A New Dawn Over Devon (27 page)

 44 
The Dreaded Word

Meanwhile, the discussion around the oval table continued.

“What of this fellow Wildecott-Browne?” asked Chairman Roul.

“A solicitor . . . relatively new to the church,” answered Mrs. Paulus.

“Whose side is he on—is he reasonable?”

“He is highly respected—a former Anglican.”

“What is he doing at New Hope Chapel?”

A few heads shook. No one seemed to know.

“Can we interview him . . . discreetly? He is apparently a powerful man in some London legal circles. He could be of great help in making the case against Diggorsfeld.”

“He was one of the first the deacons went to because they knew he was close to Diggorsfeld.”

“They have already tried to sway him?”

Mrs. Paulus nodded.

“And?”

“The attempt was unsuccessful,” said Mr. Riper. “He is one of Diggorsfeld's staunchest supporters.”

“Then he will do us no good,” rejoined Roul.

“There is also the charge—” Mrs. Packer began, then paused. “I cannot bring myself to say the word,” she added.

“You mean . . .” said Mrs. Paulus.

Packer nodded.

“Come, come, we are behind closed doors,” huffed the chairman. “There is nothing to fear from saying it. It is written right here. Are you referring to the charge of universalism?”

A momentary heavy silence descended upon the room, as if the speaking of the dreaded word was tantamount to embracing the heresy itself.

The others nodded.

“Is it actually true . . .
is
he a universalist?” asked Vice-Chairman Taylor. If it were true, this would certainly put an end to Taylor's own ambivalence. The board could not let a known believer in the universal victory of the cross continue to speak openly.

“I cannot answer for the man,” replied Mr. Riper. “But when I attended one of his Sunday evening services—I was disguised so he would not recognize me—I heard him raise the question—and I wrote it down to be certain we did not charge him falsely—‘What marvelous things might it be in God's heart to do?'”

The others took in the words seriously.

“That certainly
could
be grounds for heresy,” Roul said at length, “if only we were certain what he was referring to.”

“What
else
could he be referring to?” objected Mrs. Packer. “It is obvious, the man is a heretic.”

“I agree,” nodded Mrs. Paulus.

“I say we formalize the charge and have it drawn up,” said Mrs. Packer.

“And what would be the charge . . . exactly?” asked Roul.

“Unorthodoxy, heresy, and working division in the flock.”

The chairman nodded. “Yes . . . yes, that should be adequate grounds for dismissal.”

 45 
The Mother and the Motherless

Two evenings later, two women sat down together, each with a cup in hand. Jocelyn had brought tea and a small plate of biscuits to the sitting room next to her bedroom after the three girls had retired and invited Hope to join her.

“Young Betsy is an energetic and delightful girl,” smiled Hope as they began sipping at the edges of their cups. “The moment I saw her, something quickened in my spirit.”

“She has found her way into all our hearts,” smiled Jocelyn. “And already she is so different, so much more outgoing and expressive than when she came,” said Jocelyn. “The change is remarkable. She was so withdrawn and silent, no doubt in shock from what had happened. And yet—”

Jocelyn hesitated.

“What I was going to say,” she went on after a moment, “is that as much as we have tried to make her feel at home, there still seems to be something missing in Betsy's life. I realize, of course, that in her circumstances it may always be that way. Yet somehow it appears that she may never quite be at home here.”

Hope took in the words thoughtfully.

“I cannot help thinking that the Lord has something else for her,” Jocelyn went on, “though I have no idea what that might be.”

“You still know nothing of the circumstances of Betsy's father's death?” said Hope.

Jocelyn shook her head. “A minister friend of ours in London is trying to learn what he can, but thus far without success.”

“It must have been terrible for her.”

“I am sure it was. Yet, as I said, she is so much better than when she came. A great deal of the change is due to Amanda. She has been able to draw her out in a way that I haven't myself, though Betsy seems to love Catharine too.”

“It appears that she adores them both.”

“Yes, she really does,” smiled Jocelyn.

“It is not hard to see why,” said Sister Hope. “Both your daughters are lovely young women.”

“The one in no small measure because of you and your sisters at the chalet,” rejoined Jocelyn. “Amanda has told us so much about her time with you—all the way down to Sister Marjolaine's story about the tiny man fighting the dragon—that I feel I know every one.”

The reminder brought a smile to Hope's lips. “Perhaps you and Amanda and Catharine can visit us one day,” she suggested.

“I can hardly imagine such a long journey,” laughed Jocelyn. “But you have come here, and Amanda has traveled over half of Europe, and I myself was raised in India, so I suppose it can be done. From all Amanda has told us, your chalet sounds lovely.”

“Our little village is the most spectacular place on earth,” smiled Hope. “Although I must admit it is lovely here in Devon as well. I have felt such a great peace since being with you. It began the moment I stepped off the train. In its own way, Heathersleigh Hall reminds me of the Chalet of Hope. God's Spirit is here in a similar way. I feel somehow that I have left the world's cares behind and have found a refuge here. It is exactly how the chalet has always ministered to me.”

Jocelyn smiled. “That is exactly what Heathersleigh has been for me, thanks largely to my dear husband. As you can imagine,” she went on, gesturing to the red scar covering nearly half her face, “the world was often a cruel place for me. My hardest struggle as a Christian was to believe that God really loved me as I was, even that he had created me as I was. Charles helped me learn to accept God's love. In doing that, he always made sure Heathersleigh was a place where I could be free from the staring eyes and expectations
of others and could just be myself. And eventually his love, then God's, got through to me.”

“He must have been a very loving man.”

“He was indeed. But poor Amanda . . . he was gone before she woke up to realize it.”

“But she has realized it now; that is the important thing,” rejoined Hope. “Earthly timetables, even the intrusion of death itself, matter far less in God's grand scheme than they do to us.”

“I try to keep reminding myself of that, though it is not easy. I miss him too, yet I do not have to carry a tenth the grief she does.”

“She will be reunited with him one day very soon,” Hope added, “and all will be well between them. As well as had their hearts never been parted at all.”

“In some ways it already is,” said Jocelyn. “Amanda's heart is so tender and grateful toward Charles's memory.”

“So I have gathered from her letters,” said Hope. “Does she share them with you?”

“Yes, she does. She wants me to know everything she is thinking.”

“That must bring great joy to your heart in the midst of your loss.”

Jocelyn nodded.

“But sometimes I do miss Charles and George so much. Yet I feel I must endure some of it alone for fear of adding to the guilt that is so near the surface in Amanda.”

“I have found it remarkable to see the change in your daughter in such a short time. It is so clear from her letters. When she was with us, she was expressing the last dying gasps of anger toward your dear husband. I saw it in her eyes, how she would react to things that were said. All along I knew fatherhood to be at the root of her struggle with herself. And yet now her thoughts seem full of your Charles's memory. Everywhere she turns, she has said, she discovers pleasant memories, reminders of things he taught her which at last she is able to receive. I am sure the time will come when she will heal to the point where you will be able fully to express your own grief.”

“I marvel as I watch it,” nodded Jocelyn. “I don't know whether the parallel is apt, but I am frequently reminded of the Lord's words to his disciples, that it was for their good that he leave them, and that after his death the Spirit would bring many things to their remembrance.”

It fell silent for some time. Both women were mature enough in years and life's experiences to enjoy the quietude, and to allow the stillness, in its own way, to knit their hearts even more closely together.

“In so many ways,” said Jocelyn at length, “we have you to thank for the changes that have come to Amanda. You will never know what an answer to prayer you have been in our lives. All those years when she was gone, Charles and I prayed that God would send people to her who would be good for her and would love her with God's love. While so many coddled Amanda and justified her prodigality, even used it for their own ends, you were willing to make her face it. You cannot know how grateful I am to have my daughter back, and that the Lord sent her to you.”

Hope's eyes filled as she listened.

“It almost seemed too much to hope for, but we prayed especially that she would be led to someone at the right time who would turn her back toward home,” Jocelyn went on. “I have so longed for this moment, to be able to thank you personally. As remarkable as it seems that she could wind up high in a little village in the Swiss Alps, it would seem that he led her to you and the other sisters in answer to our prayer. Now that you are here, and because we prayed for you, in a sense, for so long, I feel like I have known you for years.”

Hope smiled. “I often imagine the prayers of God's people intertwined in a great invisible tapestry,” she said, “in which God weaves many threads together in ways we cannot see, and often will never see. But the prayers of the saints, all taken together, I believe, will result in the magnificent triumph of salvation and reconciliation, healing and growth, restitution and forgiveness, and most of all homecoming, when at last we have heavenly eyes to see it.”

“That is a lovely picture!”

“Amanda was as much an answer to our prayers as we were to yours,” Hope added. “That is the wonderful thing about our God. He so energetically takes care of us all, and leads us, by his Spirit, all to pray toward the same will that is in his heart to accomplish.”

“He certainly used you in answer to ours. I am more thankful than I will ever be able to tell you.”

When at last they stood, a long embrace followed.

When they separated, both women were weeping. Jocelyn Rutherford and Hope Guinarde knew they had each discovered in the other a lifelong friend.