Heathersleigh Homecoming

by Michael Phillips

  Sister Luane returned her smile. “Thank you for sharing your story with me,” she said.

  50

  Narrowing Circle

  You say the same name turned up crossing the border at Schaffhausen into Germany?”

  “Yes, and also north of Innsbruck coming either from Austria or Italy.”

  “It appeared twice—the same name?”

  “Reinhardt.”

  “Germany . . . that makes no sense. Why would she be going to Germany? And was there any sign of—”

  “There was no trace of the Oswald name.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They both returned a week later, crossing the same borders again back into Switzerland and Austria. Undoubtedly some connection to the sister in Milan. But I’m afraid there is no hint whatever of the other young woman.”

  “So what good does the information do us?”

  “We have managed to trace the movements of the one south to Milan, the other to Interlaken in central Switzerland.”

  “Interlaken, of course! That is where the Bern trail must have been going before, and what the sister started to say.”

  “But there is no indication the Englishwoman is still there.”

  “It is all we have.”

  “Interlaken is an odd place for a nest of spies.”

  “They hide wherever they can.”

  “Then it seems the circle has just narrowed considerably. I believe we are getting close. It is time to concentrate our efforts in the region of Interlaken, and find this Reinhardt woman once and for all.”

  51

  Significant New Book

  The sisters of the chalet had completed the Scotsman’s sequel just before Christmas, but they had only now resumed their reading nights. According to one sister’s expressed wish from several months earlier, Robinson Crusoe was now chosen, though they did not gather in front of the fire until somewhat later in the evening than was their custom.

  “Whose turn is it to read?” asked Sister Marjolaine as the unofficial moderator of reading nights on the rare occasions when any exercise of leadership was required.

  “I have not read for ages and ages,” answered Sister Gretchen, “and to be perfectly honest, I am in the mood to do so.”

  “Then you shall read to us of the adventures of young Crusoe,” Marjolaine said. “But first we must know the background of the book. Does anyone know about it?”

  She glanced around, but her question met only silence.

  “I shall tell you this much, then,” she went on, “—it was written by Daniel Defoe, an Englishman, in the year 1719. Robinson Crusoe was Defoe’s first novel, but he had been writing political pamphlets for twenty years before that, some of which got him into so much trouble that he was actually imprisoned for a time for his views. Do you know the style in which Robinson Crusoe was written?”

  “In first person narrative, isn’t it?” replied Agatha.

  “Yes, it is, like many works of fiction of that period. It is a technique employed by many novelists, the Scotsman among them, and Dickens and many others. But rarely are such stories actually autobiographical, and neither is Robinson Crusoe. To our knowledge, Mr. Defoe himself was never lost at sea.”

  “Why are so many stories told that way?” Regina asked.

  “You must remember that fiction in the early 1700s was still a relatively new genre, except of course for theater plays. Novelists were just beginning to learn their craft, and at first the public was somewhat skeptical of the new form.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Sister Hope.

  “Casting stories in the first person,” added Marjolaine, “in the guise of true-life adventures, made them easier for the public to accept. Jane Austen, you may remember, employed this method in the early 1800s, and was—”

  A sudden shriek from Kasmira brought the discussion to an instant end. Every head turned toward her and saw that she was staring at the window in terror.

  “There is . . . someone is there,” she said trembling, “—looking in at us, from outside . . . I saw two huge eyes.”

  The others looked around, some faces now displaying a little trepidation of their own. The night was cold and black outside, and they could not imagine who might be spying on them through the window.

  “Is anyone feeling brave?” asked Agatha. “Speaking for myself, I plan to remain right where I am!”

  “I’m sure it is nothing,” said Gretchen, setting down the book and marching toward the window. “I will settle this mystery once and for—”

  She did not finish the sentence. All at once her voice broke into laughter.

  “Sister Galiana,” she said, “I think it may be you who are wanted. It seems one of your children is having a fit of sleepwalking.”

  Galiana jumped up and ran to the window, pressing her face against the pane. Hearing Gretchen’s laugh immediately alleviated their worry, and all the others were after her in a flash and now crowded about the window.

  “Kasmira did indeed see two large eyes,” said Gretchen, “but of the bovine variety, not the human.”

  “Toni, how did you get out!” Galiana exclaimed. “Don’t you know that cows freeze in the snow?”

  Already she was bound for the door. “I just hope no one else is loose.”

  Twenty minutes later, still laughing over the incident and with Toni safely back in the barn and all its doors secure, everyone gradually resumed their seats in front of the fire.

  “Well, Sister Gretchen,” said Marjolaine when they were all seated again after the exciting misadventure of the curious calf, “it is already late, but what do you say—shall we at least get a beginning made?”

  “Let us indeed!”

  Sister Gretchen opened the old volume that had come from the Buchmann library and began to read aloud.

  I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, named Kreutznaer, who settled first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving off his trade, lived afterwards at York; from whence he had married my mother, whose relations were named Robinson, a very good family in that country, and after whom I was so called, that is to say, Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by the usual corruption of words in England, we are now called—nay, we call ourselves, and write our name—Crusoe; and so my companions always called me.

  I had two elder brothers, one of whom was lieutenant-colonel, to an English regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous Colonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk against the Spaniards. What became of my second brother, I never knew, any more than my father and mother did know what was become of me.

  Being the third son of the family, and not bred to any trade, my head began to be filled very early with rambling thoughts. . . .

  The very words reminded Amanda of her own visions of London and activity and getting away from Heathersleigh.

  “It is not much,” said Sister Gretchen, closing the book, “but we have at least made a beginning, and we can get much further next time.”

  It was late, and the yawns all around the room indicated clearly enough that the evening was over. Gradually they all rose and made their way upstairs.

  As Amanda closed the door to her room, an undefined grumpiness crept over her. She had been feeling it all evening. The instant Sister Gretchen had begun reading from that book she had grown unsettled.

  Where had such feelings come from?

  Things could not be more perfect here, she told herself. Yet for some reason she could not account for, she was feeling irritable and testy. Little things about some of the sisters were starting to annoy her.

  52

  Ramsay Sinks

  The words had grown hostile, the voices raised.

  “I don’t care what you say—”

  “I tell you, we’re going to do it my way!” interrupted the other.

  Suddenly a gun appeared.

  But Ramsa
y had by now become accustomed enough to his tall, gravelly voiced counterpart since their first meeting on the Luzern bridge that he was no longer intimidated. He had also quit leaving his gun in his hotel.

  Ramsay stared back at the weapon, not exactly smiling but neither trembling in his boots. An inner conviction told him, despite the warnings he had been given, that the man did not possess courage to pull the trigger.

  By a small succession of bad choices over a lifetime, Ramsay Halifax had slid lower and lower down the slope of character. And now a moment of climax in that progression had come.

  Virtue cannot be attained in a moment. Sin, however, can be turned from in a single instant of decision. The road to virtue may be a long one, but it must begin with a single step. Even now it was not too late for God’s grace to reach down and pull Ramsay up. But the downward trend of sin could only be stopped by his own choice.

  That crossroads of truth had come. It was a crisis, not of life or death, but of the will.

  Would he reverse the slide of his character toward the hell such people have unknowingly made their destination? Or would he hasten all the more his eventual fall into it?

  For the briefest moment Ramsay seemed to hesitate. His eyes flinched, almost as if some corner of his being apprehended that an eternal choice lay before him. Was he having second thoughts about Amanda? Did he care more about her than he realized? Had he grown concerned for what might be her ultimate fate in this messy affair?

  If so, such thoughts flitted through his brain in but half a second and were gone. The moment was all that mattered.

  Then just as quickly the decision was made and the die cast. On this day he would not reverse the slide.

  Ramsay ripped the Luger from his vest pocket and in the same motion did what he correctly assumed the other would not. An explosion deafened his ears. Before the tall man could recover his astonishment at the unexpected turn of events, he slumped dead to the ground.

  Almost in shock at what he had done, Ramsay’s arm dropped to his side. For several long seconds he stood staring forward, smoking pistol hanging limp in his hand.

  A moment or two more the silence lasted.

  Suddenly a voice sounded in the night behind him.

  “So, Mr. Halifax,” he said, “you have more guts than I would have expected.”

  Ramsay spun around, nearly frightened out of his skin. Standing some ten feet away, face barely illuminated by the tiny flickering light of the end of a cigarette, stood the short, balding man he had seen staring at him on the Kapellbrücke in Luzern.

  “You!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have been watching you all along, Mr. Halifax.”

  “But . . . but—who are you?”

  “My name is Scarlino,” replied the man.

  “But what about . . .” began Ramsay in sudden confusion.

  An evil chuckle sounded at the end of the cigarette. “One of my operatives,” replied the man. “I keep myself out of sight unless absolutely necessary. Now I suggest you put that gun away and come with me before the police arrive. You have passed your test. We now have more important things to do.”

  In a daze, Ramsay complied, casting but one glance down at the body of his erstwhile colleague as they stepped over it and then disappeared together in the night.

  53

  Becoming a Daughter

  All the following day, Sister Gretchen prayed for Amanda. She had detected the subtle shift in spirit. That evening they were all seated around the fire with books or needlework in their laps. After some time, Gretchen broke the silence.

  “Tell us your story, Amanda,” she said. “What circumstances led you to the train station where I first saw you?”

  “Oh . . . you wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Surely you know us better than that by now. That is the reason we are here, the reason we bring people to be with us. We ask the Lord to send us people who have lost hope.”

  “So, you think that about me,” snapped Amanda sarcastically.

  Several of the sisters glanced up. Eyes met as they seemed of one accord to sense a sudden dropping of the spiritual barometer.

  “I was not referring specifically to you, Amanda dear. I did not mean to offend you. Although I must say,” added Gretchen, “when I saw you in Milan, you had a look of hopelessness such as I have rarely seen.”

  Amanda sat in silence. As is the pattern with many, now that the unpleasant circumstances in which she had found herself earlier were alleviated and the temporary crisis past, she had begun again to consider herself an island who neither needed nor wanted anyone else’s help.

  “Our mission in life is to give hope by encouragement and hospitality,” Sister Hope now added. “We try to help people to see that however bleak their circumstances, they yet have a Father who loves them, and is doing his very best for them.”

  At the word father, Amanda bristled yet more. Her unsettled annoyance was growing more pronounced by the minute.

  Both Gretchen and Hope saw it clearly enough.

  “Amanda,” Gretchen began after a moment or two, “I would like to tell you a story about a young lady who was here at the chalet a number of years ago. She had been the most compliant little girl in the world growing up. She hardly ever did anything wrong and never needed to be spanked.

  “But deep inside this girl carried a secret. More than just a secret—it was a secret sin. One of the worst sins imaginable. It was the kind of sin that rarely hurts anyone else because it is a very private sin. But if it is allowed to remain, it can destroy the person herself. And it almost destroyed her.”

  Amanda wasn’t interested, but she supposed she didn’t have much choice but to sit and listen. She sensed that the sisters were closing in on her. It had begun to feel like years before at home.

  “This little girl positively hated being told what to do,” Gretchen went on. “She did what was expected, but always on her own terms. She had a temper, too, but she learned to control it. She pretended to be obedient, to smile at the right times, and to wear a mask to hide what she was feeling down inside. In her own way, I suppose, she wanted to be good, but she didn’t want to be told to be good. All the while, as she grew, she became more and more determined to get away from her parents at the first opportunity, so that she could be free of their rules and ways of doing things. More than anything, she wanted to dictate her own affairs. She wanted to make her own decisions. She never wanted anyone telling her what to do again.

  “That’s what made it such a serious sin—because that kind of attitude can prevent a person’s entering into the relationship with God we’re supposed to have. This girl thought about God sometimes. She even prayed. But she never realized that her independent spirit prevented God from being able to say anything back to her.

  “Finally when she was twenty-one she had the chance she had been looking for. She was offered a job as a professor’s secretary. You see, this girl was very intelligent and had made the most of her education. The pay was very good, and she could easily afford to live on her own as she had dreamed of doing.

  “She left home and worked at the new job for three years. But inside she was not as happy as she had always expected to be. Then she met another young lady several years older than herself. Immediately they became close friends. But the independent girl of twenty-four realized her friend had something she did not have.”

  “What was that?” asked Amanda, gradually finding herself interested in the girl of the story.

  “A meaningful relationship with God,” answered Sister Gretchen. “The younger girl saw immediately that it was much different than her own shallow belief. Her new older friend had invited her to come and live with her one summer when the professor in the city did not need her. She came to assume that the idyllic surroundings of her friend’s country home must be the cause of her peacefulness and spiritual maturity. If she could just stay there forever, she thought, she would eventually develop the same faith her frie
nd had. The more she was around her friend, the more she hungered after intimacy with God too. Yet she didn’t know how to attain it.”

  “Why didn’t she ask about it?” asked Amanda.

  “That is exactly what she did. But her friend’s answer surprised her. Actually, at first it made her a little angry.”

  “What did her friend say?” asked Amanda.

  “She said that living in a peaceful setting would not bring her close to God.”

  “‘Why?’ the girl asked.

  “‘Because there is something wrong in your soul,’ answered the other, ‘something preventing the intimacy you seek.’

  “‘What could that possibly be?’ asked the first.

  “‘A spirit of prideful independence,’ answered the older.

  “Sudden anger rose up within the younger of the two. Pride . . . independence—how dare her friend say such things! You see, beneath a very calm exterior, she still possessed her silent temper. She did not like to be criticized any more than she wanted to be told what to do.”

  “What did she do?” asked Amanda.

  “She stormed off,” Gretchen answered. “She smoldered and pouted and was silent for days. Eventually, of course, she calmed down. Actually, she was a little ashamed of herself. So she went to her friend and apologized. Then she said she was ready to listen.

  “The older of the two young women became very thoughtful. ‘Are you certain you want to hear what I have to tell you?’ she asked. ‘It may be painful.’

  “The younger said she was certain. She was ready to grow, she said, no matter what it took.

  “So the older spoke very bluntly. ‘You have been resisting authority all your life,’ she said. ‘When you were younger and you could not run away from it, in your heart you silently resisted your parents, doing things your own way even though you pretended to obey.’

  “‘How do you know that?’ asked the other.

  “‘Am I right in what I say?’