“Here is the test—how do you make decisions in your life? Do you automatically do whatever you want to do, or do you consult someone else? For example, do you say to one who is above you, What would YOU have me to do?”
“Who are you to ask me such a question?” said Amanda. “Have you set yourself up as my judge and jury?”
“I do not judge you, Amanda. I love you. I offer these words in prayerful hope that they will bring you understanding.”
A noise something like humph sounded from Amanda’s mouth.
“Did you ever say this to your father, Amanda, or to God?” Hope persisted. “Whenever it was that you left home, Amanda, did you say to father or mother, What do YOU think it is best for me to do?”
“What does it matter? It was all so long ago,” said Amanda irritably. “Maybe I don’t feel like answering your silly question.”
“Nothing else matters so much, Amanda,” rejoined Hope. “Amanda dear, laying down the right of self-rule is the business of life—the only business of life. To learn this one lesson is what we are here for. It is what our Lord came to teach us. Of course in the natural we seek our own will. But to train ourselves in opposition to this natural tendency is why we have been given a certain number of years on this earth. There is no other thing in life that matters than to learn to say, Be it unto me, Father, according to YOUR will.”
There was another pause of silence.
“I believe this is why God sent you here,” Hope continued. “We all need help, Amanda dear. Humble yourself and let us help you learn this important truth.”
“Stop!” Amanda suddenly cried, rising to her feet. “I won’t listen to any more. Independence . . . independence . . . ask everyone else what to do! Can’t any of you make up your own minds about anything! You don’t give a person an inch to breathe, do you!”
“I heard Mr. Spurgeon say long ago,” replied Hope calmly but seriously, “‘Men do not get better if left alone. It is with them as with a garden. If you let it alone and permit weeds to grow, you will not expect to find it better in six months—but worse.’”
“I am no garden!” snapped Amanda.
“Perhaps you are, Amanda,” rejoined Hope calmly. “And there are weeds growing in your heart. To yank them out may cause pain. But better that than let them take over the whole garden.”
Amanda was silenced again briefly, but anger was visible enough in her red cheeks.
“Why were you so tender and loving to Kasmira?” she said after a moment. “She wasn’t even a Christian, but you are as nice as can be to her. I haven’t heard you say anything like this to her. And now you talk to me like this!”
“Kasmira came to us lonely, confused, aching from loss of her husband, and knowing nothing about her heavenly Father. But you should know about him, Amanda. You do not need what she needed. You do not need to be coddled, you need to repent of bad attitudes. Some of your weeds have been growing a long time. They are weeds that will destroy you unless you root them out—the weeds of pride, rebellion, and unforgiveness.”
“I don’t have to listen to any more of this!” said Amanda.
“You will have to listen sometime,” Hope said, her voice now taking on the tone of command.
“You’re talking to me like I’m a little girl. I’m twenty-four years old!”
“That is not so old. In some ways, you are but a child, Amanda. It is only children who still think they have a right to self-rule. Grown-ups know better.”
“So you are calling me a child!”
“Yes, but you can become a daughter. An obedient daughter of God.”
“Who wants to be!”
“I do,” said Hope. “In your deepest heart I think you do too.”
“What do you know about my deepest heart!”
“I know that as a woman the highest privilege of that heart is to allow God to make a true daughter of you.”
“Maybe I don’t care! Maybe I have the right to make up my own mind, to make my own choices.”
“The only right you have is to lay down the right of rule in your life. That is the only right any of us have. What we call our rights are illusions, Amanda. They do not exist. That is what childhood is for, to teach us how to lay down what we imagine is our right to independence, so that we will be capable of stepping into the greater freedom God wants to give. Without laying down the one, we can never enter into the other. Sadly, Amanda, it appears that you did not learn this lesson from your own childhood.”
“Well, maybe that’s too bad for me! I’m not a child anymore, so I suppose it’s just too late!”
“It’s never too late, Amanda. We must learn it. Otherwise we will never be our true selves. If you refuse to learn it, then a crisis lies ahead. When the battle will come, I cannot say. But come it will. For this purpose was the Son of God born, and for this purpose did he die—to save men’s wills from self-rule, and to show us how the Self might be yielded to God’s highest will.”
Amanda walked to the window, turning her back as Sister Hope continued.
“That’s what following God is—taking his will for our own,” she said. “There is an independence into which we must all grow that is part of the maturing process. But the independence that is making you miserable, Amanda dear, is something else, and is nothing but pride. Every prodigal has to go home eventually. As was the case with Sister Gretchen—”
“I’m not a prodigal!” shouted Amanda, spinning around.
“It may be painful to admit, but that is exactly what you are.”
“What gives you the right to preach to me!”
“What gives me the right is that I love you, Amanda. I want the best for you.”
“It is hardly the kind of love I care about. If this is what you call love around here, then I think it is time for me to leave!”
Amanda turned from the window and left the room.
No one saw her the rest of the afternoon. She did not appear for supper.
57
Departure
The chalet remained subdued all evening.
Every one of the sisters had heard portions of the heated discussion. When, after silence had fallen, one by one they began to return downstairs to find Sister Hope alone and in tears, they knew well enough what had been the outcome of the exchange.
Sister Gretchen tried to comfort her friend, telling her she had had no choice but to speak. But to Hope Guinarde’s grieving heart it was little consolation even to see Gretchen herself in front of her, to whom she had once spoken nearly identical words, knowing that Amanda had angrily rebuffed her attempt to help.
“If only I had been more gentle . . .”
“Hope, listen to me,” insisted Gretchen, “there are times when firmness in the face of such attitudes is the only course. I am one who knows.”
“But perhaps I should have been less confrontational—”
“I thank God,” said Gretchen, “that you had the courage to expose my own self-centeredness. I shudder to think how long I might have gone on had you not looked into my eyes and said, ‘Gretchen, you will never be happy as long as Self is ruling your life.’ That took courage, and I am thankful for those words. They changed my life. A person’s response to the truth is theirs to make before God. Yours was yours, mine was mine, and so is Amanda’s. She must face what she has made of herself, and decide what to do about it. She is in God’s hands now.”
Sister Hope nodded, and her friend left her.
For the rest of the day the sisters went quietly about their business, each praying silently that Amanda would be able to find it within herself to heed Sister Hope’s exhortation.
The following morning, after most of the others were seated around the table for breakfast, Amanda slowly walked downstairs and took a seat at her usual place.
“Good morning, Amanda,” said Sister Regina in a quiet and loving voice as befitted the somewhat somber situation.
Amanda nodded. Greetings were extended by the others without reply.
After thanks had been given and tea was poured, at last Amanda spoke.
“I have decided that it is probably best for me to leave the chalet,” she said in a calm voice.
“Amanda, I want you to know—” began Sister Hope.
“Please,” interrupted Amanda, “don’t apologize or try to talk me out of it. I think it is obvious that I will never fit in here. I’m not . . . like the rest of you.”
“Oh, Amanda dear—” now began Gretchen in an imploring voice.
“My mind is made up,” said Amanda. “Maybe people like me can’t stay in a situation like this forever. I appreciate what you have all done for me, but it is time I considered what I ought to do next.”
A brief silence followed. A few chairs shuffled.
“Where will you go?” asked Anika.
“I don’t know, but right now it feels that anywhere would be better than a place where—”
Suddenly Amanda caught herself. Even her residual anger from yesterday’s events could not prevent a momentary pang of hesitation for what had nearly popped out of her mouth.
She paused. The sisters continued to stare down at their plates in embarrassment and heartbreak. Most of them had at one time or another been exactly where Amanda was this moment—at a critical crossroads of character where pride and humility intersected, and where only one road led toward the future. It was so small, so simple, so right a thing to humble oneself and heed the precious counsel of wisdom. They had each faced their own such turning points and had had to painfully relinquish that which had bound them in their own maturity-inhibiting bondages.
But they could not help Amanda now. This was her crisis. Every man and woman must face the decision such a moment brings in the solitude of their own souls. They had told their stories, but would Amanda learn from them? They could only wait silently to see which of the character pathways she would choose to take.
“I don’t know exactly what I will do,” Amanda said after the brief, awkward silence. “I only know I must go.”
Another period of quiet settled around the table, this time more lengthy. The sounds of forks and spoons and a few cups of tea being poured were the only indications that breakfast was continuing, though no one was very hungry.
“I promised we would help when you were ready to leave us,” said Gretchen at length. “What can we do for you?”
The question took Amanda off guard. She glanced up with a look of bewilderment on her face. She seemed stunned by the words.
“You mean . . . after what I have done and said . . . you would still help me?”
“Of course,” said Galiana.
“We love you, Amanda,” added Hope. “Sister Gretchen speaks for all of us. Yesterday and what you have said just now changes nothing in our commitment to help you however we can.”
“Just help me get back to England,” said Amanda after a moment. “If you can lend me enough money for a train and boat to London, I will send it back as soon as I can.”
“Of course, we will be only too glad to give you enough to get you home.”
The rest of the day remained quiet. Amanda returned to her room. Subdued by the unexpected offer, she quietly began making preparations to go, packing her few things, and trying to convince herself in the face of gnawing unease that she had no choice other than to leave. She was not yet strong enough to admit herself wrong and reconsider her plans. She was especially not yet mature enough to ask for anyone else’s help or advice.
After breakfast the following morning, as the entire household, including Kasmira, stood by the front door, a series of awkward hugs went around the somber group.
Sister Hope embraced Amanda tightly, but Amanda’s pride was still too wounded to offer more than a stiff response.
“Dear, dear Amanda . . .” began the older woman. But she could say no more. She pulled away and broke into tears. “Good-bye, Amanda,” she managed to add, kissing Amanda on the cheek, then turning and disappearing into the chalet.
Sister Gretchen and Amanda, both heavily bundled, walked crunching across the snow and got into the small waiting wagon where Amanda’s bags already sat. Gretchen took the reins and urged the single horse forward toward the tracks through the snow down the slope toward the valley. A few more waves and good-byes came from the group of women clustered by the door. Amanda glanced back once more, lifted her hand in a final halfhearted wave, then turned away and did not look back at the chalet again. One by one the rest of the sisters followed Sister Hope back inside.
By the time the wagon disappeared in the distance, every one of them was weeping with her.
58
Lauterbrunnen
Under the shadow of the Jungfrau range, situated in the long narrow valley extending from Interlaken to the base of the Jungfrau herself, Lauterbrunnen was not a large village. Fortunately on this occasion, it proved just large enough to keep Amanda from the danger that was stalking her much closer than she had any idea.
As Amanda and Sister Gretchen entered the village and made their way to its small station, the husband whom none of the sisters knew about had at last narrowed his search to the Lauterbrunnen valley. He and his treacherous companion, in fact, had arrived only twenty minutes earlier on the very train whose scheduled return trip his wife planned to take, not knowing that she would be doing so under his very nose. He was at that moment questioning the man whose name their contact in Interlaken had given them.
“Look, old man,” an angry Ramsay Halifax was saying, “the name is Reinhardt. She lives somewhere around here.”
“If she were one of the villagers,” the man insisted, “I would know it. I tell you, I have never heard the name.”
“You old fool!” cried Ramsay. “She is here, and I think you—”
“Let’s go, Halifax,” said Scarlino. “This is useless. He knows nothing.”
“I think he does.”
“Then you are a fool too, Halifax. His eyes would betray him. I can tell. He knows nothing. We will try the church.”
“The church—that’s it!” cried Ramsay glancing about. “There it is, over on the other side of the station. I remember seeing it when we got off the train. Of course the priest will know.”
“Perhaps I should handle the interrogation,” returned Scarlino sarcastically. “You are too hotheaded. We can’t have you losing your temper and killing a priest.”
It was quiet between the two women as they awaited the time for Amanda to board the train into Interlaken. How much had changed since their first meeting in Milan! Across the tracks rose the steeple of the Catholic church. Amanda glanced toward it and was reminded nostalgically of the Milverscombe steeple.
The time finally came. The train was preparing to depart back down the valley. A strained embrace followed.
“Thank you again,” said Amanda. “You helped me when I had no one to turn to. I won’t forget it.”
She turned and walked toward the train.
The moment she was out of sight, Sister Gretchen began to cry. She searched the windows, but Amanda had taken a seat on the opposite side.
Gretchen could bear the wait no longer. She turned and hurried back to her waiting wagon.
The two strangers to the peaceful valley entered the church gate and made their way through graves and tombstones toward the empty church building. Scarlino led the way to the rectory behind it. If he was intimidated by the sacred tradition and intimations of eternity around him, he did not show it. Whatever his warning to Ramsay, he himself would not hesitate to kill a priest if need be. Although on this occasion, necessity probably did not extend quite that far. His plans involved larger fish than anyone in this little village, or anyone in Ramsay Halifax’s scheme either.
“Good day,” said Scarlino with a smile as the door of the rectory opened to his knock. “We are looking for someone and hope you might be able to help us.”
Immediately on his guard, the priest eyed the two carefully. How deeply a spiritual man he was, his eyes did no
t immediately reveal. But that he was a better-than-average judge of character was clear from the imperceptible squint accompanying his first glimpse of these suspicious visitors.
“For what purpose?” returned Father Stein.
“She is believed to be harboring a spy.”
“She?”
“That is, we think it is a woman—the name is Reinhardt,” replied Scarlino. “The individual we speak of is extremely dangerous.”
“Switzerland is neutral. I am neutral. I have no allegiance one way or another in this conflict. Whoever it may be is no spy to me. I am afraid I cannot help you.”
He attempted to close the door.
“I realize the war is none of your concern,” said Scarlino, preventing the door from closing with his foot. “Yet she could be a threat to your parishioners,” he added with a subtle tone which was not lost on the good priest, “if not found.”
The point was well taken, though Father Stein was still reluctant. The eyes of the two men locked momentarily. Father Stein knew the words he had just heard were a threat to him as well as to the people of the village. He was not overly anxious about his own safety. But it would be better to be straightforward than confrontational, and hope the men would simply leave without causing any trouble.
“There is no one by that name in Lauterbrunnen, I assure you,” he said. “You can confirm what I say with anyone in town. Your information is obviously wrong. I know only one Reinhardt, and she lives at the chalet in Wengen, not Lauterbrunnen.”
“Chalet . . . what chalet?”
“She could not possibly be the person you are seeking.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It is a house of unmarried sisters.”
“Sisters?”
Heathersleigh Homecoming Page 25