A New Dawn Over Devon (41 page)

 72 
New Perspective

Geoffrey Rutherford was still wondering what he had been wondering for weeks—was this all a dream?

What was he doing in the master bedroom of Heathersleigh Hall, with Sarah Minsterly and Hector Farnham calling
him
“my lord”?

After a month in Devon, he knew he had reached a crossroads of life. Whatever had come before, he could never more be the same person he had been till now. But the transformation was not one of mere outward circumstance. What was taking place was a fundamental change in who he was . . . or perhaps more importantly, who he wanted to be.

What Amanda and Jocelyn had done had shaken the foundations of everything his father had taught him to believe—namely to get all one could however possible. Never had the thought of putting another ahead of oneself entered the creed of Gifford Rutherford, banker, entrepreneur, and amasser of wealth. And that creed he had zealously transmitted to his son from almost the moment he could crawl out of the cradle.

From his earliest childhood Geoffrey's father had exhorted and pushed him to get ahead, to take advantage, to connive and scheme, even to sneak and lie if it suited his purposes.

Geoffrey had some time ago begun to realize the bankruptcy of such a way of life, however, and knew it made him no happier than it had his father. When and how that divergence with the
mammon-philosophy of his upbringing had begun, who could say? It had probably been growing slowly for years. But in all that time, it had not actually occurred to him as a defined and conscious idea in Geoffrey's mind that such an empty value system, such a hollow and meaningless way of life, could be—more than could be,
ought
to be—replaced by anything else.

His response during those slow-growing years of unease had been chiefly negative. He only knew that he did not want to follow in his father's footsteps. When he thought to himself that something more in life might be gained than what his father had achieved in his, the idea was merely a vague sense of what he did
not
want.

What that “something more” might be, he had not stopped to consider.

Suddenly the changes taking place in his cousin Amanda were striking root in the soil of Geoffrey's consciousness. She had been just as self-centered as he. If anyone could have been said to be out for herself, it was Amanda.

Yet . . . look at her now!

She had changed—noticeably, visibly. She was a wholly different person.

Why? What had happened? Had she merely “grown up,” or was there more to it?

Geoffrey suspected the latter.

What they had done was such an extraordinary thing! They had turned their backs on, set aside, given away, nearly all they possessed. And they had done so by giving it . . . to
him
.

What a hugely unselfish act! The realization of the enormous consequences involved had set off a series of domino-like topplings to his moral and emotional equilibrium.

As he had pondered the incredible thing in recent days, gradually had come into Geoffrey's brain the familiar verse he had heard recited how many dozen times out of the prayer book while sitting dutifully between his father and mother through the years trying to keep from falling asleep.

If a man will deny himself . . .

Over and over the words hounded him—
deny himself . . . deny himself . . .

That's what they had done. They had given away
everything!
They had carried out the essence of that principle in a way he had never
witnessed before. In light of their sacrifice, this was no stale dogma, but living reality!

Could
this
be the something more, the specific missing ingredient in his life? Did this account for the change in Amanda? Had she tapped into some new source of life whose foundations lay in the realm of this incredible thing called self-denial?

He rose, left his room, and walked upstairs to the library. Was the family Bible still where Amanda had pointed out to him all the familial clues she had discovered? He wanted to check the exact wording of the verse. Now that it was repeating itself over and over in his brain, he had the sense that he wasn't remembering the whole thing correctly.

Geoffrey entered the library and flipped on the light. The place still appeared substantially the same, though Jocelyn and Amanda had removed a few books. He went straight to the old secretary whose secret mechanisms and compartments Amanda had shown him. Right now, however, he was interested in secrets of another kind.

There was the Bible lying flat and open to the Psalms.

Where would the verse be . . . probably somewhere in the Gospels. He should have paid more attention when he was younger. He was hopelessly illiterate when it came to this book. He began turning over the large pages.

Wasn't there something . . . some reference in the back that helped locate what you were looking for?

He turned quickly to the back of the Bible . . . yes, here it was. He began scanning down the lists of words, flipping two or three more pages.

In a minute or two he had located the passage in the sixteenth chapter of Matthew.
If any man will come after me
, he read,
let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me . . . for what is a man profited
, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

How perfectly did the words illuminate the difference between his father and Amanda's. The one had spent his life seeking profit, and in so doing, at least for the present, had lost his soul. The other had laid down one of the most prestigious political careers in all of England that he might serve the man he called his Master, Jesus Christ. Charles Rutherford had been mocked as a fool. Geoffrey had
heard his own father deride him with scorn. He had even joined in his father's laughter.

And yet . . . if this verse was true, it was
Charles
who had discovered the secret of life through that very self-denial, while his father would perhaps gain the whole world . . . but lose everything in the end.

Geoffrey read the words again, then a third time, then turned and left the library, pondering the remarkable principle that the meaning of life was backward from all he had been taught, and that for most of his life he had believed.

It was not merely self-denial, he thought. It was self-denial for the sake of following Jesus Christ. It was not enough to give, to deny, to lay down oneself for others, but to do so
while following Christ
. Exactly as Charles Rutherford had done.

Was this what Amanda's example signified? Did this explain the remarkable change that had come over her, just as it explained Charles's transformation twenty years before?

The next instant—not yet having again even reached his own room, but there in the corridor near the second-floor landing of the staircase of Heathersleigh Hall—Geoffrey Rutherford paused, then sank to his knees.

“God,”
he prayed softly,
“I am
sorry for what I have been. But I want to
be more. Help me to make something of what is
left of my life, and to follow the example I have been given of what self-denial truly means.”

 73 
The Hall and the Cottage

Geoffrey Rutherford awoke several mornings later feeling strangely at peace with his new surroundings.

His mother and father, who had come down for the weekend, were still sleeping. Geoffrey dressed slowly and went out. He walked toward the stables. Before he had actually planned it, he had mounted his favorite horse and was on his way across the meadow in the direction of the cottage.

As he went, nature whispered secret sights and smells he had never noticed before. What had begun as mere hints that afternoon in Hyde Park now blossomed fully in his heart. The world was indeed beautiful, and was his to enjoy.

When he drew closer to the cottage he saw evidence of the clearing through the woods for the new roadway that would make the cottage accessible by automobile both to the Hall and the village.

He approached to the pounding of Rune Blakeley's hammer out behind the barn, where he was constructing new stables for horses and one or two carriages. Despite the hour, the place was alive with activity. And there was Amanda in Maggie's garden picking some of the first new flowers of spring.

She glanced up as Geoffrey rode toward her.

“Geoffrey, you're out early!”

“No earlier than everyone around here by the look of it!” he laughed. “Maybe the country does that to you.”

Geoffrey dismounted and tied his horse.

“How do you like it after a month?” she asked.

“I am getting used to the quiet,” he replied. “I have to admit that not having to be at the bank every day is a welcome change, though it has been a surprise to find that I do miss being around people.”

He paused a moment. Amanda was climbing to her feet and did not see the poignant and reflective smile that passed across his lips.

“And,” he added, “I have been making changes
inside
that are probably more significant even than this change in my outward circumstances that you—you and your mother—are responsible for.”

“I am intrigued!” smiled Amanda.

“Perhaps one of these days we can go for a long ride and I will tell you about it,” said Geoffrey. “Right now I am still trying to understand exactly what it all means.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

“For now, let me just say that I am learning to pray—for the first time in my life, really.”

Amanda smiled and nodded, adding, “It is something I have begun to learn as well.”

“And to ask what kind of person God wants me to be,” he added. “That is not so easy a thing when you have never done anything in your life other than what you yourself wanted.”

“It is a difficult change to make,” agreed Amanda. “How well I know! You have described me exactly.”

“I have the feeling you are a little ahead of me,” laughed Geoffrey. “In my case it has only been a matter of days. So when I have made a little more sense of it, we shall take that ride.”

They walked through the flowers a moment or two in silence.

“Do you think you will return to London and the bank eventually?” asked Amanda as slowly they made their way together toward the cottage.

“I honestly don't know, Amanda,” Geoffrey replied. “As I find myself thinking about these new perspectives—I am also thinking hard about my future, about goals and priorities. It is so new to me. I am going to need more time than anything. But I do like it here in Devon. And I think too that the climate might agree with me. It is warmer than London. I haven't really felt well for some time.”

“And you are better now?”

“I think somewhat. Winters are always difficult—congestion in the lungs, fevers, you know . . . I am extremely susceptible. Sometimes I cough and hack for weeks on end. But this month here so far has been quite good on that score.”

“I am happy to hear it.”

“I am thinking in time of perhaps opening a small branch of the bank in Milverscombe,” Geoffrey went on, “not primarily for investments and that sort of thing, but in order to help the residents with everyday needs, purchasing motorcars, home building, the seasonal requirements of the farmers and sheepherders, and so on.”

“That sounds wonderful. What does your father think?”

“That the idea is ridiculous,” laughed Geoffrey. “He says that no money can be made in such an out-of-the-way place as this. But it might be an opportunity to help the community.”

“He and your mother will remain in London, then?”

“For the present. Although he is not far from retirement. My mother is anxious to move down to the Hall with me. Perhaps I shall make my father a junior officer in the new bank once I get it established . . . just so long as I could keep him away from the customers!”

“Why do you say that?” laughed Amanda.

“He is too surly. He would drive them away!”

“Geoffrey, you are too mean!”

“I know,” he chuckled. “But the sad fact is . . . it is true. My father is . . . well, you know what he is like—you practically lived with us for a good while when you were in London. He never did warm up to you, except briefly when he concocted that scheme that we should marry and pushed me to propose to you.—By the way, I
am
sorry for that. I was a nincompoop back in those days.”

Amanda laughed. “Oh, Geoffrey, you weren't a tenth as bad as me. I was positively awful. I apologize to you too for the uppity way I treated you.”

“I suppose we have both changed since. But you know what I am saying about Father. Even me he treats like a colleague, not a son.”

“I see what you mean. You're right. It is sad.”

“I love him in spite of it,” said Geoffrey. “But he is a trying man to live with. I hope in time the people of this community, if he spends enough time down here, might help him see that there is more to life than money. But . . . we shall see. They are here for the weekend,”
Geoffrey added. “That's one of the reasons I came over, to invite you all for tea this afternoon.”

“I am certain we will enjoy it very much,” said Amanda as they arrived at the door to the cottage. “Come in and have morning tea with us.”

Jocelyn and Catharine received Geoffrey warmly as he entered with Amanda.

“You are just in time for tea and bread!” said Jocelyn as she walked toward the door. “Sit down and join us. I won't be but a moment—I want to run out to see if Rune can take a break from his work.”

She left the kitchen just as Maggie made her way slowly in from the sitting room.

“Let me help you get to your chair, Grandma Maggie,” said Catharine, taking her arm.

“Thank you, dear,” said Maggie. “Oh—hello, Geoffrey. What do you think of my little cottage?”

“Bustling, Mrs. McFee,” laughed Geoffrey.

The place was so vibrant and full of life, thought Geoffrey as he continued to watch and listen. This family had lost nothing by giving away Heathersleigh Hall. The life of the place had come
with
them, right across the meadow just as he had come a few minutes ago. The life was here
without
the Hall,
without
the possessions,
without
the library,
without
the history,
without
the title.

They
were the life, these wonderful, giving, gracious, loving people.

The Hall stood now mostly quiet and empty. His father had so long coveted it. Yet it was just an empty shell. Without people within its walls, it was mere mortar and stone, while here in this simple two-story cottage there was such—

Geoffrey's reflections were cut short as Jocelyn and Rune Blakeley walked in chatting and laughing. They sat down at the remaining two places at the table.

“This is a tight squeeze!” said Jocelyn. “I think this is the largest group we have had since moving to the cottage.”

“We shall have to get a larger table, Mother,” said Amanda.

“It sounds like a big new table will be next on my list after completion of the stables,” laughed Rune.

Gradually it quieted and they all joined hands. How long had it been, thought Geoffrey as his right hand closed about Amanda's soft palm, and his left was swallowed up by the great rough-textured fingers
of Rune Blakeley's fist, since he had held hands with another human being? He could not even remember. The feeling of companionship and brotherhood filled him with such a warm feeling that he could think of no place he would rather be at that moment than right here.

“Thank you, our Father,”
prayed Jocelyn,
“for
this day you have given us, for your provision, for your love, for your constant goodness to us, and for dear friends with whom we are able to share life. Thank you for Geoffrey and Rune and their
presence with us today. Thank you for this wonderful cottage
with Maggie where we are all so happy. And we
pray that you will bless and prosper Geoffrey's tenure in the Hall, and make this a wonderful season in his life. Amen.”

The humble simplicity and genuine warmth of the prayer went straight to Geoffrey's heart, and he found a lump rising in his throat. It was with difficulty at first that he was able to enter into the friendly conversation that began immediately as Jocelyn poured tea and the girls began passing around plates laden with bread, cakes, cheeses, and meats.

“Geoffrey, would you care for a scone?” asked Catharine.

“Why, yes . . . thank you, I would,” replied Geoffrey, trying his best to focus his mind on the plate in front of him.

“Geoffrey has just been telling me of his plans,” said Amanda to the others. “He is thinking of opening a small bank in Milverscombe.”

“Progress comes to the country, eh!” said Rune.

“I suppose something like that,” rejoined Geoffrey. “I am not at all anxious to return to London. You see, Mr. Blakeley, I am on indefinite leave at present. But I cannot just lounge about forever. I shall have to do something. And banking is all I know.”

“Milverscombe
is
growing,” put in Jocelyn. “A bank would no doubt be a boon to the community.”

“I would hope so,” said Geoffrey. “But what about all of you?” he added, turning toward Jocelyn. “What will
you
do here?”

“We intend to pray for God to keep us busy and involved with people. We may even take in a few young people now and then if he leads them to us.”

“But is there room?”

“Oh yes. We will take you on a tour of the cottage after breakfast. The first floor has a small sitting room and four bedrooms. Granted, they are small, but adequate. We each have a room of our own at
present. And this floor has another two bedrooms, the large sitting room, this kitchen . . . we shall have plenty of space.”

Geoffrey listened with a nod and gentle smile. “I think it sounds lovely,” he said, then paused. “In a way,” he added, “I almost envy you.”

“You will have the chance to minister to people too, Geoffrey,” said Amanda.

“I must admit I had never thought of banking in quite
that
way before!”

“Any occupation is full of opportunities to help, wherever people are involved.”

“One always thinks of money and banking as the opposite of what you call
ministry
.”

“It is the worship of money that is the root of all evil, Geoffrey,” said Jocelyn, “not money itself. Properly used, money is a tremendous tool for good in the world. My husband was always very grateful for what he had. It allowed him to do a great deal for others.”

“Amen to that!” chimed in Blakeley enthusiastically. “Me and my family are living proof of the man's generosity, God bless him!”

“Charles was always fond of a certain passage of the Scotsman's.—Amanda,” she said, turning to her eldest daughter, “—would you mind fetching the Scotsman's
Curate
?”

“I think the passage you want is in
Faber
, Mother,” replied Amanda, rising. “I'll go see.”