Heathersleigh Homecoming (60 page)

“I don't know about you,” she said, “but that sounds like an offer I do not feel inclined to refuse. Is it all right, Mother?”

“Of course. You're nearly a grown woman.”

“What about you, Amanda?”

“That would be nice.”

“Where is he, Sarah?”

“In the drawing room, Miss Catharine,” replied Sarah.

 120 
What Do You Want Me to Do?

Summer came to Devon, and with it a new sense of peace to Heathersleigh.

Jocelyn was able to smile and laugh again. The Lord continued to infuse within the Heathersleigh women a sense of strength, though they did not know where it was leading or what that purpose might be. Anticipation for the future grew, though it remained as yet a book whose next pages they were not yet able to read. These pages would be turned in time by the Lord's hand and according to his schedule. In that knowledge they were content.

Life would never be the same without Charles. But Jocelyn had taken Timothy's words at the Milverscombe memorial to heart. She
did
believe the Lord, and was determined to fix her eye on the glow of eternity from around the edges of the doorway that faced beyond.

Amanda had by now been back in Devon long enough to feel comfortable and content. Heathersleigh seemed more home to her now than it had ever been in her life. She turned twenty-five without fanfare. She wanted only to quietly enjoy the day with mother and sister. They went out and brought Maggie back to the Hall for afternoon tea and cakes.

Lieutenant Langham visited Heathersleigh on several more occasions.

Stirling Blakeley returned to Milverscombe from Oxford. He and Catharine drew Amanda into their playful friendship, the three enjoying numerous rides about the countryside and many evenings reading together in the Heathersleigh library.

Amanda continued to be aware of changes taking place within her. Noise and bustle and activity, which had always been her very
sustenance, grew foreign to her spirit. The thought of setting foot inside London again did not remotely enter her mind.

She became pensive, slow, given to early morning walks and reflective hours of contemplation, not anxious to make haste. She found herself especially drawn to the heather garden, though she did not know why. Jocelyn knew but said nothing. It was an answer to prayer she would share with Charles in the quietness of her own mother's heart.

As for the future, Amanda needed no plans. She did not fret to know what it held, for at last she was at peace with herself. Catharine's question about her marriage haunted her, but did not diminish her anticipation for what possibilities might lie in the future. She would wait for the Lord to guide her there too.

There remained deep sorrow in her heart. This could not be said to be a
happy
time, though she was at peace and eager to discover what the next chapter of life might hold. She accepted her sorrow as an intrinsic necessity of the slow transformation of her perspective, and thus allowed it to do its work in her heart. It was a well of sorrow, not a knife of sorrow, and therefore capable of being filled with the healing waters of selflessness, compassion, trust, and wisdom.

One warm afternoon in late June, Amanda found herself standing at the window of her childhood room gazing out upon the Devonshire countryside. She could not help but be reminded of the day at age seven when she had secretly followed her father to his prayer wood.

She would do so again. She would walk along the same path as before, to remind herself what she had been, and what now, perhaps as a result, she wanted to become.

As Amanda set out across the grassy fields and meadows on this day, how different were her thoughts and emotions from that day eighteen years earlier, and even from her visit a year ago before leaving for the Continent. The first had been filled with annoyance, the second with perplexity. Today, however, her heart was filled with quiet anticipation.

No less today was she following her father than that day long ago, though now she was following his footsteps for the right reasons, seeking her father's God, whom she had now made her own.

The walk took her nearly an hour. Amanda was in no hurry. As always during this quiet season of her soul, she was making peace
with many things as she went. A sense of what was coming grew steadily upon her.

She arrived at the wood, paused briefly, then entered through the thick-growing surrounding stand of trees. A few moments later she stood inside the small grassy meadow. Yes, she thought, there was indeed a Presence here, just as she had felt a little over a year ago. At that time she had not been ready to apprehend its full meaning. It was not only the presence of her departed father she felt here in his tiny cathedral of trees.

The presence of God was here too. She knew that now.

Amanda walked about briefly, then sat down on one of the three large stones. So many thoughts and memories filled her heart. They deepened the sadness, yet were no less enriching, for they offered the spiritual nourishment of growth and maturity.

After several long quiet moments, slowly she eased to her knees in the grass, exactly as she had seen her father do, bent down her face, cradled it in her hands, and began to pray.

“Lord and Father,”
she whispered,
“
help me not be consumed by the guilt of what I was, for my selfish past. I cannot change it.
And not even guilt will bring Daddy back. So I
ask you to use it to make me the woman you want me to be.

“Show me truths that I
blinded myself to for so long. I want to learn,
Lord, and grow. I now see how Mother and Father
grew so much after they gave their lives to you in ways I resented because I could not see properly.
Now I realize those were difficult times for them. I
see that it took courage to change as they did.
And even if they made some mistakes along the way, they were doing the best they knew, and their motives were always to do right. Forgive my wrong attitudes during
those times and for not respecting their courage.

“I wish
Daddy were still here, because now I want to know him as I never allowed myself to before. But though
he is now with you, show me what he was trying to teach me. Open my eyes to the truth
of his life, even though he is no longer with me. Let me learn from his memory. In the same
way the words of his sermon spoke what you knew I needed that day outside Timothy's church, perhaps other things about his life can help me grow in the same way. Give me new insight into his character and
spiritual life, even though it must happen in the quietness of my own heart.

“And let me learn from my
dear mother as well. I see what a woman of
stature and dignity you have made of her. Daddy is
gone, but I still have her, and I am so grateful for that. Thank you for bringing me home and
that she has been so gracious and wonderful and loving toward me. Help her to know how much I love
her. Help me to live that love toward her every
day.

“And thank you, dear Father, for Catharine. What a
joy to have a sister who is so fun, so full of life and energy, and such a good friend.”

Amanda rose and walked about the small prayer wood breathing deeply, as if the very air itself contained some special life-giving quality, then sat down again and pulled out a small piece of paper. It was Catharine's Christmas gift to Jocelyn, which she had copied out again in her own hand at Amanda's request.

Before she had finished reading it again, as she had many times during the past few months, Amanda's eyes were full of tears.

“I want to be your woman too, Lord,”
she whispered.
“It seems I am so far behind
both my mother and even my younger sister. But I
will be patient for you to do your work. Let
me do what Catharine's little story says, and follow the example you have given me.”

Again Amanda rose and now made her way slowly back through the passageway through the trees by which she had come.

“Give me
strength to look forward,”
she prayed as she went.
“
I ask you to somehow make good come of my past, though it is difficult for my eyes to look at myself and see anything but failure. I feel small
for what I was and responsible for so much grief that has come to so many. Help me see which
guilts I must accountably bear, and which I need to leave in your hands and not take up again. I
know you can turn all things for good, so use my past for good . . . somehow . . . though at present I do
not see how that is possible.

“And use me, Father,”
she added,
“in the lives of others. If someday
I might help turn one other person away from self-
centeredness, so that he or she is prevented from bringing pain into their families, as well as into their own hearts, I cannot say that would make it all worth it, but I would at least feel that maybe my life had counted for something.

“Turn my mistakes to good,
Lord, and accomplish your will and purpose in my life.”

 121 
Overdue Letter

That evening found Amanda in an even quieter and more reflective frame of mind than usual. The mood of the prayer wood had remained with her throughout the rest of the day.

“Is everything all right, my dear?” said Jocelyn as the three sat together after evening tea.

“Yes, Mother,” Amanda replied with a smile. “I am just feeling quiet, you know. I think I'll go upstairs and read. There's a book I want to finish. Then maybe I'll finally start my letter to the sisters in Wengen.”

She rose and hugged Jocelyn. “Thank you, Mother.”

“For what?” said Jocelyn, smiling up at her.

“For being you . . . for being my mother, for your patience and forgiveness. I love you.”

“Thank you, dear. I love you too.”

“I know, Mother,” nodded Amanda. “I really do know it now.”

Amanda walked over to where Catharine sat quietly writing a letter. Catharine glanced up, and Amanda bent down and embraced her.

“I love you, Catharine,” she said. “I thank God so much for you. You're the best friend a sister could possibly have.”

“Thank you, Amanda,” smiled Catharine. “That is so sweet of you to say. You are a good friend too.”

Amanda turned and walked up to her room.

The night had grown late, and both sister and mother were already in bed when Amanda sat down two hours later at her writing table. She took out a sizable stack of writing paper from its drawer, then set her pen to the top sheet, and began.

Dear Sisters Hope, Gretchen, Marjolaine, Regina, Luane, Agatha, Galiana, Clariss, Anika, and Kasmira, whom I hardly had the chance to know, if you are still at the chalet—

Greetings to you all from England.

This letter is long overdue. I have started it in my mind at least two dozen times, and on paper probably half that many. But somehow the time has never seemed right, and I have not been able to continue and say everything I need and want to.

But I think now that time has finally come. I am sorry it has taken me so long. Here I am at last, and I am determined to see it through this time, although it will probably be a very long letter. Someday, I hope in the not-too-distant future, I can visit you face-to-face and thank each of you for the very individual ways you were all used in helping me arrive where I am today in my personal journey. God used each one of you uniquely, though I could not see it as clearly then as I do now. Someday I will thank you and hug you each personally for loving me and opening yourselves to me as you did. Believe it or not, my mother and sister and I have actually talked about making a trip to Switzerland whenever circumstances with the war permit. Until that time, however, I must content myself with the written mode of communication, although I doubt I shall be able to convey only a hundredth of what is in my heart.

There is so much to tell, and the story I have to share begins several years ago, with a visit a certain little girl made with her family to a city called London.

Just a few minutes ago I finished reading a book. Perhaps you have heard of it. The title is Robinson Crusoe. As soon as I read the final page I knew the time had come for me to tell you this girl's story. She did not find herself marooned on a distant desert island, but was shipwrecked much closer to the land of her birth. Fortunately, it did not take her quite thirty-five years, as it did Crusoe, to find her own way back. I am pleased to be able to report to you that she is at last home, in her heart, I mean, though getting there was not without pain and loss.

The girl's name is Amanda. . . .