Free Not My Will and The Light in My Window by Francena H. Arnold Page B

and worked hard until five o’clock. Eleanor worked with her slides or labored in the darkroom for one or two hours, then hurried away to buy groceries and prepare dinner. She had attacked the cooking problem with precision and thoroughness and had become fascinated by the possibilities found in the cookbook. There were some dismal failures, of course, but Chad manfully ate all that she cooked. He teased her about “pop unders” and “cardboard pie crust” if they appeared, praised her for all her successes, and was inordinately proud of her progress.
    Eleanor confined herself scrupulously to the budget that she and Chad had made based on their earnings at school. Her monthly income from the lawyer lay untouched in the bank, and it became a point of honor with her never to touch a cent of it, as Chad did not know of its existence and would not understand.
    “But I wonder what he would think,” she asked herself late one afternoon, while she busily peeled potatoes and onions for a savory stew, “if he knew that I could sit down and write a check that would pay for our rent and food for a whole year? He wouldn’t like it, probably—so I’ll just let the money pile up.”
    So Eleanor practiced all the economies she knew and learned new ones to help stretch the little budget. She traded baby-tending for the use of a washing machine, and it was with elation that she hung her first washing on the line.
    “If Aunt Ruth could only see me now.” She smiled. “She never dreamed her darling child would come to this—for the sake of a man. Dear Auntie! I wish she knew how happy I am!”
    Happiness was the order of the day in the little apartment. Eleanor and Chad enjoyed sweet fellowship, studying together at the little breakfast table in the alcove, and Eleanor would one day linger long over this view in her Picture Gallery.
    Yet she was unhappily aware that Chad was disturbed because their spiritual fellowship was not what he longed to have it be. The new experience he had written her about during the summer had made a difference. When he prayed before breakfast, it was not just “saying grace,” as she had always known it, but a realmorning prayer. He thanked God for the rest and care of the night, and committed them both to Him for guidance and protection during the day. Eleanor did not dislike this; it simply did not interest her much, and often she found her thoughts straying to work or lessons that lay ahead.
    Every evening before Chad started studying, he would read awhile from his Bible, which always lay within easy reach on the living room table. Often he would read aloud. Eleanor enjoyed this—but more because of her admiration for her husband’s voice than of any appreciation for the text itself. However, because she saw he loved the Book, she sincerely tried to become more interested in it.
    Sunday morning dawned, their first Sunday in the new apartment.
    “Would you like to go to Sunday school and church with me this morning, Ellen?” asked Chad hesitantly at the breakfast table.
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied in some surprise. “I didn’t know you had planned to go. We never used to, you know. There’s some reading I want to do before I see the professor tomorrow, so you won’t mind if I stay home, will you?”
    In spite of his assurances to the contrary, Eleanor knew that he did mind, and as she stood at the window watching him go off down the street alone, she resolved to go with him hereafter, even if it were going to bore her.
    On the following Sunday morning Chad was standing in front of the mirror, struggling with an uncooperative necktie, when he observed Eleanor begin to don her best dress.
    “Where are you going, my pretty maid?” he quoted abstractedly.
    “‘I’m going to Sunday school, sir,’ she said,” Eleanor replied demurely, getting out her powder puff; “that is, if I can find a handsome blond gentleman to take me.”
    “Here’s one who will be delighted.” Chad