his elbow.
“It seems you’re outvoted,” Julia added. “I’d like to hear it too.”
Smiling, the actor shrugged. “If you’re quite sure. But I’m trusting you not to allow me to become a bore.” He sat back in the bench and steepled his fingers upon a crossed knee. “Have you ever been to the Cotswolds?”
Julia and Fiona shook their heads. Andrew replied that he believed he had as a boy on a rare family holiday to visit relatives.
“Well, the roads are quite hilly.” Ambrose moved a hand sideways in an undulating motion. “The horses have a time of it. And Fiona has helped me to realize that life is like those roads. And not just my life, although my condition makes mine a little more hilly than most.”
“In other words, we each have our hills and valleys,” said Andrew.
“Exactly. But in my young adulthood, I spent the hilltop days cramming as much activity into them as possible, not allowing myself to think about the coming valleys. But they came anyway, accompanied by crushing disappointment. I’ve now learned to take a pause to look back, every time life becomes good again.”
“Back?”
“Over the road I’ve already traveled. My life so far, if you will. It’s simple to do so when you’re standing on a hilltop, but nearly impossible from a valley. While I can see all the low places, I can also see the elevated ones. And then I turn to look at the road ahead of me. It’s the same. And I tell myself, ‘Ambrose, this happiness won’t last. It hasn’t before. But neither will the darkness, for I can see the hills rising up for miles and miles.’ So when the low days come, and my heart is telling me I’ll never be happy again, my mind takes me back to the view I saw from the last hilltop.”
He shrugged again, a little self-consciously. “It helps. Tremendously, in fact.”
“I can see how,” Andrew said. “ Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning . We seem to remind ourselves of that passage only while in the dark of night, don’t we? But that is also when it’s hard to see the joy that’s ahead through the tears.” He leaned forward a bit, warming to the subject. “What you’ve done, Ambrose and Fiona, is pile up stones.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The clattering of wheels and hooves that had sounded unobtrusively in the distance grew loud enough to prevent him from answering without shouting. Three red-and-white cheese factory wagons, drawn by pairs of dray horses, were returning from their afternoon deliveries to the Shrewsbury railway station. When he could be heard again, Andrew said as if the interruption had never occurred, “After the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry land, they piled up twelve stones on the riverbank as a memorial, a reminder for future generations of how God had led them through the wilderness to the Promised Land. When you’re standing in a high place, as you are now, you pile up stones. And you can look back and see them from the next low place.”
Ambrose slapped a knee with his hand and smiled. “And I see a sermon on this in the near future.”
“Missus Phelps?”
Everyone looked to the right, where Sarah stood holding a tray about three feet away. Julia wondered how she could have approached so soundlessly until she remembered the cheese wagons. With a smile she said, “Good afternoon, Sarah.”
“Good afternoon, missus.” The maid advanced to place the tray on the seat beside Julia. “Mr. Jensen saw you through the window and thought you’d be wantin’ some refreshment. He also asks if you’ve time to speak with him before you leave.”
Julia assured her that she would be inside as soon as their tea was finished, then took charge of pouring cups and handing out the small dishes of ginger biscuits. The day she married Andrew, the Larkspur became his as well as hers. Because he had such extensive duties to parish and family and no experience with running a lodging house, he had gratefully accepted
“It seems you’re outvoted,” Julia added. “I’d like to hear it too.”
Smiling, the actor shrugged. “If you’re quite sure. But I’m trusting you not to allow me to become a bore.” He sat back in the bench and steepled his fingers upon a crossed knee. “Have you ever been to the Cotswolds?”
Julia and Fiona shook their heads. Andrew replied that he believed he had as a boy on a rare family holiday to visit relatives.
“Well, the roads are quite hilly.” Ambrose moved a hand sideways in an undulating motion. “The horses have a time of it. And Fiona has helped me to realize that life is like those roads. And not just my life, although my condition makes mine a little more hilly than most.”
“In other words, we each have our hills and valleys,” said Andrew.
“Exactly. But in my young adulthood, I spent the hilltop days cramming as much activity into them as possible, not allowing myself to think about the coming valleys. But they came anyway, accompanied by crushing disappointment. I’ve now learned to take a pause to look back, every time life becomes good again.”
“Back?”
“Over the road I’ve already traveled. My life so far, if you will. It’s simple to do so when you’re standing on a hilltop, but nearly impossible from a valley. While I can see all the low places, I can also see the elevated ones. And then I turn to look at the road ahead of me. It’s the same. And I tell myself, ‘Ambrose, this happiness won’t last. It hasn’t before. But neither will the darkness, for I can see the hills rising up for miles and miles.’ So when the low days come, and my heart is telling me I’ll never be happy again, my mind takes me back to the view I saw from the last hilltop.”
He shrugged again, a little self-consciously. “It helps. Tremendously, in fact.”
“I can see how,” Andrew said. “ Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning . We seem to remind ourselves of that passage only while in the dark of night, don’t we? But that is also when it’s hard to see the joy that’s ahead through the tears.” He leaned forward a bit, warming to the subject. “What you’ve done, Ambrose and Fiona, is pile up stones.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The clattering of wheels and hooves that had sounded unobtrusively in the distance grew loud enough to prevent him from answering without shouting. Three red-and-white cheese factory wagons, drawn by pairs of dray horses, were returning from their afternoon deliveries to the Shrewsbury railway station. When he could be heard again, Andrew said as if the interruption had never occurred, “After the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry land, they piled up twelve stones on the riverbank as a memorial, a reminder for future generations of how God had led them through the wilderness to the Promised Land. When you’re standing in a high place, as you are now, you pile up stones. And you can look back and see them from the next low place.”
Ambrose slapped a knee with his hand and smiled. “And I see a sermon on this in the near future.”
“Missus Phelps?”
Everyone looked to the right, where Sarah stood holding a tray about three feet away. Julia wondered how she could have approached so soundlessly until she remembered the cheese wagons. With a smile she said, “Good afternoon, Sarah.”
“Good afternoon, missus.” The maid advanced to place the tray on the seat beside Julia. “Mr. Jensen saw you through the window and thought you’d be wantin’ some refreshment. He also asks if you’ve time to speak with him before you leave.”
Julia assured her that she would be inside as soon as their tea was finished, then took charge of pouring cups and handing out the small dishes of ginger biscuits. The day she married Andrew, the Larkspur became his as well as hers. Because he had such extensive duties to parish and family and no experience with running a lodging house, he had gratefully accepted
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