Stranger at Stonewycke
Page 37
Had Lady Margaret herself buried her favorite animals up here? No, that was unlikely. Surely she would have mentioned it. Her mother, the Lady Atlanta? Possibly. Could she have perhaps sought to enshrine the memory of her daughter after her flight to America with a loving tribute in the form of an honored grave at some place the young Maggie loved? It could be, thought Logan. It would be just the sort of thing some mothers would do. Was Lady Atlanta the emotional sort, he wondered? Would she have suffered the loneliness of her latter years in silence, or would she have tried to find outlets through which she could remember her Maggie?
Instead, a picture filled Logan’s mind of an old man, the trusted family groom who had cared for these two beloved horses all their lives, perhaps with tears filling his aged eyes, bending over a roughly hewn hunk of wood, carving out the names of the horses he had loved as his way to remember the young girl he would never see again.
Was it possible, thought Logan, that the two horses were actually buried right here beneath his feet? It hardly seemed possible that the old groom would have hauled the carcasses of two huge beasts all the way up here. Yet it would be possible for a wagon to navigate the Head. And if Lady Atlanta had backed his scheme, with several of the hands assisting, it would not have been out of the question. He had heard of stranger happenings in London.
Logan tucked the board under his arm, turned, and began his downward trek off the small mountain to the point where he had tethered the horse. Maybe he should follow this one last lead, if not to the treasure, at least a little deeper into the past of Lady Margaret and his remarkable ancestor.
He’d give it one more day. He could not resist the challenge of a new set of puzzling questions.
45
Crossroads
Margaret, Joanna, and Allison sat around the large oblong table in Stonewycke’s kitchen.
This was Joanna’s favorite spot in the entire castle, for its homey warmth reminded her of the little kitchen in the cottage she and Alec had shared in the early years of their marriage. It also stirred the memories of her first days in Port Strathy with dear Nathaniel and Letty. They were gone now, but their memory was all the more special because in their home Joanna had given her life to the Lord. She recalled the quiet joy of that day as clearly as if it had only just occurred. She did not think there could possibly be another day so profoundly meaningful, though her wedding day and the birth of her children came close. Yet the moment of her own rebirth went beyond even these milestone events, perhaps because it enriched them and added still more to their meaning.
Yet Joanna now realized there could come another moment as significant to her as that memory of so long ago at the Cuttahay’s—the day, after so many years of inner conflict and struggle, when her own daughter came to the point of repentance and new birth. Only parents can know the depth to which their own children can bring heartache or joy by their responses to life, by their growth, by their sorrows, by their victories. Suddenly mother and daughter became what they had never before been able to be—sisters, born of the same Father.
Joanna reached across the table and took her daughter’s hand. She smiled.
“Allison,” she said, “I just don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for whatever grief I ever caused you.”
“Mother, I know I don’t need to ask your forgiveness,” said Allison, tears welling up in her eyes. “I know now how much you have loved me. But Daddy said that though I wouldn’t have to, I should anyway.”
“Forgiveness is a healing balm,” said her great-grandmother, “a duty that proves to be as much for our own good as it is for another’s.”
“That’s just what Daddy said,” replied Allison. “Mother, will you forgive me? I know I’ve caused you nothing but sadness these last several years.”
“Oh, Allison . . .” said Joanna tenderly, weeping in the fullness of her motherhood. She rose and went to her daughter. Allison rose also, and Joanna embraced her gently. “Of course I forgive you, dear,” she said softly, still crying tears of joy and healing. “And believe me, any grief you may have caused me is far outweighed by my love for you. I’m so sorry for anything I may ever have done to hurt you.”
They clung to one another for some time, as if to make up for the past breach and in anticipation of their future together.
When the tender moment had played itself out, Joanna resumed her seat and Allison struggled to bring up the subject that had been nagging at her but which she knew she had to bring into the open.
“I want so much to change,” she said. “I always wanted to be like both of you. But I felt that I failed. And Grandpa Dorey helped me understand that God could use that failure to help me depend on Him. What I guess I’m trying to say, again, to both of you is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for blaming you for my own inadequacies. And I don’t know how much better I can do, but with God’s help I’m going to try.”
“Dear,” said Margaret, “God does want us to change—to become molded into the image and character of Christ. But what makes you think you must someday become like your mother or me?”
“You are the kind of women God wants. You are the kind of women Stonewycke has always had—generous, kind, loving.”
“Oh, dear, your mother and I are nothing of the sort! Whatever good you may see in us is not us at all. It is His work in us!”
Allison shook her head. “I suppose I’ve used all the rest of you as an excuse not to take responsibility for myself and my own attitudes. I could get away with being a beast while blaming it on you. That’s why I have to both ask your forgiveness and forgive you, too.”
“And forgive yourself,” added Margaret. “When I was in America I was able to forgive my father. But the time came in my life when I had to accept the Lord’s forgiveness for myself, too. The healing that God is always trying to carry out in families, even through the generations, is a forgiveness that extends in many directions—out toward others, inward from others, and outwardly to God as well as inwardly from Him. Only by forgiving and receiving forgiveness in all these ways will true wholeness come to us. We cannot leave any stone unturned, any relationship unhealed, any person unforgiven, if we want God to have His full way with us. And it is through forgiveness and healing that God is able to extend His plan and purpose for a family down through future generations of time. I do not doubt for a moment that my forgiving of my own father is one of the reasons the three of us are sitting here today. God himself only knows what the impact will be, Allison, of the forgiveness now blossoming in your heart.
“But healing is never without profound consequences. I do not doubt that as the history of Stonewycke continues down through the years, Allison, you will play a vital role in it, and that this moment when three generations of Duncan women can join in oneness with the Lord will prove a pivotal crossroads time. Perhaps that is why the Lord has spared me so long, so that I could share this moment with you. Allison, in the name of our Father, I tell you that I love you, and I give you my blessing as you carry on the Duncan line. I do not know how much longer I shall be among you—”
Joanna reached across the table and took her grandmother’s hand. There were tears of admiration and love in her eyes.
“—but however long it is, I will be praying fervently for the continued godly faith of this family, and for you, Allison, as you carry that legacy into the future. I bless you, my child. May the Lord truly be with you!”
All three were silent. As Lady Margaret had been speaking, an aura had seemed to come over her, her entire lifetime focused into that single moment when she passed to her granddaughter and great-granddaughter that life which had sustained her so long. She had been the Lady of Stonewycke, but seemed to sense that now the moment had come to transfer that heritage into their hands.
Joanna first broke the silence, though her eyes remained wet for some time to come. “So you see, dear, you don’t have to be like anyone to please God. You are a unique creation. Whatever gifts and whatever personality you have, He gave y
ou for His purposes. He will not expect you to be like either of us. Stonewycke will face challenges in your lifetime that we have not known. Times change; we live in a modern world. He wants you to be you. Of course He wants us to change where we have been self-centered. He wants to bring healing. But He will not change the special nature He gave you. He only wants it channeled for His purpose.”
“You make it sound easy, Mother.”
“Be assured,” laughed Margaret, “it is not easy—far from it! Especially when you resist, as I did for many years. But in the laying down of self is true healing born. And in that laying down is the only path along which you will find true joy and peace.”
The conversation was abruptly interrupted with a sound from the scullery door. Allison looked up at the instant when Logan Macintyre had just stepped across the threshold.
Joanna, on the opposite side of the table and facing her daughter, did not immediately see who had just walked in. But she noted a strange interplay of emotions cross Allison’s face—initial surprise, as if his arrival was very unexpected though welcome, then a flicker of concern followed by a smile. The smile was unlike any Joanna had ever seen from Allison—shy, a bit awkward, even uncertain.
All these images flashed by in no more than an instant. But in that time, the discerning mother saw, before even the daughter realized it, that Allison was in love.
46
The Lady and the Seeker
Logan had not expected to find three women seated thus. And to the usurper, the man who had come in guile and deceit, they appeared not as three women merely having tea and pleasant conversation, but rather as the mighty first line of defense to their ancestral home. Indeed, his reaction was not far off the mark. For something of a delicate glow yet hovered in the air, which he could feel rather than see, a sense that he had stumbled unknowingly onto holy ground. As indeed he had. For where healing, forgiveness, and new birth are at work, there the Lord surely is. It put him immediately in an exposed position, and he hesitated momentarily.
His eyes strayed toward Allison. He quickly jerked them away, but not before he had caught a glimpse of her smile. There was something different in her face; that much he could see. In so many of her previous smiles he had detected traces of motive or cunning; today her face shone with a purity he had not seen there before.
Why had she chosen this moment to smile at him like that? It nearly undid his resolve to play out this last hand and get away from here. But he had to keep his wits and not melt, smile or no smile. These people were not going to get to him any more!
He yanked on his composure. He had business here. Nothing but business.
He had come directly to the house after leaving Ramsey Head. Entering through the kitchen, as was his custom now that he was accepted about the grounds as an employee, he had hoped to find a servant whom he might send after Lady Margaret, inquiring if he might beg a moment of her time. Though disconcerting, this unexpected turn would at least save time.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to barge in.”
“The kitchen belongs to everyone!” said Joanna cheerily. “There are plenty of places to go in this old house if we expected privacy. What can we do for you?”
“I had hoped to speak with Lady Margaret.”
Allison’s disappointment, though she tried to hide it, was apparent.
“Certainly, Logan, what is it?” the lady asked.
Logan hesitated. Somehow he would have felt safer if he could have gotten the old lady alone. She was cagy enough. But he wasn’t sure he was up to braving a series of questions from all three. The women of this family, after all, were a pretty stalwart breed. He didn’t like to cross them with unfavorable odds.
Joanna, perhaps sensing his misgivings, quickly rose.
“If I’m not needed,” she said, “I have a few things to attend to. Please excuse me.” Then turning to Allison, she added, “I could use your help, Allison . . .”
Allison moved back her chair and retreated with her mother. In the shyness of her change and the uncertainty of her true feelings, she had not uttered a word to Logan.
“Would you like some tea, Mr. Macintyre?” asked Lady Margaret when they were alone. “It’s still quite hot.”
But before he could say anything, she was on her feet and taking a cup and saucer from the cupboard. Why did she have to be so hospitable?
“Now . . .” said the lady, seated again, and pouring the steaming tea from the pot into Logan’s cup.
Logan had carried the board from Ramsey Head into the kitchen with him, setting it against his chair as he sat down. He now picked it up and held it out to his hostess.
“I found this today on the top of Ramsey Head.”
She took the wood and examined it with gradually dawning wonder spreading over her face.
“Raven and Maukin . . .” she murmured.
She laid it on the table, still gazing at the carved names. “Where on the Head did you find it?”
“At the very top, right on the crest.”
“How very like him.”
“You think it was Digory who put this up there?”
“Who else? It would have been so like him to do such a thing. And I think I even recognize a trace of his hand in the letters. He knew how Raven and I loved to romp along the beach and up and down the shore for miles. It was only natural for him to place a memorial to the animal where the view of the sea was the most spectacular.”
“Of course! I see it now,” said Logan, in a detached tone as if a great discovery had suddenly come upon him. He was just then thinking of Digory’s letter and the reference to the girl Maggie riding along the sea.
“Pardon me?”
“Oh . . . nothing . . . it just makes sense when you put it that way. Tell me, Lady Margaret, do you think it possible that the horses are actually buried there? Could that be what this plaque signified?”
“Hmmm . . . that would be something indeed. Quite an undertaking. But he was reasonably strong for his age. He and I dug big holes before.”
“What?”
“Nothing of significance. I was just thinking out loud. I was just reflecting on how it would be the sort of thing he would do, the sentimental old dear! Did it for me, no doubt.” She dabbed her eyes. Thoughts of Digory always brought tears.
“And in his mind it would be only fitting that Maukin should be laid to rest there also,” she concluded.
“I don’t mean to sound disrespectful of the dead, Lady Margaret,” ventured Logan, “but the whole thing does seem rather bizzare. I mean, they were only animals.”
“Very special animals. He knew what they symbolized to Ian and me. They were almost a symbol of our love. We rode those two horses everywhere. And too, it was our mutual love for horses that strengthened the bond between Digory and me.”
She stopped and smiled that peculiar smile of hers, which Logan had yet to fathom. Filled with mystery, wisdom, and sympathy, it was always disconcerting to him, especially today.
“Digory was a man of hope,” she went on. “Perhaps he felt that in keeping alive the memory of the animals which had been so dear to me, he was also keeping alive the hope that I might one day return.”
“It seems rather an absurd and sentimental gesture for a man who was supposed to have faith in God. If he wanted you to return, why didn’t he just pray for it instead of carrying dead horses around the countryside and erecting memorials to a life that was gone and past?”
Logan could see that his statement pierced the lady’s heart. He hadn’t intentionally tried to hurt her. Yet in his present mood, impertinence was but one more tool to insure his isolation, and thus his survival.
When she replied with gracious calm, he had to admire her, though it almost made him angry at the same time. Could nothing rankle this lady?
“I did not know you were an authority on the subject of how men of faith live out their hope, Mr. Macintyre,” she said, with just the merest hint of a challenge in her tone.
Suddenly Logan was sick of the whole lot of them, and their prattle about God. The new air of belligerence in his attitude felt good. It made what he was going to do that much easier. The religious sops! He’d had enough.
Lady Margaret smiled, only this time it was an open smile and filled with amusement.
“I have the impression, Logan,” she said, the smile gone from her lips but lingering in her lively eyes, “that you are trying to strike up an argument with me.”
“Why should I want to do that?” he replied rather too hastily. He was noticeably on the defensive, the cool aplomb of the confidence man wearing thin as his battle to hang on to his past identity increased.
“That’s exactly what puzzles me. I sense that a change has come over you, but I don’t know why.” She fingered her cup thoughtfully. “You are struggling with something, aren’t you?”
Logan barked out a sharp, hollow laugh. “I can’t imagine what would give you that idea. I only want to understand my distant relative better.”
“I only wish that were so. But there’s more to it. Something else is on your mind.” Margaret sipped her tea, then set the cup softly on its saucer. “If you were simply seeking to know your uncle Digory,” she went on, “then I think you would try to understand his faith and not ridicule it—for to understand Digory you must understand his faith. They are too much bound up in one another even to be considered separately.”
“Then to ridicule his faith is to ridicule him?” queried Logan, “and that angers you?”
“You take me wrong, Logan. It doesn’t anger me—rather, it hurts me. But not for Digory’s sake, nor even for mine. It hurts me for your sake.”