppressively quiet.

On the second morning of the enforced vacation Phil called his staff together. His face was drawn and tired and his voice sober as he said, “Ben tells me the situation is desperate. Doctors and nurses are working to their limit. Yet they can’t reach all the homes. They are calling for volunteers. I am not asking any of you to go. In fact, unless you’ve had it, I am asking you
not
to volunteer. Both Eleanor and I have had it, and we are sending Chad to his grandmother in the country so that we can be free to go as the Lord calls. If you youngsters want to go home until the emergency is past, you may do so without feeling any sense of guilt at all.”

Hope listened to the noise of a car bumping over a hole in the street and wondered dully if it were the ambulance again. She had seen it more times in the last week than she dared count. Yesterday she had gone to the funeral of Dot Mills, the gayest little girl in her classes. This morning Sam had come in with the news that Chad’s little chum, Patsy, had gone. The tragedy and horror of it all seemed too much for Hope. She could not face any more of it. If Phil and Eleanor would not blame her she would leave at once. She could have a visit at home and come
back when the Institute opened again. For the first time since she came to the city she longed for home and Daddy and Mother Bess. She longed to see Jack and Judy and to forget these underprivileged waifs of Sherman Street. It would be like another world there, away from the disease and filth and death they were fighting here.

She looked at Phil’s worn face, at Eleanor’s tired, sad eyes, and she knew that they had not considered leaving. She saw Billy’s chin quiver as she cried, in a choked voice, “I’m going to stay, Phil, and even Ben can’t tell me not to. My babies are all sick, and I
have
to stay.”

Stan’s gruff tones showed his emotion as he followed with, “You know you need us all, fellow. We’ve as much right here as you have, so count me in. I’m here to
stay
.”

Still Hope did not speak. No one would censure her if she went. She knew that Daddy and Mother Bess would welcome her. Yet, was she ready to go to them? She had forgiven them and held no bitterness against them, but somehow she did not want to say so yet. Perhaps by summertime, but not now. She thought of Mary and Della and Gracie, of Tommy and Butch and all the boys and girls who could not get away if they wanted to. She thought of Billy’s babies, some of whom would never again play in the nursery. She thought of Billy herself who could at this moment have been traveling with her parents, had she so desired, but who chose instead the work and hardship of Sherman Street. The words of a Scripture verse she had read recently came to Hope’s mind: “Choosing rather to suffer affliction …” and all at once Hope knew she could not go when she was needed here.

“If you’ll let me stay, I want to do what I can,” she said slowly. “I don’t know much about nursing, but I can obey orders and I’m strong and I’d like to help.”

Philip and Eleanor each smiled at her in understanding and gratitude, Billy squeezed her hand, and Stan looked at her across the arched back of Riley, who was climbing on him at the moment, with an approving grin. “You’re all right, Hopeful. I knew you’d come across!”

The weeks that followed were like a nightmare of work and sorrow. Ben brought arm bands from the health department that
gave them entry into the homes where help was needed. Phil gave up his classes and lectures at the college. Under Ben’s instructions they went from home to home, taking temperatures, administering medicines, giving baths, changing linens, and distributing the jars of soup that Katie prepared in the big old kitchen. The days were long, for they were abroad before eight o’clock, and often it was late at night before they stopped.

Ben watched over them carefully for signs of fatigue or overexertion. He insisted that they eat regularly and get a full eight hours of rest every night. Each morning he examined their throats before issuing the orders for the day. Then, before they separated, Phil would call them together for prayer. It seemed to Hope as she listened that she could almost feel strength for the day flow through her. They went out from those morning devotions uplifted and able to meet the burdens of the hard hours ahead, trusting in God to bring them through, whatever might befall.

Dr. Cortland telephoned from Bethel to say that special prayer meetings were being held morning and evening among the students and faculty. Eleanor’s mother wrote from the farm that members of her church were pledged to pray through. On the darkest day of all, when the battle seemed to be a losing one, when the gray skies overhead added to the dreariness of the situation, the workers came home late, in the cold and drizzle, to find a telegram:

Wondering, they followed the instructions as they gathered in the Kings’ living room. Phil and Eleanor were together in front of the fireplace, in which they no longer had time to light a fire. Ben sat by the radio, the girls were in easy chairs, and Stan, with Riley poking inquisitive paws into his ears, was stretched out on the davenport. They were too tired to talk, so sat in silence listening to several hymns and choruses sung by a choir from the Bible Institute from which the program came. Then a girl’s voice spoke.

“The next song is sung especially for the workers at Henderson Institute. It is our greeting to you who are carrying on so courageously there.”

Then, as they listened together, six soldiers weary from battle, over the air came the words and music of a grand old hymn. Some of the verses were so exactly the assurance they needed that they seemed God-sent.

As the last notes died away Eleanor, with her face shining, exclaimed, “Connie and Dick! Oh, I needed that tonight. I was almost defeated when I got home. I’m all right now. We
will
come through. I know we will!”

“That was Eleanor’s sister and her husband, Connie and Dick Dunlap,” explained Billy as she and Hope prepared for bed. “If I could sing like they can, I’d have to be paid to keep still. They never sounded so well as they did tonight. I guess we all needed that tonic.”

Somehow, after that night it was never quite so bad. One morning they awoke to find the temperature almost to zero, while a blizzard raged outside. Ben viewed it with approval.

“That’s the kind of weather I’ve been praying for,” he said. “We’ll pull out of it now. Germs don’t like such weather.”