Before Percy finished speaking, the poor vicar was on his feet, tears streaming down his face, covering the distance between them in two great strides. The next instant, father and son were in one another’s arms, Percy weeping freely and without shame.
“I’m so sorry, Father. Do you forgive me?”
“You have always been forgiven, Percy, my son,” whispered Edward. “The forgiveness has existed within my heart all along. Yet to complete the transaction, it was necessary for you to ask, that I might give it to you. So I do give it to you now. Of course you are forgiven for anything and everything. I love you.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Percy softly. “I love you, too.”
A moment more they stood then gradually fell away.
“There is one more thing I need to say,” said Percy. “Or, I should say, something I want to ask.”
“Anything,” replied the father, taking his chair again as he fumbled with his handkerchief at his eyes.
Percy took the seat his father had previously offered. He leaned forward then took a deep breath. “I have been thinking about my future,” he began. “I have squandered the years when I should have been working and studying. I realize it is a great deal to ask … but might you be willing to help me catch back up on my studies and make up for my poor marks and help me prepare for the university? When we were out on our last ride together, Uncle Roderick suggested I try to make a go of it. I think I’d like to try.”
“Of course, Percy. Nothing could delight me more.”
“I know I will be a year, maybe two behind others my age. As it stands now, I could not even get into the university—”
“I know people that might be able to make a difference in that regard.”
“I don’t want strings pulled for me, Father,” said Percy. “I want to work hard and improve my marks—”
“We shall find you a tutor.”
“Perhaps I might enroll in one of the grammar schools to prepare for the bursary competition. I do not want to attend university until I have earned that right and until I am ready.”
“What is it you think you want to study toward?” asked the vicar, having no idea what was coming.
“I haven’t really settled on anything definite yet,” replied Percy. “I don’t have to make any hasty decisions.”
He paused. An almost sheepish expression came over his face. “I know it may be hard for you to believe,” Percy added after a moment, “but actually … I have been thinking of possibly following your own footsteps.”
“Well, Percy,” replied Drummond, whose heart swelled with pride and his eyes filled with tears to hear his son speak so, “in answer to your question—yes, I shall do all that is in my power to help you … if it means tutoring you myself!”
PART TWO
Return Visit 1870
FIFTY-ONE
The University of the North
Time is a curious commodity for the young. No clock’s minute hand moves more slowly than one being watched by a bored and listless youth with time on his hands.
For the youth in love, however, or the young man filled with dreams and vision and energy and plans, time races by, and never a glance is sent toward the clock on the wall. The chimes of its hours seem to ring out every five minutes with the pressing reminder that there is not enough time. Caught up in the moment, hours, weeks, months race by in a blur.
Truly for the young at heart, a day is as a thousand years, a thousand years as a day. Youth’s present stands as an eternal now of existence—there is no past, no future.
Percival Drummond’s suddenly altered outlook on life was all-consuming. Quickly the eventful months in Wales receded as a dream into his memory. He did not forget. He would never forget. It was a good dream, a wondrous dream. Scarce an hour, certainly not a day passed that he did not think about Wales and smile with the reminder of those individuals who had made it such a pivotal time of new focus for him.
But as a result of those brief months, he now had new goals and dreams. Those ambitions drove him in a way he had never been driven before. He had no leisure to dwell on the past. The future beckoned.
Within a year of his return home from Snowdonia, he had applied himself so diligently to his studies that, with a little of his father’s influence, but no more than Percy was comfortable with, he had so rapidly advanced ahead of his peers and beyond all expectations of his incredulous instructors, that shortly after his eighteenth birthday, having spent the summer of 1868 in an intensive preparatory program, he had been accepted to continue his studies at the University of Aberdeen the following year. His acceptance for the fall term, however, was predicated on yet another summer of hard work, in the great northern seaport itself, in a rigorous program for incoming Bajan, or first-year, students whose educational resumes were not quite as thorough as the university preferred to see.
Edward, Mary, and Percival Drummond traveled to Aberdeen together in May of that year to get Percy settled into his new lodgings for the summer and following term.
He still had not settled on a career. His initial enthusiasm for the pastorate had, if not waned, been tempered by the very practical question whether he would indeed be temperamentally suited, as he had said, to follow in his father’s footsteps. Nothing could have pleased Edward Drummond more. Yet he desired the best for Percy over whatever gratification he might feel by having a son in the ministry. He therefore encouraged Percy to explore a wide range of options. He put to him the very questions he had forced upon himself at the same crossroads of his own life—Is this truly what God wants me to do? and Is this how I can best serve Him with my life?
Father and son continued to discuss the matter at length. Many thoughtful and personal letters passed between Aberdeen and Glasgow.
Percy’s studies in the great northern university began in earnest in the fall of 1869. They remained so demanding that he hardly had time to think of anything else. By the end of the term, he and his father were discussing both law and engineering as alternate potential career choices. Percy found both possibilities intriguing ones.
As he began to contemplate his prospects for the upcoming summer prior to his second term, the first in two years in which he would not have required schooling to look forward to, reminders of Snowdonia drifted into his consciousness.
The song of Wales crept out of hiding and began singing again to his soul.
FIFTY-TWO
Westbrooke Manor Again
It hardly seemed possible that three years had passed since Percy Drummond’s eventful visit to North Wales. Life-changing it had indeed been.
At nineteen, as he now looked back on his existence leading up to that fateful time, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his father’s courage to take such strong action on his behalf.
As he sat on the coach bouncing over the countryside toward Llanfryniog, how very different were the thoughts going through his brain from that day three years earlier when he and his father had jostled along this same road in chilly silence.
He remembered that first awkward encounter with his aunt Katherine and uncle Roderick. He thought he would be so bored in Wales. As it turned out, his memories of the coast of Gwynedd were among the most wonderful of his life.
He did not have as long this time as before—a mere three weeks. Then he would have to hurry north to begin a tutoring assignment in Aberdeen. But he determined to make the most of what time he had.
It would be interesting to see whether his cousins had changed. Reports had reached them that Courtenay had just completed his second year at Oxford and had not been home in all those two years. He had only preceded him to Wales by a couple of weeks. And Florilyn—he hardly knew what to expect from her. Would she be the old Florilyn or the new Florilyn, the tempestuous and self-centered girl of his first meeting three years ago or the girl who had begun to show signs of sensitivity and compassion?
Actually the invitation from his uncle a month ago, coinciding with Percy’s own thoughts of
another visit south, came as something of a surprise. He should think having his son home would be sufficient diversion for the viscount. As he fell to reflecting on his uncle Roderick, however, Percy realized what an enigma the man was. It was not until he was home in Glasgow after his previous visit—of course by then he was beginning to see many things differently—that he began to realize that he had grown genuinely fond of his uncle during his sojourn in his home.
Perhaps he felt sorry for him. It was not difficult to see that he was more or less alienated from many of those around him—wife, son, daughter, tenants. The origin of the tension that existed within the man was difficult to identify. At one moment he could be so impulsive, the next indecisive. Nor did closer inspection fail to reveal some lingering mystery that seemed to hover over his uncle’s countenance like a far-off dream that nothing in his present circumstances appeared sufficient to account for.
Perhaps all these factors explained why Percy occasionally had the odd sensation, though he had been young at the time of his visit, that his uncle was attempting to reach out to him more than he was capable of to his own son or daughter.
Percy stepped from the coach in front of Mistress Chattan’s inn and glanced around with an enormous feeling of satisfaction. It was all so familiar again!
He hardly had a chance to reflect on the sight of the main street or fill his lungs with the crisp, tangy sea air before a jubilant cry pierced his eardrums.
“Percy!”
He turned to see his cousin Florilyn rushing toward him from a waiting buggy across the street. She flew squealing to him, nearly knocking him over by her embrace.
“My, oh my!” laughed Percy, hugging her tight. He took a step back, placed his hands on her two shoulders, and looked her over from a considerably higher vantage point than before. “That is the most affectionate greeting I’ve had from anyone in years! Is it really you, my little Florilyn? When did you become a woman? Gosh, you are beautiful!”
Florilyn laughed in delight, though her face reddened with the compliment.
In truth, as Florilyn sat in the buggy with her mother and had seen the southbound coach roll up and stop in front of the inn, a sudden wave of timidity swept through her. What if Percy didn’t remember her?
That was absurd, she told herself—of course he would remember! But what if he was … different … aloof … sophisticated? What if he had no use for her now? Courtenay had been so changed when he arrived two weeks ago. He hardly spoke to any of them, just sulked around moodily and acted as if he were better than everyone else. Being away at university had changed him. What if it had changed Percy? What if he—horrible thought!—was like Courtenay? She didn’t think she could bear it.
As such reflections swirled through her brain, she saw a great lanky youth step onto the street. For a second or two she wasn’t sure she recognized him. The young man was so tall! He appeared much older than she expected. He looked so dashing in the dark blue suit. Was it really … him?
Florilyn hesitated.
Then came a slight turn of the head. A breeze caught the corner of the light brown crop of hair in just the right way. It was all the recognition she needed.
Florilyn was out of the buggy bounding toward him the next moment. With the sound of his voice, all uncertainty vanished. He was still Percy!
True, the voice was deeper, more self-assured, no longer the voice of a boy on the threshold of manhood but of a youth well advanced toward it. But it was a voice that had lost none of its humor.
“I almost wasn’t sure it was you,” she said, “until I heard you speak. You’re so tall!”
“What about you?” rejoined Percy. “You’ve put on two or three inches.”
“You must have put on four or six! I think you’re taller than Courtenay now. He will be so jealous.”
“That’s all I need!” Percy laughed.
“And you’re just as funny as ever!”
“I’m still waiting for an answer to my question,” said Percy.
“What question?”
“When did you become so stunningly beautiful?”
Again Florilyn laughed. This time she could not hide her embarrassment. “Maybe at the same time you became such a handsome man,” she replied.
“Touché! A good one—you got me there.” He laughed. “I can see that I had better not pester you about being beautiful, though I must say … you really are! Is that your mother with you?” he asked, glancing across the street.
“Yes, it’s her.”
Percy ran across and poked his head inside the covered buggy. “Aunt Katherine!” he said, leaning in and giving her a warm hug. “It is wonderful to see you again. You look well.”
“And you, Percy,” said his aunt. “Welcome again to Wales! Roderick would have come as well but got tied up with something or another. He will be so pleased to see you. He has been talking about your coming every day.”
Inwardly Percy hoped his uncle wasn’t doing so around Courtenay. “Just let me get my bags,” he added and ran back to the coach.
Five minutes later they were bouncing out of town, Florilyn at the reins, Percy seated between her and her mother.
“I can’t believe I am really here again!” said Percy. “Everything looks the same. I can’t wait to explore everywhere—go riding and walk the beach … everything!”
Katherine laughed at his enthusiasm. “Are you sure three weeks will be enough?”
“No, it won’t! Unfortunately, it’s all I’ve got. The opportunity to tutor two young boys for the summer came up in Aberdeen. The pay was too good to turn down.”
“Then we will go riding every day,” said Florilyn.
“That sounds good to me.”
“You will be interested in Roderick’s latest project,” said Katherine. “He is building new stables.”
“He is building them?” asked Percy in surprise.
“He is having them built, I should say. He designed the structure and is supervising the construction.”
“What is the purpose? Have you added more horses?”
“Daddy’s going to raise race horses,” said Florilyn enthusiastically.
“Really!”
“That is his dream,” said Katherine. Her voice betrayed skepticism. She had been through too many of her husband’s schemes to have much optimism concerning this latest one … especially as her husband’s schemes could not budge an inch beyond the dream stage without her money. She was already beginning to regret allowing herself to be talked into funding the stables project. She would certainly think twice about letting him use any of her money to buy expensive thoroughbreds from Spain or Arabia. Let him find investors to go in on it with him. She had no desire to see her money go down a rat hole.
They rattled onto the cobblestones of the grounds and toward the great mansion. Behind the barns and stables, Percy immediately saw and heard banging and hammering from the work in progress. They had no sooner come to a stop than he was running off toward the scene.
“Percy, my boy!” boomed his uncle as he saw him running up. “You’ve become a big strapping fellow since I saw you!”
“Hello, Uncle Roderick!” said Percy as the two shook hands warmly. “Wow, this is some project you’ve undertaken.”
“I plan to make them the finest stables in Wales,” rejoined his uncle boisterously, “with horses capable of competing for the largest purses in Britain. Right now, as you can see, we’re in the process of hoisting up the roof timbers.”
“Do you need some help? I’ll get into a different set of clothes and you’ll have another set of arms.” He hurried off.
His uncle watched him go with a fond yet wistful expression. Courtenay had shown not the slightest interest in the project, nor since his return even once offered to help. Percy hadn’t been here two minutes and was already eager to pitch in with the laborers.
That evening the talk around the dinner table was more animated and spontaneous than the festive board at Westbrooke Manor had been
in a very long time. That fact was due to two related but opposite facts—Percy’s presence and Courtenay’s absence.
“Do you remember when I was here before,” Percy was saying, “on that first night? Florilyn, you were trying to bait your father and me into divulging ourselves closet atheists.”
“I was not!” laughed Florilyn.
“You were, too,” rejoined Percy. “You were chiding your father for not paying attention in church and trying to get me to say I didn’t believe in heaven and hell. You were terrible! Aunt Katherine, you were having a fit.”
By now Percy had his aunt and uncle and cousin in stitches at his depiction of a meal they all remembered very well.
“By the way,” he went on, “as I recall, that whole conversation was prompted by the discovery of a body on the sand by the harbor. Was the murder ever solved?”
“Actually, no,” replied the viscount. “The curious thing is that there continue to be occasional reports of strangers in the village asking about the man, unsavory characters by the sound of it, though I’ve never had occasion to be present at such times.”
“Why don’t you and I disguise ourselves and go down to Mistress Chattan’s for a pint or two?” suggested Percy, looking at his aunt with a twinkle in his eye. “Maybe we could learn something.”
“Goodness, Percy—what an idea!” she said, though she could not help smiling.
But her husband seemed to take the suggestion seriously. “Not a bad idea,” he mused. “Though we would never pull it off. They would be certain to recognize me.”
“We’ll wait two or three weeks, of course,” said Percy, feigning the utmost seriousness. “I didn’t mean immediately. We’ll grow beards and pull caps down to cover half our faces … and wear old grungy clothing, of course.”
From Across the Ancient Waters Page 26