Heathersleigh Homecoming (13 page)

 20 
The Will of God

As Amanda and Sister Hope made their way back over the hills, they talked casually about many things. Again the subject of the chalet's ministry came up. Amanda was more curious than she realized about the spiritual aspect of the sisters' activities. She found questions popping out of her mouth she had not planned. Eventually her questions led down a path she would not have anticipated.

“But what is it you want people to do when they come here?” she asked. “What do you tell them?”

“We encourage people to do only one thing,” replied Sister Hope.

“What is that?” asked Amanda.

“The will of God.”

Amanda took in the words as if there was nothing so unusual about them. She did not notice how accustomed she had already become to the spiritual outlook of those around her.

“But that is so general,” she said. “What exactly do you tell each person?”

“That she must discover for herself,” replied Hope. “God's specific will for every person isn't necessarily the same. There is an individual will which God speaks into every hungry heart.”

“How does someone know what it is for them?”

“‘Lord, what do you want me to do?' is the prayer we pray at the chalet,” Hope explained. “We encourage all who come likewise to pray those words. More than merely pray them—to live by them. If we had a creed, which we do not, it would be summarized by those eight words.”

Amanda took in the statement thoughtfully. It sounded just like something her father would say.

“Some of the sisters arrived much like you—lost and alone,” Hope went on. “They found that God's will for them was to remain with us so that they might pass on the ministry which they received.”

“What do you think God's will is for me?” asked Amanda.

“You will have to find that out by asking him, Amanda, and by searching your own heart.”

“But . . . but that is not something I know how to do.”

“It is something we all must learn.”

Amanda paused briefly. Then, without having planned it, said, “My father and mother tried to teach me. You're a lot like my mother, actually. I don't suppose I was particularly receptive to their efforts.”

“Many young people would say the same,” rejoined Sister Hope.

“For some reason it doesn't sound so bad coming from you.”

“Another statement many young people would agree with.”

“Why?”

“They find words of instruction not nearly so odious coming from another as from their own parent.”

Amanda nodded. “Now that you mention it,” she said, “I probably would have become angry with my mother for talking about the will of God.”

“Two different people can say the exact same words, but from one the response will be reflection and soul-searching, while the very same words from a parent might rouse annoyance and irritation. It has always seemed illogical and silly to me, but then I am not in a position to under—”

Hope stopped abruptly. That part of her story, she decided, would be best left until later.

“Another reason it does not seem so bad to you now,” she went on after a moment, “is because you are beginning to
want
to know what to do more than before. Hunger makes a world of difference. Probably there was a time, if as you say you were not altogether receptive, when you were less than enthusiastic about the spiritual training they were trying to give you. Am I right?”

“Less than enthusiastic would be putting it mildly,” replied Amanda.

“But if your father and mother tried to teach you,” Hope ventured cautiously, “it may be from them, even now, that you could most effectively learn about the will of God as we were talking about earlier.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because such is God's way. It is the best method for learning. Many are not fortunate enough to have parents who train them
in God's principles. They must learn of God's will elsewhere. But those whose parents do attempt to teach the things of God should learn from that primary source of training before they go elsewhere for spiritual counsel. Your own mother and father no doubt planted many seeds within you and prayed for you—”

The words made Amanda bristle momentarily. Even now, she did not like the thought of her parents praying for her.

Sister Hope saw the reaction and stopped. She had no desire to press it. A brief silence followed.

“Did you learn of God's will from
your
parents?” Amanda asked, trying to divert the conversation into other channels.

Hope smiled. Amanda thought it was a sad, though not discontented, smile.

“No, my dear,” she answered at length. “I am afraid it was by other means that it was necessary for me to learn it.”

“Yet you say I ought to learn it from my parents?”

“It is always the best way, my dear. There are other means to learn God's will, of course. God uses a variety of means to teach us the intricacies of seeking his will in our lives. As young people grow, God brings them many teachers and counselors and friends in addition. This is a healthy part of the maturing process. But if one has the opportunity, there is no
greater
way than learning of one's heavenly Father from one's earthly father and mother. Many do not have that opportunity. Those who do ought not to squander it.”

Amanda was quiet. Certain places within her were growing uncomfortable. It was time to talk about something else.

Suddenly she realized she had not yet heard the rest of Sister Hope's story.

“But how could I have forgotten!” Amanda said. “I wanted to hear what happened to you in London after you left the mission board.”

Sister Hope laughed. “It is a long story,” she said. “Perhaps we ought to postpone it until another time. We're almost home.”

“You won't forget?”

“From the sound of your voice, I doubt you will let me!”

 21 
Reading Night

When they arrived back at the chalet, the sun was setting. The moment they walked in, the long day suddenly caught up with Amanda. She flopped into a chair in front of the fireplace. When supper was called, she found herself nearly too exhausted to pull herself to her feet and shuffle to the table.

“How are your legs?” asked Sister Gretchen.

“Worn out!” moaned Amanda. “I am not used to such exercise.”

The warm meal with the sisters, however, revived her spirits considerably. It was reading night, and though she could hardly keep her eyes open, she would not miss it for anything. She had looked forward to it all day.

After cleaning up the dishes, they adjourned into the sitting room, where Gretchen had a fire blazing nicely in the hearth. They gathered around in chairs and couches. Sister Hope brought in a tray with two teapots, then returned for a tray of cups. Ten minutes later everyone was settled and cozy, warm cups in their hands, and ready for the evening's literary adventure.

They were just finishing up a book written in 1875 by the Scotsman who was one of Amanda's father's favorite authors, though she did not at present make the connection.

Sister Anika, who had been reading this particular volume to the others, picked it up, found her place, and continued where she had last left off. She read for perhaps an hour, then concluded with the following words:

That same night Mrs. Catanach also disappeared.

A week after, what was left of Lord Lossie was buried. Malcolm followed the hearse with the household. Miss Horn walked immediately behind him on the arm of the schoolmaster.

Lady Florimel wept incessantly for three days; on the fourth she looked out on the sea and thought it very dreary; on the fifth she found a certain gratification in hearing herself called the marchioness; on the sixth she tried on her mourning dress and was pleased; on the seventh she went with the funeral and wept again; on the eighth came Lady Bellair, who on the ninth carried her away.

To Malcolm she had not once spoken.

Mr. Graham left Portlossie.

Miss Horn took to her bed for a week.

Mr. Crathie removed his office in the House, took upon himself the function of steward as well as factor, had the staterooms dismantled, and was master of the place.

Malcolm helped Stoat with the horses, and did odd jobs for Mr. Crathie. From his likeness to the old marquis, as he was still called, the factor had a favour for him, firmly believing the said marquis to be his father, and Mrs. Stewart his mother. Hence he allowed him a key to the library, of which Malcolm made good use.

The story of Malcolm's plans, and what came of them, requires another book.

The chalet fell silent for a few moments.

Suddenly everyone was aware again of the blackness of the night outside the windows, and that the evening had advanced. A few heads began to look about, expecting Sister Anika to go on.

Slowly it began to dawn on one, then another, that she was
not
going on.

“What—that's not the end!” cried Sister Regina.

“That is it,” said Anika, who now closed the book with a flourish of finality.

“But I want more!”

“It is as he says,” rejoined Anika, “the rest of the story requires another book.”

“Then let's start it immediately!” Regina insisted. “That ending was too abrupt.”

“I thought we were going to read something older next, from the eighteenth century,” said Sister Marjolaine.

“Hadn't someone suggested
Robinson Crusoe
?” Hope asked.

“But we can't leave off Malcolm's story now,” pled Regina. “Please, we
have
to read the next one!”

“Do we have it in the library?” asked Agatha.

“I believe so,” Anika replied.

“I don't think we had better continue with
anything
else just now,” Hope said, “or we shall lose our dear Amanda.”

“I am still awake!” Amanda objected drowsily from her chair.

“Yes, but I've been watching those heavy eyelids of yours!”

“Well then, we shall have time to think about the books that have been suggested before next time,” Marjolaine laughed. “And I am ready to make acquaintance with my bed too, along with Amanda!”