Not My Will and The Light in My Window (24 page)

When he walks into chapel she gets a soulful look in her eyes and never takes her gaze off him. I’m not in her Christian ed. class, but I’ve been hearing reports of her attitude there. P. K.—with all his conceit—is getting a bit embarrassed. Most of the tales I hear come from my other roommate, Wilhelmina—she of the angelic countenance. She’s just another example of my gullibility. Instead of being a
cuddly innocent, she’s a little “hellion.” She says a neighbor called her that when she was six and she has been trying to live up—or down—to it ever since. She is called Billy, and of all the undisciplined little hoydens you could imagine, she takes the lead. She thinks laws were made to be broken, and she doesn’t care in the least about her lessons. She was sent here as a disciplinary measure. (I am becoming aware of the fact that a lot of families use Bethel as a reform school!)

Angela and Billy agree just like the gingham dog and the calico cat. And most of the time I’m in between them. In spite of her naughtiness, I like Billy, and when she starts out to “nail Angela’s hide to the fence,” as she daintily expresses it, I find myself smiling in spite of myself. The other night Angela should have been studying psychology but instead was raving about the charms of P K. It seems that in his absence he has added a new charm—a lock of white hair amid the brown waves. It is picturesque, no denying it. And the sight of it wrings Angela’s soul anew every day. She says it speaks to her of the great suffering he underwent last year. “But,” she adds soulfully, “he wears it just like a banner.”

“Banner, my eye!” snorts Billy. “He wears it like a medal. Banners stand for a cause—but medals mean personal achievements. He feels he earned that picturesque adornment. Anyway”—oh, heartless Billy!—“that’s not from his injury. He had a boil there. Our doctor lanced it, and he told me.”

That shook Angela’s tender soul so deeply she couldn’t continue the argument, so she retired in
mournful silence into her books. That’s the kind of thing I live with. Do you wonder that I do my studying in the library and spend my free hour in the afternoon in the park?

That hour, by the way, is the happiest of my day. This lovely fall weather the park is full of mothers and babies, and I have great fun watching them—the babies. Most of them are chubby, well-washed-and-combed little busybodies that toddle around and fall in the grass or reach out from their strollers to pull another’s hair or poke inquisitive fingers into his eyes or mouth. I sit on the bench and smile at them and pray for my little baby, that he too may be well and happy. No, Mother, don’t worry, for I won’t be morbid. But I can’t keep my baby out of my mind, and I have decided that every time a thought of him comes, it is God’s signal to pray for him. So wherever I am when the urge comes, I pray, and it does help.

Last winter when I was so desperate and was determined to work out my atonement, one of the things I wanted to do was find a baby to care for. That desire, I must confess, has never left me even though I know now that my forgiveness doesn’t depend on my own works. Surely somewhere there is one little baby who isn’t wanted or who needs help. Just this week I have found an opening that may lead somewhere.

You know that each member of the Christian ed. classes has to do some practical work in a church or settlement house or other agency. I have been assigned to the Anna Henderson Institute. You know all about it undoubtedly, as it is one of our denominational
projects. I’ve only been down once but am encouraged to believe that somewhere in that horrible neighborhood full of ragged, unkempt children, I can find one baby who needs mothering—said mothering to be done by me!

Before I close, please tell Marilyn that I share her views about P. K. His persuasiveness and teaching ability are wonderful, and at first I was thrilled by his lectures. But two weeks of them have convinced me that he is as much aware of his charms as anyone else, and I can’t stand that.

He puzzles me, though. He looks so familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen him before, but where?

My dearest love to you all. I’m going to write more regularly now that I’m settled. Must stop now and arbitrate a dispute between Angela and Billy as to which of them will wear my plaid jacket. It fits neither.

Len

Bethel, November 8

Dear Mother:

Before Thanksgiving comes any nearer, I am sorry to have to tell you that I can’t get home for the festivities. I don’t feel that I can afford the expense of the trip for such a short stay, so I’ll save my money to come for the Christmas holidays. Just think—two whole weeks then! For Thanksgiving Fred and Carolyn insist on my visiting them.

Angela and Billy will both go home for four days. They live here in the city, so it’s no problem for them. In fact they live only a few blocks apart. I have discovered that they attended rival high schools, which
gives them another topic for warfare. I anticipate that long weekend with the keenest delight. The silence in our room will be balm to my soul.

That soul needs some kind of balm tonight. For the first time in my life I have been laughed at, and I didn’t like it. I admit the incident was funny, but Dr. King needn’t have rubbed it in.

(Yes, I call him Dr. all the time now, because I get so tired of hearing Angela and his other devotees calling him Philip.)

Last night we had a party in the gym to help the students get better acquainted with each other. The youngsters’ chatter didn’t interest me, so I decided to hunt up some lonesome-looking youths and maids to see if I could help them. I had just settled comfortably in a corner to talk to a bashful-looking lad named Dick Dunlap, who needs to have his self-confidence built up, when someone started a game of Bible baseball.

I agreed to take part, though I had qualms about my batting abilities, Bible study having been added to my life so recently.

At first all went well, and as I happened to have questions “pitched” at me that reminded me of the book of Bible stories in Aunt Ruth’s library, I found myself in the position of star player on my team. Dr. King was the pitcher for the other team, but even against him I was going strong. Suddenly he threw a wicked curve ball at me, so to speak. “Who was Ahab’s wife?” he asked.

Quick as a wink I answered, “Beelzebub!”

Horrors, how they laughed! It was funny, I admit. I laughed too. But I don’t think Dr. King had to be
quite
so amused. He acted as though it was the first joke he had heard in a year.

Then today in class (I take Old Testament History under him) he asked me if I didn’t want to teach the class. Everyone laughed again. Now that wasn’t kind. However, I’m trying not to let it bother me. It’s just that being laughed at is a new experience, and I haven’t learned to like it yet.

Angela and Billy continue to wrangle. Did I tell you that I have discovered that both of their fathers are on the board of trustees at Bethel? There’s a difference, though. Billy’s father is just a member. Angela’s father is chairman and is
thinking
of giving a new library building.

Every time I go, I enjoy the work at the institute more. I wanted to work in the kindergarten but was assigned to the high school girls and am teaching handcrafts and conducting a Bible class on Friday nights. Dr. King preaches at the institute twice on Sundays and is director of all the work there. He is more likeable when he is there than he is in the classroom. He really has a genius for that kind of work. The other day he said, “If my wife were stronger I’d like to give up teaching and live at the institute and just see what work for the Lord could be done in such a place.” I don’t know what ails his wife. Apparently she doesn’t go out much, for I haven’t ever seen either her or the baby, which I am told is now over a year old.

Still no luck in finding a baby I could help mother.
I thought surely I could find one easily in the institute neighborhood. But those poor folk down there seem to be rich in love, at least. No matter how ragged and hungry and cold they are, or how many babies they already have, they hang tenaciously on to their newest offspring and seem to love it as much as they loved their first. I find myself spending every spare penny buying little things to help them. But I can’t ask any of them to give me a baby!

I’ll be thinking of you all on Thanksgiving day and am already looking forward to Christmas. Am going now to practice in one of the music rooms with Dick Dunlap (the bashful boy I talked to at the party). He says he sings a little but hasn’t practiced since he came. He’s the nicest youngster I’ve met here. He is in the seminary, comes from Arizona, and is pretty homesick. He is afraid of most of the girls but evidently thinks I’m a motherly soul and quite safe.

Tell Mary Lou I haven’t had a letter from her since I came. Give my love to all, even the calves.

Len

The Farm—November 12

Dear Len:

I am not a very good writing person. It gets me very tired. But I am lonesome today and cross at my family. Not at Mother. She is always all right. But sometimes Bob and Connie are a trial to me. And Marilyn is always sympathetic with Bob. So I feel quite alone.

It all started at breakfast. Mother wasn’t down
because she had a headache, and I asked if I could lead in the breakfast prayer. Then, when I started, I forgot that I wasn’t alone, and I prayed just as if only God could hear me. And I prayed for my husband. Bob and Connie laughed right out. Do you think that was nice? I don’t. I bet you wouldn’t have laughed. Every girl expects to be married some day and getting the right kind of man isn’t easy. So I thought I’d start praying early to keep from making some awful mistake and marrying someone like Pete Novak down the road. Maybe it did sound funny to Bob and Connie, but they needn’t have laughed so hard. I know now how you feel toward P. K.

Mother got up after a while, and she told me it was all right and for me to keep on praying for my husband, and my children too. So I felt better.

There are four new calves since you left. And Scotty had three little puppies. And a cow stepped on a hen and broke her leg, and Bob wanted to kill her, and I took her and bandaged her leg and put a stick on it for a splint and hid her in the barn, and she got all right, and Bob said I was a good doctor. He is an all-right brother sometimes.

I must quit. I think I smell popcorn. Perhaps I should go out and forgive Bob and Connie.

Hugs and kisses,
Mary Lou

Bethel, November 15

Dear folks:

I am quite the most humble person on the campus tonight, and the Lord has given me such a happy
experience that I feel ashamed of my unworthiness. I can’t write of anything else till I tell you about it. I really should have been ashamed to let Dr. King’s teasing bother me, but it did. I guess I got so used to Professor Nichols calling me his star pupil, etc., that I thought the place was mine for keeps. And when Dr. King kept teasing me about Beelzebub, I resented it. Every time he got a chance he spoke of it, until I began to dread meeting him.

Then day before yesterday, a group of us were standing in the big hall outside the dining room waiting for the dinner bell. On the table near the door was a beautiful plant that some kind friend had sent in, and we were all admiring it. Angela was by my side, and suddenly, in the sweet high tone she uses when Dr. King is near, she asked, “Isn’t it just divine? What gives it so many different shades of green?”

I was just ready to answer her and say, “God” (for it wouldn’t have done a bit of good to explain nature’s secret coloring processes to Angela) when Dr. King’s voice, cool and assured, cut in. “That’s simple. You see, each cell of the middle part of the leaves contains in its chloroplasm small green bodies called cytoplasts, which are responsible for the green color of the leaves.”

Now if I had stopped for one second to collect my thoughts, I’d never have spoken, because no one else noticed that he had twisted those words. And it really didn’t make a
bit
of difference. But the old spirit of setting things right rose up in me, and before I thought I burst forth with this:

“Oh, no! Each cell contains in its cytoplasm the chloroplasts that make the color.”

I was sorry at once, and the silence that came over the group was so profound that it fairly smote my ears. Then it was shattered by Dr. King’s voice, laughing and insolent.

“Professor Nichols would be glad to hear your explanation, I am sure, Mrs. Stewart. He will probably change his textbook if you’ll correct him. I didn’t know you knew your biology as well as you do your Old Testament.”

That last was really a mean dig, and for a moment my “almost-red-headed temper,” as Chad used to say, threatened to get out of control. But I am learning slowly to trust my Lord for even such little things, and He gave me grace to smile and let it pass. But ever since then I have been ashamed of feeling so annoyed.

Then, this morning as I was leaving chapel, I was given a notice to call at the office at once. Immediately fearful that something was wrong with you dear ones at home, I hurried down. There sat the impeccably handsome Dr. King, waiting for me.

“Won’t you come in here, Mrs. Stewart?” he asked, indicating an empty conference room. I walked in, and he came in and closed the door. I couldn’t imagine what on earth was up. We both sat down.

“Mrs. Stewart, first of all I must apologize to you,” he said, with so much diffidence and humility that I could hardly believe it was really happening.

“What for?” I asked, although I had a good idea.

“For my inexcusable rudeness the other day. I was
ashamed of myself at once, even when I still thought you wrong, but since I found out who you are, I have been eating humble pie in great quantities.”

My mouth dropped open. “How—what—why—” I began.

“I’ll begin at the beginning, so as not to keep you in suspense. Professor Spencer, who teaches botany, is ill—with measles, of all things. Can you figure out why an old man should take such a disease? Anyway, he will be gone for at least two weeks. Well, we didn’t have anyone to take his classes. So this morning I called the university, asking them if they could send someone here to substitute for two weeks. I wonder if you could guess whom they recommended?”