Part 22 (1/2)
”We will arrange the details when we get to Raymond,” Rachel said, smiling through her tears at Felicia's eager willingness to care for herself.
So in a few weeks Rose and Felicia found themselves a part of the Winslow family in Raymond. It was a bitter experience for Rose, but there was nothing else for her to do and she accepted the inevitable, brooding over the great change in her life and in many ways adding to the burden of Felicia and her cousin Rachel.
Felicia at once found herself in an atmosphere of disciples.h.i.+p that was like heaven to her in its revelation of companions.h.i.+p. It is true that Mrs. Winslow was not in sympathy with the course that Rachel was taking, but the remarkable events in Raymond since the pledge was taken were too powerful in their results not to impress even such a woman as Mrs. Winslow. With Rachel, Felicia found a perfect fellows.h.i.+p. She at once found a part to take in the new work at the Rectangle. In the spirit of her new life she insisted upon helping in the housework at her aunt's, and in a short time demonstrated her ability as a cook so clearly that Virginia suggested that she take charge of the cooking at the Rectangle.
Felicia entered upon this work with the keenest pleasure. For the first time in her life she had the delight of doing something of value for the happiness of others. Her resolve to do everything after asking, ”What would Jesus do?” touched her deepest nature. She began to develop and strengthen wonderfully. Even Mrs. Winslow was obliged to acknowledge the great usefulness and beauty of Felicia's character. The aunt looked with astonishment upon her niece, this city-bred girl, reared in the greatest luxury, the daughter of a millionaire, now walking around in her kitchen, her arms covered with flour and occasionally a streak of it on her nose, for Felicia at first had a habit of rubbing her nose forgetfully when she was trying to remember some recipe, mixing various dishes with the greatest interest in their results, was.h.i.+ng up pans and kettles and doing the ordinary work of a servant in the Winslow kitchen and at the rooms at the Rectangle Settlement. At first Mrs. Winslow remonstrated.
”Felicia, it is not your place to be out here doing this common work. I cannot allow it.”
”Why, Aunt? Don't you like the m.u.f.fins I made this morning?” Felicia would ask meekly, but with a hidden smile, knowing her aunt's weakness for that kind of m.u.f.fin.
”They were beautiful, Felicia. But it does not seem right for you to be doing such work for us.”
”Why not? What else can I do?”
Her aunt looked at her thoughtfully, noting her remarkable beauty of face and expression.
”You do not always intend to do this kind of work, Felicia?”
”Maybe I shall. I have had a dream of opening an ideal cook shop in Chicago or some large city and going around to the poor families in some slum district like the Rectangle, teaching the mothers how to prepare food properly. I remember hearing Dr. Bruce say once that he believed one of the great miseries of comparative poverty consisted in poor food. He even went so far as to say that he thought some kinds of crime could be traced to soggy biscuit and tough beefsteak.
I'm sure I would be able to make a living for Rose and myself and at the same time help others.”
Chapter Twenty-five
THREE months had gone by since the Sunday morning when Dr. Bruce came into his pulpit with the message of the new disciples.h.i.+p. They were three months of great excitement in Nazareth Avenue Church.
Never before had Rev. Calvin Bruce realized how deep the feeling of his members flowed. He humbly confessed that the appeal he had made met with an unexpected response from men and women who, like Felicia, were hungry for something in their lives that the conventional type of church members.h.i.+p and fellows.h.i.+p had failed to give them.
But Dr. Bruce was not yet satisfied for himself. He cannot tell what his feeling was or what led to the movement he finally made, to the great astonishment of all who knew him, better than by relating a conversation between him and the Bishop at this time in the history of the pledge in Nazareth Avenue Church. The two friends were as before in Dr. Bruce's house, seated in his study.
”You know what I have come in this evening for?” the Bishop was saying after the friends had been talking some time about the results of the pledge with the Nazareth Avenue people.
Dr. Bruce looked over at the Bishop and shook his head.
”I have come to confess that I have not yet kept my promise to walk in His steps in the way that I believe I shall be obliged to if I satisfy my thought of what it means to walk in His steps.”
Dr. Bruce had risen and was pacing his study. The Bishop remained in the deep easy chair with his hands clasped, but his eye burned with the blow that belonged to him before he made some great resolve.
”Edward,” Dr. Bruce spoke abruptly, ”I have not yet been able to satisfy myself, either, in obeying my promise. But I have at last decided on my course. In order to follow it I shall be obliged to resign from Nazareth Avenue Church.”
”I knew you would,” replied the Bishop quietly. ”And I came in this evening to say that I shall be obliged to do the same thing with my charge.”
Dr. Bruce turned and walked up to his friend. They were both laboring under a repressed excitement.
”Is it necessary in your case?” asked Bruce.
”Yes. Let me state my reasons. Probably they are the same as yours.
In fact, I am sure they are.” The Bishop paused a moment, then went on with increasing feeling:
”Calvin, you know how many years I have been doing the work of my position, and you know something of the responsibility and care of it. I do not mean to say that my life has been free from burden-bearing or sorrow. But I have certainly led what the poor and desperate of this sinful city would call a very comfortable, yes, a very luxurious life. I have had a beautiful house to live in, the most expensive food, clothing and physical pleasures. I have been able to go abroad at least a dozen times, and have enjoyed for years the beautiful companions.h.i.+p of art and letters and music and all the rest, of the very best. I have never known what it meant to be without money or its equivalent. And I have been unable to silence the question of late: 'What have I suffered for the sake of Christ?'