Heathersleigh Homecoming

by Michael Phillips

  “I notice you often working in the barn,” said Amanda. “You are out here every day, even though most of you change chores from day to day.”

  “You are right,” replied Sister Galiana. “I love barns and cows . . . anything to do with animals. I come in here to work or be with my animal friends whether it is my day for it or not.”

  “Why?”

  “I was raised on a farm in Germany,” replied Sister Galiana. She was several inches shorter than Amanda, not tiny like Sister Marjolaine but rather of stocky build, with round face and blond hair woven in a single braid down in back to the middle of her shoulder blades. “I was engaged to a young farmer lad from the next village,” she went on. “We had been sweethearts for three years. The wedding was planned and was to be such a gay time. Everyone in the village intended to come, with music and dancing. I was so happy.”

  Sister Galiana paused. A look of pain came over her face.

  “I am sure you have guessed,” she went on, “that the happy day did not turn out as I had hoped. Because obviously here I am, and I am not married.”

  “What happened?” asked Amanda.

  “Two weeks before the wedding, my young man suddenly disappeared. He was gone a week. No one heard from him. I became dreadfully afraid, thinking something terrible had happened. Then just as suddenly I received a brief letter in the post, telling me that he was sorry, that he wished me well, but that he could not be my husband.”

  “But why?” asked Amanda.

  “He told me that too,” replied Sister Galiana, then paused and glanced away briefly. “It was because he had just married another young lady,” she said after a moment, “from a neighboring village. He had not had the heart to tell me to my face. He knew it would hurt me. So he wrote me a letter instead.”

  She paused again and let out a long sigh. Telling the story never made it easier. There was always pain with the remembrance.

  “I can hardly believe he would do such a thing!” said Amanda with rising emotion. “The thought of it makes me furious.”

  “It made me angry too,” rejoined Sister Galiana.

  “What a cowardly thing, not even to tell you himself. I think I would have hit him!”

  “I thought of that too,” laughed Sister Galiana. “Unfortunately, since I could not hit him in the face, I took my anger out on God. It was a silly thing to do. But I was young and immature. All I could think was, ‘God, how could you let this happen to me!’ I didn’t say it humbly, as a prayerful question, but angrily. I blamed God that it had happened. After a while I became as mad at God as I was at the young man. Once I started being angry with God, I became bitter toward everybody and everything. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very nice person for a while.”

  “I can hardly imagine it of you,” said Amanda.

  “I was much different than today. I was irritable, grumpy, critical, sarcastic. I was so angry inside that I hated everything. Being here has changed me completely.”

  “How did you come here?” asked Amanda.

  “I was on holiday with some friends,” replied Sister Galiana. “We came to the Alps to ski. I fear I was a little reckless. Anger can make a person behave very foolishly. During that time I call the angry phase of my life, I tried to pretend I didn’t believe in God at all. I was reckless about many things. I think perhaps I was trying to mask the hurt I still felt inside with an impetuous attitude. I drank three glasses of wine for lunch, despite the protests of my friends, then went up onto the mountain to ski like the stupid girl I was. I promptly fell down a steep slope and broke my leg.”

  Amanda could not help laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you said it so humorously.”

  “It is funny to think about it now,” said Sister Galiana, laughing along with her. “Funny because of how foolish one can be when young. But, as I was soon to learn, God does not turn his back on angry and foolish girls even when they do their best to turn their backs on him. He was caring for me all along, though it took me some time to realize it.”

  “How did he care for you with a broken leg in the snow?”

  “Because who should find me lying there in the snow in an agonizing tangle with my skis, moaning and crying out for help, but dear Sister Agatha on her way back to the chalet from visiting her mother.”

  “Sister Agatha lives nearby?”

  “Oh yes, just over the ridge.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She made me as comfortable as she could, then hurried for help. They brought me here, where Sister Gretchen and Sister Hope set my leg.”

  “Did your friends discover where you had disappeared to?” asked Amanda.

  “Not until the next day. They were worried sick. But Sister Hope went down to the hotel where we were staying in Lauterbrunnen and eventually found them.”

  “I take it you didn’t return to Germany?”

  “I remained here at the chalet until my leg was healed. By then I had done a good deal of changing inside. I knew I wanted to make this my home.”

  “I can see why,” remarked Amanda, thinking how much at home she already felt after only a few days here. She no longer sensed an urgency to return to England.

  “But even that part of the process wasn’t altogether easy.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Amanda.

  “Sister Hope can be very blunt when she needs to be,” smiled Sister Galiana.

  “In what way?”

  “She is not afraid to be painfully honest,” replied Sister Galiana. “If she sees something that needs attending to, she will tell you.”

  “Attending to,” repeated Amanda. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you mean if someone isn’t doing their work?”

  Sister Galiana laughed. “No, nothing like that,” she replied. “We do our work because we enjoy it. No one has to make us. I was speaking of things that need attending to in the heart, things of character and attitude.”

  “That sounds, I don’t know—like it ought not to be any of her business.”

  “If it is God’s business, then Sister Hope considers it her business. And when one comes to the chalet, that makes it her business too.”

  “Why, is the chalet hers?”

  “She would say it belongs to God, which of course it does. But it is hers too.”

  “She doesn’t still do that to you, does she,” asked Amanda, “—tell you when you’re doing something wrong?”

  “If I need it, of course she does. I want her to,” replied Sister Galiana. “But it isn’t merely telling us when we do something wrong. It goes deeper than that. She prays for us, for our growth and maturity in the Lord. She is our best friend. She is helping us become the daughters of God we each want to be. She does nothing more than we would all do for ourselves, if we had the wisdom, selflessness, and courage to look deep within our hearts for those attitudes that are not pleasing to him. She has eyes to see what we do not. So I want her to tell me what she sees in me—when I’m being selfish, and when I’m holding some portion of myself back from the Lord.”

  “Does she . . .” Amanda began. Her voice trailed off.

  “Are you wondering about Sister Hope herself?” smiled Sister Galiana. “Are you thinking that perhaps it does not sound fair, wondering who tells Sister Hope when her own attitudes are not what they should be?”

  “I confess, that is what I was thinking,” admitted Amanda.

  “Many newcomers struggle with that,” replied Sister Galiana. “But such questions, and I mean no offense, Amanda dear . . . but such questions arise out of an immature outlook. Wisdom does not ask such questions but seeks only the truth. When you have been here some time, such concerns fall away completely. One quickly realizes that Sister Hope possesses the wisdom she does because for many years she has been applying far more strenuous standards to herself and the condition of her own heart than she would ever dare with another. What she might bring to my attention usually involves the most elementary principles of maturity. In her own heart I know that
she wrestles with much higher things of personal dedication and relinquishment of self. I have seen her fall on her knees weeping for what most would consider the most momentary lapse.”

  “Such as what?”

  “A brief sharp word, a seemingly inconsequential rousing of wrong-spirited anger within her.”

  “But you are right—those are tiny. Everyone gets angry now and then.”

  “That is true. Things that you and I would excuse within ourselves drive Sister Hope to confession and renewed prayer for a yet more broken self on God’s altar.”

  “Isn’t that rather extreme?” suggested Amanda. “How can someone live like that? Everybody has faults. Nobody’s perfect.”

  “She lives like that because she takes the Lord’s words seriously,” replied Sister Galiana. “She expects herself to heed the Master’s commands and live by them. Even the tiniest. When she does not, she considers it not just an accident that she excuses but disobedience. It makes her angry with herself to see that she has not obeyed.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “It is that dedication to be the Lord’s daughter in all ways large and small,” added Sister Galiana, “that gives her the right, if that is the word to use, to say whatever she feels led to say to the rest of us. She expects less than a tenth the same standard for us as she does herself. The more deeply one knows Sister Hope, the more one treasures, even yearns for the insight of her spiritual eyes, painful though her revelations may be. She knows people because she knows herself. As I said, I want to know what she sees in me—painful or not—because I completely trust her instincts and insights.”

  “That is a remarkable thing to say about anyone,” said Amanda, hardly able to take in the idea of such a radical basis for relationship.

  “Sister Hope is a remarkable lady,” said Sister Galiana.

  Amanda was quiet for several long minutes, contemplating the unusual perspective.

  “Most people would resist such a thing coming from someone else,” she said at length.

  “Only those who do not understand the ways of the Spirit,” replied Sister Galiana. “I do not say I did not resist at first too. I argued and complained against what I considered her presumption. She made me confront my selfish attitudes. In the frame of mind I was in when I came here, her words angered me. I did not like them at all. Yet at the same time I was surrounded with such love that I found I could not take the one without the other.”

  “What eventually changed for you?” asked Amanda.

  “When Sister Hope confronted me about my anger toward God, I fussed and complained. But down inside . . . I knew it was all true. Everything she said was right. It was as if she had known me all my life. I marveled that she could know me so well. She knew me better than I knew myself. But I have seen it time and again with those the Lord sends us. Sister Hope always knows. As I said, she knows people.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Eventually I submitted.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “I allowed God to begin remaking me according to his plan rather than my own. Once that transition was made, Sister Hope needed to say little more. Once I gave my heart entirely to the Lord, then he took over what she had begun.”

  Again Amanda was pensive.

  “Anger against God is always just a way we hide our anger with ourselves,” concluded Sister Galiana. “And my experience has also taught me that the seeming pain of the present really does often lead to something better in the end than what we could have imagined. Had I not gone through what I did, I would not now be here.”

  “You had two kinds of pain to teach you that,” said Amanda.

  “You’re right,” laughed Sister Galiana, “—a broken heart and a broken leg! But how thankful I am that the Lord prevented my being married. It was the best thing he could have done for me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, because I was about to marry a young man with such character flaws as I never dreamed were there. What kind of person would do what he did! I did not know him at all. The Lord protected me from what would surely have been a life of misery.”

  The words stung Amanda. But she did not let herself dwell on them. “Do you ever think about being married?” she asked.

  “Occasionally. But I am happier than you can imagine. If the Lord has marriage in my future someday, I will rejoice. But I do not seek it or hope for it or even think about it. I am content. I will be completely content to remain as I am all my days.”

  16

  Churning Butter

  The following morning at breakfast, Sister Gretchen announced, “I will be churning butter this morning. I need a volunteer.”

  Groans sounded from several of the others.

  “I thought you all loved everything you do,” laughed Amanda.

  “Churning is such hard work,” said Sister Marjolaine. “I am not so strong as Sister Gretchen.”

  “But Sister Gretchen loves it,” added Sister Agatha. “Her arms are more muscular than all the rest of us put together.”

  “That is because I make them strong with good hard work . . . like churning,” she replied. “Besides, what would Malcolm think to hear you talk like this?”

  “Who is Malcolm?” asked Amanda.

  “The hero in the book we’ve been reading. You remember, from a few nights ago.”

  “Oh yes, I didn’t know you were talking about him.”

  “You’ll encounter him again tomorrow evening.”

  “Only briefly,” put in Sister Galiana. “We should be through with the book next time.”

  “Well, perhaps I shall have to read it all for myself,” replied Amanda. “In the meantime, I would like to learn how to churn butter,” she added. “I didn’t know it was hard work.”

  “I will work the other churn,” said Sister Luane.

  An hour later Amanda sat with Gretchen and Luane on the front porch. Gretchen was explaining the process. Sister Anika had just deposited two large cans of yesterday’s cream in front of them.

  “When we plan to make butter,” Gretchen explained, “we collect one morning’s milk and let it sit the rest of the day. Late in the afternoon the cream is poured off. Then the following morning we churn.”

  “So this is yesterday’s cream?” Amanda asked.

  Sister Gretchen nodded.

  “It’s not so difficult for the first hour,” said Luane as Gretchen lifted one of the cans and poured the contents into the churn. She did likewise with the other into the second churn. She and Luane attached the two lids over the paddles, set the empty milk cans aside, then sat down and slowly began to lift the round handle up to the top, then push it back down. They continued the process in a slow, steady motion.

  “What happens after an hour?” asked Amanda.

  “The cream gradually begins to thicken,” replied Gretchen.

  “The thicker it gets, the more wearisome the work,” added Luane. “The paddles inside turn differently when you’re pulling up or pushing down. As it thickens and the paddles begin to coat up, it becomes very hard to move them up and down. And then, all at once, the thickened cream turns to butter and buttermilk and separates.”

  “But your muscles will thank you for the exercise,” Gretchen added. “Here, Amanda, try it while it is yet easy.”

  They traded places and Amanda began to slowly pump the churn. She and Luane worked together for some time in silence.

  It was another characteristic of the chalet that while all the sisters were ready and willing to talk when they had something to say, none felt awkward for seasons of silence when they did not. As she pumped, Amanda gazed around and drew in a deep breath of fresh air.

  “Why is everything so clean here?” she exclaimed after a few minutes, “so fresh, so alive? Why do I feel as though I am thinking more clearly than I ever have in my life?”

  “Do I not recall your uttering almost those same words after you had been here a week or two, Sister
Luane?” said Gretchen.

  “I was recalling that very thing when Amanda was speaking,” Luane replied. “I remember wondering if the clarity of the air could result in such mental focus.”

  “Clarity—that is the precise word to define it,” rejoined Amanda. “I feel as though I’m getting little bursts of brightness every once in a while—I don’t know, as if an invisible arrow of light had suddenly shot into my brain. I know it sounds funny, but that’s what it seems like. I’m remembering things I haven’t thought of in years. And with such clearness they could have happened yesterday.”

  “It happens with nearly everyone who comes here,” answered Gretchen.

  “Do you mean remembering things, or the mental focus?”

  “Both. It is different for everyone, of course, yet similar at the same time.”

  “Why is that?” Amanda asked.

  “I have come to the conclusion,” replied Gretchen, “that there is indeed some wonderful quality in the air itself. It is the only thing I have been able to imagine to account for the fact that so many who come to the chalet find their senses coming zestfully keen and alive, and their mental and spiritual acuity so sharpened. It is air one almost feels could be eaten, full not of noise and bustle, but of the vibrant hush of life itself. Sometimes when I am out walking, I feel as though I am going to burst for joy . . . just in the fullness of the silence!”

  Again, as if there could be no other fit response to her words, a deep and contented quiet fell among the three women. Amanda gradually began to recall another day long before.

  This was not the first time she had churned fresh cream after all!

  How could she have forgotten? She was sitting with Bobby McFee—it all came back so clearly now. He had tried to explain the process too, using some of the same words as Gretchen and Luane. But instead of sitting patiently, she had squirmed and tried to get at the stick before Bobby was ready to yield it. And then, her patience spent, the moment the work became difficult she quickly got up and left Bobby to finish alone.

  Where were these things coming from? Why were so many incidents like this popping out of her memory all of a sudden?