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The following are the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth chapters in a book by my great-grandmother, who wrote under the name Patty Paighton. This previously unpublished manuscript was written by hand and almost forgotten, until my grandmother, in the last year of her life, found it in her belongings and decided to type the whole thing into her computer. From what I understand, this was written during the 1930s, and is semi-autobiographical of my great-grandmother's life both in England, and in Tilsonburg, Ontario. I am proud that the Metaball is able to bring this interesting and well-written piece of history to all of you in serial form over the next several months. - R.K. Finch
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Chapter 7: Call to Arms
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God is Love, His mercy brightens,
All the path in which we rove,
Bliss He wakes and woe He lightens
God is wisdom, God is love.
Chance and change are busy ever,
Man decays and ages move,
But His mercy waneth never,
God is wisdom, God is love.
Even the hour the darkest seemeth
Will His changeless goodness prove
From the mist His brightness streameth,
God is wisdom, God is love.
He with earthly cares entwineth,
Hope and comfort from above,
Everywhere his glory shineth,
God is wisdom, God is love.
Service one beautiful Sabbath opened with this hymn at Christ Church, situated in the centre of Hillsvale. Time had wrought great changes and one had no need to go back a generation - just four short years. Not a family had escaped sorrow of some kind or another. Edward Forsythe had died of a broken heart at the death of his eldest son Eddie, killed in action in the summer of 1916. Martha, his wife, always a semi-invalid, had lived long enough to welcome back her youngest son, a stern forbidding personality, brought on by searing experiences affecting his once buoyant, bubbling good health, and then had quietly slipped away in her sleep, leaving Bess and Frank alone to care for and cheer each other.
Bess was partially benumbed at the calamities dealt out to her, but her greatest sorrow was for Keith. Where was he? Every effort had seemingly failed to furnish the remotest clue. Fear gnawed continuously. Anguish darkened her eyes and whitened her glorious hair. She tried to follow but all was chaos, foul darkness, insurmountable hills, angry swirling pools, mockery on all sides. Dawn on wakening seemed as great a mockery, so helpless she seemed to unravel this dark pattern in midst of the golden, purple and silver threads of what had seemed to be a glorious whole. A pattern of such glorious possibilities, the roseate hues of love intermingling.
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But always, calm came to her troubled heart in God's House, and the opening hymn had played no mean part this beautiful morning. She felt herself resting, and felt herself leaning on the Everlasting Arms of that great loving God. Her fears all rolled away like mists before the sun. Her sad face became radiant in the assurance which had taken possession of her inmost being that all was well because God could not fail. The entire service seemed a message straight from Heaven to her overburdened heart. The substance the excelle discourse that the world had forgotten God. Then followed heart-searching exhortation to remember - ÔI am the Lord, and there is none else. I have not spoken in secret. Look unto Me and be ye saved. All the ends of the earth, for I am God and there is none else. Take heed what ye hear. Take heed therefore how ye hear, take heed that no man deceive you, for many shall come in My Name saying "I am Christ."'
'Take heed therefore, that the light which is in thee, be not darkness. Take heed lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God.'
'Vengeance belongeth unto Me. I will recompense, saith the Lord. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this judgement Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many, and unto them that look for Him shall He appear the second time without sin, unto salvation.'
"Blessed words of hope and encouragement. Blessed message of Divine Love. How many hearts will heed or ears hear." As the minister's voice, softly and impressively ended his discourse a sweet feminine voice, without delay of announcement or accompaniment softly sang -
"Oh Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee,
I give Thee back the life I owe
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be."
The first beautifully sung verse touched all hearts as the tears welled in many eyes. Bess' soul uplifted to the blessed strain of -
"Oh light that followeth all my way
I yield my flickering torch to Thee,
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine's blaze, its day
May brighter, fairer be."
Peace came stealing in once more and although her heart seemed bursting, it instinctively joined in the words -
ÒOh Joy that seeketh me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee,
I trace the rainbow through the rain
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.Ó
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Quiet sobs seemed to be in possession of her as though in the spirit of renunciation as the singer feelingly and sympathetically rendered the closing verse, which also closed this, to Bess at least, remarkable service. The verse, which seemed, although the last in the hymn to be the key verse,
"Oh Cross that liftest up my head
I dare not ask to fly from Thee,
I lay in dust life's glory, dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be."
Her Pastor, as though divining the influence at work, pronounced an impressive benediction, and the congregation dispersed. Some to linger and greet any stranger and some to enquire of others' welfare. A few to utter appreciation of the fine sermon, but Bess hurried out. She could not bear at that moment that anything trivial should destroy that feeling of one-ness with the Divine which she was experiencing. Despite the sadness and upheaval of soul her steps were buoyant. Song as well as a sob rested in the innermost recesses of her heart. God's bounty in bird, tree and flower, bursting grain and ripened fruits were in evidence on all sides, and so secure did she feel at this moment that she suffered nothing to dispel the enchantment. Her home was like a haven to her this blessed hour and Frank who was habitually taciturn, seemed brighter, and even joked a little over the lobster salad. A new lease of life came to her and as she cleared away the lunch dishes she found herself humming a sweet old love song. She never could hum the sweet solo of the morning without a choking sensation, but it was destined to be a guiding light along a tortuous pathway.
Chapter 8: A Wedding
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Frank whistled his dog preparatory to an afternoon ramble and Bess was left in quiet solitude, but not forlorn. God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform. The click of the garden gate caused Bess to look up and to her pleased gaze came a vision of light airiness, and a bright voice exclaimed, "Sorry to intrude, but Dot sent this to you." The speaker was Norma Gray, younger sister of Dot, and as she handed Bess a bulky envelope, prepared to take her leave again. "Oh, don't go! Stay and talk to me for awhile. How is Dot?" But Norma Gray, after answering a few questions for Bess excused herself as she was on the way to the young people's Class Meeting.
On being left alone Bess lost no time in opening the envelope which disclosed several closely written pages full of a number of nothings, and chit-chat of social whirls of which Dot seemed to be an attractive centre. An amused friendly smile illuminated the reader's face, the letter was so typical of Dot. Light, frothy, airy nothings, abut told in a vivacious way which somehow gripped one's heart and interest. She longed inexpressibly at that moment for her friend's company, although practically opposites each was very dear to the other. Their lives were very different. She seemed to have nothing but heart-breaking responsibility. Dot had always had everything heart could wish for.
These thoughts seemed to clamor as Bess read on and now had almost reached the end of her letter when Dot calmly announced her engagement to Lyman Harris, whom she had met several times during college days and since. "I feel an awful pig, dear," wrote Dot, "to be so bubbling over with my own happiness. I am coming home next month to get ready for my wedding which is to be in October and I want to see as much of you as possible and will try not to be too unbearable. I need your love too, dear. Be as generous as you can."
Thus appealed to, Bess locked her own sorrow in her heart and looked forward to her friend's home-coming.
Nelson Gray was no mean horticulturist, and his flower gardens were the talk of the city, famous for the elaborate and original flower-beds, artificial lakes and beautiful lawns and landscapes. He was so much sought after for advice and planning of gardens that he was kept extremely busy and while he had at first amused himself in beautifying his own home and grounds only, he had met with such unqualified success that he was often called away in consultation. It was after one of these trips that he had called on Dot, who was staying at Elmsdale, the home of her lover. She had been writing Bess and saw a chance for rapid delivery by way of her father's pocket. A most special delivery, as she had naively said, as she waved good-bye to him on his return home.
All this was very pleasing to Bess. Norma had told her the incident while explaining delivery by hand and while musing on it all some tears fell. Not of self-pity, however, but memories stirred by Dot's announcement.
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The Harris family had been residents of Hillsvale some years before, but had moved to the city, Lyman having been away more or less all his life. Therefore, neither Bess nor Dot ever knew him.
Having stayed home a year after graduation, Dot had tired and sought secretarial work. She was very successful in this and had travelled considerably in the interest of her firm, which position enabled her to come in contact with some of the finest men and women in the world. It was while in Geneva that she had met Lyman Harris, and renewed acquaintance of school days. He was negotiating business for an International Wholesale Firm, whose business he knew from the ground up, having started at the bottom, worked rapidly up, until almost every branch of the foreign trade depended largely on his ability to handle the many difficult situations and guide them through arduous channels, not only of competition but bad sportsmanship, involving losses often of millions of dollars. It was said by the executives that Harris could put it over if anyone could. This much Bess heard from the Grays, and scraps of talk often told by Frank.
Frank Forsythe was a keen observer, handicapped as he was by constant ill-health. He relied more and more on the press, popular books and current magazines, which furnished the only channel through which he kept in touch with world affairs, and it was through Frank that Bess had learned that Dot was making a brilliant match. Only two weeks and she would be home. What a thrill shot through Bess as she realized this. Bright indeed, would be the hours spent with her, for she knew that while there would be hosts of things to do, Dot would give her every available second.
Frank came home refreshed in mind though tired in body and after tea they spent the evening quietly at home, Bess playing some old favorites, then a caller or so had come after church. The Forsythes had always welcomed visitors on Sunday evening and Bess and Frank had kept up the old custom, serving sandwiches and lemonade along with small cakes, as their guests informally sat on cushions on the floor around the fireplace, or in the old lounge chairs. This evening a fire had been lit as the air seemed chilly and much good-natured banter had gone the rounds as the fire blazed warmly, and only one or two softly shaded lights aided the lighting scheme - it was a cosy scene.
The minister, Rev. Howard Hurley, wife and two daughters who taught school away from home, along with the choir leader and organist, whose home was also at a distance and two or three young people who never failed to find a welcome at the Home Nook, as they had christened the Forsythe home. They, too, were away from home, and this home scene and welcome meant much to them. Thus we get a brief glimpse of the Forsythe home life in town, which charming background served as fittingly to enfold the beauty and nobility of Bess Forsythe's character, and who so unerringly trusted to her Maker every happening, large or small.
Chapter 9: The Finger of God
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Lyman Harris was steaming toward a French seaport town. He had a big job on his hands, and was concentrating on this problem when his train stopped at a small wayside station. A stretcher was being put on and Lyman being on the platform side got an uninterrupted view of the occupant's face. Quite casually he observed the pallor and deep sunken eyes and while gazing thoughtfully at those in charge of the stretcher, the train moved on and the incident was forgotten. However, as the train two hours later steamed into his destination he observed an ambulance awaiting its arrival. Ordinarily he would have paid no further attention but this time it was decreed that he should. Approaching an old lady who seemed to be accompanying the sick man he asked, "War case?" She answered at great length in her French dialect, and he learned enough to excite his curiosity. Having learned of the hospital to which they were going he telegraphed flowers, wondering in the back of his mind what on earth he was doing that for.
Having had dinner and his plan of action visualized for the conference on the morrow, he sat at ease in the hotel lobby to scan the Daily Digest, but inadvertently the memory of the sick man took possession of him again and looking up the address of the hospital of unknown origin, he decided to visit it but the old woman who had come along seemed anxious for his welfare and they had humored her by keeping her at least overnight.
Lyman sought her and through her the very heart-searching tragedy was revealed of M. Promising to keep in touch with her he assisted her to stay near her charge as long as she could and was more than repaid for his curiosity by the pathetic blessing of the little old lady. He did not see the patient but made plans to consult the physicians in charge at an early opportunity. God uses His powers in miraculous ways. Lyman Harris was destined to bring happiness because of listening to that 'inner' voice which compels the good Samaritan to go all the way. His reason alone would have rebelled at such an idiotic proceeding but his heart obeyed its heaven-sent mission, that divine impulse which links humanity so closely with the Creator of mankind.
The next few days were strenuous ones for him, and he could not get back to the hospital. There were dinners and conference banquets, long hours closeted in stuffy offices, tedious half hours in telephone communications. Just one long busy tiresome round. At last, about ten days after the stretcher episode he found himself back in his hotel. After having had dinner and rest he sauntered along the busy streets and turning up a boulevard of beautiful homes and grounds, found himself once more opposite the Ste. Antoinette Hospital. No one seemed to be on duty at the moment and seating himself on the visitors' bench waited patiently for attention. Soon, however, the little old lady came in. Seeing him she dropped an old-fashioned curtsy and asked him to go with her. Being assured this would be allowable he followed and soon found himself in a semi-private ward. His 'find' however being the only patient there at the time. The sick man's hands roamed restlessly over the spotlessly white coverlet of his bed, and to an interested watcher might be said to be 'listening'. There was an uncanny air of vigilance about him - his cheeks were less hollow.
Lyman spoke to him in French, lapsing into English when he observed the puzzled expressions flitting across his face. A smile answered, and movement of the restless hands signified the friendly gesture of a handshake. Holding the delicate hand in a gentle pressure, yet saying nothing, Lyman waited for further developments. The old woman watching was much pleased at this, nodding her head vigorously. Just then the nurse came in to administer nourishment and on the visitor's enquiry stated the improvement was more rapid than had been looked for. There was a slight paralysis of the nervous system owing to great shock. The nerve specialist, however, hoped to bring about a complete recovery. It was a very interesting case and was receiving every care possible. The doctors would not cease their vigilance as it was hoped that the sight would also be restored. X-ray had disclosed that pressure of some sort on the nerve center affected the brain as well as the optic nerve, but was hoped, however, this could be absorbed, so no critical operation need be performed in the present weak state of the patient
All this was delivered in lively, extravagant gestures and great volubility. Suppressing the very great pleasure he actually felt at this outcome he merely gravely bowed the vivacious little figure of proficiency out, and turning to the little old lady found her in tears, muttering endearing terms of love and Thanksgiving to the patient, pathetic figure on the bed.
His heart was touched at this devotion. She, a perfect stranger, and yet unsparingly pouring out the beauty of a great heart. An onlooker might have been moved to say, not only little, lonely old ladies, but strong men touched with a Divine spark of Eternal Love.
Chapter 10: A Menace
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Back in Hillsvale, Dot Gray's coming wedding had caused much conjecture. Peggy Allen, though grown sadder, perhaps, was still as inveterate a gossip as ever and the forthcoming wedding was a delicious morsel. It was enjoyed to the full by Peg at all the little teas, church functions, quilting bees and other gatherings of a small town. Quaint were her observations delivered with a relish of detail which always been a natural attribute of hers. It had been said of her that if one of her sex ever cultivated her own individuality in choice of gown or hat or even costume accessories that individuality was not enjoyed for long by the original owner. Peg Allen always managed to steal the idea and so faithful was her copy of the coveted article that there was no mistaking the intention which was not always as flattering as imitations are supposed to be to the conspirator. But unmindful of the niceties of her acquirements, or otherwise, she went on her way blissfully ignorant of incongruity. No matter how speechless with annoyance a 'victim' might be, the unconcern of Peg was amazing.
She had very good taste if she maintained her own style and coloring but the spice of life for her was a variety no matter how obtained. Just as colorful was her gift of conversation - sharp like her malice, sweet as honey her redoubtable compliments. One never knew just what portion might come one's way. She was fast becoming a fixture. No hope that Peg would ever pull up stakes for fields afar. She was one of those naturally fixed personalities who often fasten themselves on a small community to its detriment. Unfriendly to strangers, envious and suspicious, she had to be nevertheless tolerated in her home town, deprived as she had been of not only nature's good gifts in talents, which would have broadened her outlook, and had experienced sorrows which had embittered her.
Now when Dorothy Gray had come home for her great event, Peg's tongue never let up. She pestered the life out of Bess in every conceivable way, even thrusting her unwelcome presence upon the girls, the first afternoon Dot had been free to spend at home nook. Frank, that day, had been unusually quiet, but sensing the drift of affairs called Peg and tried to interest her in a new flower and failing that his latest book, detailing for her all the amusing incidents of which he was capable. All to no avail, however, Peg had come to enjoy herself in other ways and she determined to carry out her plans. The result being that strategy was resorted to by Bess, who devised a sudden call home for her friend, thus depriving Peg for the time being at least, of her insatiable greed for gossip topics.
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Having seen Peg reluctantly accept her defeat, Frank lost no time in acquainting Dot that the coast was clear once more, but in the meantime the afternoon's mail had brought a letter from France and Dot had shut herself in her own cosy room to enjoy this one-sided interview with her absent one. It was like a novel, this bulky, typewritten package - she could so clearly visualize every situation - and when the story was unfolded of the war veteran she felt a sudden shock as though the grip of steel fingers encircled her. Her breath came in excited little gaspings, as somehow or other the feeling took possession of her that in some intangible manner this mystery was closely allied to her dearest friend. Of course, Lyman had heard the story from her own lips - but he had never again mentioned it in any way. The chances were that other momentous things had crowded the memory out. She was sure he didn't realize the connection and of course, she, herself, could not be sure. It was merely a so-called 'hunch'. She felt herself grow hot, then cold as she read and re-read, what she felt were fateful words. She must never, never, by word or look convey to Bess the purport of that phase of Lyman's activities. Locking her letter safely away she returned to Home Nook and joined gaily in the laugh at Peg Allen's expense. Great, however, was her inward excitement and much as she loved Bess, she was in a feverish haste to get back home again where she must, somehow or other deal with this unlooked-for happening.
Somehow the evening slipped away. Both girls were in the living room before the fire, Frank having shut himself away in his den for an undisturbed evening of reading and reflection. He was much given to this now, anyway, and heaps of times Bess would have been very lonely but for the quiet strength derived from her constant association with the Master. Her native hills were always sources of strength to her as she visualized their quiet stateliness and rugged heights, penetrating the evening skies, and this evening after Dot and Frank had left the house she had a few moments of blissful solitude to indulge her quiet thoughts. Frank accompanied Dot to her own gate and she immediately sought the family circle. Norma was playing Handel's Largo very softly and its state-liness somehow oppressed her. No doubt it was the inner turmoil her thoughts were in.
She related several interesting items of Lyman's letter to the family and then excusing herself as decently soon as she could she flew upstairs to her own sanctum. Disrobing and throwing on a lounge robe she locked her door against intrusion and once again took out her letter. She read word for word very carefully and the same feeling of awe stole over her as she read the tragic story of the sick man. Strange but that M seemed to take on more and more color, until it glowed as a sacred flame, but what could it possibly mean.
She had many notions of taking Frank into her confidence and so long did she recline, buried in thought that the stillness of the house seemed to shriek at her. She realized that everyone must have retired and after a time glancing at her dresser clock she saw it was midnight. Hastily scrambling into bed she resolved to sleep on the 'case'. It might be that morning light would clarify her thoughts, and a suitable course of action present itself. She dreamed of Bess standing impossible heights above her. Anguish seeming to wring her soul as she tried to rescue her from some grave danger - then again she herself would be in peril and Bess hindered in absurd attempts of rescue - then she was in a forest following a path some of the way, then losing it and having to scramble under heavy underbrush, coming out again and again into bright sunshine and profusion of birds and flowers, but always questing, questing. Then morning, Dot awakened to find it just five o'clock, after which she slept untroubled by disturbing visions until the family movements penetrated her unconsciousness and she awoke to the responsibilities of another day, resolved to communicate to no one but Lyman her hopes and fears. She must not fail. He would understand.
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After breakfast, her father, going into the garden, was waylaid by a request for the car. Dot suddenly developed a desire to drive away anywhere, where she could plan many things without fear of interruption. She answered her letter seated on a hillside, overlooking Seven-Oaks, also a rambling settlement of old farm houses. Very prosperous they looked and a sense of peace seemed to fill her breast as she wrote on and on, undisturbed, so perfect was the solitude. She had forgotten her location and had just driven into the west until this vista of enchantment and the spirit of Seven-Oaks seemed to steal into her consciousness. She communicated something of this experience in her letter. Presently sealing and stamping the package she surrendered completely to her surroundings, totally oblivious to the passage of time until recalled by the distant clanging of the farm-house bell. Driving on she found herself entering the town of Luscombe, mailed her letter, and then returned home in time for lunch.
Peggy Allen was there calmly waiting for lunch to be served, having unhesitatingly accepted the invitation to stay. She had carefully planned her call so that this would be inevitable and here she was. Dot's calm exterior successfully hid her chagrin while turning to Peg as though she had expected her, so lunch went off very well, but she was resolved that Peg should in no way interfere with her plans for the afternoon. She was still much perturbed for Bess, hence excusing herself after lunch on the plea of correspondence to attend to. She slipped off upstairs, busying herself with about a hundred and one things any normal girl can find to do in her own bedroom, and soon forgot the unpleasant incident. Not Peg, however, she stuck to her guns, devising all sorts of schemes whereby she would make that 'stuck-up' Dot pay some attention to her. Imagine Dot's amazement, therefore, when some two hours later she appeared at her door ingratiatingly asking if she could mail them letters for her as she would be passing the Post Office.
Dot was sitting on the floor surrounded by numerous odds and ends of happy associations and for a moment did not answer, whereupon the evil little busybody, wormed her way in, saying, "That was a pretty dress you had on Sunday, I was wonderin' if you had a sample of that voile. I'd like to make me a boudoir cushion. I seen a pretty one in Brewster's window of a girl with her skirts blowin' in the wind - I thought them colors of green, pink and yellow was so pretty. Where'd you git that dress? I told Mrs. Martin it had the hall-mark of a N'York on it."
"Peggy, I'm sorry but that dress was imported. A friend brought it to me from Paris, and so you see I naturally have no odds and ends."
But Peg continued her stay until every article had been picked up, rattling on reminiscently of any and everything occurring to her. Dot saw she was in for it, but blissfully kept busy at one thing after another, allowing Peg to do most of the talking. Finally, tiring of the pretense she turned firmly to her unwelcome visitor and gave her two invitations to mail, thus Peg was forced to accept her dismissal. Being once again alone, she heaved a sigh of profound relief, thankful that she had at least been left in peace through her own wise planning of the morning.
- Patty Paighton
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