Not My Will and The Light in My Window (60 page)

A long letter from Billy told of the great improvement in the invalid and of plans for the wedding in the fall.

Hope did not read that last paragraph to Eleanor, though they laughed together over Stan’s clumsy accidents at his sisters’ weddings. Hope could not talk to anyone about her feeling for Stan. It was something to be faced alone, for there was no one who could understand or help. Hope wished she did not have that feeling of resentment about Eleanor’s happiness, for there was something about Eleanor that seemed just made for comforting others. Many times Hope had almost broken down and sought the shelter of that friendship and love that was ready for her, but the wall could not be so easily removed. Since coming to the farm, Hope had been drawn to Mother Stewart and wished she could confide in her, but the reticence of years tied her tongue, and she tried to push her problem into the background and fill her days with work that would help her to forget self.

The receipt of Billy’s letter, with its threat of Stan’s arrival in person, put an end to Hope’s evasion. She had to decide
now
what was to be done. She must either say yes to Stan or say no so decidedly that he would believe her and leave her alone. She could not say yes, much as she longed to, for she could not, would not cheat Stan. He was too good and fine to have anything but the best in life, and she could not give that to him. Her first love had been given to another, and now that that love had gone she did not trust any other. Nor could she be sure, either, that she could face the things life might bring to her. Even Stan’s wealth could not be insurance against trouble or illness or sorrow; when these came she might fail to stand under them. It was much better to stay in the shell of reserve she had built around herself than to go outside and risk the possibility of more disappointments.

“I’m a coward,” Hope acknowledged to herself, “but I can’t help it. Life can be terrible, and the more happiness you have, the more you can lose. I’m not taking any chances!”

F
or two weeks the weather had been intensely warm. Even the nights had brought little relief. The sun had shone day after day with an almost furious zeal. The men working in the fields had to rest during midday and work far into the night to avoid sunstroke or heat exhaustion. Each day they hoped for rain and saw the hours pass without it. The first cutting of hay was all baled and in the sheds, the corn had been cultivated for the last time, the small grains, ripened early by the intense heat, had been threshed, and the fields of stubble lay bare under the hot sun.

“If we don’t have rain soon,” said Bob, mopping his forehead as he stopped by the well for a drink, “the corn will be ruined. The leaves are badly curled now. I don’t see how this drought can last.”

“In Elijah’s time it didn’t rain for three years and six months,” said Mary Louise comfortingly from the window of the shed where she and Hope were preparing tomatoes for canning.

“Well, here’s hoping
we
won’t have to wait that long!”

“We won’t,” said Mother Stewart calmly. “It’s fixing for a storm now. I can tell by the feeling of the air. When it comes it will be a
real
one,” she added with the wisdom of experience.

She was right. That night they were awakened by the sound of wind. Hail followed and then rain. It seemed that the floodgates had been opened, and all the waters of heaven poured forth. When morning came, the barn lots were lakes, the cement
road was a mere ribbon between two miniature rivers, and the sloping drive had become a cascade of muddy water. All day it rained, and all night, and then another day. Bob reported that the creek at the back of the lower pasture was out of its banks and rising steadily.

“The old bridge will go if the creek rises much more. If it weren’t on that high spot it would be under water now. It can’t last if the water rises to its floor. The current is too strong for those old pilings.”

Still the rain fell. That evening Phil drove in for a weekend with his family and reported that in many places the highways were under several inches of water. In some few spots they had been closed to traffic.

By the next afternoon the rain had ceased, though the skies continued leaden. Mother Stewart and Mary Louise drove into town for some groceries, Hope had gone with Bob and Marilyn to see how some young stock fared in a distant pasture, and the Kings had the farm to themselves. It was a welcome bit of home life to them after their separation. Eleanor and Phil sat in the swing with Chad perched on the porch rail nearby. There were many bits of news that were interesting—the progress of the remodeling, the condition of the kindergarten without Billy, the number of new babies that had arrived, the state of the gardens, and many other items. Chad listened for a while, then when the conversation swung to a discussion of summer school at the college and became too involved for his understanding, he slid from his perch and started around the house.

“Don’t go away, son,” said Eleanor. “We are going over to Uncle Bob’s to see the new twin calves when the folks get back.”

“Okey doke! I’ll be on the back porch.”

It was half an hour later when Eleanor and Phil were startled by the appearance at the steps of a white-faced little figure. It was Patty, breathless and sobbing. They sprang up, and Phil stooped to question her.

“Oh, Uncle Phil, hurry! It’s Bobby—on the old bwidge. Chad has gone to him, but he says for you to come quick!”

At the realization of the child’s meaning Eleanor caught her breath sharply. Phil spoke quickly.

“Where is it, Len? Can I reach it in the car?”

“Yes—oh yes!”

“You stay here—I’ll go to them,” commanded Phil.

“No, I
must
go,” cried Eleanor, and in spite of Phil’s protests, she climbed into the backseat with Patty. As they drove, Patty, grown quieter now that she had unloaded her responsibility onto older shoulders, told her story.

“Daddy told Bobby that after we’d had our naps we’d go to Berry’s over on the back road and get us a puppy. Then Daddy and Mother left us in bed and went to see about the calves. When I woked, Bobby was gone. I came to see if he was with Chad, but he wasn’t. We looked and looked an’ nen we saw him way off by the bwidge. We ran after him, but he kept going, and Chad sent me after Uncle Phil. There’s so
much
water.”

“You did right, honey,” said Eleanor through white lips. “Here, Phil, turn into Bob’s yard. We go out through his back lot and down the old road there. It would be a mile and a half at least if we went by the highway, and we haven’t time!”

Phil swung the car up to the side door. “Patty, you wait here for Daddy, and when he gets here send him down to us as quickly as he can come.”

As the little girl ran to the steps the car sped through the gate and started down the gravel road that led along by the hay field. The car lurched and swayed over the ruts and occasionally skidded in a muddy stretch, but not once did Phil lessen his speed. It seemed an interminable distance to the fringe of trees that marked the creek’s banks.

As they came at last in sight of the bridge, an anguished moan broke through Eleanor’s white lips. “The bridge is gone! Oh, dear Father, where are our boys?”

Then in a quick gasp, “Oh, Phil! There! Among the willows!”

The car slid to a stop, and Phil was out, jerking off his shoes even as he stepped from the door.

“I’ll have to swim for them. You be ready to give me a hand from the bank when I get back. And pray, little mother, pray!”

The old bridge was broken in two. The end closest to them stretched out into the waters that swirled around its pilings, but
the other end had been pulled loose from the shore and floated downstream several rods to a clump of trees that had caught and held it. It was still upright, and its planks formed a raft to which clung two small frightened boys, while around them the muddy water boiled and churned.

Phil slid from the bridge and started across the current. In ordinary times he could have waded the creek. Now its swift flood, filled with all sorts of debris, appalled him. He was a strong swimmer, however, and the first trip across was made quickly. As Eleanor watched him, she knew what he had to do. Bobby must be brought back first for he could not be trusted to wait alone. She prayed both for the little lad who must be left behind on the unsteady raft and for the man who had the difficult task of bringing a three year old across that rushing stream. It was not easy to persuade Bobby to forsake the boards that to him represented safety or to get him to cooperate in the hard swim back. But he had been taught obedience, and slowly but surely Phil and Bobby drew near to the waiting Eleanor. With her mind on Chad waiting alone back in the willows she ran to the broken end of the span and reached for Bobby. Phil clung to the side and gave Bobby a boost that enabled Eleanor to draw him up beside her. Phil turned quickly for the trip back to the raft, and, with a reassuring wave to Chad, Eleanor turned to take Bobby back to the car so she would be ready to help Phil when he should return with the older and heavier boy.

Before she had reached the end of the bridge, however, there was a crack and a lurch of the timbers, and the free end of the span sank slowly into the stream. Desperately Eleanor clutched Bobby with one hand and grabbed the rail with the other, praying that it would hold until she could reach the firm ground. It did hold, and for a moment she clung to it before trying to climb up the now steeply sloping floor. Bobby began to whimper, and she quieted him.

“Just a minute, Bobbykin. Auntie Len will help you up, and we will put you in the car. Now! Can you climb up and reach that post?”

Bobby tried but the floor boards were slick and wet, and his arms were short. Several times he made the trial, and each time
when he slipped back it was with greater effort that Eleanor kept her hold on him.

“We can’t do that, Bobby. I can’t hold you. If I draw you over to me maybe you can hold on and help me. You’re a heavy boy.”

Bobby hugged the rail, but Eleanor dared not loosen her hold on him for his baby hands could not grasp the wide board firmly enough to sustain his weight. Her feet were slipping, and she feared she could not continue to hold her own and Bobby’s combined weights. Twisting about, she managed to brace one foot against an upright and thus to take some of the load off of her aching arms. She clung there thankfully, resolving not to try again to reach the bank, but just to cling there until Phil came.

By turning her head as far as possible, she managed to see Phil’s dark head as he labored toward Chad. He was so slow! She knew how tired he must be, but if he could know that she needed him so desperately he would hurry. Her back ached, and her arms felt as if they would be pulled from their sockets. A nail bit into her palm, and the rough bark of the railing cause intense pain. Below them the water swirled and eddied. She must not look at it or she would faint. She raised her eyes and looked across the pasture and hay field to the hills beyond. Nestled against one hillside she saw the white walls of the country church, and above it on the hilltop two tall pines raised their masts to the sky, seeming to remind her of One who would be to her strength and endurance.

“Oh, Father, give me strength to hold on until Phil comes. Help Phil and my Chad, and bring them safely through the water. Keep Bobby quiet, Father. If it’s Thy will may we all be saved for Thy glory alone. Oh, hold me—hold me!”

Bobby was crying again and wriggling in his discomfort, and she had to speak sternly to him to quiet him. She turned again to see Phil, but her head hurt and she was so dizzy that she could not see him. Surely he must be nearly here! Waves of nausea swept over her and almost unendurable pain. But still she clung, and through lips into which her teeth had bitten until blood came she prayed, “Hold me, Father, hold me!”