Not My Will and The Light in My Window (25 page)

My brain just didn’t function. I sat and looked stupid.

“Their answer was that they didn’t have anyone to send, but that Miss Eleanor Stewart, who collaborated with Professor Nichols on the textbook we use at Bethel, was now attending Bethel College and could undoubtedly fill the vacancy satisfactorily.”

“Oh, my!” I managed to gasp.

“Feeling quite small,” P. K. continued, “I crept away from the phone and went to find one of those textbooks. Of course I discovered that you were right and I was completely wrong. Then I read Professor Nichols’s foreword containing the tribute to your work and was reduced one or two more sizes. I felt as small as even you could desire.”

“But, really—” I began.

He waved me quiet. “Please say that you will forgive me for having been so rude. Then come over
and let me introduce you to the botany class. Will you teach it?”

“Oh, yes!” I think my delight must have been written all over my face. “But what about my regular class work?”

“You are excused from your other classes for the necessary time.”

I never knew P. K. could be so humble. I was ashamed of having been so pettish. In a chastened mood, I walked across the campus with him, and he gave me a good introduction to the class. So I am now teaching at Bethel. And Dr. King has promised to see that no one
ever
says Beelzebub to me again!

This is already a long letter, but I have one more thing to tell. I’ve written you about enjoying the babies in the park. I have become acquainted with some of the mothers, and they let me play with their babies. One young mother, especially, has attracted me from a distance because of her unusual beauty. She has seemed very reserved, however, so I never approached her. I thought she must have a tiny baby, as its head never came popping out of the carriage.

But one day last week I noticed her sitting alone on a bench, and then as I drew near I heard the baby screaming and saw her wipe her eyes. She looked so tired and upset I had to stop.

“What’s the matter with this young fellow?” I asked. (I could tell it was a boy because no girl would bellow like that!)

She looked up and smiled such a weary, teary smile and said, “He wants me to wheel him some more, and I’m too tired!”

There was my chance. I said, “Oh, can I do it for you?”

She looked as if she thought I might want to kidnap that howling bundle, so I hastened to introduce myself as a Bethel student and showed her my library card for corroboration.

“Oh, I know you—or at least my husband does,” she exclaimed, looking at the card. “I am Mrs. Philip King.”

I turned to the baby, who was still howling his little head off. Oh, Mother, it almost broke my heart to look at him! He is over a year old but
so
thin and sick-looking. And such a tantrum he was having! Poor Mrs. King looked ready to drop. So I left my books with her, and I walked that young man for an hour until he fell asleep. When I got back, little Mrs. King was curled up on that park bench with her head on my books, sound asleep herself. Poor thing! She had probably been up all night with him.

We walked back to the school together, and she told me all about the baby. He has never been well, and she herself is far from strong. The baby is so fussy that she is the only one who can care for him, and she is almost exhausted. I asked if Dr. King couldn’t relieve her at night, but she cried, “Oh, no!” so quickly that I knew I had touched on a delicate subject. Then she hastened to say, “You see, my husband was hurt just before the baby came, and it was months before he was able to be about again. Even now he must be careful.”

I thought to myself that he looked a great deal better able to lose a little sleep than she did, but of
course I didn’t say so. An idea had come to me. I was almost afraid to offer it, but I finally did. Of course you know what the idea was—to help her care for that fussy baby.

To my joy, she accepted. She had seen me in the park every day, so knew I meant it when I said I loved babies. When I told her about having been separated from my own little one, she agreed to let me borrow hers for an hour or so every afternoon. Isn’t that great? She is going to stay at home and rest, and I’m going to “walk” the poor little boy. That isn’t exactly the kind of vicarious motherhood I had planned, but it’s better than none.

Must close now and get some sleep. If I keep on writing, I’ll have to send my letter by express.

Love to all,
Len

Thanksgiving night at Bethel

Dear folks:

Had a lovely day with Fred and Carolyn and the children. Helped Carolyn with dinner and then the dishes afterward, and later we had some jolly games. Things were so lively that I didn’t have one minute during the day to “think backward.” They brought me home about nine, for I wanted to get to bed early and get a real rest. But as I crossed the campus I met Charlie, the night watchman, and he told me that the doctor had just gone into the Kings’s and he feared someone was ill. Then, as I passed the King apartment, I heard their baby crying. If I had stopped to think, my courage would have failed, but I just
walked in, found the door unlatched, and ran up the stairs.

A distracted-looking Philip King opened the door to let me in. I found the baby screaming in his room, and Dr. Ferris, our school medic, in the dining room. Without standing on ceremony I said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you manage a spoiled baby?”

“I think I can,” I said. “Will you let me try?”

“Go right ahead,” he said abruptly. “Mrs. King has had a bad heart attack, and the baby is worrying her.”

So I followed the uproar and found the baby. He was frightened and angry, and for a while I made no impression on him whatsoever. But then some of my experience with baby Patty came back to me, and I remembered that she was best quieted by a quiet person. So I sat in a chair and rocked and prayed, and finally the poor little chap went off to sleep.

I laid him in his bed and returned to the living room, where Dr. Ferris and Dr. King were talking. Mrs. King was sleeping but had to be kept quiet and watched closely. Dr. Ferris said he would send a nurse in the morning, but Dr. King would have to care for her until then.

When I heard that, I spurred up my courage and asked if I could have the baby for the night. I think they were both relieved at the suggestion, and Dr. Ferris helped me transfer the baby’s paraphernalia to my own room.

So here I am with a baby on my hands. I pushed two beds against the wall and put him on the inner one to sleep, while I’m sitting on the side of the other,
keeping guard. I shall lie down presently but doubt if I shall sleep. The presence of a sleeping baby boy does things to me, but don’t worry about me, as I really am enjoying this.

More later—Len

Monday night, Bethel

Dearest of mothers:

Well, my baby went back home yesterday afternoon. Dr. King got a girl to care for him, and I spent an hour telling her how to do everything. Then I had to kiss him good-bye and leave him. It was wonderful while it lasted. Except for a few flareups, we got along nicely. Of course, I couldn’t have managed it if Billy and Angela had been around-one spoiled child is enough—but Mrs. Sperry, the housemother, helped out, and we really had fun. I believe the baby is beginning to like me. He has smiled at me several times, but he’s such a puny little fellow, and his smile was so pathetic that I almost cried. Mrs. Sperry told me some things that shed light on the King situation.

The Kings had been married five years before the baby came. They were overjoyed at the thought of being parents. But just two weeks before it was born, Philip was hurt in an accident. Then when the baby came it wasn’t well, and I guess the care and worry made Mrs. King sick.

The odd part of it is that Dr. King doesn’t seem much interested in the baby. He had been so enthusiastic about being a parent too. Perhaps it’s because the baby is so frail and unattractive. It could be, too,
that he resents the little boy’s having ruined his wife’s health. It is very obvious that he worships the ground Lorraine (his wife) walks on.

I’m planning some big Christmas doings at the institute before I leave for home. Billy is working down there with me now and is a real help. Underneath all her faults she has a kind heart, and her little head is full of sensible ideas. Angela has asked for an assignment at the institute also—so she can bask in the sunlight of P. K.’s smile, I suspect. She moons over him all the time. If I were he I’d fail her and send her home. But I presume one can’t do that to the chairman’s daughter.

Dr. Hale (president of the college, in case you’ve forgotten) isn’t at all well. He had some sort of attack last week and hasn’t been in the office since. Dr. Cortland, the dean of men, is doing the headwork in his absence, and Dr. King is doing the footwork. At least he seems to be chasing hither and yon all the time. He reminds me of a boy who played in our high school orchestra and kept seven or eleven instruments going all the time. Dr. Cortland is my favorite of all the teachers. I have him for New Testament. He would make a wonderful grandfather. He’s very sympathetic, and sometimes when my morale has wavered a little he has just the right word to steady me again.

Next week I start my Christmas shopping! You have me all excited about the big surprise you have planned. I can’t imagine what it can be. Four more weeks to wait!

Love,
Len

Bethel, December 18

Dear ones at home:

Only six more days! If they weren’t so full, I couldn’t stand it! I haven’t finished my shopping yet, and tomorrow is the last chance I’ll have. Do you know this is the first time in my life I ever bought presents for children? And now suddenly I have seventy-eight on my list! Of course I can’t afford electric trains and French dolls for that many. (Wish I could, though.) But Billy and I determined that every one of the youngsters at the institute should have a nice Christmas this year. Now listen to what she has done.

Her father gave her money for a new coat recently, and that dear child is spending every penny of it on the institute children instead. We have been shopping twice, and when we get into the toy departments we forget to come home. Our closet is full of games and books and toy automobiles, and there are thrity-two dolls under my bed! Billy’s father is going to send a truck over to take us, the tree, and the gifts down. We will trim the tree Saturday night—my class of high school girls will do that. On Monday evening we have the big party at seven o’clock. And Tuesday noon—oh, joy!—I start for home. I am more homesick right now than I’ve been all fall.

I know you are anxious to know how the King baby is. He is one of my greatest joys. His mother is much better but can’t carry him around, and the poor little chap can’t walk. I still take him out every afternoon, and recently I have been feeding him his
supper afterward, for he will eat better for me than for anyone else.

Yesterday he twisted the spoon out of my hand and then threw it on the floor. When it hit the floor, he laughed aloud. I was so surprised I almost fell off my chair. Such tricks may not be unusual for most sixteen-month-old youngsters, but it was a decidedly new venture for that solemn little judge, and we both felt quite shaken by it.

You asked what his name is. Believe it or not, he hasn’t any! The students all call him the Crown Prince, but I think that annoys Dr. King. Mrs. King jokingly says they will let him name himself when he gets older. They just call him “the little chap” and let it go at that. Strange way to treat a baby, I say.

Time for bed. I’ll be with you next Tuesday in time for supper. Tell Mrs. Hunt I want hot biscuits and some of my very own raspberry jam!

Love,
Len

Bethel, December 20

Dear Connie:

Your note came just now, so I am answering right away. It’s just like you, and all the rest of the wonderful family I am now a member of, to suggest that I bring some lonesome student home with me for the holidays.

I’m going to do just that! I can promise one without even stopping to think. But, if it’s all right with you, I’ll bring a lonesome boy instead of a girl. Remember Dick Dunlap? He is so homesick he can
hardly attend to his work. And he can’t afford to go home for Christmas. Having lived in Arizona all his life, he has no idea of the joys of a white Christmas. I haven’t talked to him yet, but I’m sure he will come.

Once I bring him up into the pine and birch woods, so he can see the forest wrapped in its white mantle, I think the wonder of it will thrill him so much that he’ll forget his homesickness.

We have had snow here for a week, but snow in a city and snow in the north woods are two entirely different things.

If it isn’t all right, call me collect. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll invite him.

In haste—love,

Len

C
hristmas Eve, and the snow falling in great feathery wisps. All afternoon as the train traveled northward, Eleanor’s heart and mind had raced far ahead. It was good to be going home for Christmas, back to that dear place where she had found joy and peace. It would be good to be a part of the family circle again, to feel once more around her those arms that had held her in the first “mother clasp” she had ever known.