A New Dawn Over Devon (45 page)

 80 
The Prayer Wood

The door of Maggie's cottage had originally been placed in just the right spot to receive the morning sun when it shone above the treetops from the southeast. Maggie, her mother, and her grandmother before her had all been in the habit of opening the door early in the day to invite the sunshine indoors, and throughout the summer it stood open most of the day.

Amanda woke early, dressed, and came downstairs. There was her mother standing in the doorway soaking in the morning light, though there wasn't much warmth yet so early in the day.

Jocelyn turned when she heard Amanda's step. Amanda came forward and gave her a hug. She saw that there were tears on her mother's cheeks.

“What is it, Mother?” she asked as she stepped back.

“I have just been standing here realizing how happy I am,” replied Jocelyn.

“Happy?” said Amanda. “That isn't what I would have expected so soon after Grandma Maggie's death, and with . . . you know, all that has happened these three years.”

“I know,” nodded her mother. “I think it caught me off guard too. That's what I was thinking about just as you came down. Earlier I might have said contentment or acceptance or even that I was at peace. But this morning I just felt . . .
happy
. I saw my face in the mirror a few minutes ago and suddenly realized how thoroughly
gone are my feelings of self-consciousness about my scar. That alone is a miracle. But then I realized too that, even with the pain I will always feel for missing your father and brother and now Maggie, I am still . . . well, I am happy, and I can say life is good in spite of the pain.”

“I don't know if I will ever know that peace, Mother,” said Amanda. “I can't imagine being able to put it behind me.”

“You mean your father and George being gone?”

“No, although that makes it a hundred times worse. I mean the guilt I feel for having made such a mess of my life, for hurting so many people, especially you and Father.”

Jocelyn thought for a moment. “Let's go for a walk, dear,” she said.

She led Amanda from the house. After five or ten minutes Amanda realized her mother was leading her to her father's prayer wood.

“I didn't know you knew about this place, Mother,” said Amanda in some surprise. “I've never seen you come here.”

“Your father showed me this wood years ago,” replied Jocelyn as they worked their way through the narrow opening in the branches. “He told me how special it was to him and how many of his deepest times of prayer happened right here. He also told me about the day you followed him here.”

“He knew!”

“Of course. He was aware of most of what was going on inside you. He knew you better back in those days than you knew yourself.”

“I should have known,” said Amanda, shaking her head.

“He always prayed that you would come on your own one day and someday be able to make this your own place of communion and retreat.”

Amanda smiled. How many of her father's prayers for her had been answered! She would probably never know.

“Did you and he ever come here together?” she asked.

“Once or twice,” replied Jocelyn. “But not often. He always said that a person's prayer closet ought to be reserved mostly for that person and the Lord. Usually when we prayed together it was in the heather garden.”

A silence fell between mother and daughter. They emerged into the damp green clearing, walked about for a minute or two, then sat down on two large stones. For several minutes neither said a word as they drank in the peaceful silence of the morning.

“You probably don't realize it, because you were so young,” began Jocelyn at length, “what a struggle this birthmark on my face was for me. It dominated my whole life as a girl and a young woman. After your father and I gave our hearts to the Lord, it was a tremendous struggle for me to reorient my thinking. Becoming a Christian doesn't make you suddenly think and respond differently. My heart had changed, but I had to
learn
how to think anew. I knew that God was good, but for the life of me I could not see that my red face was good. That prevented me from being able to fully accept his love . . . for
me
. I knew that he loved the world, that he loved everyone
else
. But that he loved
me
 . . . that was very difficult to accept. In my heart I knew he was supposed to work all things for good. But I could not find a way to apply that goodness to my face.”

“That's exactly it, Mother,” agreed Amanda. “I know in my heart that God forgives all things. I can accept that he forgives murderers—the men who killed Betsy's father, for instance. But bringing that principle into my
own
life is far more difficult. I cannot help still feeling such a weight of guilt and condemnation. It is far easier to accept that God forgives other people than to accept that he forgives me.”

“I think I understand.”

“How
do
you accept it, then—God's love, I mean . . . his goodness . . . his forgiveness? How did you finally realize that God truly loved you as you were?”

“The breakthrough came when I decided to give him thanks for my birthmark.”

“You actually . . .
thanked
him for it?”

Jocelyn smiled to think how absurd the idea had seemed to her when Charles first confronted her with it.

Jocelyn nodded. “I finally simply had to decide to put the past behind me. I had to determine that from that point on I would think differently—about God, about my scar . . . about the person I was. That all began when I decided to give him thanks for it. I had to say, ‘God, you gave me this birthmark because you love me, not because you don't. Therefore, I thank you for it, as a sign of your love.'”

“Knowing what I am going through, that must have been very difficult.”

“It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do as a Christian—just say to him
Thank you
 . . . and really mean it.”

“And you say you
decided
to give him thanks?”

“Yes,” nodded Jocelyn. “That's when I realized that accepting his full love was my choice. I could go all my life never accepting it completely. Or I could decide that I, Jocelyn Rutherford, was included in his love and goodness—red face and all. I could no longer think that God's goodness applied to everything else in the world
except
me and my face. If I was serious about being a Christian, then at some point I had to believe what the Bible said—that God works good in
all
things. If I was going to continue not believing that my disfigured face could be turned to good, then what did my faith really mean? I think it might be the same for you.”

“But it's so hard, Mother.”

“I know, Amanda. Believe me, I know. At least strangers don't stare at you and know about your past.
Every
stranger stares at me. But there comes a point where you have to decide to accept God's forgiveness. His grace is there, but you have to reach out and take it. God's mercy doesn't change. It isn't conditional. That's what I had to learn. It even applied to my birthmark, just as it applies to you and everything that has happened—yes, and even all the things you did that you wish you hadn't. God's forgiveness is available for everyone no matter what they have been, or done. Some people live forever unable to accept that forgiveness and never forgiving themselves. They live in guilt and self-condemnation every day. But they don't have to. That burden can be lifted. But each person has to reach out and decide to take what God has offered.”

“But . . . how . . .
how
do you take it?”

“It is something you have to do in your heart and mind. It's a spiritual decision to say to yourself and to God, ‘I know you are a good and loving Father. I know you have forgiven me. Therefore I will accept that forgiveness, and I will walk in that forgiveness every day.'”

Amanda did not reply. They sat awhile longer, then slowly rose and gradually made their way back to the cottage.

 81 
New Bank and the Stable Roof

By the middle of September the new bank was completed. A great celebration was planned for the sixteenth of September when the doors would open for the first time.

Several executives from London, as well as Gifford and Martha, were on hand for the opening. A few brief speeches were made, the ribbon was cut, and clapping went around the gathering.

Then Geoffrey stood and announced, “The Bank of Milverscombe is officially open for business!”

Most of the crowd came in for tea and biscuits, then gradually dispersed and made their way back to homes and a few of the shops. The London contingent would be on hand for about another hour, then would return on the midday train.

Even before the day of the opening it was obvious that Geoffrey was a hit in the community. Everyone loved him. His father hardly recognized the son he had raised and trained to follow in his footsteps. He had trimmed down, and was so openly friendly with everyone as to make Gifford cringe. A banker couldn't be friendly with his clientele; he must maintain an edge of aloof superiority. But Geoffrey's months in Milverscombe had made a new man of him, driving into the village early on most days, walking about in the morning before opening and at the lunch hour greeting new
acquaintances. Already many had had him in their homes for tea. As Gifford watched the proceedings on this day, therefore, and observed the laughing and informal exchanges between Geoffrey and every farmer and sheepherder for miles crowding through to shake his hand, he could not help but consider his son a sap, mixing and on such terms with this backward lot. What kind of nonsense was this all about? And that idiotic plaque on the wall about melting mammon down to do God's work. Gifford could make no sense of it whatever.

Was his son becoming a country bumpkin like all the rest of these louts! He was strangely like his cousin Charles. Was there something about the air at Heathersleigh that took away a man's ambition? How could this bank possibly make any money with such a creed behind the manager's desk? The sooner he got back to London, thought Gifford, the better. It was mortifying for the rest of the executive committee to see this! He would have to keep a close eye on Geoffrey's dealings in the future.

Maybe Heathersleigh Hall
was
haunted with the ghost of old Henry's wife, he thought to himself as he stepped aboard the train with several of his colleagues an hour later—making lunatics of all its residents. Perhaps the children's rhymes of his childhood around here hadn't been so far off after all. This was as bad as what had happened to his cousin with all his religious fanaticism.

Martha wanted to remain for a week. Let her stay on in Devon as long as she wanted. He had had enough of this place!

————

On their way walking back to the cottage, Amanda, Catharine, and Jocelyn were talking about the bank opening and their plans for the remainder of the day.

“Poor Gifford looked uncomfortable, didn't he, Mother?” said Amanda as they went.

“I did seem to notice him squirming behind the collar when Mr. Mudgley pressed by him. He isn't much of a countryman.”

“And when Geoffrey was talking to Mr. Roper about building a new barn,” added Catharine.

“Somehow I don't think that is quite what Gifford had in mind for this bank. What Stoddard needs is a new crib,” Jocelyn added, laughing. “Have you seen Cordelia lately? She is so huge, if I had to guess, I would say she is carrying twins.”

“But everyone does love Geoffrey,” rejoined Amanda. “If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it. He really seems to like the people.”

“I know, and I think it is wonderful,” said Jocelyn.

A brief silence fell.

“I picked up a few yards of ribbon this morning from Mrs. Feldstone's,” she added. “Would you girls like to help me tie up some bunches of lavender from the garden?”

“Just so long as I save time for a letter to Terrill,” said Catharine.

“When do you see him again?” asked Amanda.

“Next week, I hope. But he is so involved right now with the war nearly over, he is having a difficult time getting away.”

“I'd like to, Mother,” said Amanda. “It sounds like fun.”

“We also want to save time to prepare a late tea, because Geoffrey is bringing Martha for a visit after the bank closes for the day.”

“Are they staying on awhile?”

“Only Martha. Gifford is returning to the city today.”

“Why don't we wait to tie up the lavender when she is here?” suggested Amanda. “She would enjoy working on it with us.”

“Do you think so?” asked Jocelyn.

“I am sure of it, Mother. She is very clever with things like that. She helped me make some lovely dresses. Did you know that she made yards and yards of bandages for the war effort?”

“Then I think that is an excellent idea. We will invite her over tomorrow.”

The sounds of shouts interrupted their conversation as they entered the clearing approaching the cottage.

“That sounds like Rune,” said Jocelyn. “Wasn't he in town this morning?”

“Apparently not, Mother,” replied Catharine, pointing ahead, “because there he is up on the stable roof—look.”

They hurried ahead.

“Amanda!” shouted Stirling the moment he saw them, “—come quickly! The board is slipping . . . grab the end of it, would you, and help me steady it.”

Amanda handed Jocelyn her handbag and ran toward him, Catharine right behind her. Amanda and Catharine took hold of the end of the huge beam a few feet from where Stirling held on while doing his best to keep from falling off the ladder. The board
was slanted steeply up to the upper section of one of the vertical walls where Rune was struggling with the other end while trying to keep from falling down.

“I thought we could hoist these joist beams up ourselves,” said Stirling, moving up a little higher on the board now that he had more hands to work with. “But with the ladder and weight, it was too awkward for us. All right . . . let me see, Catharine, I think I have it now—if you could hold on to the ladder and steady it . . . I'll try to climb a little higher.”

Catharine let loose of her portion of the board, hurried over, and placed her two hands firmly on the ladder, while Stirling took a step or two up.

“Amanda,” he said, “if you can just hang on where you are long enough for me to step up and take the weight off your end . . . good . . . I think we're getting it. Steady, Catharine, I'm going to take another step, but I've got to keep both my hands on the board, so don't let me fall.”

“Stirling, don't say that!”

“I'll be fine.—How are you doing up there, Father?”

“It's coming,” Rune shouted down. “Another two or three feet and I'll be able to balance it on the end joist and swing it up and over.”

“Oops—my end of the board is too high!” exclaimed Amanda as the beam began to pivot, her hands now outstretched above her head. “I can't hold it anymore.”

“It's all right,” said Stirling. “It's high enough . . . Father, I'll give it one more shove . . . good . . . got it?”

“Push it my way another foot. . . .”

Suddenly the beam swung the rest of the way up as Rune balanced it in its center.

“That's it!” cried Stirling. “Hold it there, Father, I'll be right up.”

Stirling let go and scrambled up the ladder, then crawled out on the frame opposite his father.

“Stirling, be careful!” Amanda called up to him. “You're moving around up there too fast.”

Stirling laughed, but continued along like a spider on the wall edge.

“All right, Father,” he said in a moment, “I'm ready . . . swing it around in my direction.”

Father and son struggled a minute to coerce the board into position, then all at once with a great thud, the heavy beam settled into place.

“Whew!” sighed Stirling as he worked his way back to the top of the ladder and climbed down. “Those extra hands made a big difference. I wasn't sure what we were going to do. You came along at just the right time.”

“I doubt we did that much good,” laughed Amanda as Jocelyn now walked up to join them.

“It was all a matter of balance,” said Stirling. “I don't think we'd have managed alone. I thought we'd be able to, but these boards were too much for us.—And . . . we have another eight beams to get up there. What do the two of you say to lending us a hand?”

“Do you mind if we run in and change into our work dresses?” asked Catharine.

“Not at all. We'll take a breather.”

“I doubt that my sister will be content to hold up a ladder the whole time,” said Amanda. “She will want to be up on the roof with you.”

“That might be arranged!—You might bring your gloves too!” Stirling called out after the two girls as they ran for the cottage.