A New Dawn Over Devon (60 page)

 106 
A Christmas Trip

In early December, Timothy, Amanda, and Stirling came to the Hall for tea, as was their custom most Sunday afternoons. As they chatted and ate together, Timothy announced that he would be going abroad for Christmas.

“That's wonderful, Timothy,” said Jocelyn. “Where are you going?”

“Hope and Betsy have invited me to join them at the chalet for the holidays,” he replied.

“Oh, Timothy!” exclaimed Amanda. “You will positively love it. I can't think of anything more wonderful than Christmas in Wengen. And the chalet . . . the crèche . . . oh, I wish we could go too!”

“Why don't you?”

“We just returned from the Continent two weeks ago ourselves!” laughed Stirling. “Please, don't put ideas in her head! I am just a struggling country doctor—we're not made of money, you know.”

“Perhaps you shall take up skiing, Timothy,” suggested Jocelyn.

“At my age, I hardly think it advisable!”

“Oh, Timothy,” added Stirling, just remembering, “I will give you a book I borrowed to take back to one of the villagers with whom I have the feeling you will have a delightful time, a fellow by the name of Buchmann.”

“Buchmann,” said Timothy. “An intriguing name.”

“Not half so interesting as the man himself.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Only this—that he loves books, and loves to think about things from unusual angles.”

“It gets better and better!” laughed Timothy. “He does sound like my sort of man. But what kinds of things does he think about, as you say, from unusual angles?”

“I shall leave you to discover that for yourself!” said Stirling, joining him in laughter. “I assure you . . . he will not disappoint you. Take several of your own favorite volumes with you to share. I will tell you this much, he is also an avid friend of the Scotsman.”

“I can hardly wait to make his acquaintance!”

————

Two weeks later, a small steam locomotive pulling a single coach behind it pulled slowly into the tiny station of Wengen high in the Swiss Alps and puffed to a steamy stop.

The entire countryside was white, snow piled in drifts alongside the tracks up to four feet. As Timothy stepped out of the train and glanced around, it seemed to him that he had stepped into a fairy wonderland. The sky was clear, his breath was visible in front of him, for the temperature of the air was well below freezing, and above the rooftops loomed the gigantic presence of the great mountain of which he had heard so much. From somewhere could be heard the tinkling of bells.

There stood Hope on the platform waiting for him, a smile on her lips, tears in her eyes.

Timothy smiled and walked slowly forward. Their eyes met. Timothy's were also glistening.

Neither spoke a word. Gently they embraced, and held one another several long moments.

Ten minutes later, with Timothy's bag's safely in the station to be retrieved later, they began the walk out of the village to the chalet, Hope's hand through Timothy's arm. Still few words were spoken, but it felt to both that at last their hearts had come home.

 107 
A Young Crusoe

One day in May, as flowers were bursting alive all around the quaint but roomy dwelling formerly known as Maggie's cottage, a knock came to the door, which stood open to the spring sunlight.

Amanda had been working in the garden most of the morning and had just gone inside to begin preparing tea and lunch. Stirling had been out on calls all morning, and she expected him back any moment.

Thinking it was he, she came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Why did you knock—” she began, then paused in midsentence.

There in front of her stood a girl of fifteen or sixteen, a bewildered expression on her face.

“Good morning,” said Amanda. “I'm sorry, but I thought you were my husband. How can I help you?”

“Someone told me in the village that you might be able to help me. They told me how to get here.”

“Why don't you come in and tell me about it?” said Amanda. “What kind of help do you need?”

“I'm afraid I've made a mess of many things,” the girl replied, following Amanda into the kitchen. “Now I want to go home. But I have no money and don't know how to get there.”

“Where do you live?” asked Amanda, offering her a chair.

“It is a very long way. I came to England . . . to get away, and . . . then my bag was stolen. I am miserable and don't know what to do.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes . . . yes, I would, thank you.”

“And something to eat?”

She nodded and smiled. “Thank you—to be honest, I
am
quite hungry.”

“Then we will take care of that right away,” smiled Amanda. “You're from America, aren't you?”

The girl nodded.

As Amanda filled the kettle with water, she quietly studied her visitor. The poor girl looked so forlorn, she was reminded of her own wayward years.
“Thank you, Lord,”
Amanda prayed silently,
“for sending this one of your children to
me. I pray that she will not only get home
, but I also pray for her healing, just as you healed me when I was so far away. Show me
how I can help her.”

“There,” she said aloud, “while we are waiting for the water to boil, let's see about washing up.—Do you have a suitcase?”

“Yes, I left it at the station.”

“That's fine. My husband will bring it for you later. And why don't you begin by telling me who you are,” added Amanda as she led her guest into the cottage toward the washroom.

“My name is Sally,” smiled the girl.

Knotted Strands

The girl named Sally remained at Heathersleigh for a month, spending half her time with Jocelyn in the Hall when she was not with Amanda. After contacting her parents and making arrangements, they took her to Southampton and put her on a ship bound for home.

Timothy had returned to England after the Christmas holidays, but only briefly, to pack his few belongings and make arrangement for their transport to Switzerland. He and Hope Guinarde were married in Wengen in March 1924. Amanda, Stirling, and Jocelyn all attended the simple ceremony held in the great fireplace room of the chalet.

Betsy married a young Swiss man from Wengen three years later. When she moved into her new home as a young bride, she could still see the chalet from her kitchen window.

Amanda and Stirling Blakeley had five children—two sons and three daughters—all of whom grew up calling Heathersleigh Cottage their home. Two years after their marriage, Dr. Armbruster retired, turning over his entire practice to Stirling. They came to be known throughout the community as Lady Amanda and Dr. Stirling.

Jocelyn was revered by everyone for miles, and Amanda and Stirling, if possible, came in later years to be yet more loved than had been Amanda's parents a generation earlier. Jocelyn and Hope visited India together, though Jocelyn did not stay there to work.

Rune Blakeley so skillfully managed the affairs of the Rutherford Foundation that it began to receive donations from other sources. By the latter years of his life, he was frequently sought after—traveling
throughout England in suit and tie and briefcase in hand—as a consultant to other foundations and communities desirous of following the Milverscombe model for development and modernization.

Catharine, meanwhile, had two sons and a daughter. The family followed Terrill through the country wherever his career led him. Catharine never had the opportunity to attend university as she had once dreamed, but continued to read avidly. Like his father, Terrill rose to the rank of admiral, commanded a battleship during the Second World War, then returned again to Plymouth. After his retirement, they moved to a small estate in the Devonshire countryside about six miles from Milverscombe. Catharine and Amanda, still the closest of friends, saw one another at least weekly, and spoke on the telephone with each other every day.

Martha and Jocelyn were together on most days as they grew older. Gifford kept mostly to himself, even after he retired from the bank. Gradually, however, he began to strike up a few acquaintances in the community. Curiously, this included a friendship with Gresham Mudgley's twenty-five-year-old son after the death of his sheepherder father. The simple young man often came to the Hall, smelling of sheep, to consult with Gifford about one thing or another. His simple trust in and inexplicable affection for the aging banker did Gifford far more good than either realized. Though it was late in his life, Gifford at last began to grow inside, which is the best thing that can ever be said of any man or woman.

Timothy wrote several books, which were published in London. They sold modestly and never generated much income, but came to be highly regarded in certain circles where spiritual inquiry was valued above dogma. He died in 1941. Hope outlived him by fifteen years. At her passing, Betsy and her family moved back to the chalet in order to continue its ministry. Betsy died in 1984. Today the Chalet of Hope is in the hands of two of her daughters, who carry on the vision of its founder in giving hope to all those who come.

After hiring a young assistant in his medical practice, Stirling spent many subsequent summers traveling to various hospitals, wards, sanitariums, universities, and research facilities, furthering his own interest in and participation in the quest for a cure for polio. He frequently contributed to various prestigious medical journals, and in time became recognized as one of the most highly respected names in British polio research. He was offered any number of lucrative
positions with some of England's major hospitals and research facilities. He accepted none of these, however. He was a country doctor, after all, he said, and he was happy and would remain content with his wife and family in Devon.

As she grew older, more and more Amanda came to resemble her father. His creative restlessness, his spiritual priorities, his interest in so many things, and his desire to help people, all found themselves lived out in the daughter. Amanda was especially thankful for the ways in which her father had taught her to think. Though she had misused the precious gift early in life, she put it to good use throughout the remainder of her years in helping whomever the Lord placed in her path.

As if God were adding a blessing of years in exchange for the ones lost by Charles's and George's early passing, the rest of Jocelyn's family lived long, healthy, and productive lives, and not a single son or grandson was lost to the next war when it engulfed Europe in the 1940s.

Gifford lived to be sixty-eight, Martha seventy-seven. Jocelyn herself lived to be ninety-three. Her passing in 1953 was greatly mourned by all of Devon.

At the marriage of their eldest daughter to one of the Osborne twins, Amanda and Stirling, themselves now over fifty, moved back again to occupy Heathersleigh Hall in order that a new generation might be able to raise its family in Heathersleigh Cottage. They yet had four children who remained with them, ages ranging from nineteen down to eleven, who now delighted in romping through the halls and rooms and hidden passageways that their mother and Aunt Catharine and Uncle George had explored before them.

Terrill Langham died in 1968, five months shy of his eightieth birthday. He was given a full naval funeral with honors, though by his own request was laid to rest with Catharine and her family in the small Devonshire town of Milverscombe. Catharine Rutherford Langham lived to be eighty-one and died in 1975, leaving behind eight grandchildren who loved her dearly.

Dr. Stirling Blakeley died in 1973. He was eighty-three.

Lady Amanda Rutherford Blakeley passed away, again to join father and mother in that great reunion which awaits us all, in 1976 at the age of eighty-six.

Amanda and Stirling were mourned by all who knew them, especially by sixteen grandchildren, four great-grandchildren, and the citizens of Devon, many of whom had come under their influence and learned from them of the mysteries of the kingdom.

Heathersleigh Hall is today in the hands of two of the Blakeley daughters and their husbands, in addition to the eldest son and his wife and the family of their son.

Heathersleigh Cottage is occupied by Amanda and Stirling's youngest daughter and her husband, along with their two unmarried daughters, both in their twenties.

The Rutherford plot in the Milverscombe churchyard, first begun with the burial of Geoffrey Rutherford, is now one of the most visited and revered sites in the small cemetery.

Gifford and Martha Rutherford were laid to rest beside their son.

Simple granite headstones commemorate the loss at sea in 1915 of Sir Charles Rutherford and George Rutherford.

Jocelyn Rutherford's grave, by her request placed as near that of Margaret and Robert McFee as possible, is flanked by Amanda and Stirling Blakeley on her right, and Catharine and Terrill Langham on the left.

The tombstones of the three Heathersleigh women are never without fresh flowers.