Читать книгу Hinds’ Feet on High Places - Hannah Hurnard - Страница 9

Fearing Invasion

Much-Afraid woke early the next morning and all her fears were gone. Her first thought was, “Probably sometime today I am to start for the High Places with the Shepherd.” This so excited her that she could hardly eat her breakfast, and as she began making arrangements for her departure, she could not help singing.

It seemed to her that ever since the seed of Love had been planted in her heart, songs of joy were welling up in her innermost being. And the songs which best expressed this new happiness and thankfulness were from the old book which the shepherds so loved to use as they worked among the flocks and led them to the pastures. As she carried out the simple arrangements the Shepherd had told her to make, she sang another of these songs.

Now when the King at table sits,

My spikenard smelleth sweet,

And myrrh and camphire from my store

I pour upon his feet.

My thankful love must be displayed,

He loved and wooed a beggar maid.

Ye daughters of Jerusalem,

I’m black to look upon

As goatskin tents; but also as

The tent of Solomon.

Without, I bear the marks of sin,

But Love’s adorning is within.

Despise me not that I am black,

The sun hath burned my face,

My mother’s children hated me,

And drove me from my place.

In their vineyards I toiled and wept.

But mine own vineyard have not kept.

I am not fair save to the King,

Though fair my royal dress,

His kingly grace is lavished on

My need and worthlessness.

My blemishes he will not see

But loves the beauty that shall be.

(Cant. 1:12-15, 5-6)

From time to time as she went about her work her heart fluttered, half with excitement, half with dread of the unknown, but whenever she remembered the thorn in her heart, she tingled from head to foot with the same mysterious sweetness. Love was for her, too, even for her, crippled little Much-Afraid. When she reached the High Places she was to lose her humiliating disfigurements and be made beautiful, and when the plant in her heart was ready to bloom she was to be loved in return. Even as she thought of this, doubt mingled with the sweetness. Surely it could not possibly be true; just a beautiful dream, but not reality.

“Oh, I am afraid it won’t ever happen,” she would say to herself, and then, when she thought of the Shepherd, her heart quickened again and she would run to the door or window to see if he were coming to call her.

The morning wore on and still he had not come, but just after midday something else came: an invasion by her terrible relatives. All of a sudden, before she realized what was happening, they were upon her. There was tramping of feet and a clamor of voices and then she was surrounded by a whole army of aunts and uncles and cousins. Craven, however, was not with them. The family, hearing of his reception the evening before, and realizing that she shrank from him with peculiar dread and terror, had decided that it would not be wise to take him with them.

They were determined to overrule Much-Afraid’s objections to the marriage, and if possible get her out of the cottage and into one of their own dwelling places. Their plan was to make a bold attack while he would be alone in the cottage and the Shepherd far away with his flocks, so they hoped she would be at their mercy. She could not be forcibly abducted in broad daylight; there were too many of the Shepherd’s servants in the village who would instantly come to her assistance.

However, they knew Much-Afraid’s timidity and weakness and they believed that, if there were enough of them present, they could cow her into consenting to go with them to the Mansion of old Lord Fearing. Then they would have her in their power.

The old Lord himself was actually with them, assuring her in a fatherly tone of voice that they had come with the kindest and friendliest intentions. He understood that she had some objections to the proposed marriage, and he wanted to have the opportunity of quietly talking them over with her, to see if he could set them at rest. It seemed to him that it was a suitable and attractive match in every way and that there must be some extraordinary misconception in her mind which a little understanding talk together would set right. If not, he assured her kindly, he would not permit her to be married against her will.

When he had finished, a babel of other Fearing voices broke in, reasoning with her and making all sorts of suggestions. The fact was, they told her, that she had cut herself off from her relatives for so long, it was now quite apparent that she had all kinds of strange notions about their feelings and intentions toward her. It was really only right that she should now spend a little time with them and thus give them the opportunity of proving that she had misjudged and misunderstood them.

Craven might not be just as handsome and pleasing in appearance as a prince in a fairy tale, and it was true that he had, unfortunately, rather a rough manner, but that was because he had known nothing of the softening and refining influences of marriage. Certainly the responsibilities and joys of married life would quickly alter this, and would indeed effect a transformation in him. It was to be her delightful privilege to assist as principal mover in bringing about this reformation which they all so eagerly wished to see.

The whole gang talked on and on, while poor Much-Afraid sat cowering in their midst, almost too dazed to know what they were saying and suggesting. Just as they had hoped, they were gradually bringing her to a state of bewilderment and incoherent fear. It looked as though they would soon be able to persuade her that it was her duty to attempt the impossible task of trying to convert Craven Fear into something less objectionable than he really was. Suddenly there came an interruption from without.

The Fearings had carefully closed the door when they entered the cottage and even contrived to bolt it, so that Much-Afraid could not escape. Now came the distant sound of a man’s voice raised in song, singing one of the songs from the old book which Much-Afraid knew and loved so well. Then the singer himself came in view, slowly passing along the lane. It was the Chief Shepherd, already leading his flock to the watering place. The words floated in through the open window, accompanied by the soft bleating of the sheep and the scuffling of many little dusty feet as they pattered after him.

It seemed as though all other sounds were hushed to stillness on that quiet summer afternoon as the Shepherd sang while passing the cottage. Inside, the clamor of voices had ceased instantly and was succeeded by a silence which could be felt. This is what he sang:

The Voice of my Beloved!

Through all my heart it thrills,

He leaps upon the mountains,

And skips upon the hills.

For like a roe or young hart,

So swift and strong is he,

He looketh through my window,

And beckoneth unto me.

“Rise up, my love, my fair one,

And come away with me,

Gone are the snows of winter,

The rains no more we see.

“The flowers are appearing,

The little birds all sing,

The turtle dove is calling,

Through all the land ‘tis spring.

“The shoots are on the grapevines,

The figs are on the tree,

Arise, my love, my fair one,

And come away with me.

“Why is my dove still hiding?

When all things else rejoice,

Oh, let me see thee, fair one,

Oh, let me hear thy voice.”

(Cant. 2:8-14)

As she sat listening in the cottage, Much-Afraid knew with a pang of agonizing pain that the Shepherd was calling her to go with him to the mountains. This was the secret signal he had promised, and he had said that she must be ready to leave instantly, the moment she heard it. Now here she was, locked inside her own cottage, beleaguered by her terrible Fears and unable to respond in any way to his call or even to give any sign of her need.

There was one moment indeed, when the song first started and everyone was startled into silence, when she might have called to him to come and help her. She did not realize that the Fearings were holding their breath lest she did call, and had she done so, they would have fled helter-skelter through the door. However, she was too stunned with fear to seize the opportunity, and then it was too late.

The next moment she felt Coward’s heavy hand laid tightly over her mouth, then other hands gripped her firmly and held her in the chair. So the Shepherd slowly passed the cottage, “showing himself at the window,” and singing the signal song, but receiving no response of any kind.

When he had passed and the words of the song and the bleating of the sheep had died away in the distance, it was found that Much-Afraid had fainted. Her cousin Coward’s gagging hands had half-choked her. Her relatives would dearly have liked to seize this opportunity and carry her off while she was unconscious, but as this was the hour when everybody was returning from work it was too dangerous. The Fearings decided therefore that they would remain in the cottage until darkness fell, then gag Much-Afraid and carry her off unperceived.

When this plan had been decided upon, they laid her upon the bed to recover as best she might, while some of the aunts and cousins went out into the kitchen to see what provisions for refreshing themselves might be plundered. The men sat smoking in the sitting room, and Gloomy was left to guard the half-conscious victim in the bedroom.

Gradually Much-Afraid regained her senses, and as she realized her position she nearly fainted again with horror. She dared not cry out for help, for all her neighbors would be away at their work; but were they? No, it was later than she had thought, for suddenly she heard the voice of Mrs. Valiant, her neighbor in the cottage next door. At the sound, Much-Afraid braced herself for one last desperate bid for escape. Gloomy was quite unprepared for such a move, and before she realized what was happening, Much-Afraid sprang from the bed and shouted through the window as loudly as her fear permitted, “Valiant! Valiant! Come and help me. Come quickly. Help!”

At the sound of her first cry, Mrs. Valiant looked across the garden and caught a glimpse of Much-Afraid’s white, terrified face at the window and of her hand beckoning entreatingly. The next moment the face was jerked away from view and a curtain suddenly drawn across the window. That was enough for Mrs. Valiant, whose name described her exactly. She hurried straight across to her neighbor’s cottage and tried the door, but finding it locked, she looked in through a window and saw the room full of Much-Afraid’s relatives.

Mrs. Valiant was not the sort of person to be the least intimidated by what she called, “a pack of idle Fears.” Thrusting her face right in through the window, she cried in a threatening voice, “Out of this house you go, this minute, every one of you. If you have not left in three seconds, I shall call the Chief Shepherd. This cottage belongs to him, and won’t you catch it if he finds you here.”

The effect of her words was magical. The door was unbolted and thrown open and the Fearings poured out pell-mell, tumbling over one another in their haste to get away. Mrs. Valiant smiled grimly as she watched their ignominious flight. When the last one had scuttled away she went into the cottage to Much-Afraid, who seemed quite overcome with fear and distress. Little by little she learned the story of those hours of torment and the plan to kidnap the poor victim after darkness fell.

Mrs. Valiant hardly knew herself what it was to feel fear, and had just routed the whole gang of Fearings single-handed. She felt much inclined to adopt a bracing attitude and to chide the silly girl for not standing up to her relatives at once, boldly repulsing them before they got her into their clutches. But as she looked at the white face and terrified eyes and saw the quaking body of poor Much-Afraid, she checked herself. “What is the use of saying it? She can’t act upon it, poor thing; she is one of them herself and has got Fearing in the blood, and when the enemy is within you it’s a poor prospect. I think no one but the Shepherd himself can really help her,” she reflected.

So instead of an admonition, she patted the trembling girl and said with all the kindness of her motherly heart, “Now, my dear, while you are getting over your fright, I’ll just pop into the kitchen and make a good cup of tea for both of us and you’ll feel better at once. My! If they haven’t been in here and put the kettle on for us,” she added, as she opened the kitchen door and found the cloth already on the table and the preparations for the plundered meal which the unwanted visitors had so hastily abandoned.

“What a pack of harpies,” she muttered angrily to herself, then smiled complacently as she remembered how they had fled before her.

By the time they had drunk their tea and Mrs. Valiant had energetically cleared away the last traces of the unwelcome invaders, Much-Afraid had nearly recovered her composure. Darkness had long since fallen, and now it was much too late for her to go to the pool to keep tryst with the Shepherd and explain why she had not responded to his call. She would have to wait for the morning light.

So at Mrs. Valiant’s suggestion, as she was feeling utterly exhausted, she went straight to bed. Her neighbor saw her safely tucked in, and kissed her warmly and reassuringly. Indeed, she offered to sleep in the cottage herself that night, but Much-Afraid, knowing that she had a family waiting for her at home, refused the kind offer. However, before leaving, Mrs. Valiant placed a bell beside her bed and assured her that if anything alarmed her in the night she had only to ring the bell and the whole Valiant family would be over instantly to assist her. Then she went away and Much-Afraid was left alone in the cottage.