Heathersleigh Homecoming (9 page)

 14 
Reflections on Their Guest

Sister Hope sat at her desk with several papers in front of her. The afternoon was unusually warm for fall, and her window was open.

The snow everywhere but on the mountains was gone. It felt as though summer had returned for a brief visit. From outside she now heard a voice singing a bright melody.

She rose and went to the window.

It was thus that Sister Gretchen found her a short time later as she entered Hope's small office. Hope turned, her eyes full of tears.

“What is it, Hope?” Gretchen asked with concern.

Sister Hope smiled. “I was just so overcome with gratitude,” she replied. “How the Lord manages to use this chalet in lives is so wonderful. Even after all these years I find myself amazed by it, and thankful anew.”

“To what do you owe this day's outbreak of gratitude?”

Hope motioned her closer, pointing outside. Gretchen smiled and nodded. She had noticed the change in their guest too.

“I heard our dear Amanda singing as she was gathering a few flowers for the table,” said Sister Hope.

“The transformation is indeed remarkable,” returned Sister Gretchen. “When I saw her in the station at Milan, never had I seen such despondency on a girl's face.”

“Obviously it is nothing we have done,” rejoined Sister Hope. “It is never anything
we
do. Yet once again we are privileged to behold one of God's flowers beginning to unfold. All it takes is a little warm human sunshine, and it is astonishing how the human plant blossoms of itself.”

“The Lord is good to allow us to watch him fill people with hope.”

“My thankfulness to him never ceases.”

“Such was your vision in the beginning, Hope. I can only imagine how gratifying it must be for you.”

“I could not carry out this work without all of you, and you especially, Gretchen. I am so glad you brought Amanda to us. Although I do not think she is meant to remain long.”

“Nor do I,” rejoined Sister Gretchen. “I sense that the Lord has another destiny awaiting her.”

“My thought exactly. Somehow she will become a significant woman in his plan. I do not see what it is, but the Lord has a wonderful future of service marked out for her.”

“Has she spoken more to you about herself? Do you know anything about her?”

Sister Hope shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Her background is not important for now. If the Lord desires for us to know more, Amanda will tell us in her own way and at the proper time.”

“Though she appeared as forlorn as a waif, almost from the moment I saw her,” said Sister Gretchen, “I had the impression that she was a young lady of breeding and culture. The way she expresses things, her mannerisms, how she carries herself, they all speak of parental care and training.”

“I have noticed it too.”

“It would not surprise me to discover that she is a young lady from an important family.”

“The moment I heard her name I immediately thought of the seventeenth-century Scottish covenanter Samuel Rutherford.”

“Do you suppose there is some relation?”

“I have no way to tell. Whoever she is, it is clear the Lord brought her to the chalet for a higher purpose than we are able to see at present.”

Meanwhile outside, having no idea she was the object of such a discussion, Amanda was walking with Sister Galiana in the direction of the barn. They were chatting freely as they went.

 15 
Jilted Farmer's Daughter

Amanda entered the cool dark of the quiet barn. Sister Galiana immediately set about cleaning the stalls of the three cows who were outside enjoying a few final days of fresh grass before winter's cold set in for good. As they talked, Amanda unconsciously slipped on a pair of boots from near the door, then picked up a pitchfork and began to help.

A few minutes went by. Sister Galiana gradually began to stare, as had Sister Marjolaine a day or two earlier, at her new assistant.

“You handle that fork like you know how to use it,” she said.

“Do I?” laughed Amanda. “I didn't think about it.”

“You have done this before.”

Again the words caught Amanda off guard.

“I just picked it up,” she said slowly, “and . . .”

Once more the years fell away. Suddenly she was a girl of nine again. Instead of a barn in the Swiss Alps, in her mind's eye she was now standing in the small familiar barn beside the cottage in the woods between Heathersleigh and Milverscombe.

A faint image came to mind of her attempt to gather courage to let the cow whose domain she had entered scoop a few oats out of her hand with its long, wet bovine tongue. Then the scene shifted to another day in that same barn. Gradually the memory came into clearer definition. She had taken it into her young head to help clean out the stall.

“Careful there, Miss Amanda,” she heard Bobby McFee's voice caution in his melodic Irish tongue. “A fork's a tool, not a toy. Let me show ye how to use it proper.”

A brief lesson followed in where to place her hands on the handle.

“First we clean out the old mucky stuff,” said the wizened old man. “'Tis not the pleasantest of work about a barn, but necessary. Fork it up onto the cart . . . that's it. Careful that it doesn't splat on
ye and make a mess. Then I'll wheel it outside to the pile. After the stall's clean, we'll break out a new fresh bale.”

Several minutes later the stall was empty of refuse and a new bale in place. Bobby sliced off a chunk with the tips of his fork and shook it loosely into the bin.

“Just like that, and Flora'll have a nice wee bed of straw to sleep in tonight,” he said.

Following his example Amanda attempted herself to wield a forkful of new straw. But instead of scattering nicely as Bobby's had done, it fell in a clump. A few deft strokes of the older man's fork remedied that quickly enough.

“Good work, Miss Amanda,” said Bobby. “I'll be makin' a lady farmer out o' ye in no time.”

Amanda smiled at the memory. She would like to see Bobby and Maggie again, she thought. It had been too long.

While her mind had drifted off, Sister Galiana continued to scoop and clean. Amanda now rejoined her, and again they fell to talking.

None of the sisters intentionally set out to open their personal histories to a guest. But as hesitant as they were to direct attention onto themselves, they yet recognized the truth that every man's or woman's story is uniquely capable of helping another whose experience may cross it at some serendipitous moment of intersection. The relaxed atmosphere, as well as a very natural curiosity, often prompted dialog with their guests in such a way that the tale of each of their pasts spoke in its own way now to one, now to another who came. So while they did not press, neither were they reluctant to share when the opportunity arose. They knew that the Lord used human circumstances to speak to hearts. They were always willing and happy for him to use their own.

“I notice you often working in the barn,” said Amanda. “You are out here every day, even though most of you change chores from day to day.”

“You are right,” replied Sister Galiana. “I love barns and cows . . . anything to do with animals. I come in here to work or be with my animal friends whether it is my day for it or not.”

“Why?”

“I was raised on a farm in Germany,” replied Sister Galiana. She was several inches shorter than Amanda, not tiny like Sister Marjolaine but rather of stocky build, with round face and blond hair
woven in a single braid down in back to the middle of her shoulder blades. “I was engaged to a young farmer lad from the next village,” she went on. “We had been sweethearts for three years. The wedding was planned and was to be such a gay time. Everyone in the village intended to come, with music and dancing. I was so happy.”

Sister Galiana paused. A look of pain came over her face.

“I am sure you have guessed,” she went on, “that the happy day did not turn out as I had hoped. Because obviously here I am, and I am not married.”

“What happened?” asked Amanda.

“Two weeks before the wedding, my young man suddenly disappeared. He was gone a week. No one heard from him. I became dreadfully afraid, thinking something terrible had happened. Then just as suddenly I received a brief letter in the post, telling me that he was sorry, that he wished me well, but that he could not be my husband.”

“But why?” asked Amanda.

“He told me that too,” replied Sister Galiana, then paused and glanced away briefly. “It was because he had just married another young lady,” she said after a moment, “from a neighboring village. He had not had the heart to tell me to my face. He knew it would hurt me. So he wrote me a letter instead.”

She paused again and let out a long sigh. Telling the story never made it easier. There was always pain with the remembrance.

“I can hardly believe he would do such a thing!” said Amanda with rising emotion. “The thought of it makes me furious.”

“It made me angry too,” rejoined Sister Galiana.

“What a cowardly thing, not even to tell you himself. I think I would have hit him!”

“I thought of that too,” laughed Sister Galiana. “Unfortunately, since I could not hit him in the face, I took my anger out on God. It was a silly thing to do. But I was young and immature. All I could think was, ‘God, how could you let this happen to me!' I didn't say it humbly, as a prayerful question, but angrily. I blamed God that it had happened. After a while I became as mad at God as I was at the young man. Once I started being angry with God, I became bitter toward everybody and everything. I'm afraid I wasn't a very nice person for a while.”

“I can hardly imagine it of you,” said Amanda.

“I was much different than today. I was irritable, grumpy, critical, sarcastic. I was so angry inside that I hated everything. Being here has changed me completely.”

“How did you come here?” asked Amanda.

“I was on holiday with some friends,” replied Sister Galiana. “We came to the Alps to ski. I fear I was a little reckless. Anger can make a person behave very foolishly. During that time I call the angry phase of my life, I tried to pretend I didn't believe in God at all. I was reckless about many things. I think perhaps I was trying to mask the hurt I still felt inside with an impetuous attitude. I drank three glasses of wine for lunch, despite the protests of my friends, then went up onto the mountain to ski like the stupid girl I was. I promptly fell down a steep slope and broke my leg.”

Amanda could not help laughing. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but you said it so humorously.”

“It is funny to think about it now,” said Sister Galiana, laughing along with her. “Funny because of how foolish one can be when young. But, as I was soon to learn, God does not turn his back on angry and foolish girls even when they do their best to turn their backs on him. He was caring for me all along, though it took me some time to realize it.”

“How did he care for you with a broken leg in the snow?”

“Because who should find me lying there in the snow in an agonizing tangle with my skis, moaning and crying out for help, but dear Sister Agatha on her way back to the chalet from visiting her mother.”

“Sister Agatha lives nearby?”

“Oh yes, just over the ridge.”

“What did she do?”

“She made me as comfortable as she could, then hurried for help. They brought me here, where Sister Gretchen and Sister Hope set my leg.”

“Did your friends discover where you had disappeared to?” asked Amanda.

“Not until the next day. They were worried sick. But Sister Hope went down to the hotel where we were staying in Lauterbrunnen and eventually found them.”

“I take it you didn't return to Germany?”

“I remained here at the chalet until my leg was healed. By then I had done a good deal of changing inside. I knew I wanted to make this my home.”

“I can see why,” remarked Amanda, thinking how much at home she already felt after only a few days here. She no longer sensed an urgency to return to England.

“But even that part of the process wasn't altogether easy.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Amanda.

“Sister Hope can be very blunt when she needs to be,” smiled Sister Galiana.

“In what way?”

“She is not afraid to be painfully honest,” replied Sister Galiana. “If she sees something that needs attending to, she will tell you.”

“Attending to,” repeated Amanda. “I'm not sure I understand. Do you mean if someone isn't doing their work?”

Sister Galiana laughed. “No, nothing like that,” she replied. “We do our work because we enjoy it. No one has to make us. I was speaking of things that need attending to in the heart, things of character and attitude.”

“That sounds, I don't know—like it ought not to be any of her business.”

“If it is God's business, then Sister Hope considers it her business. And when one comes to the chalet, that makes it her business too.”

“Why, is the chalet hers?”

“She would say it belongs to God, which of course it does. But it is hers too.”

“She doesn't still do that to you, does she,” asked Amanda, “—tell you when you're doing something wrong?”

“If I need it, of course she does. I want her to,” replied Sister Galiana. “But it isn't merely telling us when we do something wrong. It goes deeper than that. She prays for us, for our growth and maturity in the Lord. She is our best friend. She is helping us become the daughters of God we each want to be. She does nothing more than we would all do for ourselves, if we had the wisdom, selflessness, and courage to look deep within our hearts for those attitudes that are not pleasing to him. She has eyes to see what we do not. So I
want
her to tell me what she sees in me—when I'm being selfish, and when I'm holding some portion of myself back from the Lord.”

“Does she . . .” Amanda began. Her voice trailed off.

“Are you wondering about Sister Hope herself?” smiled Sister Galiana. “Are you thinking that perhaps it does not sound fair, wondering who tells Sister Hope when her
own
attitudes are not what they should be?”

“I confess, that
is
what I was thinking,” admitted Amanda.

“Many newcomers struggle with that,” replied Sister Galiana. “But such questions, and I mean no offense, Amanda dear . . . but such questions arise out of an immature outlook. Wisdom does not ask such questions but seeks only the truth. When you have been here some time, such concerns fall away completely. One quickly realizes that Sister Hope possesses the wisdom she does because for many years she has been applying far more strenuous standards to herself and the condition of her
own
heart than she would ever dare with another. What she might bring to
my
attention usually involves the most elementary principles of maturity. In her own heart I know that she wrestles with much higher things of personal dedication and relinquishment of self. I have seen her fall on her knees weeping for what most would consider the most momentary lapse.”

“Such as what?”

“A brief sharp word, a seemingly inconsequential rousing of wrong-spirited anger within her.”

“But you are right—those are tiny. Everyone gets angry now and then.”