The President's Daughter (Britton)/Chapter 169
But, in seeking the right method of solving Elizabeth Ann's problem for her, I realized that mere speed was impracticable where right motives prompted, and I was forced to admit to myself that nothing could be accomplished in time to enable me to keep Elizabeth Ann with me through the summer of 1926.
I was determined to write again to Elizabeth and Scott, but had not actually done so, when they dropped in upon us one Sunday afternoon, having motored through from Ohio. In view of existing circumstances, their appearance in New York seemed almost to indicate actual divination, and I was secretly grateful for whatever decisions had resulted in their making the trip East. They explained that they had given up the idea of going to Chicago for the summer and planned instead to go to the Willits farm in Illinois (Scott's people's farm), making use of the quiet and leisure there for music practice in preparation for their fall work.
I had not had up until then, and did not have after their arrival, any discussion with Elizabeth and Scott of my attempts to date to establish Elizabeth Ann's claim upon the Hardings, and they made ready to start back West, with my baby, after a few days' visit. Again I was left alone. Again I had been forced to give her up.
I had experienced many heart-breaks in having to part with my daughter, but up to that time they had been, like the black clouds of a thunder storm, mentally devastating to me only so long as I permitted myself to see only the clouds. When I saw beyond their obscuration, the sun, which was the glory of my child ultimately restored to me, then my heartaches, like the clouds, disappeared. Mental indecisions and temporary discouragements gave way to renewed purpose and heartfelt anticipation. I was a crusader of a great Right,—the right of every sane and loving mother to possess her own child.
But now, as I stood on the sidewalk, dry-eyed, waving goodbye to my child and answering the kisses which she blew to me through the small rear window of the motor car, I scarcely dared to think. Was I really a crusader after all? Was there aught to assuage the grief of a mother who had struggled against odds to hold her child and had failed? Was there a ray of hope to light the coming day? Must I return again to emptiness, to loneliness, to sorrow, to pain? Was it right that they, who had never known the glory of my sweetheart's smile as a father, should deny his daughter her birthright as a Harding? Did God give only to deprive? No! "Every mountain shall be made low and every valley shall be exalted." Wherefore, then, Pride? I must be humble. Resentment? I must forgive! Hatred? I must love. Retaliation? "Do good to them which despitefully use you." And even as I struggled to give these healing thoughts an abiding place in my consciousness, there came before me the face of him I love, and clearly I saw his lips move, and heard the incomparably sweet voice—"Courage, dearie!"