Heathersleigh Homecoming

by Michael Phillips

  “‘Yes, but how could you know?’

  “‘It is not so hard to see. You still carry the same spirit. For those with eyes to see such things, it is as plain as the nose on your face. I see it all about you. Until it is dealt with, it will forever keep you distant from your heavenly Father.’

  “‘What should I do?’ asked the younger.

  “‘You must learn what you should have learned as a little girl. You must learn to rejoice in being a child so that you can learn to become God’s daughter.’

  “‘Surely . . . you don’t mean I should go back to live with my parents. You don’t mean literally . . . a child.’

  “‘I mean a child in spirit, one who does not resent authority over them—parents or anyone.’

  “‘I am a grown woman. I have not lived with my parents for over three years.’

  “‘Twenty-four is not really so very old.’

  “‘But do you actually suggest that I . . . go back and live with them?’

  “‘That is not for me to say. Whether with them or alone, somehow you must put right within yourself what you refused to learn early in life. You must learn to be happy and content under authority. Only then will you be able to discover the true independence of adulthood—the humble freedom of maturity rather than the prideful independence of childhood. It is what being God’s daughter is all about.’”

  Sister Gretchen paused thoughtfully.

  “What happened? What did she do?” asked Amanda.

  Gretchen remained quiet for another few long moments.

  “I quit my job and went back to live with my parents,” she replied at length. “I remained with them for five years, seeking to honor them and submit to them in my heart as I should have many years before. Believe it or not, they were the happiest years of my life. My parents treated me respectfully like an adult, yet I was able to honor them in a new way, even serve them and help them far more than I ever had when I was younger. I tried to live for them, rather than only for myself. My mother and father became true friends. My pride and self-centeredness gradually fell away—or, I should say, began to fall away. And I found myself beginning to understand many things about God in a new light. My dear friend had been right—the doorway to intimacy with God was through my very own parents. Not because of anything they did or said, but because of the change God wrought within me as a result of my decision to put myself willingly under them. My heart was wrong, and it could only be made right as I dealt with my wrong spirit toward authority. After five years, with my parents’ blessing and encouragement, I went back to live with my friend, and I have been here ever since.”

  She smiled at the other sisters, though Amanda was silently beginning to fume at the trick she now felt had been played on her.

  “I would have been content to remain with my parents even longer,” Gretchen continued. “But by then, I think I was ready to leave. And, of course, this time I sought their counsel in the decision. They, too, thought it was time for me to establish my own life apart from them, now that I had discovered what I had been put under their care and authority to learn in the first place. I now visit them every chance I get. Along with the sisters here, and my own sister Elsie, my mother is my best friend. My father is old, and if he should die, my mother will come to live with us here.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us it was about you all along?” said Amanda stormily.

  “I wanted you to hear my story,” replied Gretchen. “I thought that was the best way of telling it.”

  Amanda rose and walked off under a cloud.

  54

  Against Entreaties and Persuasions

  The next evening the sisters gathered again in front of the fireplace for the second installment of Robinson Crusoe. They had seen little of Amanda all day. She had been down for lunch but had not participated in any of the day’s chores, keeping to herself all afternoon in her room. She had not spoken a word at supper.

  When the dishes were done and the kitchen clean and a nice fire crackling, they all took chairs in the big room. Amanda sat to one side, expressionless.

  Sister Gretchen picked up the book, opened it to where they had left off, and began to read.

  My father, who was very aged, had given me a competent share of learning, as far as house-education and a country free-school generally go, and designed me for the law; but I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea; and my inclination to this led me so strongly against the will, nay, the commands of my father, and against all the entreaties and persuasions of my mother and other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in that propensity of nature, tending directly to the life of misery which was to befall me.

  “It seems that many young people set their sights contrary to what their parents want for them,” Regina commented. A few nods went around the room. Sister Gretchen continued.

  My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel against what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into his chamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very warmly with me upon this subject: he asked me what reasons, more than a mere wandering inclination, I had for leaving his house and my native country, where I might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising my fortune, by application and industry, with a life of ease and pleasure. He told me it was men of desperate fortunes, on one hand, or of superior fortunes, on the other, who went abroad upon adventures. . . .

  He pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate manner, not to play the young man, nor to precipitate myself into miseries which nature, and the station of life I was born in, seemed to have provided against . . . and that he should have nothing to answer for, having discharged his duty in warning me against measures which he knew would be to my hurt . . . and though he said he would not cease to pray for me, yet he would venture to say to me, that if I did take this foolish step, God would not bless me; and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected his counsel, when there might be none to assist in my recovery.

  I observed in this last part of his discourse, which was truly prophetic, though I suppose my father did not know it to be so himself; I say, I observed the tears run down his face very plentifully . . . and that when he spoke of my having leisure to repent, and none to assist me, he was so moved that he broke off the discourse, and told me his heart was so full he could say no more to me.

  Gradually Amanda was growing uneasy.

  She saw the parallel clearly enough with what her own parents had tried to do in urging her not to go to London. But this was just a story, after all, she tried to reason. Let this fellow Robin Crusoe, or whatever his name was, be as stubborn and rebellious as he wanted—what was that to her?

  What was any of it to her!

  She had a good mind to get up and leave. Yet still she sat for a little while longer.

  . . . I took my mother at a time when I thought her a little more pleasant than ordinary, and told her that my thoughts were so entirely bent upon seeing the world . . . and my father had better give me his consent than force me to go without it; that I was now eighteen years old . . . and if she would speak to my father to let me make but one voyage abroad, if I came home again, and did not like it, I would go no more, and I would promise, by a double diligence, to recover the time I had lost.

  This put my mother in a great passion; she told me she knew it would be to no purpose to speak to my father upon any such a subject; that he knew too well what was my interest to give his consent to anything so much for my hurt; and that she wondered how I could think of any such thing after the discourse I had had with my father, and such kind and tender expressions as she knew my father had used to me; and that, in short, if I would ruin myself, there was no help for me; but I might depend I should never have their consent to it; that for her part, she would not have so much hand in my destruction; and I should never have it to say that my mother was willing when my father was not.

  Though my mother refused to move it
to my father, yet I heard afterwards that she reported all the discourse to him, and that my father, after showing great concern at it, said to her, with a sigh, “That boy might be happy if he would stay at home; but if he ever goes abroad, he will be the most miserable wretch that ever was born: I can give no consent to it.”

  “He was a true prodigal, wasn’t he?” said Sister Marjolaine.

  “Obstinately deaf,” rejoined Sister Agatha, “—what an apt description of the prodigal mentality.”

  It was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose, though, in the mean time, I continued obstinately deaf . . . and frequently expostulated with my father and mother about their being so positively determined against what they knew my inclination prompted me to. But being one day at Hull, whither I went casually, and without any purpose of making an elopement at that time . . . I consulted neither father nor mother any more, nor so much as sent them word of it; but left them to hear of it as they might, without asking God’s blessing or my father’s, without any consideration of circumstances or consequences, and in an ill hour, God knows.

  “The age-old story,” remarked Sister Gretchen, “—no one is going to tell me what to do. How well I know. He sounds just like me!”

  “I realize it’s only a story,” said Regina, “but why do young people like Robinson Crusoe find following counsel so difficult to heed? I know what you have shared about your past, Sister Gretchen, but I confess, I do not entirely understand it, never having felt such things toward my parents.”

  “It would have kept young Crusoe out of a good deal of trouble,” said Marjolaine, “if he hadn’t resented the good advice of this father.”

  “How do you know?” asked Anika.

  “Oh, I forgot,” she giggled. “I’ve read it before!”

  By now Amanda had entirely had enough. She was certain everyone was thinking of her. Finally she rose in the middle of the discussion, left the room, and walked toward the stairs.

  “Are you coming back, Amanda?” Marjolaine asked, glancing after her.

  “No, the story doesn’t interest me.”

  She did not intentionally slam her door, but she made sure the others knew she had closed it tight and would not be listening to anything more that was said.

  55

  Unpleasant Reflections

  The night was late.

  Amanda lay in her bed awake. She was more irritated than ever and ill at ease. Many confusing and conflicting thoughts were spinning through her brain.

  They probably planned the whole thing, she thought. Why had everyone around here suddenly turned against her!

  Her resolve of a few months earlier to get away from Ramsay and seek refuge at home was all but forgotten. The danger past, old annoyances had resurfaced and were quickly regaining the upper hand.

  Independence . . . why was everyone talking about that all of a sudden!

  What was wrong with being independent anyway? What did they expect, for people to remain little children all their lives? It was ridiculous! Everyone had to grow up and get out from under their parents’ thumb sometime!

  All that nonsense Sister Gretchen said about going back home—it was absurd. She would never do something like that!

  Suddenly in the midst of her reflections, Amanda awoke to the thought Where was her home? as she faced again the horrifying fact that she was married.

  The reminder sent a throb of physical nausea through her body. She felt herself gag momentarily. She had almost forgotten! It was like a bad dream. There were times she almost managed to convince herself it had all never happened.

  But it had! She was no longer Amanda Rutherford at all but Amanda Halifax! The very idea was revolting. It made her so sick she wanted to die.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t return to Ramsay! She could never do that either.

  What was she going to do?

  If only she had listened to her father’s cautions, she thought, drowsiness gradually coming over her. Maybe she was like Robinson Crusoe. The words came back into her mind from the story in Sister Gretchen’s voice—“if he ever goes abroad, he will be the most miserable wretch that ever was born.”

  That was her, she thought sadly and sleepily—a miserable wretch.

  Amanda felt herself starting to cry. Quickly she took a deep breath and stopped it. She wasn’t ready to collapse. It was still her father’s fault for landing her in this fix in the first place!

  If only, she thought again as she had so many times, she might awake in the morning and find that it all had been a bad dream.

  She closed her eyes and slowly drifted off.

  Hazy images of the Devonshire countryside floated like clouds into her dreams. Something was chasing her . . . someone . . . she was running, looking back. She was trying to get to Heathersleigh before they caught her. She had to get home . . . her mother and father would help her. They would know what to do. They would protect her, hide her from the danger. She looked back again. Terror seized her. She tried to scream. But her lips were silent. The great stone Hall of her childhood was just ahead. On she ran. At last she found her voice . . . Mummy, Daddy! she cried as she went, Help me. She reached the door. It was locked! She glanced back again. Now she saw Ramsay’s face, clearly now, an evil grin of triumph on his face. “I have found you at last!” he shouted. “You are mine again, Amanda . . . mine . . . mine. You will never leave me again . . . never again.” She screamed in terrible panic and turned back and began pounding for dear life on the door . . . pounding for anyone to hear . . . anyone to help her. Help, help! she cried. Another frightened glance behind her . . . Ramsay was to the top of the drive now and coming for her. He carried a rope . . . he was going to tie her up and drag her away! Desperately she pounded. But the Hall was empty and silent. She heard the echoes of her knocks inside, but there was no one to open the door. They had waited and waited for her return, but finally could wait no longer. Now they had gone . . . they were all gone. There was no one to help her . . . she had waited too long . . . and now the Hall was silent and empty as a tomb. Mummy . . . Daddy . . . please—help me! But there was no one to hear her plea, no one to help . . . for she was alone . . . alone . . . alone. . . . Behind her Ramsay came closer, his menacing footsteps crunching on the gravel. . . .

  Still whimpering and with the words Mummy and Daddy on her lips, Amanda suddenly awoke. She found herself cold, sweating, and breathing heavily in the blackness of a wintry night among the Alps of Switzerland.

  Unconsciously—heart still pounding as if her knocking on Heathersleigh’s door had become the beating within her chest, and with weird images of both dream and Sister Galiana’s calf mingling in her confused brain—she glanced toward the window, almost expecting to see Ramsay’s face leering inside at her.

  But it had only been a nightmare. She began to breathe more easily.

  For now she was safe . . . but she felt more desolate and alone than ever.

  56

  Bold Confrontation

  Sister Hope awoke early.

  Almost the same instant she was at her bedside on her knees praying for Amanda. The moment she awoke she knew what she had to do, and she knew that today was the day.

  “Lord, do I have to?” she argued as she prayed. “It is so unpleasant to have to speak to people about their weakness.”

  “That is why I sent her to you,” she felt the Spirit reply.

  “But I get weary of being the one.”

  “Did you not pray to be used in people’s lives?” came the Spirit’s soft voice again. “Now you ask not to use the gift I gave in answer to your own prayer.”

  “But it is a painful gift.”

  “The girl’s heart requires surgery. Prodigals need friends who will speak the truth, not justify their rebellion.”

  “But, Lord . . .”

  “I want you to be Amanda’s friend.”

  “But, Lord, it is so hard.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “You know I do.”


  “Do you want what is best for her?”

  “You know it, Lord.”

  “Then you must speak. You must fulfill the role of the prodigal’s friend.”

  After breakfast on the morning following the second Crusoe reading, Sister Hope found Amanda alone in the sitting room. The other sisters had quietly dispersed. They sensed that the crossroads time which inevitably came for many of their guests had now arrived for Amanda.

  “You seemed quiet last evening, Amanda,” Hope said, sitting down opposite her. “I might even say you seemed annoyed with us.”

  “I’m getting sick of all this talk about independence, that’s all,” Amanda replied grumpily. “Why is everybody picking on me all of a sudden?”

  “I didn’t realize we were.”

  Amanda tried to laugh, but the sound which came out was more a perturbed grunt.

  “I would say it’s rather obvious,” she said. “Sister Gretchen with her ridiculous story, trying to make me think she was rebellious. I don’t know if I believe a word of it.”

  “You didn’t know her back then. She was stubborn as could be. If anything, she downplayed that element of her story. She is greatly changed.”

  Amanda was silent.

  “What do you think, Amanda, that she would make it all up just to irritate you?”

  Amanda shrugged.

  “We talk, we share, we are open and honest with one another,” Hope went on. “You have seen that. If the Lord wants to accomplish a work within one of us, we want to get to the bottom of it.”

  It was silent a moment or two.

  “How can you be so sure I am full of these things you’re all talking about?” said Amanda finally. “Listening to all of you, you’d think I was Robinson Crusoe himself.”

  “Did any of the sisters hint at such a thing?”

  “I’m not like Robinson Crusoe,” Amanda said, ignoring the question. “I never went off to some ridiculous desert island!”

  “I shall ask you a question, Amanda,” Hope said. “There is a simple test to see if the spirit of young Robinson Crusoe sits on the seat of your will . . . or if you prefer, call it the spirit of Gretchen Reinhardt before she decided to change it. I asked Sister Gretchen this same question the summer she spent here away from her job. Oh my, did she fume. So, Amanda dear, I am not, as you say, picking on you. I am asking you the same thing I asked her, and the same thing I often ask myself.