Stranger at Stonewycke Read online

  Margaret and Ian now viewed their past, both the years apart and these blessed past two decades they had been allowed to share, not as one of earthly happiness, but of eternal gain. It had been a saga of God’s unrelenting pursuit after the heart of man and woman, a chronicle of healing. And as the heritage of their experience continued through the lives of their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, they gave God thanks for the work He had wrought. How grateful they were for Joanna, the treasured granddaughter who had been the instrument in God’s hand to bring about their reunion, and for Joanna’s husband Alec, whose grafting into the family line had immeasurably strengthened the old Ramsey strain. And now, through their young children, the legacy continued into the third decade of the twentieth century.

  Yes, the tears flowed more easily now, but they were tears of great joy which fell from the aged face. If Lord and Lady Duncan had known pain in their youth, it had been well-compensated for in their present contentment. Twenty-one years ago, she thought, I found my husband again. But actually I found much more. She had rediscovered the friend who had first come to Stonewycke as a mere lad of twenty. Those who knew the old couple only in passing marveled that they had not been together all their lives. Without speaking, they each knew the other’s thoughts and feelings, and continually communicated with each other through the simplest gestures and glances. Though both the Lord and Lady of Stonewycke were past their mid-eighties, almost daily they could be seen upon the grassy hills about the estate, occasionally on the beach west of town, and up until recently even once or twice a year upon horseback. The companionship their heavenly Father had seen fit to deprive them of during their middle years of life had been amply restored, and a vitality and strength of body gave them back at the end of their lives the friendship and love each had stored away for so long.

  Always they were deep in conversation—but not about the past, nor what might have been. They were too vitally caught up in the glories of the present to dwell long on times gone by. Every day was a new challenge. For the growth of God’s life within their hearts had not stopped on that day they were reunited. If anything, it had accelerated. Often Ian now, it seemed, took the lead in spiritual matters, for with the bondage of his past finally shed, he had soared like a bird into the realms of heavenly truths. He often laughed when he thought how good a thing it was that they who wait upon the Lord could run and not be weary—especially for a man his age!

  Yes, he had laughed!

  These days his laughter—their laughter!—rang frequently within the once-somber granite walls of their beloved home, Stonewycke. But it was not their laughter alone. God had given them a wonderful family with whom to share their love, an added dimension of the old couple’s joy. The marriage of Joanna and her fine man of faith had given proud old Stonewycke something it had not enjoyed in more than fifty years—the infectious sounds of childish exuberance and life reverberating through its walls. The youngest was May, and Lady Margaret often wondered if even the solid sixteenth-century castle could contain that ten-year-old girl’s vibrant energy. Twelve-year-old Nathaniel was, except for his fiery red hair, most like his father. Tall and solidly built, he possessed Alec’s easygoing and friendly nature, which made him an immediate favorite with whomever he met. Young Ian, at fourteen, could not have been more unlike his namesake at the same age. Slender and fine-featured, he was the scholar of the family. Margaret knew he was happy where he was—at one of Scotland’s fine boarding schools for boys, showing promise for the university. His hunger for learning had never yet been satisfied, and wondrously that hunger served only to deepen his young but growing faith.

  Allison, the eldest, had been reserved for last on this day in the gallery of her great-grandmother’s thoughts, but not because she was the least. On the contrary, Allison at that moment weighed heaviest on Lady Margaret’s mind.

  With the very thought of the girl’s face, a shadow passed over the old lady’s countenance, encroaching upon the peacefulness of the splendid shoreline scene. Dear Allison, what have we done wrong? she said to herself. Perhaps too much responsibility had been placed on her as the eldest; or could it be she had not been given enough? Or was it nothing anyone had done at all, but simply the fact that she had been born into the nobility of the Stonewycke heritage?

  When Lady Margaret attempted to analyze her great-granddaughter, any lasting insight into the true nature of the girl always seemed to elude her. Allison, for some reason, wore her ancestry like a shield—a shield to protect her from what, or to hide from what—that was difficult to tell.

  At seventeen, Allison was not a great deal unlike her great-grandmother had been at the same age—stubborn, headstrong, willful, and independent. But there was an element present that had never been part of young Maggie’s makeup. Somehow Allison seemed to take her position as heiress to a noble Scottish lineage more seriously than any of the rest of the family—too seriously. Where she had come by this strain of haughty pride, no one knew—least of all her own mother and father; no one in all the northeast of Scotland would accuse them of anything except too much humility for their high station. Allison’s look of disdain revealed, without words, that she considered her family’s casual mingling with the commoner elements of society to be deplorable. She kept her feelings silent for the most part, however, not wanting to be reminded that her own father, notwithstanding that he was probably the most loved and respected man in the neighborhood, had come from this so-called “common” strata of the community.

  How interesting it is, thought Margaret, that in this proud family line, the estate of Stonewycke has been passed down for four generations through the women of the family. Each of those women, it seemed, had a unique and individual story to tell—with the possible exception of Margaret’s own daughter Eleanor, who had never seen the land where her life had begun. Yet even Eleanor’s contribution to the eternal plan could not be disregarded, nor could the full scope of her portion of the story be grasped this side of the life that was to come, where all stories will be made complete with the endings God purposed for them.

  And now young Allison, representing the fifth generation in the continuous female line of Ramseys spanning more than a century, stood on the threshold of her own womanhood. What would the coming years bring for her?

  Margaret thought of her own mother Atlanta—proud, silent, a sentinel of Scottish fortitude in the midst of what had not been a happy marriage. Had Allison inherited a high percentage of Atlanta’s blood? More likely the pride—if indeed it was pride—so evident in her great-granddaughter, had come from Margaret’s father James, if it came through the veins of the family blood at all.

  Lady Margaret sighed wearily, revealing for the first time a hint of her true age. Lord, she prayed silently, protect Allison and keep your loving hand upon her, and upon those who come after her. Draw them all to you, Lord, as you did me, and as you did Ian. Reveal Yourself to Allison, in your way and in your own time.

  Margaret took in another deep breath of the warm salty air and glanced about her. Unconsciously her gaze had been fixed on the hard-packed expanse of white sand as she slowly walked along. Now she looked toward the rocky cliffs in the distance. Around the swirling eddies of ocean windrafts, twenty or thirty gulls glided up and down, in and out, cavorting in the sea currents. Even from this distance she could hear their screeching calls, grating perhaps to the ear of the musician, but melody in motion to anyone in love with the sea. What a glorious place you have given me, oh, God, she thought, to live out the remainder of my days! How I love this coast of Scotland with its majestic and jagged coastline, the powerful cliffs dotted with the green of heather and a dozen other wiry shrubs! There was no sight I missed so greatly in America, and no sight is more impossible for me to tire of now that I can see it nearly every day. Thank you, Lord, for bringing me back! You have been better to me than I deserve!

  She turned back toward the village. The sigh that came next was one of contentment, and the smile which accompanied it
, whether she sought it or not, was a smile of rejuvenation and peace. A chuckle momentarily passed her lips. I’d better not stray too far! The days are long past since Raven and I could gallop wherever we wanted. If I get too far from Port Strathy now, it could take me the rest of the day to get back!

  With the thought of her own youth, Allison again came to Lady Margaret’s mind. But this time she felt that there was a sensitive side to her great-granddaughter, which was struggling to break free more than she allowed anyone to know. This part of her nature was no doubt at battle with the personality she opened for public view. But it would slip out unexpectedly, and the perceptive aging matriarch was quick to notice, saying to herself, “Now there’s the real Allison. I knew she was in there!” And this hidden self had in recent months become the focus of Margaret’s prayers for the girl. Show her herself, Lord, she prayed. When the time is right, give her insight. Let her know you, and let her come to know herself.

  The prayer brought with it the recollection of Walter Innes’s death six months earlier. When Allison took her position too seriously, the factor had never been afraid to look her in the eye and tell her exactly what he thought, even if the blood of gentility flowed through her veins. He was perhaps the only one who could hoot at her attempted arrogance, and say, “Whether ye be a leddy or no, lassie, I expect ye’re none too noble t’ fit o’er my knee.”

  The two antagonized each other whenever their paths crossed, yet loved each other no less for it. When Innes died, Allison wept the entire day, though she never allowed a soul to see, and only her puffy red eyes and solemn face gave away the depth of her feeling for the man.

  Was it pride which caused her to hide this part of her nature? Sadly Lady Margaret shook her head. For if it was, it frightened the old woman to consider what humbling it would take to heal the girl.

  Suddenly a shout broke the deep silence imposed by Lady Margaret’s thoughts.

  “Grandma!”

  She turned and looked away from the sea. It was Allison, waving her hand just as her head broke over the top of the great dune bordering the shore. She ran toward her great-grandmother almost as if the latter’s thoughts and prayers had drawn her. The wide and lovely smile, lighting her pretty brown eyes, hardly seemed in harmony with what must lay within, if the old lady’s estimation and grave concerns were correct. To all appearances she gave every indication of being an energetic young lady who would disregard such glum notions concerning her character with a hearty laugh.

  Lady Margaret returned her greeting with a wave and began walking up the dune to meet her. She returned the girl’s smile and hugged her warmly. For no matter what else Allison MacNeil thought about life or herself, she must know above all things how greatly she was loved.

  2

  Stonewycke

  Joanna MacNeil sat at her mahogany desk in the dayroom pouring over the accounts one last time.

  After a few more moments she set down her pen, propped her chin in her hand, and sighed deeply. Operating an estate like this had never seemed difficult in the fairy tales. Their family had moved up the hill to the castle after eleven years in a little cottage, just as she and Alec had dreamed. They had now been here nine years. Joanna loved Stonewycke and was no less happy than she had been in her homey cottage. She in no way regretted the move, especially knowing that her grandparents could no longer live here alone.

  It was just that at times it could be such a burden.

  The requirements of her position still surprised her, and she occasionally found herself lapsing back into her midwestern American timidity. Though she had been here twenty years, had picked up the local dialect noticeably, and thought of herself as a true Scot in every sense of the word, it still usually took her aback when one of the local women curtsied to her in town, or made way for her to pass in a crowd. At such times it was with a jolt that she had to remind herself who she was and of all the people who depended upon her.

  Is this really me? she found herself asking. But then she reflected on how the Lord had led her to Scotland, and how she and Alec had met. What changes God had worked within her own heart for her to become the confident woman He had made! He had miraculously healed her grandmother and reunited her with her husband, and Joanna’s own grandfather Dorey. When she remembered these things, her heart was filled with thanksgiving—even for the tedious paperwork which lay upon her desk.

  Thank you, Lord, she said softly. And teach me greater thankfulness of heart for these details which keep Stonewycke going.

  Suddenly the door behind her burst open.

  “Mother, I’ve found it!” exclaimed Allison, hurrying toward her mother.

  Joanna turned, smiled at her daughter’s enthusiasm, and before she had the chance to say a word, found a magazine thrust onto the desktop before her. With obvious satisfaction the girl opened it to a full-page advertisement of an extremely pretty, not to mention a very expensive, evening dress. Most certainly made of satin, though the sketch made it difficult to tell, it was rather simple in design with a draped neckline trimmed in sequins, and a fitted bodice and skirt. Simple, that is, until it reached the knees, where it flared to remarkable fullness. Joanna had the good sense to keep to herself the first impression that such a dress was much too mature for her seventeen-year-old daughter.

  “It’s beautiful, darling,” she said.

  “It will be perfect for the Bramfords’ ball!” replied Allison in high-pitched excitement. “Oh, Mother! please say I can have it!”

  “Well, perhaps with a few adjustments,” Joanna replied diplomatically. “We can show this to Elsie and see what she can do.”

  “Elsie . . . adjustments!” exclaimed the girl. “Mother, I want this dress—just like it is. And I don’t want Elsie to make it!”

  “What do you have against Elsie?”

  “Mother, please! You wouldn’t make me go to the Bramfords’ in a homemade dress?” Allison’s pleading tone sounded as if such would be a fate too horrible even to contemplate.

  “Elsie does very professional work.”

  “It would be different if she were a designer,” argued Allison. “But she is only a dressmaker, hardly more than a common seamstress.”

  “Allison, have you bothered to notice the price of this dress? It’s fifty pounds. For many of our people, that’s half a year’s wages! In these times when there are so many who are suffering, I simply can’t condone such frivolity—”

  “I knew you’d say that!”

  “It’s true, dear.”

  “But when the nobility display their wealth, it gives the common people hope that things aren’t really so bad.”

  Joanna had heard that worn excuse so often she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the words came from the lips of her own daughter. How many in the aristocracy used just such an argument to justify their unnecessary opulence, and to waylay their guilt when their eyes could not disregard the widespread poverty around them? Times were hard throughout all of Britain, even all the world. But those in a position to help often did least of all.

  “Allison,” said Joanna after a moment’s reflection, “I sincerely pray that you will give your words deep thought, and that the day will come when you will realize how empty they are. When we transferred the land to the people of Port Strathy twenty years ago, that was the thing which bound the nobility to the people who looked to them for guidance and sustenance. Giving our wealth, not displaying it, is our calling. In the meantime, we cannot pay that kind of money for a dress. These are hard times not only for the working class, but for us as well. Elsie can make the same dress for a third the cost.”

  “Without adjustments . . . ?” queried Allison who, seeing the war inevitably lost, hoped she might still reap a small victory.

  “I’ll have to give that more thought.”

  “I am seventeen.”

  Joanna smiled and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “I know that, dear. And you are a lovely seventeen, with or without the dress. But I will keep it in
mind.”

  “The ball is next month.”

  “I’ll let you know in a few days.”

  Allison scooped up the magazine and exited, leaving Joanna once more alone. Unconsciously she found herself praying for her daughter. She is so young, Lord, and has so much to learn . . .

  Her thoughts trailed off with no words to complete them.

  Sometimes she wanted to shout at Allison out of her pent-up frustration: “Why can’t you see! Why must you do everything your own way? Why can’t you listen to what we have to teach you?”

  Usually she refrained. But the unsettling realization that her daughter did not share the beliefs and priorities of the rest of the family was never far from Joanna’s mind. And the older she grew, the more the distance seemed to widen between the mother and the daughter she loved so deeply.

  Allison had always been the kind of girl who had to figure things out for herself. Her methods were, therefore, often fraught with obstacles and unexpected curves. When the first bicycle had come to Stonewycke, as a seven-year-old she had insisted on learning to ride it on the steepest path on the estate. Two years earlier, despite repeated warnings, only by sticking her entire hand into the hive did she learn the dangers of the bee. But as her adolescent years began to teach Allison the ways of life on more profound levels, the perils became far more hazardous and long-lasting than skinned knees and bee stings. Though Joanna firmly believed that the values of her childhood were still rooted deep inside her daughter, they became increasingly difficult to observe on the surface. One by one she seemed to be holding these values up for scrutiny, examining them, testing them, doubting them, suspicious that anything appropriate for a child could possibly be strong enough to hold her up now. Like youths in all ages, it never occurred to her that many men and women, older and wiser and with problems and anxieties more severe than hers, had discovered in those timeless principles sustenance and hope to carry them through all the dark valleys of life. Allison’s young eyes seemed blinded to all but Allison herself. This fact did not so much hurt Joanna’s motherly pride as it made her ache for the distance it placed between Allison and her Maker. And to make matters worse still, Allison kept such a close wall around her true self that even her mother could often no longer venture within. In fact, Allison’s alienation, when displayed, seemed more directed toward her mother and Lady Margaret than anyone else, even though she had always been close to these two older women.