A New Dawn Over Devon (22 page)

 32 
A Letter

The letter from Sister Hope that arrived at Heathersleigh Hall just after the first of the new year was greeted with great excitement. The moment Amanda saw the postmark, she sat down and hastily tore open the envelope.

Dear Amanda, she read,

All the sisters send their warm greetings. We still talk of you often and wish the distance between us were not so great so we could see you. Many have come and gone to and from the chalet through the years, but few have made the impact in our hearts that you did. I am not certain I can explain it other than to say that you are greatly loved, and we all remember you—in spite of all that happened—very fondly.

As Amanda read the words, tears filled her eyes.

This is one of the reasons I am writing. I feel God saying that perhaps I do need to see you again. For some years I have been putting off a visit to England. It is something I know I need to do for several reasons. There are two or three people I must see, and some unresolved mission business concerning my late husband that should have been attended to years ago. And, too, perhaps it is time for me to put a few of the memories of my own past to rest in a deeper way than I have been able to do from afar. But most of all, Amanda, I feel I am to see you.

You know how we rely on the Lord's leading concerning those who come to the chalet. For some time I have felt him telling me that you
are involved in what—or whom—he has next for us. I do not know why, nor do I know how you are involved. But somehow I feel a deep urgency simply to see you again face-to-face.

What would you and your mother think of having a guest from Switzerland visit you for a brief stay?

I plan to be in England in April.

Again . . . to you, your mother, and your sister, our deepest sympathies and prayers continue to be with you for the loss of your loved ones. God will give you strength—trust him!

With great love, your sister in Christ,
Hope Guinarde

“Mother . . . Mother, look!” cried Amanda, running and handing the letter to Jocelyn. “Sister Hope wants to come for a visit! I'm going to write her back immediately!”

 33 
A Fall

A spring celebration was planned for Maggie's seventy-eighth birthday. All the inhabitants of Heathersleigh rose with Hector and the animals in order to begin preparations for the feast that would be held that afternoon at the Hall in Maggie's honor.

Midway through the morning, Betsy came into the kitchen with a handful of roses she had just picked.

“They are beautiful, Betsy dear!” said Jocelyn.

“May I take them over to Grandma Maggie?” asked Betsy.

“You mean . . . now? I don't suppose there would be any harm.—In fact, that is a good idea!” added Jocelyn. “Wish her a wonderful birthday, and tell her we shall be over a little after noon to bring her to the Hall.”

Betsy was out the door like a flash and running across the meadow, black hair, yellow dress, and multicolored clump of roses in her hand all flying in the breeze.

Jocelyn laughed as she watched the girl's short, stocky legs flying across the grass. “If half those roses survive by the time she reaches the cottage,” she said, “it will be a miracle!”

“She really loves Grandma Maggie, doesn't she?” said Catharine at the table behind her as she put the finishing touches on the frosting of a large layer cake.

“And it warms my heart to see it,” nodded Jocelyn. “What must it have been like to grow up without a mother, or grandmother, or even an aunt—the poor girl!”

Jocelyn was passing the window again some twenty minutes later when she saw Betsy walking slowly back across the meadow, the same bouquet of flowers still clutched in her hand.

“What is it, Betsy?” she said as Betsy entered the house. “Why didn't you give Maggie the flowers?”

“I couldn't find her,” answered Betsy.

“What do you mean?” asked Jocelyn, puzzled.

“I knocked and knocked, but she never came to the door.”

“Did you look around? She might have been in the garden,” said Jocelyn.

“I walked all around the cottage, then to the barn,” said Betsy. “I called out too, but she didn't answer.”

Jocelyn's eyebrows knit together.

“Catharine, Amanda,” she called up the stairs behind her. “I am going over to Maggie's.”

“But I thought we weren't going until—” began Catharine from the landing.

“Maggie didn't answer Betsy's knock,” interrupted Jocelyn. “I have an uneasy feeling. I want to check on her.”

Both her daughters were already downstairs and on the way outside with her. Without waiting for Hector's help, they hitched one of the buggies and climbed in. Jocelyn slapped the reins with her wrist and yelled to the horse, and did not let up with her shouts until he was in full gallop across the meadow.

They flew into the clearing three or four minutes later. Jocelyn leapt out before the carriage was fully stopped and sprinted toward the cottage. The door was unlocked as always. Jocelyn hurried in, her two daughters on her heels.

“Maggie . . . Maggie, are you home!” called Jocelyn as she ran through the rooms. She found her elderly friend lying on the pantry floor.

“Maggie—what happened!” cried Jocelyn, kneeling down beside her.

“I am all right, Jocelyn dear,” moaned Maggie softly. “I just couldn't make Betsy hear my voice. But I am not in too much pain.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“It's my hip. I was being clumsy and tried to reach too high. . . .”

“Did you fall?”

Maggie nodded. “I'm afraid I slipped,” she said softly.

“Your face is pale.—Catharine, run for Dr. Cecil.”

In seconds Catharine was out the door.

“What can I do for you, Grandma Maggie?” asked Amanda. “Would you like tea . . . or water?”

“That sounds delightful, dear. Some water . . . then when I can sit up to drink it, I would enjoy a cup of tea.”

“How long have you been here?” asked Jocelyn, trying to get herself under Maggie and gently lift her to a sitting position without causing more pain.

“Perhaps two or three hours. But you are here now—I will be fine.”

Amanda arrived with a glass of water and helped her swallow two or three sips.

“Thank you, dear . . . I am feeling better already,” sighed Maggie wearily. “—Not much of a birthday,” she added. “I am sorry to be such a bother, and that I've ruined your party for today.”

“Maggie—think nothing of it,” said Jocelyn. “We will just bring our party here and spend the day with you instead.”

“What about all the people who were coming?”

“Let us take care of everything,” insisted Jocelyn. “You just rest.—Here, put your arm around my shoulder . . . come, Amanda . . . we will try to get you into your bed, if it doesn't hurt too much.”

Slowly and carefully Jocelyn and Amanda got Maggie to her feet, then made their way to her bed, mostly carrying her to keep weight off the hip which Jocelyn feared might be broken. Neither of them missed the wince of pain that came to Maggie's face when they lifted her.

“I don't care how you object,” said Jocelyn as at length they eased her down. “We are finally going to have a telephone line installed here to the cottage. That will be your birthday present.”

“It would have done me no good today, dear—I was unable to move.”

“Nevertheless, you
must
be able to get in touch with us.”

Maggie nodded. She did not like to give in either to the advancement of technology or the advancement of age. But she could no longer deny that both were rapidly gaining on her.

“You are right,” smiled Maggie. “I am sorry for being such a stubborn old woman.”

“You are a
dear
old woman!” rejoined Jocelyn. “And I love you too much not to take the best care of you I can.”

 34 
I Want to Be Good Like Daddy Said

A week later Amanda came upon Betsy sitting alone and quiet on the first-floor stair landing.

Amanda approached. “You look like you're thinking about something,” she said.

Betsy glanced up toward her.

“I have two ears that are available for listening if you would like them,” Amanda added, sitting down beside her.

“I was thinking about something my daddy once said to me,” said Betsy.

“What did he tell you?”

“That he wanted me to grow up to be a good girl.”

“That is good advice,” smiled Amanda. “And do you want to be?”

“Yes . . . I want to be good like Daddy said my mother was.”

It was quiet a moment or two.

“I was also remembering,” Betsy added, “what you said about things growing in my heart.”

Amanda took in Betsy's words with surprise, though she did not show it. She had not suspected that the serious things they discussed had penetrated into the girl's consciousness. At Betsy's age, it was difficult to tell what she was thinking, and to distinguish between the child-girl oblivious to life's meaning, and the slowly dawning
woman awakening within her that was beginning to be drawn by deeper currents.

As Amanda sat quietly at Betsy's side, a silent prayer rose within her.
Lord
, she prayed,
whatever Betsy needs at this moment, give me the right words
.

At last she turned toward Betsy. “Do you know something, Betsy?” said Amanda. “Your daddy was a wise man to tell you to be good. But do you know that you can't be good all by yourself? You need someone's help.”

“Whose?”

“Do you remember Mr. Diggorsfeld from London?”

Betsy nodded. “Can
he
help me be good?”

Amanda smiled. “Well, Mr. Diggorsfeld has helped me,” she said, “and he has helped our whole family. But the greatest help he has given us is to tell us about someone
else
. Do you remember when he told you about the man called Jesus?”

“Yes. I remember him saying that he lived in people's hearts, though I still cannot understand it. I don't think my daddy knew about Jesus.”

“Neither did my daddy until Mr. Diggorsfeld told him. But he does now. And maybe your father knows about Jesus now too. What Mr. Diggorsfeld said,” Amanda went on, “is that when Jesus lives in our hearts, he helps us to become better children, and better men and women. So, Betsy,
Jesus
is the one who helps us become good.”

“My daddy told me to find people who would help me be good.”

“That was wise of him to say. Jesus is that person, though your father didn't know it before he died. He is the
only
one who can.”

“How does he do it?”

“You have to ask for his help,” replied Amanda.

“But didn't Mr. Diggorsfeld say we couldn't see him?”

“Yes, but he can still help us . . . inside.”

A puzzled look came over Betsy's face.

“There is a garden in your heart, Betsy. And if you ask him to come live there, Jesus will be the gardener and will make good things grow in it and help take out the ugly, nasty weeds.”

Amanda paused and looked at Betsy. When she spoke again, her voice was tender.

“Do you know that there are weeds growing in the garden of your heart?” she said. “The weeds are called sin. We all need Jesus' help
to get rid of those weeds so that good flowers will grow. You're not as good as you want to be, are you, Betsy?”

Betsy shook her head.

“Neither am I,” said Amanda. “I am not good at all. But I want to be too, just like you do. You have told me that there is hatred growing in your garden.”

“My heart doesn't feel like there are good flowers growing in it,” said Betsy sadly.

“You're right. Hatred is a dreadfully ugly weed,” rejoined Amanda. “And it will ruin your whole garden if you do not get rid of it. It is not very pretty, just like selfishness and meanness. All those weeds were growing in my garden too. I was not a nice person at all, Betsy. I was mean and cranky and disrespectful.”

“You!”

“Yes—I wasn't very nice at all.”

“Are those weeds gone now?” asked Betsy. “They must be, because you are one of the nicest people I have ever known.”

“Thank you, Betsy,” smiled Amanda. She put her arm around the girl and drew her close. Betsy let her head rest on Amanda's shoulder. “They are not completely gone. But Jesus helps me every day to pull a few more weeds out of my garden to make room for the flowers he is growing inside me.”

“Does he pull the weeds out for you?”

“No, we have to pull out our own weeds.”

“I don't know how to.”

“He helps us.”

“How?”

Amanda thought a moment.

“I was a very selfish girl for most of my life,” she went on. “I thought about no one but myself for so many years that the weed of selfishness became a very big weed with very deep roots. The selfishness weed grew so big within me that there was hardly room for anything else to grow. It is not the kind of weed that can be pulled out all at once. And Jesus wants
me
to pull it out because that is part of what he wants me to learn, how to put others first instead of myself. But even though he doesn't pull that weed out for me, every time I reach down to try, he places his hand on top of mine and gives me the strength to pull up the sin-weed a little more. So Jesus and I are working hard together to get selfishness out of me.
And I hope that one day soon, if I
keep
trying and
keep
letting him help me, that the weed of selfishness will be gone from the garden of my heart. The roots may never come out altogether, and may keep sprouting tiny selfishness weeds all my life. But with the main weed gone, I will be able to pull those out myself whenever they start to grow. That's how it is with all my sin-weeds. Jesus can't just make them go away. I have to stoop down and grab hold of them first, then he helps me.”

“Why can he help pull them and we can't?” asked Betsy.

“Because Jesus is God's Son, and because he died for us,” replied Amanda. “That gives him a very special kind of power over sin that we do not have. The Bible says that he has conquered sin and can save us. Because of that, he can conquer it within us too. And the way he conquers sin within us is to help
us
conquer it ourselves by helping us pull out our own sin-weeds. That is why he is called our Savior. He has saved us from sin and can help get rid of the sin in our lives. He can also help you forgive the men who killed your father.”

“It all sounds confusing,” said Betsy.

Amanda smiled. “At first, perhaps,” she said. “But once you get to know Jesus, then it is wonderful. Let me try to explain it another way—you see, because Jesus died for us, he forgives all our sin—
your
hatred and
my
anger toward my father. Do you remember when Mr. Diggorsfeld said that Jesus took our sin to the grave with him?”

Betsy nodded.

“But the weeds of that sin are still growing in our hearts. So though God has forgiven us, we must still pull out the weeds. And when we invite him into our hearts, he helps us. He forgives you for your hatred, and he will help you get rid of it by helping you forgive those men. And with the hate-weed gone, even when it starts to be gone, he will begin to grow nice-smelling flowers inside you instead—flowers like kindness and goodness and happiness.”

Betsy thought a moment or two. Amanda said nothing. For a long minute they sat quietly together.

“I would like him to live in my heart,” said Betsy at length. “I want to get rid of the weeds so I can be a lady—a good lady like you, Amanda.”

At the words, Amanda's heart stung her, and tears quickly rose to her eyes. She drew in a deep breath and blinked them back.

“You would like to invite Jesus into your heart like Mr. Diggorsfeld said?” she said.

Betsy nodded.

Amanda rose, wiping at her eyes. “Betsy,” she said, “let's you and I go up to the secret room in the garret and pray there together.”

Betsy stood. Amanda offered her hand and led her to the library. Hand in hand they walked through the bookcases into the secret corridor. Moments later they were making their way through the now familiar hidden corridor toward the topmost portions of Heathersleigh Hall.