A New Dawn Over Devon (35 page)

 59 
Hope's Return

Betsy had been watching the windows constantly for two days. Jocelyn had begun to worry that the girl was sinking back into the uncommunicative melancholy of her first days at Heathersleigh. She was slowly withdrawing and growing increasingly restive.

But the moment Betsy saw the carriage coming up the drive, she flew down the stairs and ran out to meet it, grinning from ear to ear. Sister Hope scarcely managed to set foot to the gravel before she was fairly overrun.

“Betsy dear!” she exclaimed laughing, trying to keep her balance amid a charging hug that nearly knocked her over.

“I couldn't wait for you to get back,” said Betsy. “I have so many things to show you! I found another hummingbird nest.”

“I want to hear all about it,” laughed Hope. “First let me get my bags inside. And I have something exciting to tell you about too.”

“You do! What?”

“Help me with my bag, and then we shall take a walk together. You can show me the nest, and I will tell you my surprise.”

Already Betsy had grabbed one of the bags and was eagerly lugging it toward the house and on up to Hope's room. Hope followed her, pausing to greet Jocelyn, Amanda, and Catharine at the door. Affectionate kisses and hugs followed.

“Betsy has been in an absolute state waiting for you,” said Amanda, “—hasn't she, Mother?”

Jocelyn laughed as she nodded. “I have never seen her like this,” she said. “Something about you went straight to her heart.”

Hope took in the words with quiet thankfulness to the Lord for giving her instant confirmation to what was in her mind to do.

“Jocelyn,” she said, “might I be able to have a word with you, just for a moment before Betsy gets back downstairs?”

“Certainly,” nodded Jocelyn.

Hope set her bag down, and they walked a little way from the door out away from the Hall.

“I don't want to say anything to Betsy without speaking with you first,” Hope began. “So what would you think if I asked her if she would like to visit Switzerland with me?”

“I think she would enjoy that very much. It is a wonderful idea.”

“And you would have no objection?”

“None at all.”

Twenty minutes later Betsy and Hope were outside together. Betsy had hold of Hope's hand pulling her along, again toward the woods.

“I have a question to ask you, Betsy,” said Hope. “How would you like to come with me when I leave next time—to Switzerland?”

“Oh yes . . . yes! When can we leave!” exclaimed Betsy. All thought of the bird's nest instantly disappeared from her mind.

“It is not quite so simple as just getting on a train,” laughed Hope. “There will be much to do. But we will begin making preparations tomorrow.”

————

Later that evening, after Betsy was in bed and Hope and Jocelyn were alone, the two women were discussing a number of practical matters concerning this waif whom the Lord had so unexpectedly dropped into their lives.

“We will have to get her a passport, of course,” Hope was saying, “which may be somewhat difficult without birth records and knowing as little about her as we do.”

“It might be that we will need to file for some sort of temporary legal guardianship,” suggested Jocelyn. “I had already been thinking along those lines. I haven't been able to get a word out of her about other relatives, but it is something we have to consider.”

“Yes, that would certainly be advisable.”

“I will telephone Lieutenant Langham in the morning,” said Jocelyn, “and Timothy as well.—Oh no . . . what am I thinking? Lieutenant Langham is away from London with Lieutenant Forbes.”

She thought a moment. “Well, the naval office can tell me when he will be back,” she said. “In the meantime, Timothy will do whatever he can. I have needed to look into Betsy's affairs and report what happened to someone, but I wasn't quite sure what to do.”

“If we could arrange for something temporary, that would be good,” said Hope. “Then, if and when we learn anything further, more permanent arrangements can be made for the girl.”

“I will talk to Timothy, and perhaps Lieutenant Langham about it,” said Jocelyn. “How long were you thinking of Betsy visiting?”

There was a brief silence.

“What I would ultimately like to do,” began Hope slowly, “—that is, if we are able to confirm that Betsy has no one else—is adopt her.”

“Oh, Hope, that is wonderful!” said Jocelyn. “Would it be possible?”

“With my dual citizenship, I would think it could be done.”

“Have you said anything to Betsy?”

“No, only about going to Switzerland. I want to investigate the matter thoroughly first. But mostly I wanted to know what you think. After all, the Lord did lead her here first.”

“And led you to come too,” added Jocelyn, “I think for just this purpose. I didn't know what we were eventually going to do about her, though we certainly would have been happy to keep her indefinitely. I think this is wonderful. I could not be more pleased.”

Hope nodded and thought a moment.

“Yes,” she said at length, “I do feel that the Lord led me here for Betsy. But I think there is a larger purpose, even than that.”

“A larger purpose, what do you mean?”

“A larger purpose for you and Catharine and Amanda.”

“I still do not see exactly what you mean.”

“I believe Betsy's coming here,” said Hope, “is the Lord's sign that he is going to use you all, and this wonderful home he has provided for you, in perhaps something of the same way he has the Chalet of Hope.”

Jocelyn smiled and was quiet a moment. Then she briefly told Sister Hope what Amanda had discovered about their home, and the direction they were praying about following.

Sister Hope shook her head and laughed lightly. “Remarkable,” she said when Jocelyn was through.

“Why do you say that?”

“It is so like the Lord to give a vision, only then to take away the very means, in
our
eyes, for it to be fulfilled. I think of his promise to Joseph, only to be followed by Joseph's being sold into slavery.”

“I see what you mean,” replied Jocelyn.

“He filled my heart with a vision for missions,” Hope went on, “which he is now fulfilling at a chalet in Switzerland. Foreign missions—I could never have foreseen his way of fulfilling that vision. In the same way, I am certain that even should you leave Heathersleigh, you will look back on it as fulfilling his purpose.”

Jocelyn smiled a sad, nostalgic but bittersweet smile. “I always dreamed of a happy family,” she said, “and then later as we began living as Christians, I dreamed of serving the Lord together with our children, all of us the best of friends, into the teen years and that friendship growing richer in adulthood. I will never understand why God put family so deeply into Charles's heart and mine only to have it turn out as it did.”

“It may be another example like Joseph,” replied Hope. “Perhaps that vision he put in your heart
will
be fulfilled . . . is even now being fulfilled. But perhaps God's higher purpose is for your experiences, even your grief and heartbreak and Amanda's prodigal years, to help many more families than just your own.”

“How ironic that our experience may help others know what we were never able fully to experience ourselves. I am not altogether sure I like it,” said Jocelyn sadly, “or would have chosen such a road had I been able to foresee it.”

“But for those who pray to be made like our Lord,” rejoined Hope, “as, now that I know you, I am certain you and Charles did pray together, such decisions are not ours to make.”

“Yes, you're right,” said Jocelyn. “Charles continually prayed the prayer of Christlikeness. I am sure that if the Lord had asked Charles, ‘Are you willing to lay down your life and your dreams for my sake?' he would have answered that he was willing.”

“Once that prayer is prayed, our lives are no longer our own,” said Hope. “We have embarked upon a road that is difficult, often lonely, a road that has been called the Calvary Road. But it has been the road of God's saints of obedience through the centuries. And I
know, had you any choice in the matter, you would not have wanted your Charles any other way.”

Jocelyn nodded, a tear or two creeping into her eyes. “As long as he was with me, I could bear the heartache of Amanda's being gone,” she said. “She was always in my heart, every day, every moment all those long years. I ached constantly with love for her. Yet somehow I could bear it . . . with Charles. But to have him gone, and George with him, when Amanda returned . . . oh, Hope, it is
so
hard to bear.”

Hope rose, went to Jocelyn's side on the couch, and placed a tender hand on her arm.

“Perhaps by your own prayers, and those of your dear husband,” she said, “and the dreams that seem that they will never be fulfilled . . . perhaps by them you are the sacrifice, laid down that our Father might work healing and reconciliation and homecoming in many other hearts.”

Before she was through speaking, Jocelyn was quietly weeping. Hope stretched a loving arm around her.

“He will fulfill the ministry he intends for you and your two lovely daughters,” Hope said, “perhaps in ways none of you expect. I believe the day will come, Jocelyn, as it did for me through my own grief that I did not think would ever end, when you will rejoice and thank God . . . maybe not
for
what has happened, but
through
what he has been able to do by putting it to use in his kingdom.”

It was silent a minute or two as Jocelyn wept at the magnitude of what Hope had just said.

“Lord,”
began Hope,
“I pray for your
blessing on this home, this place, and these three women who are your servants
and whose hearts desire to serve you. I pray that you will strengthen my dear sister Jocelyn. Though she feels weak at this moment—and how I remember the feeling—remind her every day that your strength is made perfect in weakness. You will use her, as you will use her home, the love that is in her, a love poured out on the altar of sacrifice, to demonstrate your love to others. Even now I pray for the people like Betsy you will send to receive that love, that you would be preparing their hearts for the ministry they will receive from these, your women. Continue to guide Jocelyn and Amanda and Catharine as they seek your will about what to do.”

A long silence followed Hope's prayer.

“Thank you, Hope,” whispered Jocelyn at length. “I hear what you have said, and I receive it into my heart. It will always be hard. I will always miss Charles. But God is good.”

She paused a moment, then added, “Life may always be hard . . . but God is good.”

“Amen,” added Hope softly. “God
is
good.”

 60 
Mediterranean Coast

A warm but persistent late summer rain had pounded the Mediterranean coastline all day. And now as evening began to fall, the wind accompanying it by degrees grew chillier, and was finally downright cold.

The docks of Marseilles at such a time were particularly unfriendly if you had no place to seek cover from the downpour, as the visitor to this city did not.

That he was well dressed and could have afforded the best hotel in the city did not stop the bite of the wind against his rain-soaked coat. He was not one who enjoyed being miserable, and was about ready to give up on the clandestine rendezvous to which he had been summoned.

He glanced down at his watch. Another ten minutes; then he would go find someplace to stay and let them make other arrangements.

————

Amanda had been in subconscious prayer most of the day. This time neither her own future nor that of the estate lay heavily on her mind, but rather the sudden remembrance of something Timothy had said months earlier—
“We must forgive those who injure us whether
or not they ever acknowledge their wrongs. There is no
other way to move on in life.”

She wanted to move on in life. In many ways she felt she had been moving on. But suddenly with the reminder of Timothy's words came the realization that a huge roadblock lay in the middle of her path. That roadblock's name was Ramsay Halifax.

If she was going to allow God's forgiveness to enter her heart to enable her to forgive herself, she also had to forgive those who had wronged her. Ramsay most of all.

It was all she could do not to
hate
him. But forgive him! The idea was almost more than she could take in.

He had trapped her . . . used her. He didn't deserve forgiveness, she said to herself. Even if he did . . . she didn't
want
to forgive him.

Amanda walked into the heather garden. Immediately she felt enveloped in an attitude of prayer. The spirit of her father still hovered over this place into which he had invested so much of his time and energy. Little did she know that this had always been to him a special place of communion with both Father and wife on behalf of the wayward daughter whose life was now flowering with the fruit of those years of prayer.

As she went Amanda conversed with God, already resigning herself—willingly yet with the normal struggle of her flesh against the spirit—to what she realized was an inevitable necessity. She
must
forgive. She knew it. Yet she was not quite able to go so far all at once. She knew she would need help, for it was not an act she could carry out in her own strength. For now all she could pray was to be made
willing
to forgive. The prayer of willingness, however, is often taken into the heart of the Father as nearly as good as the act itself, for willingness at the beginning almost always leads to obedience in the end.

“God,”
she said quietly,
“help me forgive Ramsay,
even though I am not sure I want to. Fill
my heart with your forgiveness where I feel none of my own. Wherever Ramsay is at this moment, even if
right now I cannot bring myself to say I love him or forgive him, I know that you do, and so I ask you to touch his heart with your love.”

As Ramsay stood in the cold, rainy dusk of the French port, his thoughts turned inexplicably toward the past, his years in England before the war, and finally to Amanda.

He remembered the first day he had seen her at the Kensington Lawn Tea, then their happy weeks together afterward.

Had he really cared about her, or only wanted to use her? Had his attraction at first been wholesome, or had deceit been in his heart even then? He would probably never know. Such questions were so far from the realm of his normal mode of thought that he quickly dismissed them. He and Amanda had had some good times, and that was as far as he could go with it.

He glanced around, trying to shake off thoughts of the past. The rain had stopped and the wind died down a little. He walked a few steps along the dock, then back, taking advantage of the lull in the weather to light a cigarette.

But he could not get Amanda out of his mind. Where was she now? he wondered. Had she begun a new life, or had she been swallowed up as one of a million innocent casualties of the war?

What if somehow they met again? Would anything be different? Did she hate him now? Or . . .

What was the use of such reflections, he tried to tell himself. He could never walk away from this life he had made for himself. He was in too deep.

Or was he?

Even if such a thing were possible . . . would he want to?

He kicked petulantly at a stone underfoot. Such reflections probed in unpleasant ways against his drowsy conscience. Might he have gone a different way? Maybe Amanda had been his chance, he thought. What could have been their life together had they remained in England and she been reconciled to her family? He could have become a gentleman, the son-in-law of an important man. Amanda might have given him a bright future.

He laughed morosely. Perhaps brighter than what he had to look forward to at present.

Was it too late for them to make a life together? Could he even find her if he wanted to . . . and what would she say?

A sound interrupted Ramsay's thoughts.

He tossed his cigarette into the water and looked out toward the sea.

The low chugging of a boat's engine had gradually intruded into his hearing. Ramsay peered through the wet dusk. Ahead of him faintly came into view through the mist the outline of a small vessel bearing straight toward him.

He watched as it slowed and closed the distance. Two or three shapes moved about on deck in readiness to tie onto the dock. It was not a large craft—probably thirty feet in length, and old. It had no doubt at one time been the handsome pleasure yacht of some Mediterranean aristocrat. It had seen better days, thought Ramsay as he watched its approach, and was now probably lucky to stay afloat at all.

This must be his contact. There didn't appear another human being anywhere near this remote portion of the harbor where he had been told to wait.

Another two or three minutes he stood as the outline of the vessel's shape slowly came into sharper focus.

Suddenly footsteps sounded behind him.

Ramsay turned.

Two dim figures approached through the thickening darkness. He stood waiting as they walked toward him, then stopped five feet away.

The brief illumination of a match being struck to a cigarette revealed a short, balding man with an evil glint in his eye.

“Scarlino—what are
you
doing here!” exclaimed Ramsay as the flicker reflected off the face.

“My employer this time is the Alliance,” replied his erstwhile companion. “They needed a delivery. Now that I've made mine, you've got to get this fellow to Vienna.”

“Why me?”

“That is your region, not mine. He must get to your safehouse.”

“Why?”

“I thought that was explained in the communiqué you were sent.”

“Nothing was explained.”

“No matter. From Vienna he will be seen to by central command.”

“How am I supposed to get him there?” asked Ramsay irritably.

Scarlino nodded to the boat now mooring behind them. “That is your transportation. You will be on the coast of Italy by morning. Reaching Vienna should not be a problem from there.”

“Who is he?” said Ramsay, nodding toward the tall shadow.

“That is not for you to know.”

Ramsay pulled out another cigarette and took a step toward them as he now struck a match of his own. He held it out slightly where it lit up the face of the man beside Scarlino.

A sharp intake of breath registered his shock.

“Put that out, Halifax,” said a voice Ramsay recognized as clearly as he just had the face. “Don't try to get cute.”

Ramsay threw the match to the ground.

“—You didn't tell me our contact was a Brit,” the man added to Scarlino.

“You two know each other?” said Scarlino in surprise, glancing back and forth.

“Let's just say our paths have crossed,” replied Ramsay in a tone of irony.

“All right, so now you know, Halifax,” said the Englishman. “It changes nothing.”

“But I thought—”

“You and your mum and Barclay aren't the only moles coming out of hiding,” interrupted the man in anticipation of his question. “So can you get me to Vienna?”

“I can get you there. But why you, Forsythe? You helped Churchill break up the lighthouse operation.”

“I had to keep my cover intact. I had no choice at the time, when Barclay's security broke down. I couldn't save the operation.”

“That still does not answer why.”

“We all have our reasons, Halifax,” replied Colonel Forsythe, “and mine are my own business.”