The managers of the Bank of London hired a construction firm from Exeter to build the new bank in Milverscombe. Within weeks construction was under way on the building to be situated across from the train station. Because many young men in the area were overseas with the war, Geoffrey made certain that those who were available and needed work were hired as laborers, including Rune and Stirling Blakeley. Through the spring months they were at the cottage early, usually by seven in the morning, where they worked for three or four hours before returning to the village for the afternoon.
Letters continued to arrive from Hope and Betsy.
Though Jocelyn, Amanda, and Catharine had all been mentally making themselves ready for the worst, nothing could actually prepare them for the loss of their beloved Maggie. Their ministrations for eight months had been almost continuous, as she had been bedridden since the day of the stroke. Even though she had not spoken a word again since that day, it was still sudden when the time actually arrived.
When Jocelyn entered the room for the first time that August morning, she knew immediately from the pale, vacant look on Maggie’s lifeless form that her dear friend had departed for another world during her sleep. Jocelyn could not have wished for a more peaceful passing, yet she burst into tears at the sight.
Slowly she approached and reached out to touch the beloved face. Maggie’s skin was cold. She had been gone several hours. It had been such a quiet departure, thought Jocelyn, without even the chance for a final farewell.
“Good-bye, Maggie,” she whispered in a choked voice. “We all love you so much!”
Jocelyn turned and left the room and immediately went to find Catharine and Amanda, then sent for the undertaker.
The next day, even before funeral arrangements could be made, Jocelyn boarded the train for Exeter. She must see Bradbury Crumholtz. She knew Maggie’s passing had implications he must be made aware of.
Upon learning the news, Crumholtz made immediate plans to attend the funeral. He would bring the appropriate documents, he said, and open them with Jocelyn and her daughters after the service.
People for miles around attended the funeral. That Maggie had been loved late in her life, almost to the point of being considered a saint, was clear from the outpouring of affection expressed by everyone throughout the day.
That same afternoon, in the cottage whose mysteries were at last to be brought fully to light, with Timothy and Geoffrey also present—an hour or so after the gathering in the village had at last broken up—Bradbury Crumholtz explained the provision of the deed to the cottage that had resulted in its being transferred to Maggie’s grandmother at the death of Bishop Arthur Crompton. He then opened and read Maggie’s will, which passed on the cottage and whatever of her worldly possessions might go along with it to George, Amanda, and Catharine Rutherford.
“As you know,” he went on after completing the will, “several documents were left for safekeeping with our firm, the deed and the will I have just read being of a legal nature. There was also a personal letter by Bishop Crompton, to be opened at the death of the final living heir of Orelia Moylan. As that time has come, I will now open the bishop’s letter.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. He glanced over it a moment and then began to read.
“To whomever it may concern,” he began, “I write the following to testify to certain events concerning the births of twins, a son and a daughter, to Henry Rutherford, lord of the manor, Heathersleigh Hall, by his wife, Eliza, births attended by me to which I gave false witness at the time.”
He went on to read of the events of that night.
“As through the years,” the letter concluded, “my conscience made me more and more ill at ease with what I had agreed to, I went back to the parish registry during a visit to my former church. I felt that to alter the entry I had made earlier would be to compound my sin. Therefore, I added a marginal reference to Genesis 25 and Psalm 27, adding my initials beside them, in hopes that someone would one day unearth the deception and perhaps do more than lay in my power at that time to right the wrong. I further sought to make it right with this letter, explaining what had happened, so that the truth, should this ever be read, would be clearly known.”
Crumholtz set the papers aside and glanced around the room.
“It appears Amanda was right,” said Jocelyn. “This confirms her conclusions exactly. It seems that we did the right thing . . . as we were already certain of.”
Geoffrey sat listening in silence, amazed anew at what they had done. The fact of this proof now coming to light in no way changed the enormity of the fact that they had given him the estate voluntarily.
78
In the Chicken Shed
As Geoffrey had little interest at present in any of the animals at the Hall other than horses, Jocelyn and Catharine and Amanda, with Hector’s help, had transferred their chickens, a few goats, as well as four of Heathersleigh’s seven horses to Maggie’s cottage. They planned also to raise a few sheep and add several cows. Thus Rune and Stirling would be kept busy for some months as their time permitted, not only with the road and stables, but clearing space for grazing as well as enlarging the barn and adding several new pens and enclosures.
As Amanda stepped out of the cottage a week and a half after Maggie’s funeral, the morning sun seemed especially warm and cheery. She stood on the doorstep and basked for a moment or two in its pleasant warmth, vaguely aware of shouts and pounding coming from the direction of Rune and Stirling’s work in the distance. With basket in hand, she set out for the chicken shed, thinking of Geoffrey and the changes that were so apparent about him. How could she have once felt so differently about him, and now consider him—strange as it was even to think it!—as a friend?
It was truly remarkable, Amanda thought, how real and tangible and down-to-earth God’s grace actually was. It really could get inside people and change them . . . transform them . . . make new people of them.
Geoffrey, her cousin, had actually become a kind, gracious, and likeable young man.
And what about her? She knew she had changed under the influence of God’s grace too.
Yet she knew that there was still something missing. Something was still wrong deep inside her. She could see Geoffrey through different eyes . . . but could she ever see herself through different eyes?
She opened the door to the old and dilapidated chicken shed and went inside. Cackling and squawking greeted her entry as several of the hens scurried about in front of her. She stooped down to gather the eggs one by one and began setting them into her basket. When she rose and turned toward the next row of nests, she saw a figure standing in the doorway.
“Stirling!” exclaimed Amanda, laughing as she gave an involuntary jump. “You gave me a fright. I didn’t hear you!”
“I am sorry,” he smiled. “I saw you coming this way and followed you in. I was on my way to ask you something. I must say, you handle those eggs with great care.”
A strange smile came over Amanda’s face.
“Someone at the chalet said that to me too,” she said. “I had nearly forgotten, it had been so long since I had gathered eggs. It made me realize how much of my childhood and homelife I had blotted from my memory.”
“They had chickens there too?” asked Stirling, looking about and probing in the straw to see if he could find any eggs.
“And cows and goats and donkeys,” said Amanda, continuing to work her way around the small enclosure.
“Here’s one,” said Stirling, handing Amanda his find. “Is that why you want so many animals around here?” he asked. “It seems like it will be a lot of work.”
“You’re right,” agreed Amanda. “But it is such good and wholesome work. There is nothing quite like animals to help get in touch with one’s feelings and with the world. That’s how the sisters at the chalet keep busy, and I know it certainly helped me begin to think a little more clearly.”
“What was it like at the chalet?�
��
“It was wonderful,” replied Amanda. “Making butter and cheese and tending goats and cows and donkeys—it gives the people who come to the chalet, like me, a sense of responsibility that forces them to think about something other than their own problems. And of course the most important thing of all was the love that was present from all the sisters. Yes . . . it was a wonderful experience. Yet I hardly realized just how wonderful during the time I was there.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was like my years at home when I was young,” Amanda answered. “I was too full of my own self to appreciate all I had until I was gone.”
Stirling smiled. “I am sorry, Amanda. I didn’t mean to bring out painful memories.”
“They are becoming less painful every day,” she said, returning his smile. “God used the chalet, just like he is using my memories of my past to teach me what I need to learn.”
Amanda finished gathering the eggs. Stirling handed her another two or three, and they left the shed and began walking back to the cottage together.
“What were you going to ask me?” said Amanda.
“Oh, right . . . my father and I were thinking that you probably need a new chicken house too.”
“I suppose that old one is falling apart,” laughed Amanda, looking back over her shoulder. “I never really thought about it. It’s been there and looked just the same all my life. I suppose you should talk to my mother.”
“I will. My father has an idea for a new spot next to the barn that he thinks will be better than this.”
“What will you do now, Stirling?” asked Amanda as they neared the cottage.
“Well . . . we’ll finish the stable first, then—”
“No!” laughed Amanda. “I mean, what are your plans now that you are through at university? I can’t imagine you gaining all that knowledge just to fix barns and build stables.”
“Maybe in a way that’s not so far off,” Stirling replied.
Amanda glanced over at him with a curious expression.
“I want to do something for people,” Stirling added. “I want my life to count for something permanent, something that makes a difference in people’s lives—like how you hope God uses this cottage.”
“Tutoring again, perhaps?”
Stirling smiled. “I doubt it,” he said. “But though I don’t know exactly what it is I will do, I am sure it will have something to do with helping people.”
79
Dreams
They walked into the kitchen. As Amanda put away the eggs, Stirling sat down at the table and continued to talk.
“In a way, I envy you, Amanda,” he said.
“Me! Why would you envy me?”
“You’ve seen so much of the world.”
“And you’ve studied. That’s an even greater thing.”
“Perhaps, but I would like to travel and see more of the earth than just England.”
“I have seen enough of it,” laughed Amanda. “I truly am content here.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I love Devon,” rejoined Stirling. “But I would like to see India, Japan, the United States, maybe even California and Australia. You’ve traveled to France and Greece and Austria—what are they like?”
“Greece was nice,” replied Amanda. “And Paris, but the rest of France and Austria were so involved in the war. All I did was travel quickly through them. I was hardly aware at the time what I was looking at through the train windows. And Austria . . . I suppose in a way Vienna was beautiful and historic. But I can hardly separate my images of it from horrible memories I would rather forget. But you should see the Mediterranean—the blue is so deep and clear. And it is so still—not like our seas, so cold and rough. When you are on deck looking out over the Mediterranean, it is somehow like a dream. Time seems to stand still. Yet when I think about it, all of that time in my life is so tinged with sadness that it makes it impossible for me to enjoy the memories. It was a dark time for me.”
They were silent a moment or two.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just a dreamer,” said Stirling at length. “I dream not only of traveling, but of doing things too. Do you ever dream, Amanda, really dream of doing something great?”
“I used to,” laughed Amanda. “That’s what got me into so much trouble. I am trying to learn to be content with life as it is.”
“I understand that. But I can’t help but dream about . . . I don’t know, traveling, writing a book, maybe inventing something . . . like a cure for polio.”
“Did you have polio? Is that what—”
Amanda hesitated, suddenly feeling awkward at bringing up Stirling’s handicap.
“No,” answered Stirling. “I was just born with a weak and deformed leg. No one knows why. But the similarity between my leg and polio made me feel a special empathy with people who were afflicted by it. I was intrigued. That’s why what I would really like to do more than anything is become a doctor.”
“Did you study medicine at university?”
“No—I never thought there was a chance of continuing to medical school. And,” added Stirling as he lowered his voice, “don’t you dare say a word of this to your mother.”
“Why not?” said Amanda.
“Because she might get it into her head to try to help send me back for more schooling, and she and your father have already done enough.”
“What about Dr. Armbruster . . . have you spoken with him?”
Stirling nodded. “He lets me come to his office and borrow books,” he said, “and lets me help him and go on calls for small things occasionally.”
“Really . . . that’s wonderful. Perhaps you could apprentice with him.”
“Perhaps, but you still have to go to school to be a real doctor.”
“Somehow, Stirling, I have the feeling you will see all those places you speak of one day,” said Amanda, “and probably become a doctor too.”
“That would take a great deal of money.”
“Why don’t you talk to Geoffrey? Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as you think.”
“I don’t know—maybe I should. But I imagine I will have to content myself to do my traveling and doctoring through books.”
“I doubt that. You will probably be an important man one day. Rich and famous and important. I can see it, the famous author doctor and world traveler and inventor, Stirling Blakeley.”
Stirling laughed.
“My father was the same way,” Amanda went on. “Although now that I think about it, that was early in his life. Later on, his priorities and ambitions changed.”
“I admired your father, though more for what he did late in his life than before.”
A pained look came over Amanda’s face. Stirling did not say anything further for several long seconds.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he said after a moment, “but didn’t want to bring it up. However, since you already mentioned the pain of the past . . . I’ve been reading in my New Testament, and everywhere you look we are reminded to turn the painful hurts of life into occasions for thanksgiving.”
Amanda nodded.
“I have had to do the same thing,” Stirling went on. “I remember how my father used to be. It is not as though I have forgotten. But long ago I knew I could let what had happened ruin me, or I could use it to make me a stronger person and a forgiving person. I think you have that same opportunity.”
Amanda took in the words thoughtfully. “I know . . . thank you, Stirling,” she said. “You’re right. But it is hard.”
“Of course it is hard. It is not easy to be a Christlike person. But isn’t that the highest form of faith there is, to be strong even though it is hard, to suffer with grace, knowing that Jesus suffered too?”
Jocelyn walked into the kitchen just as Stirling finished speaking.
“Good morning, Stirling,” she said.
“Good morning, Lady Jocelyn,” he replied.
“Rune and Stirling think we need a
new chicken shed, Mother,” said Amanda.
“I am sure they’re right,” replied her mother. “There is a great deal around here that is older than I am, much of it probably even older than Maggie was.”
“Would you like me to get started on it this week?” asked Stirling.
“I think the hens will be content for a while longer,” replied Jocelyn. “To tell you the truth I would like to get our books out of their boxes. And there are still a few more from the Hall we would like to bring over. Whenever your father can spare you from the stables, I think I would rather you start on the bookshelves for our little library in the spare room.”
Stirling laughed. “It sounds as though you have enough to keep me busy for a year or two before everything is completed!”
80
The Prayer Wood
The door of Maggie’s cottage had originally been placed in just the right spot to receive the morning sun when it shone above the treetops from the southeast. Maggie, her mother, and her grandmother before her had all been in the habit of opening the door early in the day to invite the sunshine indoors, and throughout the summer it stood open most of the day.
Amanda woke early, dressed, and came downstairs. There was her mother standing in the doorway soaking in the morning light, though there wasn’t much warmth yet so early in the day.
Jocelyn turned when she heard Amanda’s step. Amanda came forward and gave her a hug. She saw that there were tears on her mother’s cheeks.
“What is it, Mother?” she asked as she stepped back.
“I have just been standing here realizing how happy I am,” replied Jocelyn.
“Happy?” said Amanda. “That isn’t what I would have expected so soon after Grandma Maggie’s death, and with . . . you know, all that has happened these three years.”
A New Dawn Over Devon Page 34
