Star of Light (16 page)

Then Mrs. Swift said for the sixth time that they really must go to bed, and this time they
did
listen to her. They all kissed Jenny good night and tucked her in bed, and then went off down the passage laughing at Mr. Swift, who was trying to walk quietly in his enormous, squeaky shoes, like an elephant trying to walk on tiptoe. Jenny was left alone with her happiness. God had heard their prayers, and Kinza had come back.

Everyone slept the next morning till the sun was high—except Hamid and Rosemary. They got up at the usual time, Hamid because he had slept well all night on the backseat of Mr. Swift’s car, and Rosemary because she had a busy day ahead of her. It was still quite early when she was disturbed by a loud knocking, and she got up with a little sigh. When she opened the door, she found Hamid, his hands and face pink and shining from washing in the fountain.

His rags were dreadfully torn and dirty, and he had nasty sores on his legs, but the child was as eager and full of life as the spring morning. He kissed the nurse’s hand, chuckled, and hopped uninvited over the threshold. He seemed to have come for a particular reason but didn’t know what to say. “How’s Kinza?” he inquired.

“She’s all right,” said the nurse. “Do you want to see her?”

For an answer, he skipped upstairs ahead of her to where Kinza lay in her old corner on the mat, her dark head pillowed on her arm, fast asleep. Hamid nodded, well-pleased, and then looked around hopefully to see if there was any chance of something to eat. He had timed his visit perfectly, for the English nurse was just in the middle of her breakfast. Hamid sat cross-legged on the floor with bright, hopeful eyes. He had not eaten honey sandwiches in the night, and he was very hungry.

The nurse gave him a bowl of sweet coffee and a big hunk of bread. He sipped it noisily, chuckling with pleasure between mouthfuls. When he had finished and cleaned out the bowl with his finger for fear of wasting any sugar, he came a little closer and said confidently, “Teach me to read.”

The nurse looked at him doubtfully. “Many people want to learn to read and they only keep it up for about two weeks. Then my time is all wasted.”

Hamid shook his head very firmly. “I would go on every day, until harvesttime,” he said, “because then I am going home. My stepfather will be glad to see me at harvest because he’s so busy. Could I learn to read before harvest?”

“I would think so,” replied the nurse, “if you really come every day.” She thought of her busy days and wondered when she would fit him in, but the child seemed so keen and determined.

“Why do you want to learn to read, Hamid?” she asked.

He lifted a serious brown face to hers and told her his simple little story.

“I want to go home,” he said. “But if I go home and can’t read, who will go on teaching me the way to heaven?”

“Then you believe it really is the way to heaven?”

“Yes. I had a dream. I saw the Lord Jesus with His arms stretched out. I think He was on a cross. And behind the cross was a door, wide open, and He told me it was the way to God. And He told me I was to come to you because it was all written down in your Book.”

“Very well,” said the nurse quietly. “You can come every day just about this time. We’ll start at once.”

She fetched her book of Arabic letters and found him to be a very quick pupil. By the end of half an hour, he had learned quite a number of letters and was really pleased with himself.

“Aa–d–dd–rr–z,” he chanted proudly. “Now I can read!”

He skipped off with his head held high, and the nurse went back with a happy heart to clear the breakfast things.

Aunt Rosemary Explains

I
t was very nearly the end of the holiday, and on the last Saturday, Mummy, Daddy, Aunt Rosemary, Jenny, and Kinza all started off early in the morning and went for a picnic far up in the mountains with a fat picnic basket.

They drove up and up past thatched villages until the road plunged down into the cool shadow of pine woods, where English primroses grew around the roots of the giant trees.

Jenny and Rosemary started picking bunches of the pale yellow flowers. Jenny wanted to tell her aunt her new secret. She must try to tell her today because there might not be another chance, but she did not know how to begin to say it. She prayed for the right opportunity to talk to her aunt. She was sure something
very important had happened to her, and wanted she Aunt Rosemary to tell her what to expect next. The day passed, and she just didn’t seem to find the right moment to ask her.

They drove home in the evening, Jenny’s head leaning against her father’s shoulder. She was disappointed because she had not managed to speak to her aunt, and doubts were beginning to creep in. They were driving through a low-water meadow with white lilies growing in clumps by the river. Jenny suddenly remembered that the next day would be Easter Sunday, and she sat up quickly.

Jenny liked Easter Sunday. There were always white flowers on the breakfast table and big, colored Easter eggs around her plate. After breakfast they would go to church, which was decorated with white lilies and narcissi and bright daffodils, and the choirboys in white robes sang, “Jesus Christ is risen today … Alleluia!”

Here they would not go to church because there was no church to go to, but Jenny decided she could visit Aunt Rosemary early with some white flowers, and perhaps then she could tell her her secret. She laid her hand on her father’s arm.

“Stop, Daddy,” she said.

Mr. Swift stopped. “What’s up?” he inquired.

“I want to get something,” Jenny explained. She jumped out of the car and ran backward a little so that they could not see what she was doing. She raced across the field, gathered an armful of lilies from the water’s edge, wrapped them in her sweater, and raced back to the car.

“What have you got there, Jenny?” asked her father.

“A secret,” replied Jenny. “We can go on now!” Mrs. Swift, who had been watching her nimble little daughter through the back window, smiled and said nothing. It was not till Jenny was tucked in bed and the flowers were up to their necks in the water jug that she understood what it was all about.

“Mummy,” said Jenny, “it’s Easter Sunday tomorrow, and on Easter Sunday there are always white flowers. Can I get up very early and take my lilies to Aunt Rosemary as an Easter surprise?”

“Of course,” answered her mother. “What a lovely idea. She has been so kind to you, Jenny. You can go when you wake up. I expect you’ll stay and have breakfast with her. I’ll put your clean clothes out now.”

She laid out Jenny’s best dress and clean socks, kissed her good night, and left her. Jenny went to sleep at once, looking forward to the morning. Perhaps it was all going to turn out right after all.

She woke very early, just at the time when in England the church bells would start ringing to remind people that Jesus Christ had risen. She jumped out of bed, washed and dressed herself extra carefully because it was Easter Day, and set off.

She knocked at the door and Auntie Rosemary, who was up having her breakfast, appeared at the window, surprised at such an early caller. Seeing who it was, she ran down to open the door, and Jenny bounded in joyfully and held up her bouquet.

“White flowers for Easter!” she announced
triumphantly. “I picked them yesterday without you seeing me.”

They went upstairs to where breakfast was laid on a white cloth, with a bowl of primroses in the middle of the table. They arranged Jenny’s flowers in a vase behind the primroses and sat down to enjoy themselves.

“It looks like a church at Easter time, doesn’t it?” remarked Jenny. “On Easter Sunday at home, Mummy, Daddy, and I always go to church. It’s a pity there isn’t a church here, isn’t it, so we could all go together?”

“Yes,” answered her aunt. “I really miss going to church. Yet you know, Jenny, it doesn’t really matter in a way. The main reason for going to church is to meet God, and we can meet God anywhere. I meet Him here every day in my room. Just now when you came I was reading the Easter story in my Bible.”

“Will you read it to me if you’ve finished eating?” asked Jenny eagerly, settling herself very comfortably to listen while Aunt Rosemary read to her.

“Jesus met Mary in the garden,” said Aunt Rosemary. “And He met some of the disciples in a little room, and He met two others on the road, and He met Peter on the beach. So you see, it isn’t really necessary to go to a building.”

“No,” said Jenny simply, lifting a bright face. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. The other day … the day you went to fetch Kinza … I thought He met me, up on the hillside. I asked Jesus to come and live inside me, like the light in the lantern, and stop me being selfish and cross. And I felt so happy and I
thought He had come. But yesterday I began to wonder if it was all really true. Do you think He really came, Auntie? I don’t really
feel
very different.”

Aunt Rosemary was silent for a moment. Then she said quietly, “Jenny, how did Mary feel quite sure that Jesus had really come to her?”

“When He said her name,” answered Jenny. “It was easy for her. She heard Him and saw Him.”

“Yes, I know,” said Aunt Rosemary. “But it’s really quite easy for us, too, if only we believe that God speaks the truth. I’m going to read you something, Jenny, and then I’m going to tell you a story.”

“Good,” said Jenny, who loved stories. She wriggled close to look at Auntie Rosemary’s Bible. They read Isaiah chapter 43 verse 1:

“That verse reminds me of Kinza the night we went to look for her,” said Rosemary, glancing at the lump in the corner where Kinza was sleeping. “She was living with me quite happily, but she was stolen and taken away from me. I love Kinza very much and I knew she’d be unhappy, so I went after her. I found her hungry and frightened and wanting me. She didn’t know I was there, but I knew she was there, so what did I do?”

“Shouted her name!” said Jenny with sparkling eyes. She knew this story well and would never tire of hearing it again.

Aunt Rosemary laughed. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I called her by her name. And what did Kinza do?”

“Hustled out from under her blanket in no time!” cried Jenny.

“Yes, she hustled out in no time,” repeated Aunt Rosemary. “She was unhappy and frightened, and she knew if she came out she would be safe and happy, so she didn’t stop to ask how or why or if it really was me. She knew it was me by the way I called her name, and she came straight into my arms and felt perfectly safe; she knew she could trust me. And that’s exactly what happened to you on the hillside, Jenny. You didn’t know much about Jesus; you were just miserable and tired of yourself. But Jesus knew all about you, and He wanted to make you good and happy. So He called you by your name, and you knew it was Him and you came at once and felt perfectly safe.”

“Only for two days,” answered Jenny.

“Yes, exactly,” agreed Aunt Rosemary; “That’s just what happened to Kinza. She hadn’t been in my arms two minutes before her stepfather began talking, and Kinza began to tremble and cry. I was holding her just as close, and loved her just as much, but as soon as she heard the voice of the man who had stolen her and beaten her, she began to feel afraid and wonder if it was all right after all. Sometimes we might worry and feel afraid and wonder if it’s all true. But our feelings don’t really matter very much, because Jesus doesn’t change. He holds us just as close and loves us just as much whether we worry
about it or not.”

“Oh, I see,” said Jenny thoughtfully.

“Now listen to what happened next. I went up to Si Mohamed and I took some money out of my pocket and paid him, and if Kinza had been old enough to understand, I’d have said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Kinza. I’ve redeemed you—that means bought you back again. No one can take you away from me now. You’re my little girl forever.’ But I just whispered, ‘Don’t be afraid, Kinza; you’re my little girl now.’ And Kinza did a very sensible thing. She believed me and she stopped being afraid. Although that cruel man was still standing in front of her and talking, she just clung to me as close as she could and fell asleep in my arms and slept all the way home. The only way to stop feeling afraid is simply to believe what Jesus says. He rose again on Easter Sunday so that He could live in the hearts of everybody who hears His call and comes to Him.”