Heathersleigh Homecoming (27 page)

 48 
A Bad Father

A week later a letter arrived at the chalet for Gretchen. She was surprised to see the return address so soon after they had been together for the holiday, for her sister was not a frequent correspondent.

Dear Gretchen, she read,

I had the most peculiar and unnerving visit yesterday from two strange men whose looks I did not care for at all. They were aware of your visit to Milan and wanted to know your whereabouts. I may have said too much, though I did not tell them where you lived. It was spooky. They spoke of spies. What could it be about, Gretchen? They also asked about a young woman, apparently English, they thought you were traveling with. They said she was a spy. I don't know how they got your name, but I said you didn't know anyone like that and had left Milan traveling alone. Whatever it was all about, Gretchen, I cannot help being worried. Be careful.

Love,
Elsie

Concerned, Gretchen showed the letter to Sister Hope. After serious thought, they judged it best to say nothing to Amanda for the present, though the situation obviously bore watching.

Ever since her return, Sister Marjolaine had been quieter than usual. One evening around the fire Sister Gretchen asked if something was troubling her.

“You know my father died last year,” said Marjolaine.

Gretchen nodded.

“This was my mother's first Christmas without him. I was never close to my father. For many years I did not even think he loved me. But being home for Christmas made me realize that I miss him. Whatever he felt toward me, I realize how much I loved him.”

Softly Marjolaine began to cry. Gretchen reached out from where she sat and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. Only the crackling of the fire broke the silence for a minute or two.

“Losing one's mother or father is one of the painful transitions of life,” said Gretchen at length. “I have not faced it yet, but I am trying to prepare myself. It must be very painful.”

“The only thing worse is not to have them at all,” said Sister Hope. “I would give anything to have a father, or perhaps I should say to have been able to know my father, even if it meant one day having to lose him.”

“Even an uncaring father?” Amanda asked.

“Yes, Amanda—I would give anything even to know a bad father. You cannot imagine going through life with no one whom you can call by that name. Those who complain about their fathers have no idea how fortunate they are.”

Another pause followed.

“But in all honesty, dear,” added Hope at length, “I doubt your father was so uncaring as you might think, if I am reading into your words accurately.”

The words stung.

“Why would you say that?” said Amanda, a slight edge of annoyance revealing itself in her tone. “You don't know a thing about my father.”

“Because in my experience, those who complain loudest about their parents usually do so to mask wrongful attitudes within themselves.”

Amanda's face flushed with momentary anger.

“Sister Hope is right, Amanda,” said Clariss. “Most parents are more loving than people realize. Take it from one who knows.”

Amanda said nothing. But Sister Luane now spoke up. “I take it, you are such a one?”

Clariss nodded.

“I would be interested to hear about it,” said Luane, “if you don't mind.”

“Not at all,” Clariss replied. “I can talk about it now—though it was difficult for a long time. My very earliest memories are happy ones,” she began. “My mother was loving and kind. But when I was about four, my father began to drink. He was very stern by nature, and the drink only made it worse. He drank a lot, and we were often hungry because there was no money for food. He spent most of his
wages on drink. When he was drunk he would hit my mother. When I was twelve, my mother died in childbirth. Her dying words to me were a plea to look after my little sister Gabriella. After my mother died, my father turned even more to drink. He neglected us when he was sober, and when he was drunk he would—”

Her voice caught in her throat. Clariss glanced away, her eyes filling with tears.

As she spoke, Amanda was reminded of Rune Blakeley and the anger she had always felt toward him for his treatment of his family. As she sat listening, she took in Clariss's features. Her complexion hinted at the olive shades of Italy, though was by no means dark. Her eyes and lashes, however, were pure black, as was her hair, adding to what might be described as a general air of quiet sadness, a constant expression of Mediterranean mystery. Her mouth was small, and, perhaps because of her past, not prone to much smiling, though when her thin lips did part in occasional subdued laughter, the wait was always worth it.

“Excuse me, I'm sorry,” Clariss continued after a moment. “I had so many fears from those years that sometimes they still come over me. Even now I often hear sounds in the night and am filled with terror, imagining that my father is coming into my bedroom drunk. It paralyzes me with fear. A thunderstorm can still terrify me.

“One night when Gabriella was four, I woke to find him lifting her out of my bed. I went wild with all the rage of a mother bear. I jumped out of bed and attacked him and hit and screamed at him, although he hit me so hard in return it knocked me to the floor. But at least he left us alone for the rest of the night. The next morning I hid myself and Gabriella at a neighbor's house. That same day, when he was gone, I snuck back to the house to gather our clothes. Then with the little money I had, we took a train to an aunt's, who took us in.”

“Have you seen your father since?” Marjolaine asked.

“A few times,” replied Clariss. “My neighbor wrote to me at my aunt's to tell me that he had stopped drinking. Later he remarried and asked Gabriella and me to come back. But when we arrived, it was clear to me that our stepmother wanted nothing to do with us. She had her own children and had no use for two more, especially as I was by then nineteen. We only stayed a day or two and then returned
to our aunt's. I eventually grew old enough to find work to support Gabriella and me. She is now married and happy, and I am here.”

“Is your father still living?” asked Agatha.

Clariss nodded. “I visit him occasionally,” she said. “He is old and grey now, and his temper calmed. I think he has forgotten the past, or if he remembers, he does not want to talk about it. I suppose that is how many people deal with past wrongs. Perhaps they think a little change makes up for the past, so they look ahead and refuse to look back. But I don't know . . . my father has never once in his life said he was sorry. I do not hate him, though I still have many fears and hurtful memories, for I know what drink can do to a man. I think I have perhaps forgiven him, though he has never asked for it. To ask forgiveness requires admitting having hurt someone, and some men never seem to be able to do that. At least my father never has. So he has changed, but I do not think he has repented.”

Clariss paused sadly and thoughtfully.

“I cannot say whether all in my heart is right toward him,” she went on at length. “Perhaps I will never know. I try to forgive. But it is difficult.”

She glanced toward Luane and smiled a sad smile. “I am afraid my story does not have a very happy ending, does it?”

“It has been my experience that not all stories can,” she replied. “But God is still God in spite of sad endings. And he can make sad endings happy in the end.”

 49 
Sister Regina's Story

What about you, Sister Regina?” said Luane after a brief silence, turning toward her. “I have not heard how you came to the chalet.”

Regina smiled. Her face, perpetually brown even in winter, always wore a look of inner contentment and calm, as if she was in the midst of some inner conversation either with herself or with the Lord. The peacefulness of her countenance gave her what could only be described as a compelling beauty, though more of the spirit than of the flesh. In her case, however, the two could hardly be distinguished, so thoroughly did the various components of her nature blend into a harmonious whole. Her beauty might have made the first words out of her mouth seem strange to one who did not know her.

“Even when I was a little girl,” she began, “I never thought of marrying.”

“Why?” Luane asked. “I would imagine that an attractive young lady such as you would want to marry.”

“I was drawn from an early age to a life of solitude and contemplation,” Regina replied. “From before I can remember I enjoyed being alone, to walk, to think, to talk to the animals, even to pray. I suppose I was different from the beginning, and my parents thought I was somewhat odd and out of step. But I was content to be alone with my thoughts. I was never happier than when alone in the woods or by the sea. We lived near Barcelona, and I was fortunate to have both nearby.”

“Sister Regina is our resident mystic,” said Gretchen, and a few smiling nods went around the room.

“As I grew older,” Regina continued in her deep rich voice, “my quiet side became more spiritually sensitive. By the time I was eighteen I knew that the desire of my heart was to devote myself to the Lord's work. Of course I thought that meant becoming a nun. And I might well have done so, for my family was Catholic. In fact, I assumed
that I would eventually join the convent in Barcelona, where I knew many of the sisters. They had always seemed to me to be happy and at peace, and I hungered for just such a life. But on the other hand, I did not want to be cloistered away and separated from people. I liked to be alone. Yet I wanted to live a contemplative life of service and ministry in the midst of and involved with people too. I might have joined a teaching or perhaps a nursing order, but I had no inclination toward medicine, nor, that I could see, a gift for teaching.

“I prayed for several years, asking the Lord to reveal to me how and where such a life as I envisioned might be possible. When I came to this area as a lady's companion, I fell in love with the mountains of Switzerland. As much as I loved the sea, I came to love the mountains even more. Sister Hope and I met quite by accident down in Interlaken, at the fountain in the middle of town. I was standing there enjoying the sunshine and the water of the fountain and gazing up at the Jungfrau, when I became aware of someone looking at me.”

Sister Hope laughed to hear Regina tell it. “I could tell there was something different about this young Spanish girl who had caught my eye,” she said. “I couldn't help staring. Suddenly I came to myself and found that she was staring back at me.”

“What did you do?” laughed Luane.

“We both laughed with embarrassment,” Regina replied. “Then we began talking and introduced ourselves. I think we were drawn to each other immediately. We agreed to meet again. To make a long story short, when my duties with Señora Peña were completed, I came here to the chalet.”

“You have been here ever since?”

“Yes, and I have never been happier. I feel that I have the best of all things. Life here resembles some of what it might have been like for me in the convent. But I am free to do whatever I feel and to minister to those whom the Lord sends in many diverse ways. I keep busy in and around Wengen helping some of the older women with their work, substituting in the village school when the schoolmaster is ill or must be away, sometimes minding one or another of the village shops in Wengen or down in Lauterbrunnen, even helping Frau Schmidt at the post. I have tutored some of the children who have had special needs or difficulties. And when there is not something to do for one of the villagers, I am always kept busy milking cows or tending our goats or chickens.”

“And thinking!” added Anika.

“Yes,” smiled Regina, “I enjoy my walks in the hills. I must have time to think and pray and be alone or I would die. As much as I love every one of you, I have to be alone some time every day too. Too much talk tires my spirit. And now having said that, I think I have said enough and will be silent.” She glanced around the room with a sweet smile and said no more.

Sister Luane returned her smile. “Thank you for sharing your story with me,” she said.