They sat a long while in silence, each simply enjoying the other’s presence.
At length Stirling rose.
“Do you want to come back inside. It’s a little chilly . . . and I think my parents may be about ready to be getting back home. We’ve got a big day ahead of us!”
“I think I will sit here a bit longer, if you don’t mind,” said Amanda.
“Then I’ll be going.”
He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze.
“Until tomorrow, then.”
“Until tomorrow.”
Amanda watched Stirling go. Hope’s words of the previous week had been with her constantly and now came back to her more urgently than ever. If an obstacle still remained in her heart toward being able to fully accept God’s love, she didn’t want to enter marriage with it still unresolved. Yet there was very little time left.
Amanda knew in her heart that the moment had finally come. In obedience she would take the final step, by faith, of accepting God’s forgiveness . . . and forgiving herself.
Perhaps Hope was right and there was no great mystery to it. All she had to do was accept and receive it . . . and take what God had been offering her all along.
Amanda rose and walked deeper into the heather garden. It was getting dark. She heard the hooves and wheels of the Blakeleys’ horse and buggy gently clomping and crunching down the drive toward the road. It was the last time Stirling would go home with his parents as a single man. By tomorrow at this time . . . she would be his wife.
Amanda drew in a deep breath.
“Lord,” she whispered, “it seems I am always coming to you saying I am sorry for being such a slow learner. Now here I am again. But I am at last ready, I think. Help me . . . because this is even more difficult than knowing you forgive me. I don’t know if I can really forgive myself. So all I can do is do so by faith. . . .”
Her prayers fell silent.
Slowly Amanda sank to her knees on the soft, moist earth.
“God, help me,” she said softly. “I . . . accept your forgiveness. I will take your love all the way into my heart, far enough and deep enough inside me to allow me to say . . . yes, Lord, I will say it—I forgive myself. I will say it again . . . I forgive myself! Because you love her, and because Jesus died for her, Amanda Rutherford is clean, whole, forgiven.”
At the words, Amanda burst into sobs of release and relief. She could utter nothing further.
She wept for another minute, hard, deep, aching, convulsive tears of cleansing.
At last the storm began to subside, and she knew the battle was over. A change had come. She was ready to go on . . . to a new dawn in her walk with God . . . to a new life as the wife of Stirling Blakeley.
She drew in a deep breath, then another.
“Thank you, heavenly Father,” she whispered as she rose to her feet. “Thank you!”
105
Joining of the Two
Stirling Blakeley and Amanda Rutherford were married on October 24, 1923.
Catharine was Amanda’s maid of honor, Betsy her bridesmaid. Catharine’s plumpness had just begun to show, but her large frame and the loose cut of the dresses they made for the occasion hid her condition from all but those who knew. The radiance on her face, however, was indication enough that she was very happy, following in her mother’s footsteps, in her new life as the wife of a naval officer.
Rune Blakeley stood proudly next to his son as Stirling’s best man, with Terrill Langham beside him.
Martha sat in a place of honor next to Jocelyn. Betsy and Sister Hope, along with Hugh and Edlyn Wildecott-Browne, filled out one side of the front row in the Milverscombe church. Agatha Blakeley, her brother and sister from Exeter, and Rune’s sister and her family from Bristol occupied the front row on the other side of the aisle. Almost from the first strains of music from the organ, Jocelyn, Martha, and Hope began to cry. All eyes turned to see Amanda in a lovely cream-colored satin dress beginning to come toward them.
Amanda had asked Gifford, as her closest male relative, to walk her down the aisle and formally give her away. As Amanda slowly came forward on his arm, the expression on her countenance was neither so expansive nor exuberant as shone on her sister’s beaming face. Rather her smile spoke of quiet peace, gratitude, and contentment. If a hint of sadness could yet be detected as a reminder of the pain she had endured growing into readiness for this day, she would have said it was a good sadness from which she would not shrink in order to become all that God would have her be. And in its own way, its presence somehow made her yet more beautiful.
As they went, happy faces turned toward them, all eyes upon Amanda, the girl many of them had known as a tempestuous child, watched leave home as an independent youth, and then seen return as a young lady who was quickly growing into a woman of dignity and virtue just like her mother. Among the guests, to Amanda’s surprise and pleasure, she saw Gwendolen Powell and her husband, and Hubert Powell with his second wife. She gave a slight nod and extra smile as she passed them.
Stiffly Gifford did his best to retain his inexpressive poise as they walked. But even he could not help the edges of his mouth twitching upward occasionally in that most foreign of movements with which his facial muscles were unfamiliar—reflecting back the bright faces of Amanda’s and Stirling’s many friends with the hint of a smile.
“Dearly beloved,” began Timothy a few moments later with a great smile on his face, “we are gathered together this day to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony. . . .”
————
A huge reception was held that afternoon at Heathersleigh Hall. Nearly everyone in town was present. There was more food and drink than any three communities of such size could have consumed in a day, accompanied by much laughter and talk and well-wishing, which even occasionally brought from the cousin once removed of the bride a moment or two of unguarded chuckle and reply.
In late afternoon the bride and groom departed in the Rutherford Peugeot for Torquay. From there they traveled through Oxford, where Stirling showed Amanda the sights of his university years and introduced her to a few friends and professors who remained.
They spent several days in the Midlands, then returned to London, and thence followed Betsy and Hope back to Switzerland for the remainder of their honeymoon.
They spent two weeks at the chalet. Many of the villagers remembered Amanda, and by the end of their stay, Stirling was a favorite throughout the entire village of Wengen. He and Herr Buchmann hit it off in particular, with the latter almost promising to visit the newlyweds in England the following summer.
After three weeks away, they returned to Devon and took up residence in Heathersleigh Cottage.
Sarah remained at the Hall to wait on Jocelyn when she came; Wenda remained in the employ of Gifford and Martha. In his early seventies and though slowing considerably, Hector continued to occupy his room and do what he could to keep up the grounds. He was especially happy now that several of Jocelyn’s favorite horses had been returned to his care.
Gifford managed under the circumstances to do his best to preserve that long-standing British tradition of the stiff upper lip. The entire household treated him as if he were master of the place. He occasionally muttered and fussed, but was generally civil and accepted the ministrations of the houseful of women with grudging acknowledgment. Hector addressed him as “my lord.” He did nothing to discourage the appellation, and occasionally could be seen briefly afterward drawing himself up a little straighter in the back and carrying himself with heightened dignity.
On most mornings, Jocelyn, Martha, Sarah, Wenda, and Hector, along with Gifford when he was not in London, ate breakfast together, after which Gifford departed for the village and the bank.
“Good morning, Mr. Rutherford!” and other such greetings could be heard addressing him as he made his way through the streets of Milverscombe almost as frequently as they had followed his son. Gifford always nodded, rarely smiled, even more rarely retur
ned the greetings. But the hard shell surrounding the seed of life in his heart was being slowly chipped away by the generous and forgiving natures of the simple folk with whom he now must conduct his business.
106
A Christmas Trip
In early December, Timothy, Amanda, and Stirling came to the Hall for tea, as was their custom most Sunday afternoons. As they chatted and ate together, Timothy announced that he would be going abroad for Christmas.
“That’s wonderful, Timothy,” said Jocelyn. “Where are you going?”
“Hope and Betsy have invited me to join them at the chalet for the holidays,” he replied.
“Oh, Timothy!” exclaimed Amanda. “You will positively love it. I can’t think of anything more wonderful than Christmas in Wengen. And the chalet . . . the crèche . . . oh, I wish we could go too!”
“Why don’t you?”
“We just returned from the Continent two weeks ago ourselves!” laughed Stirling. “Please, don’t put ideas in her head! I am just a struggling country doctor—we’re not made of money, you know.”
“Perhaps you shall take up skiing, Timothy,” suggested Jocelyn.
“At my age, I hardly think it advisable!”
“Oh, Timothy,” added Stirling, just remembering, “I will give you a book I borrowed to take back to one of the villagers with whom I have the feeling you will have a delightful time, a fellow by the name of Buchmann.”
“Buchmann,” said Timothy. “An intriguing name.”
“Not half so interesting as the man himself.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Only this—that he loves books, and loves to think about things from unusual angles.”
“It gets better and better!” laughed Timothy. “He does sound like my sort of man. But what kinds of things does he think about, as you say, from unusual angles?”
“I shall leave you to discover that for yourself!” said Stirling, joining him in laughter. “I assure you . . . he will not disappoint you. Take several of your own favorite volumes with you to share. I will tell you this much, he is also an avid friend of the Scotsman.”
“I can hardly wait to make his acquaintance!”
————
Two weeks later, a small steam locomotive pulling a single coach behind it pulled slowly into the tiny station of Wengen high in the Swiss Alps and puffed to a steamy stop.
The entire countryside was white, snow piled in drifts alongside the tracks up to four feet. As Timothy stepped out of the train and glanced around, it seemed to him that he had stepped into a fairy wonderland. The sky was clear, his breath was visible in front of him, for the temperature of the air was well below freezing, and above the rooftops loomed the gigantic presence of the great mountain of which he had heard so much. From somewhere could be heard the tinkling of bells.
There stood Hope on the platform waiting for him, a smile on her lips, tears in her eyes.
Timothy smiled and walked slowly forward. Their eyes met. Timothy’s were also glistening.
Neither spoke a word. Gently they embraced, and held one another several long moments.
Ten minutes later, with Timothy’s bag’s safely in the station to be retrieved later, they began the walk out of the village to the chalet, Hope’s hand through Timothy’s arm. Still few words were spoken, but it felt to both that at last their hearts had come home.
107
A Young Crusoe
One day in May, as flowers were bursting alive all around the quaint but roomy dwelling formerly known as Maggie’s cottage, a knock came to the door, which stood open to the spring sunlight.
Amanda had been working in the garden most of the morning and had just gone inside to begin preparing tea and lunch. Stirling had been out on calls all morning, and she expected him back any moment.
Thinking it was he, she came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Why did you knock—” she began, then paused in midsentence.
There in front of her stood a girl of fifteen or sixteen, a bewildered expression on her face.
“Good morning,” said Amanda. “I’m sorry, but I thought you were my husband. How can I help you?”
“Someone told me in the village that you might be able to help me. They told me how to get here.”
“Why don’t you come in and tell me about it?” said Amanda. “What kind of help do you need?”
“I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of many things,” the girl replied, following Amanda into the kitchen. “Now I want to go home. But I have no money and don’t know how to get there.”
“Where do you live?” asked Amanda, offering her a chair.
“It is a very long way. I came to England . . . to get away, and . . . then my bag was stolen. I am miserable and don’t know what to do.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes . . . yes, I would, thank you.”
“And something to eat?”
She nodded and smiled. “Thank you—to be honest, I am quite hungry.”
“Then we will take care of that right away,” smiled Amanda. “You’re from America, aren’t you?”
The girl nodded.
As Amanda filled the kettle with water, she quietly studied her visitor. The poor girl looked so forlorn, she was reminded of her own wayward years. “Thank you, Lord,” Amanda prayed silently, “for sending this one of your children to me. I pray that she will not only get home, but I also pray for her healing, just as you healed me when I was so far away. Show me how I can help her.”
“There,” she said aloud, “while we are waiting for the water to boil, let’s see about washing up.—Do you have a suitcase?”
“Yes, I left it at the station.”
“That’s fine. My husband will bring it for you later. And why don’t you begin by telling me who you are,” added Amanda as she led her guest into the cottage toward the washroom.
“My name is Sally,” smiled the girl.
Epilogue
Knotted Strands
The girl named Sally remained at Heathersleigh for a month, spending half her time with Jocelyn in the Hall when she was not with Amanda. After contacting her parents and making arrangements, they took her to Southampton and put her on a ship bound for home.
Timothy had returned to England after the Christmas holidays, but only briefly, to pack his few belongings and make arrangement for their transport to Switzerland. He and Hope Guinarde were married in Wengen in March 1924. Amanda, Stirling, and Jocelyn all attended the simple ceremony held in the great fireplace room of the chalet.
Betsy married a young Swiss man from Wengen three years later. When she moved into her new home as a young bride, she could still see the chalet from her kitchen window.
Amanda and Stirling Blakeley had five children—two sons and three daughters—all of whom grew up calling Heathersleigh Cottage their home. Two years after their marriage, Dr. Armbruster retired, turning over his entire practice to Stirling. They came to be known throughout the community as Lady Amanda and Dr. Stirling.
Jocelyn was revered by everyone for miles, and Amanda and Stirling, if possible, came in later years to be yet more loved than had been Amanda’s parents a generation earlier. Jocelyn and Hope visited India together, though Jocelyn did not stay there to work.
Rune Blakeley so skillfully managed the affairs of the Rutherford Foundation that it began to receive donations from other sources. By the latter years of his life, he was frequently sought after—traveling throughout England in suit and tie and briefcase in hand—as a consultant to other foundations and communities desirous of following the Milverscombe model for development and modernization.
Catharine, meanwhile, had two sons and a daughter. The family followed Terrill through the country wherever his career led him. Catharine never had the opportunity to attend university as she had once dreamed, but continued to read avidly. Like his father, Terrill rose to the rank of admiral, commanded a battleship during the Second World
War, then returned again to Plymouth. After his retirement, they moved to a small estate in the Devonshire countryside about six miles from Milverscombe. Catharine and Amanda, still the closest of friends, saw one another at least weekly, and spoke on the telephone with each other every day.
Martha and Jocelyn were together on most days as they grew older. Gifford kept mostly to himself, even after he retired from the bank. Gradually, however, he began to strike up a few acquaintances in the community. Curiously, this included a friendship with Gresham Mudgley’s twenty-five-year-old son after the death of his sheepherder father. The simple young man often came to the Hall, smelling of sheep, to consult with Gifford about one thing or another. His simple trust in and inexplicable affection for the aging banker did Gifford far more good than either realized. Though it was late in his life, Gifford at last began to grow inside, which is the best thing that can ever be said of any man or woman.
Timothy wrote several books, which were published in London. They sold modestly and never generated much income, but came to be highly regarded in certain circles where spiritual inquiry was valued above dogma. He died in 1941. Hope outlived him by fifteen years. At her passing, Betsy and her family moved back to the chalet in order to continue its ministry. Betsy died in 1984. Today the Chalet of Hope is in the hands of two of her daughters, who carry on the vision of its founder in giving hope to all those who come.
After hiring a young assistant in his medical practice, Stirling spent many subsequent summers traveling to various hospitals, wards, sanitariums, universities, and research facilities, furthering his own interest in and participation in the quest for a cure for polio. He frequently contributed to various prestigious medical journals, and in time became recognized as one of the most highly respected names in British polio research. He was offered any number of lucrative positions with some of England’s major hospitals and research facilities. He accepted none of these, however. He was a country doctor, after all, he said, and he was happy and would remain content with his wife and family in Devon.
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