A New Dawn Over Devon (38 page)

“And the cottage?” said Maggie, not exactly afraid of losing her beloved home—she could be happy anywhere—but a little sad for the news she thought must surely be the purpose of the visit, that
she was to be told she needed to vacate this place where she had spent most of her life.

“The cottage will not be included in the transaction to Geoffrey,” replied Jocelyn.

Maggie glanced at her in confusion.

“Mr. Crumholtz asked what we were going to do,” Jocelyn went on.

“What do you mean,
do?
” asked Maggie.

“What
did
you mean, Mr. Crumholtz?” said Jocelyn, turning toward the solicitor.

“Where will you live, how will you provide for yourselves?” he said. “It still seems to me, I confess, that you have not adequately considered all the implications of the action you are contemplating.”

Jocelyn smiled and turned again toward Maggie. “What the girls and I have been thinking,” she said, unable to keep from being amused at the solicitor's consternation over their other-worldly method of resolving a dispute most of his clients would have kept quiet about, “is this—since you plan to will the cottage to Amanda and Catharine eventually . . . we wondered if you would have us
now?
”

“
Have
you . . . what can you—” began Maggie.

“Would you like us to come live here at Heathersleigh Cottage with you as soon as the Hall is Geoffrey's?”

“Oh, I cannot believe my ears!” exclaimed Maggie, already beginning to shed tears of happy disbelief. “I cannot think of anything more wonderful!”

 64 
Temporary Lodgings

Two or three days of chilly, blustery weather signaled that autumn was well on its way to Devon. When Timothy Diggorsfeld arrived in Milverscombe with the one heavy trunk—mostly books—two carpetbags, and three small boxes, which represented the sum total of his earthly possessions, the wind had begun to blow in such a manner as to let most of the locals know that rain was not far away.

Timothy had just lugged his belongings into the station when Jocelyn arrived with the Peugeot.

“I think I will have to come back with Hector and a wagon for my trunk and the boxes,” said Timothy. “Hopefully we will be able to beat the rain.”

“Would you like to drive, Timothy?” asked Jocelyn as they walked toward the car.

“Me! Not for a minute. I have not been behind the wheel of an automobile in my life.”

“I will teach you. Both the girls are learning.”

“Another day, perhaps,” laughed Timothy.

“Well then, we will have you snug in your new room within the hour,” said Jocelyn, climbing in behind the wheel. “You will be able to sit at your writing desk, cozy and warm, a fire blazing in the hearth, and look out on a Devonshire rain.”

“You make it sound delightful.”

“The girls are so excited about your coming. They have been working all day to get everything all ready for you.”

Timothy laughed with delight. “They are dears,” he said. “You are all very kind to take in a wayfaring pilgrim changing homes and occupations so late in life.”

“Nonsense,” laughed Jocelyn. “You make it sound as if you are a stranger. You are family, Timothy.”

“Nevertheless, I am very grateful.”

“Have you thought any more about what you will do?” asked Jocelyn as they drove.

“Of course, but without much resolution. I will settle in and see how Devon suits me. As much as I complain about the city, I have been a city man most of my life. I may try to write, as the girls suggest. There are a number of my former congregation with whom I must keep in touch.—By the way, I invited Hugh and Edlyn down for the weekend a fortnight from now. I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not. That will be wonderful! Oh, Timothy, I am sorry you will have to leave so soon after coming. I wish you could stay at Heathersleigh forever.”

“On the contrary, I am privileged to be able to share with you in the laying down of this grand house,” rejoined Timothy. “It is a lovely place, the loveliest I know on the earth. Some of the happiest times of my life have been spent here. But we are all pilgrims after all. And to be able to give up our treasures is the greatest privilege of all. We cannot truly possess what we cannot let go of. Otherwise, they possess us.”

“Wasn't it the Scotsman who said that in the giving do we most truly make something our own?”

“I forget his exact words, but something very like that, I believe. As for me, the Lord will provide me new quarters where I know I will be happy. I do not need a mansion. I only need friends, and those I know I have when I am in Devon.”

“Well . . . we are here!” said Jocelyn as she drove up in front of the great old grey mansion. “Welcome to Heathersleigh Hall, your new, if temporary, home!”

 65 
Revelation in Hyde Park

Autumn progressed.

Gifford Rutherford's investigation continued as he schemed and connived how best to win a suit against Jocelyn in court. All the while he was unaware that his efforts had been rendered moot by that which his cousin's wife had already set in motion.

Meanwhile, knowing nothing of the events about to sweep him into the middle of their vortex, his son was changing in ways the father had no idea of.

One day when noon came, rather than lunch with his father or colleagues of the bank, Geoffrey decided to go to the park. Strange things had begun to gnaw at him, beckonings from a world whose language he did not at first recognize.

Why
him?
the reader asks.

Why Geoffrey Rutherford, seemingly the last young man on the face of the earth who would be inclined to heed the silent call of that deeper world?

Yet the question might also be asked, why
not
Geoffrey Rutherford? What makes some men and women gradually attentive to the world's
why
s? What causes some to begin looking upward and inward for answers, while the great majority of the masses remain oblivious to the very currents of life they were put on this earth to discover?

Who can identify that invisible germ of distinction between the askers and ponderers, and the contented unthinking blind? Such will forever remain an eternal question of great mystery.

Whatever the reason, whatever spark prompts the opening of a heart's door in one but not another, as unlikely as it might seem, Geoffrey was now showing signs of being one of those who had begun to cast his gaze inward.

What had triggered this season of introspective melancholy, even he could not have said.

Was it the feel of mortality, the gradually receding hairline even at twenty-five, the lack of energy he had felt for some time? He had consulted a doctor without telling his father. The man had pronounced him fit, but Geoffrey harbored doubts. He still didn't feel quite himself. What was it? Were the changes physical . . . or was something else going on within him?

The previous winter had been difficult. There had been a few nights, after days upon days of ceaseless coughing, that he had lain awake fearing he had somehow contracted something. Yet the condition had eventually left him, and he had been fine all summer. But now, with the cold rainy season approaching, he could not help but be anxious. He was not looking forward to another London winter.

But chiefly his unease originated in his soul. He wasn't happy at the bank, and he knew it.

He left the office, took a cab to Hyde Park, and walked slowly around for three-quarters of an hour carrying the apple and sandwich his mother had packed for him that morning, yet scarcely thinking of them. He wasn't hungry.

As he walked, Geoffrey saw things he had never noticed before, ducks scurrying and quacking and swimming about everywhere, what remained of the autumn flowers, children at play, a gentle breeze on his face, the clouds suspended in the blue above.

It really was a beautiful world, he thought, even in the city. Why had he never paused before to drink it in? But did the beauty all around him
mean
anything? Was there more to life than money and investments and compound interest?

He smiled thinly. Even without his father's money, he was well on his way to becoming a rich man in his own right. But what did it matter? It had certainly not made him happy.

He was almost tempted to quit the bank and move to the country. His father would hit the roof. But did he want to spend the rest of his life pursuing only profit? What had it accomplished for his father? He was a selfish, lonely, greedy man, Geoffrey thought. He had no friends, no interests besides money. Geoffrey had never seen him read a book for pleasure. Did he want to end up the same way himself?

If nothing changed . . . toward just such a future he was probably heading.

A little boy ran by chasing a tiny flock of walking ducks. Geoffrey glanced up, glad for the interruption to his broodings, and watched the boy's energetic antics for a few moments. He was followed a minute later by his mother.

“Mummy . . . Mummy, may I please have a coin to throw into the fountain!” cried the lad as he reached the bridge over the little pond.

“I'm sorry, Fraser,” she replied, “but I have none.”

Geoffrey watched the two another moment, then rose and walked toward them, hand fishing into his trousers.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” he said to the lady, “I couldn't help overhearing. I have a coin or two to spare in my pocket. I would like to give them to the boy, if you don't mind.”

“Oh . . . thank you, that is very generous of you, sir,” she replied.

Geoffrey walked toward the lad, holding out his hand.

“Here, son,” he said, “throw these into the water and make a wish.”

The boy glanced up into Geoffrey's face, then down at the five large copper pennies in his hand. The next instant he scooped them into his chubby fist and began tossing them into the pond toward the spraying fountain in the center.

Geoffrey turned, smiled at the lady as he tipped his hat, and continued on his way.

“Mummy, Mummy,” he heard behind him, “the man gave me five coppers!”

Geoffrey smiled to himself.
That was nice
, he thought.

In fact, as he went, he realized that the tiny act of generosity had made him feel better than the thousand-pound profit he had added to his account last month from one of his many investments.

Geoffrey chuckled to himself as he walked, then began laughing outright. Maybe giving
away
money was the secret to happiness rather than
accumulating
it.

The simplicity of the revelation jolted him.

He shook his head as he continued to revolve it in his brain, still chuckling as he walked . . . giving not getting.

Incredible!

Ha, ha, ha!
he laughed inwardly.
What would dear old Dad think of that?