Wayward Winds (18 page)

“Yes and no, I suppose. We discussed just such things many times in Parliament. Mistakes . . . yes. But doing good for the native peoples of our dominions has always been a concern—a much different objective than the Napoleonic or Roman empires, where subjugation by military might was supreme. It has not been a policy that has always been carried out very well. I don't suppose the American colonists, or the natives of India more recently, have always felt that we were trying to do good for them. There are two sides to everything. But Great Britain has, to whatever degree, always tried to keep the good of its dominions in mind.”

Charles paused momentarily and took a sip of his tea, now lukewarm.

“For centuries,” he went on, “our role has been as the balancing hub of Europe, trying to prevent any one nation from establishing hegemony. Britain believes in balance, not conquest. That is why we are now allied with France and Russia, our former enemies—as a
counterbalance to Germany and Austria-Hungary. We do not want to conquer Germany, but neither do we want to allow her to grow so strong she can conquer the rest of Europe.”

“But why is the land by the Black Sea so important to everyone?” asked Catharine. “Why is everyone nervous about it?”

“Because some regions are more important than others,” replied Charles. “Remember . . . conflicts originate over land. But not all land is equal. If Iceland were being disputed, for instance, it would hardly cause worldwide concern. The Shetland Islands were once Norway's possession and are now part of the United Kingdom. The dispute over the Shetlands did not lead to war.”

“Those are unimportant disputed lands, is that what you're saying?” asked George.

“Surely not to the people who live there,” replied his father. “But they are not strategic or possessive of great wealth. In terms of the whole world, I suppose we could call them relatively unimportant. The fate of the world's future is not going to be determined by Iceland. Would nations go to war over Greenland or Antarctica?”

Catharine and George chuckled at the idea.

“But the land around Bulgaria, Greece, and the Ottoman Empire,” their father continued, “—and especially the straits between the Black Sea and Mediterranean, and the city of Constantinople—have been throughout history some of the most disputed and fought over land in all the world. These are extremely vital lands and waterways. Everybody wants to control it. Wealth is at stake. Power is at stake. It is at a place like this where land and power merge and almost become synonymous.”

“Whose land is it?”

“For centuries it has been in the hands of the Ottoman Empire, which stretched across the Dardanelles into Bulgaria and Serbia, whose enemy all those years has been the Austrian Empire. However, the Ottoman Empire is now in decline. As its power has weakened, Austria has slowly advanced southward.”

“How has that affected the Balkans?” asked George.

“The five states I mentioned before are all feeling more independence because of the withdrawal of Turkish power from their borders. There is even talk that they might join together and go to war against the Ottoman Empire in order to gain complete independence, much as the Americans went to war against us. But at the same time, Austria
is trying to move in and bring these nations under
its
control. And, likewise, Russia feels a legitimate claim to the region because many of the peoples of these Balkan states are Slavic in origin. Russia considers it her right to protect Serbia and Romania in particular from being swallowed up by Austria.”

“So it's not as simple as America fighting for its independence,” remarked George. “Or even the disputes between Scotland and England.”

“Not at all,” rejoined Charles. “It's far more complex, and far more explosive. The whole future of Europe may be at stake. What you have is a clashing of three major powers—imperial Austria, Ottoman Turkey, and tsarist Russia—at one tiny point on the map of huge strategic importance and wealth, where live a cluster of intensely nationalistic Slavic and Germanic peoples. Not only that, it is a region of constant unrest, whose peoples are violent and frequently disputing among themselves.”

It fell silent for several long minutes.

“I think I understand it a little better now,” said Catharine. “But it is still confusing.”

“It
is
confusing,” said Charles.

“What do you think will happen?” asked Jocelyn.

“We can only hope and pray that cool heads will prevail. But the Balkan people themselves can be hotheaded. Their patriotism is extreme, even fanatic. There is Middle Eastern blood intermingled in some of these Balkan races—Turkish blood, probably some Arab. They are hostile, fighting people. When you put into the middle of that the present bellicose German outlook . . . it is frightening. What Serbia will do if Austria threatens its independence is anyone's guess. My own fear is that Austria and Russia may come to blows over the Balkans. If that happens, Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany becomes the wild card. What might he do? If he reacted impulsively and arrogantly . . .”

Charles paused and shook his head, then sighed.

“As I said,” he added, “we can only hope the major powers will not allow such pride, ethnic nationalism, and arrogance to dictate their actions.”

 33 
Family Evening in the Library

With the advent of electricity in Heathersleigh Hall, Charles and Jocelyn often retired to the book-lined room in the evening after tea, to spend two or three quiet hours in the company of their favorite authors and other literary friends. What a delight it was to be able to read as if in broad daylight rather than by beeswax candlelight or kerosene lamp, especially on a cozy, rainy evening.

On this particular occasion Catharine and George had joined them. And now father and mother, son and daughter, all sat close to one another in a sitting nook which had been carved out by the rearrangement of a few of the shelves, each quietly engrossed in his own literary selection.

“This is absolutely the most remarkable book!” Charles suddenly exclaimed, shaking his head as if in disbelief and chuckling. The others glanced up. “I was skeptical at first,” he went on, “and probably wouldn't be reading it at all if I hadn't promised Timothy I would. But now I can see why it's causing such a stir over in the States.”

“What is it?” asked Catharine.

“It's a novel by an American pastor called
In His Steps
.”

“
You
 . . . reading a novel, Father,” she exclaimed laughing, “—I don't believe it!
You
, who once said novels were only for romantics and women.”

“Don't be too hard on him, Catharine,” said George. “Between Timothy and me, we've almost got him converted.”

“He's right,” added Charles. “And it was dear Queen Victoria who first got me interested in the Scotsman's work with her gift at my knighting. And with Timothy raving about him all the time, how could I not keep an open mind?”

“I don't recall your reading any
other
novelists,” persisted Catharine good-naturedly.

“I suppose you have me there,” confessed Charles.

“But, Father, there are so many great novels with so much spiritual truth in them. I like them
better
than devotional books.—And don't you dare say it's because I'm a young woman! I'm
not
a romantic—I just learn more about living as a Christian from novels than anything else. They're more real.”

Charles laughed. “After reading this Sheldon book, I understand why you say so.”

“Oh, you should read Harold Wright. He's an American too. I
love
his books.”

“But, Charles,” now said Jocelyn, “I haven't read the book Timothy gave us yet. What's it about?”

“The most fascinating premise,” replied Charles. “The pastor of a church put before his congregation the proposition that they pledge, for an entire year, to do nothing—in their businesses, in their homes, in the life of their church, in
everything
that came up—without first asking, ‘What would Jesus do?'”

It was silent a moment as they considered the startling proposal.

“And what was the result?” asked Jocelyn.

“I don't know yet,” replied her husband. “I'm only about a third of the way through the book, but already it's turning the lives of all who try it upside down.”

“One of the Wright books I read is something like that,” said Catharine. “It's called
That Printer of Udell's
.”

“Do we have it?” asked Charles.

“It's over there,” replied Catharine, pointing vaguely. “I've got five or six of his books.”

“Well, now that I find myself branching out in the field of fiction whose foundation is built on spiritual principles, perhaps I shall try that next. Are you reading one of the Wright fellow's books at the moment?”

“Actually no,” replied Catharine. “I'm reading
Ben-
Hur
.”

“Oh, right—the Roman story about the Lord and the galley slave, or something.”

“I've been wanting to read it too,” said Jocelyn. “Is it good?”

“It's different than a contemporary sort of story. But it's really making me think. And there's so much about Jewish customs and the history of that period—I'm learning a lot. Besides that, it's just a good story.”

“It's been performed onstage in London I believe, hasn't it?” said her mother.

“I didn't know that,” replied Catharine. “I would love to see it acted out!”

“It was a few years ago, as I recall,” said Charles. “I've heard nothing about it recently.—By the way, what are you reading, George?”

“One of the Scotsman's.”

“Which one?”

“Warlock O'Glenwarlock.”

“That's a spooky title!” said Catharine with a shudder.

“It's not that bad,” laughed her brother. “Warlock is the family name, that's all.”

“Ugh, but why did he pick a name like that?”

“Who knows—maybe he knew somebody called Warlock. But the story's great. Castle Warlock reminds me of Heathersleigh—hidden passages and ancient secrets. And I have the feeling there's a treasure somewhere, something about an old sea captain, but I'm not far enough into it to be sure. It's full of Scots dialect and spiritual truths—one of the best of his I've read so far.”

“All right, Mother,” said Catharine, turning toward Jocelyn, “you're the only one who hasn't told us what you're reading.”

“I must confess,” smiled Jocelyn, “that I am
not
reading a novel this evening. Not that I have anything against them, mind you. I love a good story. But tonight I was in the mood for something that made me think in a different way than fiction does.”

“And what did you find?” asked her husband.

“I was in the mood for my
other
favorite Scotsman,” replied Jocelyn.

“Ah yes—the good Professor Drummond. What of his are you reading?”

“I've read the love essay so many times, I thought I ought to branch out. And I found this that we had right here in the library,
The Ideal Life and Other Unpublished Addresses
.”

She lifted the book from her lap and showed it to Charles.

“It has addresses on salvation and God's will and a number of topics. I've been reading one whose title caught my fancy called ‘The Man After God's Own Heart.'”

“Sounds intriguing. I presume he means
man
in the encompassing sense? We wouldn't want any feminist suffragettes crying prejudice.”

Jocelyn laughed. “I took the liberty of including myself in his
man
,” she replied. “I am quite sure Mr. Drummond intended it so. Listen to this.”

Jocelyn glanced down again at her book, found her place, and began to read aloud.

“‘We are going to ask,'” she read, “‘What is the true plan of the Christian life? If you look you will see that the answer lies on the surface of our text. The general truth of the words of Acts 13:22 is simply this: that the end of life is to do God's will. Now that is a great and surprising revelation. It has been before the world these eighteen hundred years, yet few have even found it out today. One man will tell you the end of life is to be true. Another will tell you it is to deny self. Another will say it is to keep the Ten Commandments. A fourth will point you to the Beatitudes. One will tell you it is to do good, another that it is to get good, another that it is to be good.

“‘But the end of life is in none of these things. It is more than all, and it includes them all. The end of life is not to deny self, nor to be true, nor to keep the Ten Commandments—it is simply to do God's will. It is not to get good nor be good, nor even to do good—it is just what God wills, whether that be working or waiting, or winning or losing, or suffering or recovering, or living or dying.

“‘But this conception is too great for us. It is the greatest conception of man that has ever been given to the world. The great philosophers, from Socrates and Plato to Kant and Mill, have given us their conception of the ideal human life. But none of them is at all so great as this. Each of them has constructed what they call a universal life, a life for all men and all time to copy. None of them is half so deep, so wonderful, so far-reaching, as this:
“I have found
 . . . a man after my own heart, who shall fulfill all
my will.”'”

It fell quiet for a few moments as they all contemplated the profound words of the renowned Edinburgh professor, dead now fourteen years. When Jocelyn next spoke, her words were not to the members of her family.

“Dear Father,”
she prayed quietly,
“with all my heart
I do want to be a woman of whom you can say the same words you said of David, that you have found one after your own heart, who will fulfill your will. I thank you so much for loving
me as I am, even for creating me as I am, that I might show forth your handiwork. It is
my desire ever more fully to be your daughter, a daughter pleasing to you—one who does as you would
have her do, who thinks as you would have her think, whose attitudes are ones you would have fill her being. Help me, Father, reflect you in all I do
, in all I say, in all I am. Help me
to ask what would Jesus do in everything that comes my way. Help me to walk in your will, do
your will, and fulfill your will for me.”

“Amen,”
whispered Charles softly.

“That was a beautiful prayer, Mother,” said Catharine, looking toward her mother with moist eyes. Her sweet smile was one of daughterly affection and a sister's mutual love for their common Lord.

Jocelyn returned the smile. After the deep expression of Jocelyn's heart, there seemed little more for anyone to say. Gradually each of the four returned to their books.