57 
Departure

The chalet remained subdued all evening.

Every one of the sisters had heard portions of the heated discussion. When, after silence had fallen, one by one they began to return downstairs to find Sister Hope alone and in tears, they knew well enough what had been the outcome of the exchange.

Sister Gretchen tried to comfort her friend, telling her she had had no choice but to speak. But to Hope Guinarde’s grieving heart it was little consolation even to see Gretchen herself in front of her, to whom she had once spoken nearly identical words, knowing that Amanda had angrily rebuffed her attempt to help.

“If only I had been more gentle . . .”

“Hope, listen to me,” insisted Gretchen, “there are times when firmness in the face of such attitudes is the only course. I am one who knows.”

“But perhaps I should have been less confrontational—”

“I thank God,” said Gretchen, “that you had the courage to expose my own self-centeredness. I shudder to think how long I might have gone on had you not looked into my eyes and said, ‘Gretchen, you will never be happy as long as Self is ruling your life.’ That took courage, and I am thankful for those words. They changed my life. A person’s response to the truth is theirs to make before God. Yours was yours, mine was mine, and so is Amanda’s. She must face what she has made of herself, and decide what to do about it. She is in God’s hands now.”

Sister Hope nodded, and her friend left her.

For the rest of the day the sisters went quietly about their business, each praying silently that Amanda would be able to find it within herself to heed Sister Hope’s exhortation.

The following morning, after most of the others were seated around the table for breakfast, Amanda slowly walked downstairs and took a seat at her usual place.

“Good morning, Amanda,” said Sister Regina in a quiet and loving voice as befitted the somewhat somber situation.

Amanda nodded. Greetings were extended by the others without reply.

After thanks had been given and tea was poured, at last Amanda spoke.

“I have decided that it is probably best for me to leave the chalet,” she said in a calm voice.

“Amanda, I want you to know—” began Sister Hope.

“Please,” interrupted Amanda, “don’t apologize or try to talk me out of it. I think it is obvious that I will never fit in here. I’m not . . . like the rest of you.”

“Oh, Amanda dear—” now began Gretchen in an imploring voice.

“My mind is made up,” said Amanda. “Maybe people like me can’t stay in a situation like this forever. I appreciate what you have all done for me, but it is time I considered what I ought to do next.”

A brief silence followed. A few chairs shuffled.

“Where will you go?” asked Anika.

“I don’t know, but right now it feels that anywhere would be better than a place where—”

Suddenly Amanda caught herself. Even her residual anger from yesterday’s events could not prevent a momentary pang of hesitation for what had nearly popped out of her mouth.

She paused. The sisters continued to stare down at their plates in embarrassment and heartbreak. Most of them had at one time or another been exactly where Amanda was this moment—at a critical crossroads of character where pride and humility intersected, and where only one road led toward the future. It was so small, so simple, so right a thing to humble oneself and heed the precious counsel of wisdom. They had each faced their own such turning points and had had to painfully relinquish that which had bound them in their own maturity-inhibiting bondages.

But they could not help Amanda now. This was her crisis. Every man and woman must face the decision such a moment brings in the solitude of their own souls. They had told their stories, but would Amanda learn from them? They could only wait silently to see which of the character pathways she would choose to take.

“I don’t know exactly what I will do,” Amanda said after the brief, awkward silence. “I only know I must go.”

Another period of quiet settled around the table, this time more lengthy. The sounds of forks and spoons and a few cups of tea being poured were the only indications that breakfast was continuing, though no one was very hungry.

“I promised we would help when you were ready to leave us,” said Gretchen at length. “What can we do for you?”

The question took Amanda off guard. She glanced up with a look of bewilderment on her face. She seemed stunned by the words.

“You mean . . . after what I have done and said . . . you would still help me?”

“Of course,” said Galiana.

“We love you, Amanda,” added Hope. “Sister Gretchen speaks for all of us. Yesterday and what you have said just now changes nothing in our commitment to help you however we can.”

“Just help me get back to England,” said Amanda after a moment. “If you can lend me enough money for a train and boat to London, I will send it back as soon as I can.”

“Of course, we will be only too glad to give you enough to get you home.”

The rest of the day remained quiet. Amanda returned to her room. Subdued by the unexpected offer, she quietly began making preparations to go, packing her few things, and trying to convince herself in the face of gnawing unease that she had no choice other than to leave. She was not yet strong enough to admit herself wrong and reconsider her plans. She was especially not yet mature enough to ask for anyone else’s help or advice.

After breakfast the following morning, as the entire household, including Kasmira, stood by the front door, a series of awkward hugs went around the somber group.

Sister Hope embraced Amanda tightly, but Amanda’s pride was still too wounded to offer more than a stiff response.

“Dear, dear Amanda . . .” began the older woman. But she could say no more. She pulled away and broke into tears. “Good-bye, Amanda,” she managed to add, kissing Amanda on the cheek, then turning and disappearing into the chalet.

Sister Gretchen and Amanda, both heavily bundled, walked crunching across the snow and got into the small waiting wagon where Amanda’s bags already sat. Gretchen took the reins and urged the single horse forward toward the tracks through the snow down the slope toward the valley. A few more waves and good-byes came from the group of women clustered by the door. Amanda glanced back once more, lifted her hand in a final halfhearted wave, then turned away and did not look back at the chalet again. One by one the rest of the sisters followed Sister Hope back inside.

By the time the wagon disappeared in the distance, every one of them was weeping with her.