From Across the Ancient Waters (32 page)

In a strange way, being at Gwyneth’s side gave Florilyn hope. She began to eat and drink and regain her strength.

Then came a day when Percy could think of nothing but that he was soon scheduled to leave on the northbound coach. All day he and Florilyn took turns at Gwyneth’s side, helping Grannie with tea and food for the small band, for Gwyneth’s father and Stevie remained with them when not at their work.

A few of the more stouthearted and compassionate villagers began coming by, reminded of old friendship and at last laying aside foolish aversions. They remembered how Gwyneth always returned good for evil and how often Grannie had come to the aid of one or another in time of sickness. Some of these, as women do, brought food. Before many days, there was more on hand than would have been needed to feed twenty people.

As the day came closer, the burden of his impending departure weighed heavier and heavier on Percy’s heart. How could he leave without knowing whether Gwyneth would live or die?

Evening came. Still there was no change.

After a simple supper, knowing that Gwyneth was well looked after, Percy went out into the warm evening. He walked through the village, up the plateau, and slowly made his way along the promontory toward Mochras Head.

How quickly the two months had flown by, he thought. He had changed more than he would ever have dreamed possible. What different thoughts and emotions floated through his brain as the still and peaceful evening settled over him.

He recalled his first night here, how angry the peacefulness of the country had made him. Even the crickets had angered him, he recalled with a smile. It was earlier now than on that night. The multitude of crickets had not yet taken over the moonglow of the countryside, though a few could be heard warming up for their nightly concert.

The sky over the sea showed radiant from horizon to apex in the fiery shades of gold, magenta, and violet he had come to associate with the Welsh coast. Perhaps the same colors radiated over the slate rooftops of Glasgow, but he had never noticed them. Never again would he look at a sunset and not recall this place with longing reminders of these weeks now drawing to a close.

Thinking of Gwyneth, he continued over the stream and to her special place at the edge of the bluff. Forgetting her father’s three-foot rule, he sat down and let his legs dangle over the edge of the promontory as he stared out to sea. Slowly but inexorably, the giant yellow orb sank into the distant waters then sent up its flaming aftershoots far into the fading blue of the sky. He was still sitting unmoved half an hour later, until all shades of the gorgeous display had turned to purples and blacks and the rising moon began to exert its strength over the coming darkness.

At first he thought the changes had been caused by his new appreciation for the natural world that Gwyneth had helped him to see. Then he wondered if it was simply being away from the city, away from his parents and the unspoken pressures of youth and school and peers. Then he found himself thinking it must be the country itself. Everything was different here, the people, customs, sights, smells, foods, language, song.

Slowly a deeper truth began to dawn on his consciousness. He saw that the changes did not originate from any of these. Nature and the country and Gwyneth and new experiences were all but echos of
another
Voice speaking into his heart.

At last he knew whose that voice was. All these influences had come speaking to him from the voice of his father’s God. And he knew by his father’s example how to approach the Father of them both.

Percy backed away from the edge of the bluff and slowly sank to his knees in the soft grass.

Thank You, God
, he prayed silently,
for bringing me here that You might speak into my heart. Thank You for the many ways You revealed Yourself and for opening my ears to hear. Thank You for Gwyneth
, he added as his voice choked,
and for all the ways she helped open my eyes to see You
.

He paused.
And thank You for my father, too
, he added.
Thank You that he did not give up on me either. I know now that he loves me. Give me the courage to keep growing, even back home, where it may be most difficult of all
.

Slowly he rose and set off back down toward the village.

He was at peace with himself. But he knew he could not leave Wales with Gwyneth’s condition in doubt.

A Dream and a Prayer

B
y the time Percy returned to the cottage, it was nearly dark. Stevie had gone home to be with his mother for the night. Grannie and Gwyneth’s father were sitting at the table in the kitchen. Florilyn dozed in the chair beside the bed.

All the way down from Mochras Head, Percy’s thoughts revolved around little Gwyneth Barrie. He recalled every conversation he had had with her through the summer. He remembered fondly all her special places. Over all hovered the ghostly, mystical, otherworldly image of her singing to the animals beside the lake in the mountains.

He had not put it into so many words before this night. Suddenly it occurred to him that her peculiarities, her mysterious origins, her utter simplicity and humility—did they all have an astounding yet somehow plausible explanation? Perhaps she truly
wasn’t
of this world …

Might she actually be … an
angel
?

Had she always been an angel? Perhaps she was now simply being called back to the true home of her origin.

With such thoughts swirling through his brain, Percy entered the cottage. He walked through the kitchen, nodded with a smile to Codnor and Grannie, then continued to the bedside.

Florilyn heard his step, woke, and looked up with a wan smile.

“Any change?”

Florilyn shook her head.

Percy sat down in the empty chair beside her. With the mood from his walk still imbuing him with a peaceful sense of presence, Florilyn glanced over in astonishment as he broke into audible prayer. “Oh God,” he said aloud, “wherever she is right now … bring Gwyneth back. If she is truly one of Your angels, let us have her yet for a little while longer.”

Florilyn saw that he was weeping. One of her hands still on the bed with Gwyneth’s, she reached across and gently laid the other on Percy’s arm.

A few minutes more they sat in silence. Percy recovered himself and breathed in deeply. He glanced at Florilyn and smiled an embarrassed smile.

“I’ve never heard you pray before,” she said.

“I never have prayed out loud before.” Percy smiled. “Well, except when I was a boy at bedtime. I’ve never done anything like that in my life.”

He grew thoughtful. “Do you remember that first night when I was with your family at dinner, when you asked me if I believed in heaven and hell?”

Florilyn nodded.

“I don’t know about that,” said Percy. “But I think maybe I believe in God more than I realized at the time.”

Slowly he rose and stood at the bedside gazing down at the pale face that was even whiter than the pillow it rested upon. All at once the features did not look so young or childlike. The expression on the face was ageless … like an angel’s. Percy bent down and gently kissed the white forehead.

A moment more …

A gasp sounded from Florilyn’s lips.

“Percy!”
she breathed, her voice soft, hopeful, frightened, and full of wonder. She began to rise from her chair.

He saw it now. A tiny movement around the eyes … then a fluttering. Slowly the lids began to open. Out from between them again peeped the eyes of heaven’s blue!

“Percy,” whispered the tiny lips from the bed as Gwyneth gazed up at the face staring down at her. “I hoped it would be you I saw when I woke up.”

Heart pounding, head exploding for joy, Percy struggled desperately to remain calm. “You knew you would wake up?” he said with great effort, his voice husky and blinking hard.

“Of course,” replied Gwyneth simply.

“Were you dreaming?”

“No, I was with my mother. She is everything I knew she would be, Percy. But I couldn’t wake up until you prayed for me.”

“You were waiting … for me to pray for you?”

“I’m not sure. It was dreamy. Maybe I was dreaming, because it was like being surrounded by a cloud of white. I think God was waiting for you to pray for me so I could wake up. But He was waiting so that your praying for me could wake
you
up, too.”

For the first time, she now saw Florilyn standing at Percy’s side. “Hello, Miss Florilyn,” she said. “What are you doing here? I thought you were afraid of Grannie.”

“Not anymore,” Florilyn sobbed, sniffly and teary.

“I am sorry I made your horse rear,” said Gwyneth. “I hope you were not hurt.”

“Oh, you dear girl!” exclaimed Florilyn, able to contain herself no longer. She bent down and kissed Gwyneth on the cheek.

“Why are you crying, Miss Florilyn?”

“I am just happy that you are awake.”

The voices from the bedside had been soft, but gradually their increasing volume and animation drifted into the hearing of the father and great-aunt in the kitchen. They realized that three voices were coming from the adjacent room, not two. They jumped up and rushed to the bedside.

End of the Summer

T
he morning came early.

Percy readied himself, said good-bye to all the servants, then, in as cheerful a manner as he could manage, to Courtenay.

Florilyn had been hanging back.

Percy walked toward her. “You will check on Gwyneth?” he said.

“I promise—every day.”

“Let me know if there is any change. I think she will be fine. She already seems her normal self again.”

Florilyn nodded. She smiled at her cousin with an expression that contained a world of meaning then stepped forward to hug him.

He returned her embrace affectionately.

“Good-bye, Percy,” said Florilyn. “There is too much to try to say, so I will say nothing. I will never forget this summer.”

“Nor I,” rejoined Percy.

His aunt Katherine gave Percy a tender hug. “I hope you will visit us again,” she whispered softly in his ear.

“I would like that,” replied Percy, stepping back with a smile.

To his astonishment, he saw tears in the woman’s eyes. She smiled, but it was a smile tinged with sadness.

“Well, let us be off, my boy!” boomed the viscount, trying with a little too much effort to counter the emotionally dense atmosphere of the occasion threatened by the faces of his wife and daughter and two or three of the servants. “We don’t want that coach leaving without you, or you’ll miss your train!”

The two left the manor for Llanfryniog. By the time they arrived, the thrice-weekly coach stood in front of the small inn, its four horses snorting and prancing impatiently.

There also stood Gwyneth, hanging back in the shadows of the building. She looked none the worse for wear. The only lasting reminder of recent events was a bandage between her ear and forehead, mostly covered by her wild crop of white hair.

Percy caught her eye.

Her lips parted in a radiant smile of innocent love. She would cry, too, but not until he was out of sight. In the event he never saw her again, her friend from Glasgow must remember her with a look of happiness on her face.

Percy’s two bags were hoisted above. He and his uncle shook hands. The viscount managed some stiff words about his being welcome any time.

Percy climbed inside the coach and closed the door.

Only after the viscount stood back did Gwyneth now run forward.

“Get back, girl!” yelled the driver as he climbed up onto his box. “Don’t you see these great horses? They’ll trample you to death!”

“They won’t hurt
me
, sir,” she said sweetly.

Even at the sound of her voice, the agitated horses calmed. The driver muttered something and grabbed the reins.

Gwyneth walked calmly to the side of the coach where Percy sat looking out the window. She held up a small parcel wrapped in paper. “I baked you another tea cake, Percy,” she said. “I didn’t want you to get hungry.”

“Thank you, Gwyneth,” he said. “I shall think of you with every bite. If we stop for tea,” he added, “I shall eat it with tea … as it is supposed to be eaten.”

“Good-bye, Percy,” she said. Her eyes seemed bluer than he had ever seen them.

“Good-bye, Gwyneth.”

She stepped slowly back.

The driver gave a shout, and the coach lurched forward. Percy continued to wave through the open window.

There stood the receding forms of the great man of the region with his hand in the air. Several paces in front of him a girl with hair of white waved her own tiny hand. Slowly the coach disappeared from their view.

Viscount Lord Snowdon cast on the child a curious look.

Gwyneth smiled at him then walked away along the street as Westbrooke returned to his buggy.

Now at last came tears. Gwyneth did not even stop at Grannie’s but continued the slow walk up the moor to her home, alone with her thoughts. She spent the afternoon with her animals.

Gwyneth’s friends felt her sadness. Their mood remained subdued for two days.

Home in Glasgow

E
dward and Mary Drummond saw a different look on their son’s face the moment he stepped off the train when they greeted him on the platform of the Glasgow station. They little suspected the cause. They had to admit, however, that his pleasant and cheerful manner was a welcome surprise.

Percy had been due home for the fall session of school. It would be the last session expected of him. What would become of their son when it was completed, neither mother nor father had any idea. When his plans began to become more apparent, they would be in for the shock of their lives.

They had received but one curious note during their son’s absence, from Edward’s sister, saying that Percy’s presence was full of unexpected surprises. What exactly Katherine meant by the odd phrase, they had no idea.