She was more than grateful to escape some truths her heart was revealing.
A large goose was honking and pecking wildly at the children.
“Stand back and watch, children. The mother is unsure of you and wants to keep you away from her goslings.”
As she reached Mary, the goose turned and lunged at her. Startled, Heather slipped, lost her balance, and fell backward into the river. After a couple of attempts to right herself, she finally was able to stand, soaked in water up to her chest.
The children stood by with their mouths hanging open. When they saw her break into laughter, they joined in her mirth.
Mary continued to giggle. “That was so funny. Are you hurt?”
“Nay, but I feel a bit foolish, especially after warning you two to be careful around the riverbank.” She picked herself up and began wringing the water from her skirt. “What do you say we gather our things and bid goosey good day? I would like to dry off. The water has gotten considerably cooler.”
The sound of brittle leaves beneath their feet was a reminder of the autumn season well underway. Heather glanced at the copse of apple trees. “We should pick some more apples later.”
Mark’s grin was infectious. “Some pie or dumplings would be fine.”
When they arrived back to the cottage, they saw George Whitcomb standing in the yard. She groaned. Once again he had caught her at her worst. “Mr. Whitcomb, I hope you have not been waiting long. As you can no doubt guess, we have been down by the river.” She continued to fan her skirt to keep it from sticking to her legs.
The children ran up to the porch to check on Randolph.
George laughed. “Heather Stewart, you do have an uncanny way of totally immersing yourself in your activities. I stopped by to see how the three of you are doing. I plan to fix that garden gate. Is there is anything else you need done?”
“Nay, we are doing fine, but I appreciate your help and thank you for stopping by.”
“Well, Hannah and I would like you to join us for dinner tomorrow, if you can.”
“May we?” Mary’s voice was full of excitement.
Heather smiled at the two joy-filled faces. She could not deny them the chance to play with the young Whitcombs.
“That would be very nice, Mr. Whitcomb. Thank you. And please thank Mrs. Whitcomb.”
“We shall expect you around two.” George got back on his gray steed and rode off down the path.
Heather watched the horse and rider grow smaller as they headed off in the direction of their farm. Dread began to fill her. She was in no mood for Hannah’s nosiness, but the children needed their companions. If only the woman would not gossip or pry for once. She mounted the steps to go inside. Lord, please give me a patient and understanding heart. She did not have it in her to withstand the woman’s barbs. Back in the house, they put away the remnants of their meal.
“May we go to back to the river tomorrow to fish—after we come back from the Whitcombs’?” Mary petted Randolph, who was resting on her lap.
Mark smiled. “I want to go fishing.”
“Perhaps, later, but only if we get our chores done.”
After picking enough apples for a pie and completing the day’s activities, the children were ready for bed. Her work done for the day, she settled herself in the chair next to the hearth with a steaming cup of tea. Her eyes fell on Randolph, sitting in his box, busy chomping on a carrot. The small rabbit had endeared himself so much in the past week that it was impossible to banish him to the barn.
“You really are a remarkable rabbit, Randolph, and unusually tidy. However, I am not sure you are going to convince Mr. Stewart that you should reside in the cottage.” She took a slow sip of her tea, still reflecting on the furry creature. “Will you stay with us or seek your freedom? You are safe here and cared for. Would you give up this haven, Randolph, for the potential problems that lie beyond these walls and fields? It is a big, unknown world, full of danger and disappointment.”
As she stared back to the flickering flame, and away from her tiny companion, she winced. Oh yes, the world was full of disappointment. She had only to think back nearly a year to remember. What had prompted her to send that letter to Robert? Ahh, yes—holding Ross and Anne’s baby.
Wistful, Heather recalled how she had gazed down on her newest nephew, kissing his tiny head. “Oh, how I would love to have someone like you of my very own.”
“Well, you better get that barrister fellow to marry you, lass, and soon, for you are no longer young.” Her father’s sharp words stung.
“We plan to, Father. Robert is very responsible and wants everything to be perfect for us when we marry.”
“Is it a fine house and position you want, or a husband?” Her father was irritable but remarkably lucid that night.
Later that evening, she would write Robert and tell him. He needed to know that all she desired was to be his wife—that being by his side was what she truly cared about—not about starting their marriage with a fine house and furnishings.
Heather took a deep breath. Perhaps the whole episode of the letter was providential. After all, in the end, it uncovered the truth about Ross’ guile and his dealings with Robert. It also divulged many previously unknown aspects of Robert’s life and character, as well as her own naivety.
She came back to the present with a start. The fire was out and her tea cold.
It was over. She would never understand why Robert chose the path he took. Somehow, time, distance, and all she had gone through since made all the anger and bitterness meaningless. I must forgive him, Lord. I thought I had, but the hurt has continued to cripple me. It was foolish to have been taken in by his charm. I know I am forgiven in Your eyes. It was not Ross who saved me from a wrong entanglement, Lord. It was You.
Strangely, for the first time, she was not overwhelmed with depression when examining her past. Her heart had been broken. However, how much more pain she would have experienced had their relationship continued. Exhausted, she was ready to sleep. What man meant for ill, You used for good. Thank You, Lord.
CHAPTER 23
“Mary, Mark, it is time to say our good-byes and go home,” Heather called to the group of children playing near the barn as she stepped out onto the Whitcombs’ front porch.
“It was kind of you to have us over today. Thank you both.” She smiled at the Whitcombs, grateful the time spent there had passed with very few awkward conversations with Hannah. “And George, thank you again for fixing the garden gate. It would have taken me so much longer, and I am sure I would not have done it nearly as well.”
Hannah said goodbye and returned to the house. George walked beside Heather to the path leading home. “I have had more opportunities to perfect that skill. And I meant it, Heather, tell us if you need anything. Without Matt around, you may have jobs come up that are better left to a man, and with Thorpe gone, I am the closest one around.”
“How true. I appreciate your offer.” She smiled and turned toward Mary and Mark, who were already headed down the worn trail toward home.
George coughed. “Did I mention I saw that Thorpe fella when I was in Leesburg a few days ago?”
Her body grew tense at George’s casual remark, grateful she was not facing him for fear he would note the distress on her face. “Do not go so far ahead of me, children,” she called. “I shall be there in a minute.”
She turned toward George, wanting to appear as calm as possible. Surely the Whitcombs were not aware of the details surrounding Thorpe’s departure from their farm.
“No, you had not mentioned that. We had no idea that Mr. Thorpe was still in the area.”
“Matthew did not say why he left your place, but I had the impression it was not under the best of circumstances. Thorpe was picking up some farm supplies for the place he is working at now.”
“I see. So you had occasion to speak with him.”
“Only to learn he hired on at a nearby farm for corn harvesting and was staying through h
og killing time.”
“You did not happen to mention anything about Matthew’s absence, did you?”
“No. I cannot remember saying anything about that.”
“Well, we will be off, George. Be sure to thank Hannah again for us.”
Relieved, she turned and made her way to where the children were picking berries off some shrubs along the side of the path. Leesburg was around twenty miles from their farm, so it was unlikely that they would see any more of Travis Thorpe.
The air was pleasantly cool, and the brown leaves crackled beneath their feet as they walked home. Cutting through a field, the family quickly arrived home. The leaves’ vibrant fall colors were breathtaking. She and the children made plans to go apple picking again the next day, after church.
“Mark, we need to get you inside for a wee rest if you want to go fishing later.” She gently led the child up the steps before turning to Mary. “Would you check the squash and other vegetables to see if there are any ready for picking?”
Mary nodded and headed to the garden with a bucket.
Not many minutes later, while she was working in the barn, she heard Mary’s voice shouting from the house. She ran to see what had upset the child.
Mary’s angry, tear-stained face appeared almost crimson as she stared at Mark. “You broke my doll. Her head is broken.”
Mark was huddled against their pallet. “Sorry, Mary,” he wailed, large tears rolling down his face.
Heather put her arm around Mary. “What happened? I heard you hollering from the barn.”
“He broke my doll’s head to bits. It is ruined.”
She examined the doll and studied each of the children.
“I am sorry. It fell from up there.” Mark pointed to the loft.
His small, penitent face touched Heather’s heart. “And what was the doll—or you—doing up there, Mark?”
“Dolly wanted to sleep in Papa’s bed.”
“Well, Mark, you should not have taken Mary’s doll up there. I do not even like you climbing up there. You might have fallen and gotten hurt.”
Mary’s arms were crossed, holding the doll tight against her chest. “He broke my doll. I hate him.”
Heather kneeled down in front of Mary and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Now wait a moment, lassie. You are angry, but we both know you do not hate Mark, and you certainly should not speak to him that way. He said he was sorry, Mary. It was an accident. You need to forgive him.”
“No. I shall not forgive him. Not ever. Why are you taking his side? Mama gave her to me.” Mary shook her head, all the while cradling the broken doll.
“I am not taking anyone’s side.” She reached out and took Mary’s hand in hers. “I am sorry your doll is broken. You love your doll, particularly because your mother gave it to you, and you are sad, but nothing is to be gained by unkind words or staying angry at Mark.”
Mary pulled her hand away. Her fury showed in her furrowed brows and clenched lips. Still holding the doll with one hand, she placed her other fist on her hip.
Mark approached his sister. “I am sorry. Please forgive me, Mary.”
“No. I do not have to.” She stood defiant, shaking her head and staring all the while at Heather.
Mark, sniffling, walked back to the pallet.
She was torn. Which child needed her most at the moment? She once again took Mary’s hand. “When you do not forgive, Mary, you not only hurt Mark, but you hurt yourself. Resentment and anger can fester like a wound, and grow. It will injure you more in the end.”
Stubbornness remained evident in the young girl’s eyes and stance.
“Mary, how would you feel if you had an accident or did something wrong? What if you were genuinely sorry and wanted to be forgiven, and the person you wronged denied you the forgiveness you sought?”
The girl said nothing.
“Mark has done his part, Mary. He is genuinely penitent for what was an unfortunate accident. Now, as difficult as it may be, your responsibility is to forgive and not hold a grudge.” She headed toward the pallet to comfort Mark. “Perhaps you need time to think about it for a bit.”
When Mary walked out the door without a word, Heather turned to Mark. “Give her some time. She will come around. Now, please take a rest. And no climbing up to the loft anymore, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she stepped outside, she found Mary sitting on the porch chair, her chin resting on her hands. Mary turned her head, averting her eyes, evidently intent on not furthering the conversation.
“I need to finish up in the barn, Mary. If you want to talk about it, you are welcome to join me.”
She spent the next hour in the barn completing her tasks, but she was burdened by the earlier exchange she and the children had shared. She was a fine one to be speaking to anyone about forgiveness. Pushing the conflicting thoughts from her mind, she returned to the cottage. Mark was playing with some toys on the pallet. Mary was sitting quietly at the table working on her embroidery.
She glanced at Mark. “It is a lovely afternoon. Do you want to take our supper down to the river and fish for a bit before it gets too dark?” She knew he would eagerly agree with her plan.
Mark jumped up. “Oh yes.”
Mary kept her eyes on her work. “Perhaps.” She seemed determined to hold on to her anger. They each set about their separate tasks in preparation. Mark went to dig some worms from the garden, Mary gathered the fishing poles, and Heather prepared a light meal and placed it in a basket. Before closing the door, she returned to collect a quilt to sit on.
The walk to the river was quiet but not wholly unpleasant. Each of them was in their own little world. Mark was content carrying a bucket of worms and dragging a stick through the leaves along the path, Mary carried the poles, and Heather had the quilt and picnic basket.
When they got to the riverbank, Heather helped Mark bait his hook. The children each found a spot to their liking to wait for the fish to bite. Once the quilt was spread beneath a tree, Heather made herself comfortable, grateful the wee ones appeared to be in a temporary truce. Mary, sitting nearby, glanced back at her. Mark was thoroughly absorbed in the fishing. What were those Scripture verses she knew so long ago?
“I have thought about our earlier conversation, Mary. If someone, a brother, sins against us, we can rebuke him, but if he repents, we must forgive him.”
Was Mary even paying attention? She hoped to reach the child. “We are to be kind and tenderhearted to one another, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ’s sake, hath forgiven you.”
Mary’s eyes welled up with tears. “That is easy for you. You do not have to forgive a brother for being mean—for breaking something of yours.”
Heather jerked back as if she had been slapped. A lump formed in her throat as she went to help Mark put another worm on his hook.
Staring at the river, tears came to her eyes. The choice to forgive was not totally dependent on the penitence of the offender. How swift she was to observe the lack of forgiveness in others, yet slow to note it within herself. Perhaps she needed to remove the “beam” from her own eye before she admonished anyone to remove the “mote” from theirs.
Was she sincerely willing to forgive Robert ... and Ross?
Later that night, she asked Mary to stay up with her after she tucked Mark into bed.
“Mary, earlier you suggested that forgiving a brother would be easy for me. Well—” She sought the right words, hoping her motives were honest and pure. “I know how hard it can be to forgive someone.”
The young girl’s amber eyes glistened in the dim light.
She had Mary’s attention. “I have people in my life whom I held grudges against, including my own brother, for a wrong he committed against me. This whole episode with you and Mark has reminded me of my own need to extend forgiveness and grace to others. I have been wrong. As Christians, we have been forgiven by our Father for all our sins. I cannot hope to teach you to forgive Mark if
I am incapable of pardoning others. So, I am confessing my own lack of forgiveness and my hypocrisy. I must forgive my brother, and others, for any and all offenses committed against me. I need to ask the Lord to take the bitterness from my heart.” She smoothed the child’s dark tresses.
“What did your brother do?”
Heather paused. How much should she tell the child? “My brother deceived me. He was selfish and unkind.” The specific details did not matter, nor need mentioning. “What is important is that I did not—I have not forgiven him, and it has remained like a poison within me since before I left Scotland.”
The girl’s golden-brown eyes searched hers, waiting for something more.
“Mary, we are not responsible for others’ choices, accidents, unkind words, or actions. But we are accountable for how we respond to them. If someone wrongs us, even if they do not repent or ask for forgiveness, we must forgive them. If we do not, we sin. When Mark made a mistake by accidentally breaking your doll, he did apologize and ask for forgiveness.”
Mary bit her lip and glanced away.
“God is faithful, Mary. When we confess our sins and are truly repentant, He forgives us and cleanses us from all unrighteousness.”
The young girl’s face softened and a sliver of a smile appeared—a priceless treasure Heather would not soon forget.
They rose and headed toward the pallet. “Sweet dreams.” She stroked the girl’s cheek.
“Good night.”
She walked back to the hearth and sat watching the dancing flames. She heard the children’s voices over the crackling logs.
“I forgive you for breaking my doll.”
“Thank you, Mary. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Tears of joy filled her eyes. I do not require Ross’s—or Robert’s— repentance to forgive them. I do it because You, Father, have forgiven me. Thank you. I am sorry it took so long.
CHAPTER 24
Amelia and Aaron Turner beckoned to Heather and the children when they arrived at church, right before the service began. Heather smiled as she, Mary, and Mark took their seats on the bench beside the Turners. After the service, Amelia encouraged them to join the rest of the congregation at the potluck picnic.
A Heart Set Free Page 20