“That sounds cynical,” said Loni.
“Don’t be so sure, Alonnah,” said her grandfather. “Your young Scotsman has great insight. I fear he has pinpointed a common thread. Go on,” he said to David.
“I am not primarily speaking of the potential lure of financial opportunism,” David continued, “though that is a legitimate problem. What concerns me more deeply is the division that results between the so-called haves and have-nots, between those who are part of the new revival and who make public displays of the new manifestations of spiritual gifts, and those who are not part of it. I call it the cancer of spiritual elitism.
“There have been several instances of such division in the historic denominations of Scotland, including splits that actually resulted in the identification of ‘Exclusive’ branches growing out of the parent tree.”
David went on to outline some of this history in detail and how it related to his own spiritual journey. “You will scarcely believe it,” he said, “when I tell you that to this day there are some exclusivist Christians who will not break bread with those from other denominations than their own.”
61
Partners of Necessity
WHALES REEF, SHETLAND ISLANDS
Jimmy Joe McLeod had been cooling his heels in these frigid islands far longer than he’d planned. The whisky was good, but the coffee was terrible. And the weather was worse.
He’d waited around five days for the Ford girl to contact him. The driving rain all day Sunday kept him mostly inside. By the first of the week he was going stir-crazy. He’d visited all his holdings in the Shetlands and everything on Thorburn’s list of possible sites that were for sale. Then the letter from the ungrateful minx giving him the brush-off had sent him into a tirade that had only partially moderated by the time he had Ross Thorburn on the phone. In a conversation replete with expletives, he filled in his second in command on the situation.
“I’m not about to just walk away with my tail between my legs,” he barked. “We need to come up with a new angle. I want ideas, Thorburn. You’re the one who has been handling this thing, so you find me a solution or I’ll find someone who will.”
“What is that intended to imply, Mr. McLeod?” asked Thorburn with edge in his tone.
“You know what it means, Thorburn! Don’t make me spell it out.”
Thorburn thought better of pursuing his growing annoyance with the overbearing Texan. “When you were on the island,” he said, “did you have occasion to meet any of the other principal players—the two cousins?” he asked.
“Didn’t have the pleasure,” replied Jimmy Joe sarcastically.
“It might be worth our while to canvass the views of the fisherman at this stage. Our solicitors in Edinburgh tell me he is desirous of contesting the court’s findings.”
“What are his chances?”
“Slim to none. But it tells us that he is not willing to give up without a fight. That could work to our advantage.”
“How’s it gonna do that?”
“I am only suggesting, as his interests dovetail with our own, that he might be an ally in our attempt to gain control of the island. If you are willing to remain where you are another few days, I think this might be the time for you to meet our Mr. Tulloch face-to-face.”
“Then let’s get this ol’ boy into town and rustle us up a plan!”
Ever the uncomplaining assistant, Ross Thorburn swallowed whatever might have been his reaction to his employer’s demanding importunity and did what he always did—Jimmy Joe McLeod’s bidding.
———
Hardy Tulloch walked into the Craigsmont Lounge in Lerwick, gratified again to find a full pitcher of beer awaiting him. He had not yet met the Texan, but the instant he walked into the room he knew who he was. Ross Thorburn, whom he had met previously, was a slender though unusually powerful man for his five-foot-nine frame and limp. But the huge man in boots and hat striding across the floor dwarfed Hardy by as much as Hardy did the diminutive Scotsman.
“How do, partner!” boomed Jimmy Joe. “Heard a heap about you, son—good to shake your hand at last . . . and a powerful hand it is!” he added as the two shook hands. “I like that—don’t do business with a man whose handshake feels like a dead snake. If a man can’t shake hands like he knows what he’s about, he ain’t got no backbone, that’s what I always say.”
Hardy had never been intimidated by another man in his life. He showed no sign of it now. The two titans of machismo were both accustomed to getting their own way. Fortunately, their meeting was based on a shared objective, and no clash of wills arose.
To one side Thorburn watched and listened to the mutual bluster of the two men, keeping no counsel but his own.
“So if I got hold of what you’re telling me,” Jimmy Joe was saying, “for you to get your hands on the property, you gotta shake the Ford gal loose. But she’s kin to the firstborn son a hundred years back or whenever it was.”
“’Tis aboot the size o’ it,” said Hardy, nodding. “He went til America an’ a’body said he gave up the inheritance, or was disinherited by his daddy.”
“The boy didn’t want it?”
“Some folk say the Auld Tulloch cut him off.”
“If that’s true, she’d have no right to it, if her granddaddy was cut off. Any proof of that?”
“None I ever heard aboot,” replied Hardy.
“Then we gotta get us some proof. Who’s living in the place now that the girl’s here?”
“Nobody. An’ she’s gone hersel’.”
“Gone—where’d she go?”
“I dinna ken. She left a couple days ago.”
“Nobody else is there?”
“The housekeeper an’ her brither’s at the Auld Hoose.”
“There’s nobody at the big house?”
Hardy shook his head.
“Well, that’s it, son!” Jimmy Joe boomed. “We’ll go in and have us a look. Ain’t a lock been built that I can’t pick.”
“The door won’t be locked.”
“So much the better!”
“But the auld man’s study’s been boarded up fifty years or more. They say it’s got a deid body inside. That’s likely where his records an’ files an’ sich like would be.”
“Sounds fun to me! We’ll bust it down and have a look for ourselves.”
62
Fountain of Darkness
SOUTHERN PENNSYLVANIA
“All this is a long way around to get to the root of my own spiritual crisis,” said David, “and I apologize for taking so long—”
“No. This is fascinating, and with many parallels to Quakerism,” interrupted Mr. Ford. “We have suffered our own controversies, doctrinal disputes, leadership squabbles, and splits. Please, go on . . . we are extremely interested.”
“You are very kind,” laughed David. “Not everyone would be so gracious.”
“No apologies needed, I assure you,” said Mr. Ford. “I find your story fascinating.”
“Well, then, to make a long story just a little longer . . . my life intersected with this history I have outlined when I was about ten. The American cousin of our school teacher came from the United States with her husband preaching a corrupt form of experientialism in the extreme. Signs and wonders, healings, and speaking in tongues were all part of their bag of tricks to beguile and impress and sway the people.”
“Were they affiliated with any of the denominations you mentioned earlier?”
“No, but their influence was even more exclusivist. I learned much later that the man was not a pastor at all. He had left his family, had an affair, subsequently married the young woman, and started a home Bible study where they honed their cultish ways. They called their little home church the Fountain of Light. As their appetite for influence grew, they expanded their horizons, until eventually the woman’s cousin invited them for an extended visit to the Shetlands.”
“What happened?”
“They turned the island of
Whales Reef on its head. The gullible community was mesmerized. People flocked to their meetings and were putty in their hands. Speaking in tongues and the laying on of hands and exuberant singing and dancing and supposed healings and all manner of spiritual outpourings followed. Their meetings became emotional free-for-alls.”
“Surely everybody on the island was not swept into it?” said Loni.
“Thankfully no,” replied David. “But enough to split the community between those who had seen the light and those who hadn’t. This elitist mentality is deeply ingrained in the Scottish spiritual psyche dating back to the late 1500s when Calvinist reformer John Knox thundered against Catholic Mary Queen of Scots, when reformers burned at the stake heretics who did not endorse their intolerant form of Christianity. It has been part of our history right down to the Brethren exclusivists of forty and fifty years ago. Exclusivism is part and parcel of Scotland’s religious heritage.”
“What you are describing is simply a microcosm of the universal problem of judgmentalism within Christendom,” said Mr. Ford.
“I suppose you’re right, and our island was just a microcosm on a smaller scale of the same thing. In Whales Reef, the self-styled Sister Grace and Brother Wisdom found fertile soil to spread their cult-like teaching.
“The division was dreadful. Families were sundered. Neighbor refused to speak to neighbor. The church was taken over with the teaching. The Fountainites would literally cross the street and refuse to greet the reprobate non-Fountainites. Three deaths resulted directly from it.”
“I can’t believe it—that’s horrible,” said Loni.
David drew in a breath. “As you know, Loni, one of those was my best friend. It is little wonder that the experience scarred me deeply. I am sorry to say that it sowed seeds of bitterness in my heart toward my father for not stepping in and sending the two Americans away. Neither he nor my mother became Fountainites. But I could not understand why my father did not take a public stand against it. That’s what made his death all the harder. I knew I had harbored resentments. Suddenly he was dead and I had guilt to add to the trauma of losing him.
“The whole experience turned me away from the church and organized Christian movements. The pastor of our kirk at the time allowed such division to reign in the community that I completely lost respect for the church and its clergy. I confess it also made me wary of Americans. I am embarrassed to say that I struggled when I learned about you,” he said, turning to Loni. “I feared another American coming to upset and divide our community.”
“I hope I will not do that,” said Loni with a smile.
“I know you well enough to be sure you will not,” rejoined David. “But all this explains why my spiritual quest has been an inward one. Over the years, of course, I had to take my resentments and guilt to the Lord for healing. And I grew capable of thinking about matters of spirituality on more profound levels than as a boy. The chieftainship came to matter to me more than my own life. I vowed that never again would any man or woman steal the legacy of my people or work division among them. And never again would a chief remain silent when its people were threatened by evil or falsehood.”
“I think I am at last beginning to understand,” said Loni. “Thank you for sharing all that, David. Much more makes sense now.” She turned to her grandfather. “I told David last week, Grandpa, that you would like him. That was before I knew his story. But I sensed that the two of you would be kindred spirits.”
“She also said he might make a Quaker of me,” put in David. “What do you think, Mr. Ford?” said David with the hint of a smile.
“I would never try such a thing,” replied Loni’s grandfather seriously. “My days of thinking we Quakers have a corner on truth are long gone. Your father, Alonnah, in his own way, taught me that.”
“How so, Grandpa?” asked Loni.
“His leaving the Fellowship made us realize how we had unknowingly allowed legalism to infiltrate our beliefs too. No one is immune. We must be constantly on guard. Legalism, experientialism, and elitism, as you point out, David, are cancers to which Christianity is almost abnormally susceptible.”
“How can they be prevented, Grandpa?” asked Loni.
Mr. Ford looked at David. “Would you care to answer her?”
“I would rather hear your response. Loni is forever saying, ‘My grandfather would say this,’ or ‘My grandfather would say that.’ I am eager to know how you would answer her question.”
Tears filled Mr. Ford’s eyes at David’s words. “I would say, then,” he replied, blinking hard, “that if one is not actively living the principles inherent in the commands of Jesus, and seeking diligently to live life at the Center, the twin evils of doctrinal legalism and experientialism will almost always corrupt even the most vital expressions of our faith.
“From my limited vantage point I would say that the Quaker emphasis on quietude has provided a helpful antidote against the excesses of experientialism from which all of Christendom could learn. However, legalism lies in wait everywhere. Even the most radiant experience of the Light Within, if it leads not to obedience to Christ’s commands, will become but one more spoiled blossom on the long history of experientialism in the church. To answer your question, Alonnah, the only preventative to legalism is obedience.”
63
The Rolltop Desk
The next morning after a farmer’s breakfast of American pancakes with maple syrup, Loni led David outside toward the barn.
“I knew my grandfather would take to you,” she said. “And my grandmother! I could not believe last night. They’re always in bed by nine, but they were still going strong hours after that.”
“They are a fascinating and energetic man and woman,” said David. “How old are they?”
“They’re both over eighty.”
“That is hard to believe. They seem in their fifties.”
They entered the dusky interior, where Loni proceeded to pull the chains for the bulbs hanging overhead. Each new burst of light brought exclamations from David as he took in the sights and smells of the huge building filled with old farm machinery and tools and bits of old furniture.
“I love this place!” said David. “What a heaven to grow up in.”
“I want to show you where my recent saga began,” said Loni as they continued into the depths of the barn. “It’s where the remnants of my Tulloch past were buried so far out of sight that no one knew about them.”
She led the way to the far end of the building. They came to a stop in front of the rolltop desk.
“It looks just like the desk you showed me in the study at the Cottage,” said David.
“It is an exact replica made by Brogan after he returned to the States following his father’s funeral,” said Loni. “Actually he made them both.”
“He must have been quite a craftsman.”
“That trait seems to run on both sides of the family. Brogan’s son was Grant Tulloch, my other grandfather.”
Loni opened a drawer and pulled out the box of business cards. She handed one to David.
He read aloud, “Tulloch Fine Furnishings and Antiques—Old World Craftsmanship with Modern Functionality: Grant Tulloch, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”
“Grant’s daughter was my mother, Alison, who married the Fords’ son, Chad.”
“So this is where your Scottish heritage merges with your American roots,” said David, “in the back of a barn in an old forgotten desk in the farmland of Pennsylvania. An incredible story.”
“Your being here, in its own way, adds to the completion of the circle,” said Loni. “You are also related to these people—not directly like me, but tracing our parallel lineage back to old Ernest.”
“All these years you didn’t know about your mother’s family, while over in the Shetlands we didn’t know what became of Brogan. Suddenly both mysteries are solved.”
“It is amazing when you think about it. The clues to both mysteries were in this desk, so intrinsically linke
d to its twin in the mysterious locked room of the Cottage. Everything converges here.”
Loni began searching again, more meticulously than she had a month earlier. “When I was here before, I had no idea what I was looking for. I just rummaged about haphazardly. Now I am wondering if there is more we can discover about those years when the Tulloch name in America was lost sight of to its Shetland cousins.”
After a few minutes, she withdrew an unlabeled manila envelope from one of the lower drawers. She lifted it out, peered inside, and took out a smaller envelope. She opened it and withdrew two sheets of thin parchment. Her eyes widened as she quickly scanned it.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “How could I have missed this before?”
“What did you find?” asked David.
“It’s a letter from my father to his parents . . . my grandparents!”
Loni sat down on a dusty chair and began to read.
“He must never have sent it,” she murmured. Her voice was scarcely audible. “It’s dated 1975, the year after I was born.”
After another minute she looked up to where David stood waiting. “This explains so much,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know if I should show it to them. I am reading my own father’s words when he was younger than I am now.”
David listened attentively but offered no comment.
“It will break their hearts to see it,” Loni said as if thinking aloud. “Though maybe in a good way. I have to show it to them.”
With tears flowing freely, Loni handed David the letter.
Dear Mother and Father, he read.
I hardly know where to begin, so I will just say that I love you and am sorry for the heartache I have caused you. I honor and treasure my Quaker roots, and the training in spiritual values you gave me. I would not be the man I am without you. I am grateful beyond words.
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