Life is busy. My new niece was just born Wednesday evening and her five older siblings spent Wednesday night here and almost all day yesterday. Pickle Puss was thrilled to have little sister after four brothers. This baby girl doesn't have a nickname yet as I've only seen and held her once, but don't worry, she'll get one. :) So, the last few days have been a little crazy. :)
My goal is to get 5,000 words written each week. (That equals 5 parts.) I didn't get anything written on Wednesday night, but last night I got 500 words written. If I can get the 5k written this week and next week, I'll have more than doubled the number of parts for "Dr. Morgan." :) Pretty fun, huh? Who knows, I may decide to keep working on this story and try to finish it before I start into TCR-5. What do you think? I've been so busy writing "Dr. Morgan" that I haven't gotten any other short stories written to post. I'd better get something written before too long or I won't have anything to post except "Dr. Morgan." :)
Now, I got a later start on this post than usual, so I'm going to keep it really short. I hope you enjoy this last part of . . .
A New Life
“Dear me, such trouble,” Mrs. Kouts shook her head. “Have you no idea where your husband might be notified? No? Well, then I see no other way but for you to pack your things and I’ll get two of my neighbors’ sons to bring them over to my rooms. Now don’t protest,” Mrs. Kouts ordered. “You are in no condition to even look for a new place right now and you certainly won’t be able to do much work in a short time. I’ve always thought I would enjoy a companion and you can help me with my sewing until you find a new place or your husband returns. Besides,” she added. “You wouldn’t want to be far away where Mr. McKinley couldn’t find you.”
And so it came about that Mrs. McKinley was soon established in the pleasant rooms of Mrs. Kouts. It was only a few days after the move that Mary Mildred McKinley was placed in her mother’s arms for the first time.
* * * * *
All those memories from the past, things I hadn’t thought of for months, came back to linger in my mind, putting up their heads at odd moments and interrupting my work. Some memories brought pleasure but others were painful. Such as the day Mrs. Kouts died, leaving me once again with no home; only this time I had a tiny baby and it was winter. Had it not been for the kindness of Mr. Carmichael who found me searching for work and insisted I come work here, I don’t know what would have become of Baby and me. Those were dark days, days it was hard to trust the promises of my heavenly Father, difficult to remember that He is faithful that promised, but He is faithful even when I doubt and my faith grows dim.
It was several days after my walk home in the snow when Mr. Carmichael asked me to step into the library. The lamps had been lit, for the sun had hidden behind the western clouds early and the shadows were dark. Motioning me to a seat, Mr. Carmichael was silent until he had also seated himself in a chair before me.
“Mary,” he began quietly, “is something bothering you? Are you happy here?”
I must have looked startled for he added, “Mrs. Carmichael is growing worried about you. You haven’t been singing about your work and often you appear lost in deep thought.” There was concern in his voice and tears rose in my eyes.
“I’m sorry if I troubled her. It’s . . . I . . .” I wasn’t sure how to tell it.
Reaching out, he patted my arm. “Take your time, Mary,” he said quietly.
I drew a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts. “It’s memories, sir. They just keep coming to me, things that I haven’t thought of for months and some of them are hard. Oh, Mr. Carmichael, help me know what to do,” I begged. “My father doesn’t know how happy I was with Robert nor about Mary Mildred!”
“Have you written to him?” It was a kindly put question but I began to cry.
“I have tried, but they have all been sent back unopened! It is as though I have no father and Mother is dead.” I buried my face in my hands and wept. I don’t cry often, but this time I couldn’t help myself.
“When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.”
Another promise. I looked up through my tears. The Lord had not forsaken me.
“Let me have your father’s address,” Mr. Carmichael suggested, “and I will write to him and tell him all about you and that you and Baby are well.”
I clasped my hands together. “Oh, would you? And might I put a little note in myself? He may not read it, but he may and it might comfort him.”
To this my kind employer readily agreed.
The note was harder to write than I had thought it would be. I apologized for leaving in anger the way I had and asked his forgiveness even if he never spoke to me again. I didn’t tell him of Robert’s disappearance for he would have no sympathy. Instead I told him of finding my Savior, of the wonderful promises that I had discovered in Mother’s Bible and of the prayers I offered for him every night. Then I mentioned Baby and signed it, “Your own daughter, Mary Louise.”
The weeks of January passed by pleasantly for the most part. I enjoyed my new home, the work I was assigned was easy and there was time to take care of Baby. Everyone was pleasant and I learned so much from the godly influence of the Carmichael family. Even Miss Catherine, two years my junior, taught me more about the Book of promises than I had known before, while Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael instructed me in the ways of the One who made and never breaks those promises. Altogether the month was one of growth both spiritually and physically, for in that house on the corner I was never in want of food as I had often been in the previous half a year.
It was the last day of January. A new snowfall during the night had blanketed the city with the freshest of white coverings. I was busy helping Cook when the doorbell rang. Hearing Miss Catherine’s feet descending the stairs, I knew she would answer the door. It was but a moment later when she called me.
Hurriedly I dried my hands and went to answer the summons.
“You have a visitor,” she whispered, pushing me down the hall.
Wondering who could be calling on me, I moved forward and saw a gentleman standing with his back to me apparently studying a painting on the wall. “Good morning.”
The man turned at the sound of my voice and exclaimed with outstretched arms, “Mary Lou!”
“Robert!” I felt his arms tighten about me, felt his lips pressed against mine, heard those loved tones again and could only murmur, “For He is faithful that promised!”
I couldn’t tell exactly what happened after that. The Carmichaels had to be introduced and Robert had to meet Mary Mildred. The story Robert told wasn’t long. He had become very ill and had gotten off at the wrong station. For weeks no one knew who he was and by the time he was well enough to write me, I had moved. When he came back he started searching. He discovered through neighbors that I had lived with Mrs. Kouts until she died, but after that no one had any idea what became of me. At last he swallowed his pride and went to my father. There it was discovered that the letter Mr. Carmichael had written had arrived but the day before. Father, Robert told me, was waiting at a hotel to see me. Could anything make me happier? There was one more thing to fill my cup to overflowing.
It was while my Robert and I were sitting in the library alone before supper that he told me.
“Mary Lou, I have found your God and He is mine. Oh, my Darling, let us walk with Him all the rest of our lives!”
Tears of happiness streamed down my cheeks as I whispered, “For He is faithful that promised.”
And that ends our story.
What did you think of it?
Are you willing to read "Dr. Morgan next week?
Should I finish "Dr. Morgan" or work on TCR-5?