A New Dawn Over Devon (58 page)

 102 
An Offer

Another summer came to Devon.

That of 1923 brought with its warmth a time of peace and also a new dawn of change to the community of Milverscombe in Devonshire.

Until a manager was chosen, Welford Miles acted as assistant manager and continued the policies begun by bank founder Geoffrey Rutherford. Geoffrey's plaque, which he had not destroyed, hung again behind the manager's desk. The electrical and plumbing improvement projects instituted as Geoffrey's personal vision were resumed in joint cooperation between Amanda and the bank. Amanda also donated half of what remained of her newfound wealth to the establishment of the Charles, George, and Geoffrey Rutherford Foundation, whose purpose was to benefit community progress and development. She named Rune Blakeley, the man who would soon be her own father-in-law, chairman of the foundation, arranging for him to receive an annual stipend of £200 to oversee its activities.

Catharine announced in midsummer that she and Terrill were expecting their first child.

Jocelyn and Amanda had been so happy and content in Maggie's cottage that neither were anxious to leave it. Throughout the spring and early summer, therefore, they continued to reside at the cottage, though they kept Sarah, Wenda, and Hector on at the Hall to keep the place up. They visited on most days, gradually coming to feel
as if they had two homes, and making preparations for whatever changes might be in store for the grand old Devonshire mansion.

After the humiliating disciplinary measures against him by the bank, Gifford was offered one of two options concerning his future—early retirement,
or
the position of manager of the Milverscombe branch of the bank, where, he was told, if he chose to continue his affiliation with the Bank of London, he must learn to place customers' interests first. Martha was in ecstasy at his acceptance, after a week of healthy and humbling deliberation, of the latter of the two options.

Soon after the announcement was made, the London Rutherfords received the following letter in the post:

Dear Cousin Gifford and Martha,

Having heard of your acceptance of the position at the Milverscombe branch of the bank, and looking forward to your future as residents of Devon, it is our pleasure, if you have no other plans, to make you welcome at Heathersleigh Hall for as long as you may wish. The place is huge, as you well know. There is no reason why it cannot house two Rutherford families. Our own plans remain uncertain at this time, although we may be reoccupying our former quarters in the east wing. But we are prepared to offer you a portion of the west wing of the first floor to use as your own rooms and apartments. There are many rooms, some very spacious. You would be most welcome to put them to use any way you like. At present, Wenda, Sarah, and Hector make use of only three. Gifford, perhaps you would like to convert one of the unused guest rooms into an office. The corner room with windows looking out both north and west offers a lovely setting, and Charles often thought it one of the nicest rooms in the entire Hall.

We look forward to sharing the ancient estate of our mutual family with you.

Jocelyn and Amanda Rutherford

As she was now viewed as even more a local hero than ever, when Jocelyn urged everyone in the neighborhood to give Gifford the benefit of the doubt when he came, most were only too happy to comply. Almost from the moment they arrived in Devon to begin their new life, the community smothered Gifford and Martha with kindness. Martha thrived and blossomed, gave back tenfold, and in time was almost as great a favorite among the women as Jocelyn herself. The friendliness of the country, as he considered Devon, annoyed Gifford considerably. He took every possible opportunity
to return to London, where he kept up the house on Curzon Street, to see to his many investments and conduct what bank business was necessary. Yet the change in environment would accomplish its work in time. The human flower withers only when turned in upon itself. But when the sunlight of kindness shines bright in its face out of the eyes and smiles of its brothers and sisters, what can even the most surly, droopy, grumpy man do but revive and draw strength and begin to stand tall in the invigorating air of love. As such influences began to operate on Gifford, he did his best to combat them. Martha rarely accompanied him into the city. She was home at last and couldn't have been happier. And she could see her husband gradually softening, and in her heart thanked God for the change.

————

“What will you do, Mother?” asked Amanda as they walked away from the post after delivering a letter to Sister Hope and Betsy about final plans for Amanda's upcoming marriage.

“I had assumed that you and Stirling would move back to the Hall after the wedding,” answered Jocelyn. “It
is
yours now.”

“I will always think of it as yours and Daddy's,” smiled Amanda. “But if we did, you know that I would love nothing more than for you to remain with us. Besides,” she added with a light laugh. “I am not at all sure I could handle Cousin Gifford and Martha without you!”

Jocelyn laughed. “To tell you the truth, dear,” she said, “I have been thinking about remaining at the cottage.”

“Actually, Mother,” said Amanda after a moment, “Stirling and I have been talking about it . . . and, well, if you don't think you would mind . . .
we
would like to live with you in the cottage.”

“That's wonderful, dear!”

“We cannot think of any better place to raise a family.”

“And when it gets crowded with children, or even before, I may move to the Hall. Then I shall have Gifford and Martha all to myself!”

They walked for several minutes, quietly thinking about the changes that were coming.

“What do you think the Lord has in store for our future?” said Amanda at length.

“What do you mean?” asked her mother. “You will raise a family, and—”

“I know . . . I mean beyond that. What
else
will he give us to do?”

“I'm sure he will show us. Perhaps, as we've spoken about before, he will send us other Betsys as he sends people to the chalet.”

“I cannot think of anything more wonderful than doing what the sisters do there.”

“Whether or not something like that happens, there will always be plenty to do with the people of the community,” added Jocelyn. “You will be very involved as the wife of a doctor. I'm sure that will keep you busy, especially with the area growing. Thinking about it reminds me of my nursing days. There is always so much to be done. You and Stirling will be a great team. I am certain the Lord will use you together in ways you cannot imagine.”

Amanda smiled thoughtfully.

“Do you remember when we talked about the Lord restoring the locust years . . . at first I didn't think it could be possible. I was so discouraged. Yet now . . . I cannot imagine a greater blessing than what the Lord has given to me.”

“Hope for answers to prayer according to our own timetable is a common false expectation,” smiled Jocelyn. “I had to learn that in praying for you. I wanted you home
immediately
. Yet now that you are here, I realize that there were maturing influences God had to deepen within you to make you ready to come home. My prayers were right, but my expectation of timing was self-motivated.”

Amanda nodded. Remembering the pain she had caused would always be hard. She was silent a moment or two.

“I know, Mother,” she said. “I realize that sometimes things happen slowly. Yet for so long I wondered if my prayers had been heard at all.”

“As did I when you did not return home right away,” rejoined her mother. “—But what about Stirling? What is his vision for the future?”

“To help people through medicine, to meet physical needs as a doorway into helping the Lord bring healing to their spirits.”

“What a wonderful ambition,” exclaimed Jocelyn. “He is quite a young man.”

“I know, Mother. And here he was so close to me all the time. It took so long for the Lord to open my eyes to many things—Stirling included.”

“But you do know, don't you, Amanda,” said Jocelyn, “that it was you who caused us to pray for Stirling in the first place, and then get involved with his family?”

“What do you mean?”

Jocelyn went on to explain how she and Charles had begun praying more actively for the Blakeleys after the day when she and Amanda saw Rune and Stirling in the village.

“Whatever the Lord has for us,” Jocelyn concluded, “we must all continue to pray for those he sends us, whether now or in the future—people in the community, those Stirling will tend to through his medicine, Gifford and Martha perhaps, even those in whom we do not immediately see what the Lord is doing. What if, for example, we pray for another ten years, and without knowing it our prayers are all directed toward a single individual God is preparing to come into our lives at some time in the future, some wayfaring Robinson Crusoe who will need our help to turn his or her steps toward home. Our prayers may be tilling the soil in that heart even now.”

“You are quite a woman, Mother,” smiled Amanda.

“I don't know about that,” laughed Jocelyn. “But speaking for myself, I am going to continue to pray for what is ahead. There is a great deal God still may want to do with me. I am only sixty-three years old, and I feel as young as ever. My husband is gone, both my daughters will soon be married. It has even occurred to me to go back to India and work in a hospital. There is such a great need there. I have been reading some of Amy Carmichael's writings, and I want to give whatever years I have remaining to the service of others. Whether at the cottage or the Hall—and I have the feeling he will use both places together—I plan to continue to pray that he will send people to whom we can be of service.”

“Amen! That will be my prayer too.”

 103 
Loving Admonition

Jocelyn and Amanda took up residence at the Hall in September so that Stirling and Amanda could have time to fix up the cottage and make it ready to be their new home.

Hope and Betsy arrived two weeks before the wedding. Betsy had grown into a lovely young lady of twenty-one. Amanda scarcely recognized her. She spoke fluent German, radiated a deep peace, and was more beautiful than any of them could have imagined.

Amanda waited for Catharine's arrival before showing Betsy the secret vault they had found and to tell her the story of its discovery in which she had played a part herself. Soon after the Langhams arrived, the three girls were off like excited children, running through the passages laughing and talking. Catharine, however, was now the last of the three rather than leading the charge.

“I remember the day I crept up into the attic all alone and got lost,” said Betsy as they hurried along. “And then the day you took me to the secret room, Amanda, and led me to the Lord. I will never forget that day.”

“Nor will I.”

“It changed my life almost as much as the day I wandered frightened and hungry into your barn.”

“Just wait until you see the secret room now.”

Betsy led them scrambling up the circular staircase and through the trapdoor into the garret room.

“Whew,” puffed Catharine as she slowly reached the top. “I don't remember these stairs tiring me like that!”

“I don't see anything,” said Betsy, glancing around. “It looks just the same as I envisioned it.”

“Remember the storm and the noise you heard?” said Amanda. “It turned out to be a loose tile on the roof, and the leak from it led to the discovery of what we are about to show you.”

————

Betsy took Hope back to Looe, the town of her early childhood. At last, with Hope's help, she was ready to remember her past and seek full healing in her heart for those tumultuous early years and the shock of her father's death.

By the end of the week, Timothy was seen accompanying Betsy and Hope almost constantly. Word had begun to spread through the community of a beautiful young woman from the Continent visiting at the Hall, and a few young men from the area began calling, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Several days after her arrival, Hope and Amanda found themselves alone in the sun-room an hour or so after breakfast.

“You seem very happy, Amanda,” said Hope. “I am so glad for you.”

“I am happy,” smiled Amanda. “God has been good to me. I have you to thank for much of it.”

“You have God to thank.”

“Of course. But God works through people, and in my life he used you.”

“We can both thank God together.”

“And
you
look well too,” said Amanda, “—as does Betsy!”

“Yes, isn't she lovely?” Hope agreed.

“How did she turn out to be so beautiful! She is positively radiant.”

“And with such a sweet spirit,” returned Hope. “She has been a greater blessing than I could have ever hoped for.”

It fell silent a moment.

“How are you doing . . . inside, Amanda?” Hope asked after a moment. “Is it resolved . . . with your father?”

“Resolved, hmm . . .” replied Amanda slowly. “Perhaps . . . but it is hard whenever I think of it. It will always be hard.”

“What we talked about when I was here before—the guilt you felt at first.
Have
you forgiven yourself?”

“I don't suppose it is resolved on that front,” said Amanda. “It is a struggle . . . no, perhaps I haven't,” she added quietly.

“You may always hurt from the memory of what happened,” said Hope. “But there comes a time when you have to put it behind you, completely. You accepted accountability for your wrongs. But in the midst of accountability, forgiveness must also flow. If you do not forgive yourself, you are rejecting the very gift God has given you, namely
his
love and forgiveness toward you.”

“You never mince words, do you?” smiled Amanda.

Hope laughed lightly. “You do not want me to, do you?”

“No—that is how I know you love me . . . you are not afraid to speak the truth, to make me face my own wrong attitudes.”

“Then let me add this,” said Hope. “Who knows when we will have the opportunity to speak together like this again? So I will put this before you in hopes that you will take it to the Lord in your own heart and ask him what to do about it.”

“I am ready for whatever you have to say to me,” returned Amanda humbly.

“Amanda dear,” began Hope, “lack of forgiveness is a cancerous growth inside many a heart that hinders full relationship with the heavenly Father. Unforgiveness prevents more people from intimacy with God than anything. It is one of
the
most lethal human diseases. For most it is an unresolved bitterness toward another person, often a parent. But unforgiveness toward oneself can be just as blocking to the Father's love. You have come a long way, Amanda. You know that I love you and would not say this otherwise. But there remains one obstacle standing in the way of your relationship with God until you remove it.”

“But that is what I struggle with,” said Amanda. “
How
to remove it . . . how to forgive myself?”

“I think you know,” answered Hope. “By
taking
what God has been offering all along. His love and forgiveness must be
received
. That is something no one can do for you . . . not even him. Jesus died on the cross that forgiveness might flow. Not only forgiveness for our sins that we might know God's salvation, but also that we might experience wholeness as his sons and daughters. There is a tiny door in your heart blocking the full entry of God's forgiveness.
That door is unforgiveness toward yourself. God's forgiveness is what enables you to forgive yourself. But at the same time, forgiving yourself is what enables you to experience the fullness of God's forgiveness. Eventually you will have to complete that circle within your heart, or else your growth in the Father's love will slow.”

Amanda took the words in thoughtfully, but said no more.