Did she have a premonition of what was in the envelope? he wondered. Did she even know the document existed at all? She had made no mention of it. His uncle had said not a living soul knew of it save the representatives of Crumholtz, Sutclyff, Stonehaugh, and Crumholtz.
What could it all be about? Why had this letter been separate all these years from the deed?
A mysterious case, he thought . . . one which he hoped he might live long enough to see through to its conclusion. This will he had recently executed was one whose reading he was not eager to see necessitated by the passing of one so pleasant as his recent visitor—and the old woman seemed in the most robust of health and vigorous of mind—but at whose reading he would certainly not mind being present. In fact, he was now curious to see how the business with the old cleric and her will turned out.
A minute or two longer he sat, then rose and replaced the two new documents with the older one in his safe, together now until such time as they were needed.
13
The Sisters of the Chalet
Three days had passed since Amanda’s arrival.
All nine of the sisters kept busy at their various duties about the place. Amanda was provided for, waited on, served meals, her bed made up, her room cleaned, her clothes washed, her every need attended to. It was like having nine servants waiting on her.
All was done with happy cheeriness, without expectation or obligation. Each one went out of her way to make sure Amanda knew that the sister enjoyed doing whatever she could for her. More than a mere guest, Amanda was treated as an honored guest.
It was obvious that these ladies relished in the deeds of ministration. Every word to Amanda was spoken with the utmost graciousness, courtesy, and respect. She felt like a princess, and as if they were her loyal and devoted subjects. Yet a great change had come upon her since her childhood. Now she did not expect it, or even feel deserving of such treatment.
Circumstances had humbled her, with the result that Amanda now received all that was done for her with the simplicity of a grateful heart. She was appreciative of the smallest kindness. Her eyes were being opened to many things, not the least of which was that she had not always been particularly nice to those around her. The realization somehow elevated the simple kindnesses of others to a new level of importance in her eyes.
She could hardly believe the sisters treated everyone who came in such a manner. And yet why not? She was no more special than anyone else, cast adrift by the fortunes of war, caught in difficult circumstances away from home, with no money and nowhere to turn. She represented nothing more to them than anyone they might meet, unlike with the Pankhursts, who regarded Amanda as a societal trophy to gain for their cause.
Had each of the sisters come in some similar circumstance, Amanda wondered, been welcomed as she, and found it so homey and wonderful that they simply decided to stay? Had they learned to be kind from the kindness they had each received during their own time of need?
Amanda found herself wondering about each of the women—whose ages ranged from about twenty-five to fifty. What were the circumstances that originally brought each one here to this out-of-the-way place?
In an environment of kindness and selflessness, it could hardly be helped that eventually Amanda would begin to look for ways to join in with the activities around her. Such was only natural. Gradually she observed the routine of one, now another of the women, and began to offer her assistance, following them about, taking a basket of clothes into the house, or a bucket of milk from the barn to the pantry.
Before a week was out, she was making up her own bed and helping to set the table or wash the dishes in the kitchen. No better way exists to learn ministration than by observation and practice. What Amanda had been incapable of seeing through the eyes of her childhood, she now began to apprehend through the eyes of her emerging adulthood. And her soul responded accordingly. The remarkable change that slowly stole over her was so gradual that Amanda herself scarcely saw it.
Accompanying this subtle shift in outlook—from being served to wanting to serve—two things began to happen.
Hands of service always bring lightness to the step and a song to the heart. Amanda found unexpected bursts of joy springing up within her heart. She had, of course, had moments of what she might have called happiness in her life. But not like this. These were sensations she had never felt before. Never had she truly desired to do for others above what she wanted for herself. Without realizing it, such was exactly the effect of the sisters’ kindness. The greatest transformation of human life was occurring within her—the transition out of the dungeon of self into the sunlight of selflessness. It simply made Amanda happy to help, to smile, to lend a hand. Work itself became enjoyable. It filled her with a fatiguing kind of pleasure to have hands and muscles busy, even with chores she once might have looked upon as a drudgery.
At the same time, she found now one, now another memory arising out of her past. Yet they did not bring with them a flood of confusing emotions such as had stirred within her for the last five or six years, but rather were tinged by the quiet glow of nostalgic fondness. As her past gradually came to life again within Amanda’s memory, its reminders were sadly pleasant, rousing no anger as before, but instead calling forth vague longings she could not define.
The first morning she joined Sister Marjolaine in the chicken shed gathering eggs, she happened to glance up after a minute or two. Marjolaine was watching her curiously.
Amanda smiled in puzzlement.
“You’ve collected eggs before,” said Marjolaine in answer to Amanda’s wrinkled expression. “You handle them like an expert.”
“Why do you say that?” laughed Amanda.
“I’ve been watching you,” replied the small woman in her characteristic high voice. “You pick each one up gently, then brush or blow away the loose dirt, and then set them gently onto the straw in your basket. And you’re careful they don’t roll into one another. You look like one who has gathered eggs all your life. Where did you learn it?”
Amanda returned her question with a curious expression of her own spreading over her face.
“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever . . .”
Slowly a memory dawned from years before.
She paused, an egg still clutched between her thumb and two fingers. Amanda’s mind drifted back.
The image of a child filled her mind. The little girl was eagerly tromping out to a chicken hut alongside a stout woman dressed in a blue-and-white frock.
“Can I get the eggs? Let me get the eggs, Sarah!” the little girl was saying in an importune voice that rang out in that debatable region between question and command.
“Eggs are easily broken, Miss Amanda,” replied Sarah Minsterly.
“I’ve watched—I can do it.”
“Then I shall show you again,” said the lady as they entered the hut. “If you are careful, you may place the eggs in the basket. Now watch very closely, Miss Amanda. You must pick them up one at a time, with very gentle fingers,” Sarah went on, taking out a single brown egg, carefully brushing it off and blowing upon it. “When it is clean, lay it gently inside the basket.—There, you see. Just like that. Each one . . . very slowly. Now it is your turn, Miss Amanda.”
Amanda smiled and glanced again at Sister Marjolaine, who was so tiny that beside Amanda she almost appeared as a child herself.
“Yes . . . now that you remind me,” she said, “I have done this before. But it was many years ago, when I was a girl.”
“I was sure of it. I could tell,” replied Marjolaine, laughing sweetly.
Amanda placed the egg in the basket, remembering Sarah Minsterly’s words clearly now. They continued on until all the eggs had been gathered, then returned to the house together.
The following afternoon, Amanda approached as Sister Clariss was hanging out the day’s laundry. She picked out a few items from the basket and began pinning them to the line. The activity, the clothespins in her hand
, the smell of fresh linens, and the gentle breeze on her face gradually put Amanda in a quiet mood. Her subconscious was being pricked, though again she did not realize it at first.
A minute or two went by as both young women worked side by side. It was Sister Clariss who spoke first.
“What is that tune you’re humming?” she asked.
Amanda stopped abruptly. “I . . . I don’t know,” she replied. “I didn’t realize I was humming. I suppose I was daydreaming.”
“It sounded like a pretty song,” said Clariss. “I haven’t heard it before.”
They returned to their work. Again Amanda began to hum, conscious of it now. As the tune found its way through the ridges of her brain, she began to think of a day several years before—she was probably fourteen. She and her mother and Sarah were outside at Heathersleigh hanging out linens and towels.
Her mother was singing. In the ear of her memory Amanda could hear her voice so clearly now:
“Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross
To see an old lady upon a white horse. . . .”
Catharine was bustling about trying to help but was hardly tall enough to reach the line. The sun was shining, it was a pleasant day, and everyone was happy.
Everyone but Amanda. Her own attitude was far from cheerful. She was irritated at being made to help. A sour disposition clouded her entire countenance, and she made certain the towel she was pinning to the line took long enough that the basket would be empty before she was done with it. She might have to be out here, but she didn’t have to enjoy it. She was determined to make sure her mother knew she hated it, and equally determined to do as little as she could get away with.
Her mother continued to sing and chat with Sarah, then paused to teach the rhyme to Catharine. After the brief explanation, her mother began singing again.
“Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes,
She shall have music wherever she goes.”
All the while Amanda stewed silently. Even the memory made her stomach churn—not, however, from irritation at her mother, but from the uncomfortable feeling of remembering what an irritable child she had been. How had her mother put up with it!
She shook away the memory. This one was far from happy. It was too painful to look back on the incident with the new eyes of her awakening conscience.
What could account for the change? she thought. Today she was doing the very same thing and enjoying it as she had rarely enjoyed anything in years. What was the difference? Why was this work here actually fun?
Was it something about this place . . . or had she really changed so much?
14
Reflections on Their Guest
Sister Hope sat at her desk with several papers in front of her. The afternoon was unusually warm for fall, and her window was open.
The snow everywhere but on the mountains was gone. It felt as though summer had returned for a brief visit. From outside she now heard a voice singing a bright melody.
She rose and went to the window.
It was thus that Sister Gretchen found her a short time later as she entered Hope’s small office. Hope turned, her eyes full of tears.
“What is it, Hope?” Gretchen asked with concern.
Sister Hope smiled. “I was just so overcome with gratitude,” she replied. “How the Lord manages to use this chalet in lives is so wonderful. Even after all these years I find myself amazed by it, and thankful anew.”
“To what do you owe this day’s outbreak of gratitude?”
Hope motioned her closer, pointing outside. Gretchen smiled and nodded. She had noticed the change in their guest too.
“I heard our dear Amanda singing as she was gathering a few flowers for the table,” said Sister Hope.
“The transformation is indeed remarkable,” returned Sister Gretchen. “When I saw her in the station at Milan, never had I seen such despondency on a girl’s face.”
“Obviously it is nothing we have done,” rejoined Sister Hope. “It is never anything we do. Yet once again we are privileged to behold one of God’s flowers beginning to unfold. All it takes is a little warm human sunshine, and it is astonishing how the human plant blossoms of itself.”
“The Lord is good to allow us to watch him fill people with hope.”
“My thankfulness to him never ceases.”
“Such was your vision in the beginning, Hope. I can only imagine how gratifying it must be for you.”
“I could not carry out this work without all of you, and you especially, Gretchen. I am so glad you brought Amanda to us. Although I do not think she is meant to remain long.”
“Nor do I,” rejoined Sister Gretchen. “I sense that the Lord has another destiny awaiting her.”
“My thought exactly. Somehow she will become a significant woman in his plan. I do not see what it is, but the Lord has a wonderful future of service marked out for her.”
“Has she spoken more to you about herself? Do you know anything about her?”
Sister Hope shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Her background is not important for now. If the Lord desires for us to know more, Amanda will tell us in her own way and at the proper time.”
“Though she appeared as forlorn as a waif, almost from the moment I saw her,” said Sister Gretchen, “I had the impression that she was a young lady of breeding and culture. The way she expresses things, her mannerisms, how she carries herself, they all speak of parental care and training.”
“I have noticed it too.”
“It would not surprise me to discover that she is a young lady from an important family.”
“The moment I heard her name I immediately thought of the seventeenth-century Scottish covenanter Samuel Rutherford.”
“Do you suppose there is some relation?”
“I have no way to tell. Whoever she is, it is clear the Lord brought her to the chalet for a higher purpose than we are able to see at present.”
Meanwhile outside, having no idea she was the object of such a discussion, Amanda was walking with Sister Galiana in the direction of the barn. They were chatting freely as they went.
15
Jilted Farmer’s Daughter
Amanda entered the cool dark of the quiet barn. Sister Galiana immediately set about cleaning the stalls of the three cows who were outside enjoying a few final days of fresh grass before winter’s cold set in for good. As they talked, Amanda unconsciously slipped on a pair of boots from near the door, then picked up a pitchfork and began to help.
A few minutes went by. Sister Galiana gradually began to stare, as had Sister Marjolaine a day or two earlier, at her new assistant.
“You handle that fork like you know how to use it,” she said.
“Do I?” laughed Amanda. “I didn’t think about it.”
“You have done this before.”
Again the words caught Amanda off guard.
“I just picked it up,” she said slowly, “and . . .”
Once more the years fell away. Suddenly she was a girl of nine again. Instead of a barn in the Swiss Alps, in her mind’s eye she was now standing in the small familiar barn beside the cottage in the woods between Heathersleigh and Milverscombe.
A faint image came to mind of her attempt to gather courage to let the cow whose domain she had entered scoop a few oats out of her hand with its long, wet bovine tongue. Then the scene shifted to another day in that same barn. Gradually the memory came into clearer definition. She had taken it into her young head to help clean out the stall.
“Careful there, Miss Amanda,” she heard Bobby McFee’s voice caution in his melodic Irish tongue. “A fork’s a tool, not a toy. Let me show ye how to use it proper.”
A brief lesson followed in where to place her hands on the handle.
“First we clean out the old mucky stuff,” said the wizened old man. “’Tis not the pleasantest of work about a barn, but necessary. Fork it up onto the cart . . . that’s it. Careful that it doesn’t splat on ye and make a mess.
Then I’ll wheel it outside to the pile. After the stall’s clean, we’ll break out a new fresh bale.”
Several minutes later the stall was empty of refuse and a new bale in place. Bobby sliced off a chunk with the tips of his fork and shook it loosely into the bin.
“Just like that, and Flora’ll have a nice wee bed of straw to sleep in tonight,” he said.
Following his example Amanda attempted herself to wield a forkful of new straw. But instead of scattering nicely as Bobby’s had done, it fell in a clump. A few deft strokes of the older man’s fork remedied that quickly enough.
“Good work, Miss Amanda,” said Bobby. “I’ll be makin’ a lady farmer out o’ ye in no time.”
Amanda smiled at the memory. She would like to see Bobby and Maggie again, she thought. It had been too long.
While her mind had drifted off, Sister Galiana continued to scoop and clean. Amanda now rejoined her, and again they fell to talking.
None of the sisters intentionally set out to open their personal histories to a guest. But as hesitant as they were to direct attention onto themselves, they yet recognized the truth that every man’s or woman’s story is uniquely capable of helping another whose experience may cross it at some serendipitous moment of intersection. The relaxed atmosphere, as well as a very natural curiosity, often prompted dialog with their guests in such a way that the tale of each of their pasts spoke in its own way now to one, now to another who came. So while they did not press, neither were they reluctant to share when the opportunity arose. They knew that the Lord used human circumstances to speak to hearts. They were always willing and happy for him to use their own.
Heathersleigh Homecoming Page 7
