David Fleming's Forgiveness

by Margaret M. Robertson

Mr Fleming had for a long time said little either of past troubles or future fears, and it was on the past rather than the future that his thoughts dwelt. The future looked dark enough in some of its aspects, but it was by no means hopeless. Davie was more nearly right than Katie was willing to believe, when he said that his grandfather, as well as a good many others in Gershom, were waiting to see “what the Lord was going to do about it,” whether it was to be a case of “the righteous never forsaken,” or whether this time “the race was to be to the swift, and the battle to the strong.”

It may be said of the old man, that on the whole he waited hopefully, or, rather, he looked forward without any special anxiety as to what might be the result of his long controversy with his enemy. Nothing so terrible could happen as had come to him in the past, when his boy had gone down to a dishonoured grave, beyond the reach of hope. Nothing so terrible could happen to the bairns. Every summer and winter passing over their heads, made them more able to meet hardship, if hardship lay before them. Of Katie he had long been sure, and of Davie he was growing surer every day. The rest were healthy, wholesome bairns, with no special gift of beauty or cleverness to lay them open to special temptation. They would do well by their mother, and by one another, and God would guide them, the old man said.

As for himself and his Katie, his dear old wife, their time was nearly over, and they would soon be at peace. At peace! That was the way he put it to himself always. He did not dwell at this time on all that has been promised of the glory to be revealed. He never said that he shrank from the thought of entering through the gates into the heavenly city, out of which his boy must be shut. That would have been rebellion against God, and he would not rebel.

But he was walking in darkness. His eyes were turned away from His face who is the light of the world, and even when he strove to lift them up, there were clouds and shadows between, that grew darker for a while.

All this had come upon him gradually. After the utter darkness of the winter that followed his son’s death, he might have ceased to think so constantly of his loss and his son’s ruin if it had not been for the sight of Jacob Holt. If Jacob had never returned, or if he had gone on in his old ways till the end came to him also, he might have forgiven him, at least he might have outlived the bitterness of his anger, and in time might have been comforted for his son, and as other fathers are comforted.

But Jacob came home, and had another chance, and became a changed man, or so it was said of him. As years passed he did well for himself, and had power and influence in the town, as his father had had before him. And when James Fleming died, and the old man fell into his enemy’s hand, as he thought, his whole life was made bitter to him.

It was not that he grudged to Jacob anything either of wealth or consideration that he had won for himself. But with every thought of him was joined the thought of the son who, in his father’s eyes, had been as much above him as one human being could well be above another, in goodness, in cleverness, in beauty, in all that makes a man worthy of love and honour from his fellows, and he grew sick sometimes with the thought of it all.

But he never spoke much of all this even to his wife. It was years before the old squire knew that it was not all right between Mr Fleming and Jacob, and he never knew all the bitterness of the old man’s feelings. Gershom people generally knew that there was no love lost between them, but even Mrs Fleming hardly knew how utterly her husband had become possessed of the feelings which embittered his life.

All this hurt Jacob far less than it hurt himself. Indeed, it cannot be said that it affected Jacob at all, in the way of making him ashamed or remorseful. It affected in some measure the opinion of a few of his fellow-townsmen, and gave to those who had a grudge against him for other reasons, an opportunity of saying hard things against him. But Jacob cared little for all this, and until he had been thwarted by him in the matter of the land on the bank of the river, had given few of his thoughts to Mr Fleming.

But who can say what the stern old man had endured all these years while his silent anger, which was almost hatred, was living and rankling in his heart? Even while he believed that it was the sin that he hated, and not the sinner, it had been like a canker within him. His conscience permitted the stern avoidance of this man, but it was not always silent as to the neglect or the positive avoidance of duties, which the presence of this man made distasteful, and at times even impossible to him.