———
It was ten minutes before he rose. The tears had dried and the prayers of his heart had soothed his agitated spirit. He picked up the shovel, took one last look down the road on which he had been headed, took a deep breath, turned, and began walking in the opposite direction. He had a more important treasure awaiting him at Stonewycke.
As he retraced his steps back toward the estate, the awful burden which had been bearing down upon him all day lightened by degrees. Yet he knew in one sense he had only begun. For the first step in beginning to live differently would be to make reparations for the wrong he had done. For a life such as Logan’s, that would be no easy matter. And the first step might be the hardest of all—to come clean before the people he had been trying to hoodwink.
But he did not have long to think about these things, for before he was halfway back he saw a figure dart behind a thick clump of broom.
“Who’s there?” he called, stealing cautiously forward.
Then two men, large and imposing, stepped out from the cover of the bush. It was dark, and on first glance Logan registered no recognition. Then gradually it began to dawn on him. He had sat between them, long ago it seemed, in a fancy Rolls Royce. Here were Chase Morgan’s henchmen, sooner than he had expected. He did not have long to ponder, however, when another voice yelled behind him.
“It’s time we talked, Macintyre!”
Logan spun around.
Though he had seen Ross Sprague in Hamilton’s pub, Logan did not now recognize him. What he did recognize was the pistol Sprague held in his right hand.
Logan hardly thought about his next act. It was generated instinctively, from panic rather than logic. Remembering the shovel he still held, he swung mightily at Sprague’s arm. The impact knocked the gun loose and into the heather and Sprague into the ditch on the side of the road. But the other two were on him in a moment. Logan barely had time to hope that if they had guns they might be reluctant to use them this near the house. Clumsily he wielded the shovel at once as a battle-ax and lance. He thrust forward, clipping Cabot in the head and knocking him temporarily unconscious. Lombardo, left alone in the attack, charged Logan. Had the thug gotten a firm hold on him, Logan would surely have been finished. But the big man, thinking through his attack none too clearly, simply rushed at Logan angrily, with all the deftness of a wild bull. Logan let him come, then at the last moment, stepped aside, shoved the shovel into Lombardo’s oversized torso, and pushed with all his might. The uncoordinated goon was taken completely off his guard, stumbled over a rock, and crashed off the road somewhere near his cohort Sprague.
Logan did not even wait for Lombardo to land. The last thing Logan wanted was to bring danger to Stonewycke. But for the first time in his life he realized—with a humility that was new to him—that he was in over his head. He could handle this alone no longer. He needed the help of his friends.
He threw down the shovel and ran for the house.
50
The Confession
Though the evening was well advanced toward night, Lady Margaret and Joanna were sitting alone together in the kitchen. Ever since their talk with Allison, Joanna had felt a growing urgency to find out as much as possible from her grandmother about the family’s history and her own life. She had long been gathering what information she could and writing it down, knowing that in her grandmother’s memory lay the wealth of the Ramsey and Duncan heritage that might someday be lost. In giving her blessing to Allison, and passing along of her legacy to the two younger women, Margaret had, Joanna sensed, released something of the energy of her life, sending it into the future through the lives of her descendants. Now her time was coming to move on into that next phase of her life with God, which only death could bring. Heartbreaking though this realization was to Joanna, she knew of its necessity. Yet she could not look into her grandmother’s face, seeing there a gradual fading of the embers of life, without tears rising in her own eyes. It was a crossroads which must come, but God would help her to live through it with victory, for it would bring a sadness to her greater than any she had ever known.
Their quiet conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Logan had gone to the only place in the castle where a light was still burning.
Despite the late hour, the family gathered immediately in the drawing room upon his urgent request. They were all there except the younger children.
Dorey reclined on the divan, Joanna took a seat in one of the great winged-backed chairs, her face displaying clear anxiety over whatever Logan’s plight might be. Lady Margaret, clad in a quilted, satin dressing gown, took her place next to her husband. Alec stood easily by the hearth, his arm resting on the high mantle. Logan admired the calm and utter peace in his expression and wondered if he’d ever possess such a quality. Allison sat stiffly on the stone skirt of the hearth, a trace of fear showing out of her blue eyes but also a brave attempt to appropriate a calm like her father’s, whom she resembled in so many other ways.
Part of Logan had wanted to flee after his attack. Yet another side of him knew he needed help.
But more than that, at last he knew he had to make right the terrible wrongs he had done, and even planned to do against these people. He had struggled too hard on the road out there to come to this decision, and now he must not turn away from it.
Now, however, as he stood before them, he had no idea what to do or say. It was rather an imposing array of lairds and ladies, representing a span of four generations in the Ramsey and Duncan line. He felt more than simply foolish. He felt low, insignificant, petty. And worse, he had probably brought danger right to their doorstep, though it was unlikely his pursuers would breach the security of the estate.
Logan’s glance moved from face to face, resting momentarily on Allison’s, where he could not keep from lingering a moment longer than he wanted. Their eyes locked for an instant, during which a hundred unspoken words—apologies, pleas, explanations—passed between them.
Logan jerked his gaze away. She figured strongly in why he had come back, but he could not think of that now. It would only confuse the more urgent issues.
“You must be thinking I have gone crazy,” he said, in a voice that was taut and thin. “Perhaps what I want to say could have waited until morning. I only know that I could not have waited. I may have brought danger here, but it is too late for me to bemoan that now—I only hope I can make you understand how very sorry I am.”
His words were met with puzzled looks all around. Then Alec spoke.
“I’m afraid we’re a bit in the dark, lad,” he said. “That is, ye might do best if ye started at the beginnin’.”
Logan nodded, then took a deep breath. “I have presented myself falsely to you,” he began, each word spoken deliberately as if to insure they were not misunderstood. And though Logan felt none of the release he expected from the confession, he went on. “I have spent my entire life in lies and cheating. Honesty and dishonesty have all been one to me. When I’m not gambling, I swindle innocent folk in any other way I can. That’s how I make my living, not in investments, as I tried to make you believe.”
“We appreciate that you have seen fit to tell us this, Logan,” said Lady Margaret, to whom it came as no surprise. “But it changes nothing in how we feel toward you.” She looked at him intently, with the same penetrating gaze he had encountered on his first day in Port Strathy. But now for the first time he felt from the look what had been at its root all along, a great heart of compassion and understanding.
“How can that be?” said Logan, both astonished and frustrated. “I know you people detest dishonesty. I’m a thief; don’t you understand that?”
“I understand,” she replied with that mystery in her voice which he had yet to fully grasp. “And we do detest dishonesty. But I see honesty in you now, and that means everything. What can we do for you?”
Logan shifted his weight on his feet, flustered and uncertain what to say. He had expected rejection, and possibly could
have handled that. But he didn’t know what to do with this! “You don’t understand,” he began again more firmly. “That’s why I came here—to Stonewycke. It was no accident that I met you. I planned it. I intended to swindle you! All of you—but you in particular, Lady Margaret.”
He looked around, the old part of his nature almost defying them to accept him now. But just before his eyes turned toward Allison, they faltered and looked away. He couldn’t bear to see the changed expression he knew must be on her face. Instead, he forced his gaze back to Lady Margaret. He knew he had wronged her more than any by presuming on her love for Digory.
“And Digory . . . the Bible?” she asked.
“Oh, they’re real enough.”
“Then if you have committed some crime against us,” she replied, “I am quite unaware of it.”
“I lied to you! That ought to be enough. I didn’t come here to research my family roots. I never gave a thought to anything like that until I found a letter written by my great-great-great uncle Digory—a letter written to you, Lady Margaret. The letter mentioned a treasure, and I came here in hopes of finding it—a treasure rightfully belonging to you—and to steal it from under your nose.”
At the mention of the treasure, Margaret’s face turned pale. It was as if a ghost out of her childhood had suddenly reappeared. Ian perceived the change and reached out to take her hand.
A long, silent pause followed. Logan stared down at the Persian carpet, for he could stand their eyes upon him no longer.
“And though it’s too late to undo my falsehood to you,” he said at length, “I want to apologize . . . to say how sorry I am.” It was not easy to get the words out. The attempt was a new one for him. “I want to try somehow to make it up to you. You have all been . . . so . . . kind—you have treated me like I was one of the family when I did not deserve it.” He stopped. If he said more he would likely break down again.
Finding her breath again, it was Lady Margaret who spoke next. “And did you complete your plan, Logan?”
He shook his head in reply. “But can you forgive me?” he blurted out, almost like a child.
Joanna stood and walked toward him. She led him to a chair, then sat down beside him. She rested her hand gently on Logan’s shoulder while she silently prayed that the Lord would give them the words with which to comfort and show the way toward healing.
“Oh, Logan,” said Lady Margaret, “do you know us so little yet that you do not know that our hearts are overflowing with love toward you? Of course we forgive you!”
“A confession such as yours, Logan,” added Dorey, “is from the heart and is a clear sign of repentance. Believe me, I know about the need to repent. I ran from God for years before I accepted His forgiveness. So not only do we forgive you, so does God.”
“How can you both say that!” This new outburst came from Allison, who looked ravaged with hurt and indignation. “How can you forgive him so easily? We believed him and he lied to us. We thought he was our friend and he deceived us. How can we trust him now? How do we know he hasn’t just come to us because he’s in some kind of trouble?”
“Oh, Allison . . . dear,” Joanna began, but before she could utter another word Logan broke in.
“I am in trouble, but that’s not why I’ve come to you—”
“How can we ever believe you again!” said Allison.
“I know I don’t deserve it.”
“I trusted you!” Allison exclaimed tearfully, the hurt clearly evident in her voice. “How can I be expected to forgive you now, Christian or no Christian? I just don’t see how I can.” She turned and fled the room.
“Logan,” said Joanna, sensing the pain in his heart as he watched her go, but knowing he was unable to reach out to her, “you must try to understand Allison . . . she’s young, and—”
“But what she said is right.”
“I should go to her now,” Joanna added, “but I know she didn’t mean those things. Her heart will be able to forgive you, too. Just give her time.” She gave his shoulder a motherly pat, then turned and left the room after her daughter.
“Come o’er here an’ sit ye doon, lad,” said Alec, drawing Logan to an overstuffed chair opposite the divan where Lord and Lady Duncan sat. Alec pulled a straight-backed medieval chair next to him. “Lad,” he said when they had settled themselves, “do ye think forgiveness has anythin’ t’ do wi’ merit? Wi’ whether we deserve’t? Weel, it doesna. It has t’ do wi’ only one thing—a contrite an’ repentant heart. Where do ye think any o’ us would be if God took the attitude wi’ us that He’d forgive us if we deserved it?”
“I can imagine you forgiving me much easier than I ever could God,” said Logan.
“It is from Him that we learn forgiveness, Logan,” said Lady Margaret. “The first step of all is to accept His forgiveness.”
“The first step of what?”
“Of committin’ yer whole life t’ Him,” replied Alec. “That’s what He wants from us. An’ only by givin’ Him yer life can forgiveness an’ peace an’ healin’ come.”
“I know now that I do want to be different, to be honest, to be upright. I want to be forgiven for all I’ve done. But it’s hard for me to think of God as wanting anything to do with someone like me. I already told you. I’m not good, like you people. I’ve done dishonest things, illegal things.”
“We ha’ all been there t’ one degree or another. Before God no one’s free from sin. The Bible says that ‘God commends his love toward us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died fer us.’ Dinna ye see, Logan. Sinners are His chief interest!”
“Calling all people sinners is just a religious way of talking. But nobody really believes everybody’s just as bad as everybody else. What could you have done really sinful?”
“I strongly doubt, young man,” put in Dorey before Alec had a chance to reply, “that you’ve spent any more time in the jails than I have—London and Glasgow both. I’m not proud of it. But God reached out to me, and I was in as despicable shape as anyone could have been at the time.”
“And Logan,” added Alec with an intensity in his voice, “I once killed a man.”
Any argument that may have been posed on Logan’s lips melted away to nothing, and he gaped in silence. The thing couldn’t be true—surely he had misunderstood! Yet he could see in Alec’s earnest blue eyes that it was so—beyond all reason. And yet despite such a crime, Alec still spoke about God as if He were his friend. It hardly seemed possible.
“The court exonerated me, but it made it no easier t’ live wi’ such a thing, knowin’—”
Alec closed his eyes and swallowed hard. It was still heart-wrenching to discuss it, and he wouldn’t have except for Logan’s benefit. “—Knowing that wi’ my own hands I had destroyed a human life. I’m only tellin’ ye this so ye can see jist hoo great God’s love is fer us. When I came t’ Him, He didna look at my deed an’ say, ‘Sorry, ’tis a bit too much fer me t’ forgive!’ No, Jesus had already died for that deed. He was merely waitin’ fer me t’ realize it, repent o’ what I had done, an’ let His love come int’ my heart in place o’ my old selfish nature. His love had nothing t’ do wi’ what I had done. His love’s great enough t’ cover the worst an’ the best o’ us. But we all need that love abidin’ in oor hearts equally.”
“I’ve never really heard it said like that before,” confessed Logan. “But how did you know it was true—I mean, really know?”
“A dear friend first told me,” Alec replied. “Then one night I knew in my heart that He did love me an’ had answered my prayer an’ had forgiven me. I guess ye could say He spoke t’ me in a quiet sort o’ way. Once ye take the step o’ askin’ His forgiveness an’ invitin’ Him t’ dwell wi’ ye in yer heart fer the rest o’ yer life, He’ll not leave ye alone.”
“I’ve never thought of God like that before—so close.”
Almost as if by common consent, the three older persons laid their hands on Logan and bowed their heads. Feeling bo
th a slight embarrassment, yet at the same time the warmth of their love, Logan closed his eyes. Dorey was the first to speak.
“Father,” he began, “we all thank you for bringing Logan here to live among us. Thank you that his heart is open to you.”
He stopped. After a moment Alec prayed, “Oh, Lord, keep yer lovin’ hand on oor friend Logan. Reveal yer love t’ him in a special way. An’ show him the way through this present trouble in his life, usin’ us, yer servants, in any way ye see fit. Help him t’ accept yer forgiveness in his heart. Thank ye fer yer great love, Lord. Amen.”
“Help me, Lord,” said Logan simply. “Help me to live as you want me to. Please dwell in my heart like you do in these people’s. And thank you for forgiving me for what I have been . . . Amen.”
He looked up just as Joanna came back into the room. She smiled at him as she approached. Alec held out his hand for her, and she took it gratefully.
“Hoo’s oor daughter?” he asked.
“I couldn’t find her,” replied Joanna. “I looked all over the house. She must want to be alone. She’s probably gone for a walk outside.”
She sighed. “Maybe the cool evening air will settle her emotions.”
“She has every right to hate me,” said Logan. “I talked about being friends—but I’ve proved myself nothing more than a liar to her.”
He looked solemnly at Allison’s parents. “I want you to know that whatever happens, I never meant to hurt her. I . . .”
His voice faltered. He wanted to tell them that he cared for her, cared for her more than even he was sure he wanted to admit. But he left unspoken the words of his heart, rose, and began to leave the room.
“I’m going to pack my things,” he said. “I’ll leave in the morning. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I appreciate what you’ve said and done this evening, and your praying with me. But it’s best that I leave. There are . . . some men . . . looking for me. Men from out of my past. It would not be fair of me to stay. Lady Margaret, I will leave you the Bible, with Digory’s letter. I know it will mean a great deal to you. His memory—and yours—will always be special to me. But it is best this way . . .”
Stranger at Stonewycke Page 40
