“It’s too bad more aren’t like that.”
“I agree. But back to your question—yes, I suppose I believe as I do because of him, because he taught me how to be a thinking Christian. He did not tell me what to believe. He taught me to go to God for myself. He taught me how to believe. Wisdom, to a man like Ranald Bain, is not based in specific beliefs or doctrines, but in one’s approach to truth. He is the humblest man I have ever met. I think in the end that accounts for his huge impact in my life. Even though there is a great disparity in our ages, I consider Ranald my closest and dearest friend.”
“How did he, as you say, turn you around when you were young?” I asked.
Iain smiled a nostalgic and far-off happy smile. “I think,” he said, “if you are truly interested to know, I will let you hear that story from Ranald.”
It was silent for a minute or two. We were both lost in thought.
“Do you mind if I ask you another question?” I said.
“After all this time, and you don’t know the answer to that yet! Of course I don’t mind.”
“All right—I will ask it then. I was talking with Mrs. Gauld earlier. She said some spooky things about the castle and the duke, about the ghost of the duke’s grandmother haunting the place, and that there has been a curse because of his grandfather and druids and all sorts of things. Is any of that true?”
Iain shook his head.
“I’ve heard it all, too, since I was a boy.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
“I’m not the superstitious type. If you ask me, there is far too much superstition in both Scottish theology and Scottish legends. No, I don’t believe it. I have no doubt that Alasdair’s—that is, the duke’s grandfather, was something of a strange bird. So was his father. But that doesn’t imply hauntings and ghosts and curses and all that sort of mumbo jumbo.”
“I, uh… I understand you and the duke were boyhood friends?”
The question obviously took Iain by surprise. He looked at me with an odd expression, then nodded.
“Yes—yes, we were,” he said. “How did you hear that?”
“Actually, he told me.”
“Alasdair… the duke?”
I nodded. “You remember his invitation for me to play for him at the castle?”
Iain nodded thoughtfully. “What did you think of the castle?” he asked.
“It is quite a place. I thought I was in a fairy tale.”
“That’s when he told you, when you were there?”
“No, actually I saw him again and he told me about you and him exploring the caves along the shore and about the time you were trapped inside one when the tide came in.”
A nostalgic smile came to Iain’s lips. I could tell he was reliving the incident.
“Well, that is interesting,” he said at length, nodding slowly. “Yes, we used to have a lot of fun together back in those days.”
“But not anymore, I take it?”
“No, not for a good many years.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Brief Good-Bye
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
—“Flow Gently, Sweet Afton”
The following morning, I got ready to go, then locked my little cottage and left.
I had a stop to make on my way out of town. I needed to let the duke know that I would be away for a while. I wasn’t even sure I could find my way to the castle, but I had to try. What if the gates were closed? How do you call on someone in a castle, just walk up and knock on the door?
It seems odd that I felt obligated to tell the duke I was leaving town. I hardly knew the man. I had only seen him twice in my life. But there was something peculiar going on with him. I almost felt—it was strange to think it—because of those two encounters that he had almost come in a way to depend on me, that I might be one of his few friends.
What a presumptuous idea!
Especially about an important man, and me a nobody, a stranger. I was just “passing through,” as the old westerns used to say.
Yet the duke’s demeanor when he had come to the cottage somehow gave the impression right then that he… well, almost that he needed me in some way I could not understand.
The music of the harp had obviously drawn him. I hoped that maybe the music, and my being a friend to him… that maybe those things might somehow bring him and Gwendolyn back together, if indeed the situation was as Mrs. Gauld had said.
What I said a moment ago about feeling obligated… that is probably the wrong word. I just felt he ought to know I was leaving, that it was the considerate thing to let him know. I didn’t want him coming to call at the cottage again and find it empty. How embarrassing that would be for him, with the whole town watching.
I found my way, with only one wrong turn. The gates were open. I drove in and continued all the way to the castle and parked in front. People probably weren’t supposed to just drive in like that, but I did. I knew they wouldn’t throw me out.
Miss Forbes answered the door. She was obviously surprised to see me.
“Oh, it’s you, Ms. Buchan,” she said. “Just… wait, please—I will tell the duke you are here.”
The look on the duke’s face a minute later when he saw me took my breath away. His expression positively lit up. He was genuinely glad to see me! It was so unexpected. To have that kind of an effect on another individual, it is a humbling thing. I was simply overwhelmed.
“Now it is my turn to apologize for calling unexpectedly!” I said, laughing as I nervously tried to recover myself.
“Oh, no, Ms. Buchan,” said the duke. “I am so happy to see you.”
“Please, I feel awkward enough coming here, without adding to it with the Ms. Couldn’t you just call me Marie?”
“I, well, yes, of course. But I hope you don’t feel too awkward… please, come in!—Alicia, would you please bring us tea… in the library, I think.”
“I really only came for a minute,” I said, following as the duke led the way inside. “I wanted to tell you that I am leaving for a few days. I’m taking a drive down to Edinburgh.”
His face now fell as suddenly as the light had broken into his eyes a moment before. The news seemed to shatter him.
“Oh, of course,” he said as we walked up the stairs. “Well, I hope you have a good time.”
We arrived at the first floor, which I recognized from before. He opened a different door for me this time and I walked into what was obviously the library. My eyes opened wide at the sight. Books lined every wall. Bookcases were arranged in rows along the floor, with old Persian rugs running between them. I stood gaping at the sight.
“But… you will be back?” said the duke.
“Oh yes,” I said. “I just want to visit the city. I haven’t seen it yet.”
Miss Forbes came in a side door with a tray of tea things, which she set down on a small table across the room. She left and we sat down.
“You will like it. Edinburgh is a lovely city,” said the duke. “But—”
He hesitated. The look of uncertainty and embarrassment I had seen before came over him again.
“I really want to hear… no, I need to hear your harp again,” he said. “You won’t leave, to return home, I mean, without… I mean, I will have another chance to hear you play?”
I smiled. “I will be back in a few days. I’m sure we can arrange something. Maybe you will let me return your hospitality and you can come have tea at my little rented cottage.”
“Perhaps I shall at that.”
Unexpectedly he now smiled.
“What is it?” I said.
“Oh, I was just thinking of the villagers,” he said. “They love to gossip about me. I was thinking what they would say to my having tea in a little fisherman’s cottage instead of my big
fine castle.”
“Is the place I am staying a fisherman’s cottage?” I asked.
“It used to be. Most of the houses in the village were at one time. Everyone thinks I am too proud, too high and mighty for that. I might surprise them yet. Yes, I will do it! I accept your invitation. And I will not back out the next time as I did yesterday. I apologize for that.”
“Think nothing of it. Do you know Ranald Bain?” I asked, surprised at my own question. I had not intended to ask it.
“Ranald Bain!” he repeated, almost fondly. “I haven’t seen him in years. Of course—everyone knows Ranald Bain.” He glanced away thoughtfully, an expression coming to his face that I could not altogether understand. “I should probably have visited him, after Margaret’s death,” he said slowly. “He is one of my tenants, after all. Thank you for reminding me. I have been remiss. I will attend to it soon. He is a good man, despite what some people say of him. I am certainly one who can understand that,” he added sardonically. “Why do you ask about him? Have you made his acquaintance?”
“I was out walking, up to the Bin, last week, and I ran into him. He invited me to his cottage for tea.”
“Is that so!”
“I found him delightful. Then I went back and restrung an old harp he has that has been in his family for years.”
“That’s right. Now that you mention it, I recall stories of his grandfather—the Bard, they called him.”
“Did you ever hear him play?”
“No, that was long before my time.”
“I heard about his daughter’s death, too,” I said. “He didn’t tell me himself. I heard about her later. It must have been a terrible tragedy.”
Expressionless, the duke gazed back at me as if my words had suddenly caused a trance to come over him. The look on his face had gone blank. He seemed to be staring straight through me.
What followed of my brief visit was strained. The duke hardly said a word after that, and I soon left to be on my way south.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Right There Beside Me
I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I am this dark world’s Light;
Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, and all thy day be bright!”
I looked to Jesus, and I found in Him my Star, my Sun;
And in that light of life I’ll walk, till trav’ling days are done.
—Horatius Bonar, “I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say”
When I drove out of Port Scarnose, how different were my feelings than when I had first driven into it. I was now leaving a part of me behind. There were people here I truly considered friends, people I would think about and miss. I had hardly missed anyone from Canada in all the time I had been in Scotland.
What was happening to me here?
The drive south, as Iain had suggested, through the Cairngorms, was lovely. As I left Braemar, the traffic thinned and the way became more desolate and lonely. The heather was beginning to bloom—gradually more vibrant the farther south I went. But as I looked at the hillsides rising on either side of me, there were times I couldn’t quite tell the gray from the purple. The blossoms of the heather produced a color too subtle to detect with ease. Close beside the road, the color appeared vibrant. But on the hillsides in the distance, its hues blended more mysteriously with the surrounding terrain. This was no straightforward flower, this heather of the north, but a blossom of curious mystery.
What tales did it have to tell?
As often happens when I am driving, my thoughts drifted inward. How could I not reflect on the past few weeks and the changes that had taken place within me? I found myself thinking about things I had not thought of in years, perhaps that I had never thought of at all.
Being around Iain Barclay forced a person to think. He was having the same effect on me that he said Ranald Bain had had on him.
Spiritual things were real to Iain, so present, so daily, so much a part of life, that they came out as naturally as breathing. In all the years I had been in the church, religion and faith had never been like that—so much a part of life.
Iain lived it.
He thought about everything. He didn’t just accept ideas because he was supposed to believe them. He tried to make sense of what he believed. That was new to me. You couldn’t be around him forlong without his commonsense logic rubbing off on you. At least that’s the effect he was having on me. I was thinking in newways.
I smiled as I remembered the first moment I had laid eyes on him, his red-topped head popping up below the cliff from out of nowhere! Reddy, the duke had called him. And that happy, childlike exuberant smile, full of the joy of life.
Almost immediately, the vision of Iain’s face—whenever I thought of him he was either smiling or laughing—began to speak in my mind. Words he had said began drifting back into my brain.
God’s Spirit resides in all men and women… we are beings created in God’s image.
His words challenged both my present unbelief and my former lethargic belief.
I was beginning to wonder about both. What was the difference between belief and unbelief? Did it have more to do with how you lived than doctrine?
Did I really disbelieve as much as I thought? If so, why was I thinking about God and Iain Barclay and church so much? And if the “beliefs” I once held were so superficial, what had I believed during all those years?
Had I really been a Christian at all? According to Iain’s definition, I mean—one who had made oneself a follower of Jesus.
That was not something I had ever thought about!
Even so, Iain said he could see God in me. Whether you’re a Christian or not, you are still God’s child.
He had been talking about my harp playing. But I had the feeling he meant more, too. I knew he valued me as a person. I had the distinct idea that he felt God valued me, too.
That was another pretty heavy idea! God valuing me, some part of God living inside me.
I remembered Iain speaking of his desire to preach the true essence of Christianity. What was that essence, I wondered.
Again words out of Iain’s mouth came back to answer my own question: A Christian is a follower or disciple of Jesus Christ. That’s something you do by choice, a decision you make. “From this point on my life is not my own.”
He had spoken of life being a journey, a quest for truth and understanding. We are all on individual journeys, he said. Growth is individual. It has no straight paths. But I’m sure you will get there in the end.
Was that what he meant when I asked him where “there” was, and he had smiled a knowing smile, and simply answered, “Where you are going.”
Had he been thinking of that moment of choice?
I had so many questions. Whatever I might have believed, whatever it was that I had once called my faith, it hadn’t been a very thoughtful faith. If I had been a Christian at all, one thing was for sure, I had been a lazy one.
Suddenly everything was more involved than just going to church and sitting absently listening to a sermon and then going home. If what Iain said was true, these were matters that encompassed every aspect of life.
And yet there was something exciting about it. How could the happy enthusiasm of a man like Iain Barclay not be infectious? If what he said about Christianity was true, who wouldn’t want to be part of it? What else could possibly matter but discovering truth and trying to live by it?
As I drove I also now remembered the meal in Aberdeen.
Across the table Iain’s sensitive, caring, green, earnest eyes stared straight into mine. I could see his eyes as vividly as if he were right in the car beside me. The look… a look of love.
With a replay of “the look,” came Iain’s words I had heard him speak in church when he hadn’t known I was there:
When he looks you deep in the eye.
I knew he was talking about Jesus.
Gradually, in my mind’s eye, Iain’s face began to change. I cannot say what face it was that I saw, whether from some
painting or image from my childhood. But I knew that Jesus was looking at me, not Iain, and that his eyes were staring straight into mine.
I could hardly concentrate enough to keep my eyes on the road. What do you do when you suddenly realize that Jesus is looking deep into your soul?
His look was exactly as Iain’s had been, a look of knowing, a look of understanding, a look of love.
He was probing deep into the most hidden places inside me, just as he had the rich young ruler.
And I knew, as Iain had said, that he loved me.
I was overwhelmed. My eyes were watering and my vision blurry. I had to stop.
I began looking for a place to pull the car to the side of the road.
The eyes of Jesus continued to bore into mine. Then I saw tears begin to gather in his eyes. Gradually the tears fell down his cheeks. I knew they were tears of love, tears that wept for me because, like the rich young ruler, I, too, had turned away and had not followed him. I knew that the pain from his love for me was breaking his heart.
I pulled off the road, stopped the car, and burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Mystery of the Heather
Thus bold, independent, unconquer’d, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run,
For brave Caledonia immortal must be.
—Robert Burns, “Caledonia”
It took me the rest of the day to recover from what had happened.
I cried for a long time. There was such grief in my heart to realize that I had drifted from Jesus but that he had continued loving me all these years, even after I said I no longer believed.
How could that be? How could he love me with those eyes of love, even though I had turned away?
I began looking for a B and B not long after that. I did not want to drive. I needed to walk and rest and think.
The next day I continued on into Edinburgh, where I spent three days. At last I was ready to respond in a complete way to everything Scotland was, to all it meant, to all it was supposed to mean. My “adventure” had turned inward. The adventure had become a quest, a journey, a pilgrimage. I walked the Royal Mile and went to museums and toured Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood. It really is a fabulous city. I enjoyed myself immensely.
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