121 
Overdue Letter

That evening found Amanda in an even quieter and more reflective frame of mind than usual. The mood of the prayer wood had remained with her throughout the rest of the day.

“Is everything all right, my dear?” said Jocelyn as the three sat together after evening tea.

“Yes, Mother,” Amanda replied with a smile. “I am just feeling quiet, you know. I think I’ll go upstairs and read. There’s a book I want to finish. Then maybe I’ll finally start my letter to the sisters in Wengen.”

She rose and hugged Jocelyn. “Thank you, Mother.”

“For what?” said Jocelyn, smiling up at her.

“For being you . . . for being my mother, for your patience and forgiveness. I love you.”

“Thank you, dear. I love you too.”

“I know, Mother,” nodded Amanda. “I really do know it now.”

Amanda walked over to where Catharine sat quietly writing a letter. Catharine glanced up, and Amanda bent down and embraced her.

“I love you, Catharine,” she said. “I thank God so much for you. You’re the best friend a sister could possibly have.”

“Thank you, Amanda,” smiled Catharine. “That is so sweet of you to say. You are a good friend too.”

Amanda turned and walked up to her room.

The night had grown late, and both sister and mother were already in bed when Amanda sat down two hours later at her writing table. She took out a sizable stack of writing paper from its drawer, then set her pen to the top sheet, and began.

Dear Sisters Hope, Gretchen, Marjolaine, Regina, Luane, Agatha, Galiana, Clariss, Anika, and Kasmira, whom I hardly had the chance to know, if you are still at the chalet—

Greetings to you all from England.

This letter is long overdue. I have started it in my mind at least two dozen times, and on paper probably half that many. But somehow the time has never seemed right, and I have not been able to continue and say everything I need and want to.

But I think now that time has finally come. I am sorry it has taken me so long. Here I am at last, and I am determined to see it through this time, although it will probably be a very long letter. Someday, I hope in the not-too-distant future, I can visit you face-to-face and thank each of you for the very individual ways you were all used in helping me arrive where I am today in my personal journey. God used each one of you uniquely, though I could not see it as clearly then as I do now. Someday I will thank you and hug you each personally for loving me and opening yourselves to me as you did. Believe it or not, my mother and sister and I have actually talked about making a trip to Switzerland whenever circumstances with the war permit. Until that time, however, I must content myself with the written mode of communication, although I doubt I shall be able to convey only a hundredth of what is in my heart.

There is so much to tell, and the story I have to share begins several years ago, with a visit a certain little girl made with her family to a city called London.

Just a few minutes ago I finished reading a book. Perhaps you have heard of it. The title is Robinson Crusoe. As soon as I read the final page I knew the time had come for me to tell you this girl’s story. She did not find herself marooned on a distant desert island, but was shipwrecked much closer to the land of her birth. Fortunately, it did not take her quite thirty-five years, as it did Crusoe, to find her own way back. I am pleased to be able to report to you that she is at last home, in her heart, I mean, though getting there was not without pain and loss.

The girl’s name is Amanda. . . .