Heathersleigh Homecoming Read Free Page B

the board’s director. Now he was glad for the mission’s foresight.
    He fairly dove into the dark opening himself, then quickly helped his wife down the steep ladder, a precarious operation given her advanced condition. He fumbled about, lit a candle, settled her onto a cot, then turned.
    â€œWhere are you going!” she said. She no longer tried to hide her terror.
    â€œTo talk to them,” he replied. He turned back briefly to face her.
    â€œNo, please . . . stay with me.”
    â€œIf they don’t see me, they will search until they find us.”
    â€œKlaus . . . please!”
    â€œI have to talk to them and show them I am not afraid.”
    â€œBut I am afraid!”
    He paused, drew his face close to hers, gazed into her eyes, and kissed her.
    â€œSo am I,” he said softly. “But the Lord is our protector. He sent us to these people. We must not flinch at the devil trying to undo our work. We knew there would eventually be resistance. We have to weather this with courage and faith, even if it means starting over.”
    â€œPlease, Klaus—”
    â€œJust pray, my love. He is with us.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBlow out the candle when I am gone,” he said. “Here are the matches in case you need them. I will be back before you know it.”
    He squeezed her hand, kissed her again, then turned and hastily ascended the ladder.
    Tears filled her eyes even as she felt the baby kick inside her womb.
    Why did men insist on being brave and courageous and spiritually-minded at times like this?
    Before she could think further, she heard the secret door above close tightly down upon the floor. A scraping sound followed. Klaus must have moved something on top of it.
    She leaned over and blew out the candle, and was left alone and trembling in the darkness.



 1 
Whisperings
    High on a mountain path, where the air was thin, clean, and invigorating, a woman in her late forties—bundled up with several sweaters, mittens, and hat—walked alone, her heart full of prayer for one whose name she did not know.
    As is not unusual for men and women of prayer, both her object and purpose were vague and undefined, yet such did not deter her from the vitality of this day’s supplications. What had prompted her up and out at this early hour, only the Spirit of God knew. She had ceased inquiring into whys, wherefores, times, and seasons years before. She had begun to learn that most elemental yet difficult of life’s needful lessons—to trust .
    It had not been an easy lesson.
    She had studied in the various classrooms of tragedy, heartbreak, and disappointment. And Romans five had done its work. Suffering had indeed produced perseverance, character, and hope within her. Nor had that hope disappointed, for God had poured out his love into her heart.
    As the Comforter had carried out that maturing operation within her, she had come to cherish the healing power of hope, and thanked God for developing within her an expectant heart.
    Though her memory bore its share of deep personal scars, her eyes glowed with peace and with the wisdom that came from walking at her Master’s side in that hope, listening to his voice rather than trying to make sense of life’s unanswerables.
    She knew her heavenly Father. She knew him to be both sovereign and good, and infinitely so. In that truth she rested, because she knew she could trust him. As she prayed on this morning, therefore, she knew that all would be well.
    Last night’s was the first snowfall of the season, a mere dusting of half an inch. Autumn had scarcely begun, but she could feel thechange in the air. Colder temperatures would come, and snow would descend upon them by the yard rather than the inch. Yet she always relished in the first fresh fall of every new winter. It never failed to remind her of the gentle, quiet ways in which God often answered her prayers differently than