Cromwell, the Lord Protector of England who became the effective leader of England from 1653 to 1658. Her thoughts froze once more when she realized there were actually no stories. She knew nothing about him except that he was extremely influential in England for many years. She had heard over and over that she had a heritage she should be proud of.
“Carrie?” Janie moved her chair closer and put an arm around her shoulder.
Carrie leaned into her for a long moment, closing her eyes to savor the closeness. Why did she suddenly feel her whole world had been ripped out from beneath her? Why was she consumed with a sick shame? Why did she suddenly wish she was anything but a Cromwell?
“Oliver Cromwell lived two hundred years ago,” Florence said, confusion evident in her voice. “His life had nothing to do with you now.”
Carrie desperately wanted to believe her, but somehow she knew that wasn’t true. She opened her eyes and stared straight into Biddy’s penetrating blue eyes. The truth was staring back at her. Two hundred years may have passed, but the legacy bequeathed to her by Oliver Cromwell was still alive. She struggled to make sense of the feelings rampaging through her. “How do you know so much about my ancestor?” she asked.
Biddy smiled. “Those books in the study aren’t just for looks, my girl. Most of them are history books. I’ve been collecting and reading them for a very long time.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked. “My grandmother told me it was best to just let history be history. She told me there was no reason to drag the past into the present.”
Biddy turned to gaze at Elizabeth but didn’t loosen her grip on Carrie’s hand. “And you think she’s right?” Her earlier fatigue seemed to have melted away.
Elizabeth hesitated, and then her eyes dropped. “I did,” she confessed. “Until right now.”
“Why?” Biddy pressed.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” she responded honestly. “There is a very uncomfortable feeling I have that things in the past aren’t really just in the past.”
Biddy nodded with satisfaction. “I call it the Bregdan Principle.”
Carrie was intrigued. “The Bregdan Principle?” Biddy settled back in her chair, but still held Carrie’s hand. Carrie appreciated the strength she felt flowing from the old woman. “How old are you?” she asked suddenly. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she wanted to know.
Biddy’s eyes glinted with humor. “I turned ninety-seven last month.”
Carrie gaped with disbelief.
Janie was the first to find her voice. “Ninety-seven? I don’t believe it! You can’t possibly be.”
“Mother told me you were quite old, but I had no idea…” Elizabeth sputtered.
Biddy laughed loudly. “People have been waiting for years for me to crawl into a grave, but I reckon they will be waiting a while longer. I’m fit as a fiddle!”
Carrie smiled as she squeezed Biddy’s hand. “I hope I’m just like you when I’m your age,” she said fervently.
Biddy turned to her, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I have a feeling you will be, my girl. Yes, indeed… I have a feeling you will be.”
“Tell us about the Bregdan Principle,” Carrie urged, sensing it held the key to her turmoil.
“It’s simple, really,” Biddy replied. “Bregdan is the Gaelic and Old English term for weaving and braiding. I realized long ago that every life that has been lived until today is a part of the woven braid of life.”
Faith smiled as she broke in. “It takes every person’s story to create history.” She caught each eye around the table. “ Your life will help determine the course of history.”
Biddy picked it up again. “You may think you don’t have much of an impact. You do,” she said, pausing while she let her words sink in. “Every action you take will reflect in someone else’s life. Someone else’s decisions.”
“Someone else’s future,” Faith said solemnly. “Both good
“Carrie?” Janie moved her chair closer and put an arm around her shoulder.
Carrie leaned into her for a long moment, closing her eyes to savor the closeness. Why did she suddenly feel her whole world had been ripped out from beneath her? Why was she consumed with a sick shame? Why did she suddenly wish she was anything but a Cromwell?
“Oliver Cromwell lived two hundred years ago,” Florence said, confusion evident in her voice. “His life had nothing to do with you now.”
Carrie desperately wanted to believe her, but somehow she knew that wasn’t true. She opened her eyes and stared straight into Biddy’s penetrating blue eyes. The truth was staring back at her. Two hundred years may have passed, but the legacy bequeathed to her by Oliver Cromwell was still alive. She struggled to make sense of the feelings rampaging through her. “How do you know so much about my ancestor?” she asked.
Biddy smiled. “Those books in the study aren’t just for looks, my girl. Most of them are history books. I’ve been collecting and reading them for a very long time.”
“Why?” Elizabeth asked. “My grandmother told me it was best to just let history be history. She told me there was no reason to drag the past into the present.”
Biddy turned to gaze at Elizabeth but didn’t loosen her grip on Carrie’s hand. “And you think she’s right?” Her earlier fatigue seemed to have melted away.
Elizabeth hesitated, and then her eyes dropped. “I did,” she confessed. “Until right now.”
“Why?” Biddy pressed.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” she responded honestly. “There is a very uncomfortable feeling I have that things in the past aren’t really just in the past.”
Biddy nodded with satisfaction. “I call it the Bregdan Principle.”
Carrie was intrigued. “The Bregdan Principle?” Biddy settled back in her chair, but still held Carrie’s hand. Carrie appreciated the strength she felt flowing from the old woman. “How old are you?” she asked suddenly. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she wanted to know.
Biddy’s eyes glinted with humor. “I turned ninety-seven last month.”
Carrie gaped with disbelief.
Janie was the first to find her voice. “Ninety-seven? I don’t believe it! You can’t possibly be.”
“Mother told me you were quite old, but I had no idea…” Elizabeth sputtered.
Biddy laughed loudly. “People have been waiting for years for me to crawl into a grave, but I reckon they will be waiting a while longer. I’m fit as a fiddle!”
Carrie smiled as she squeezed Biddy’s hand. “I hope I’m just like you when I’m your age,” she said fervently.
Biddy turned to her, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I have a feeling you will be, my girl. Yes, indeed… I have a feeling you will be.”
“Tell us about the Bregdan Principle,” Carrie urged, sensing it held the key to her turmoil.
“It’s simple, really,” Biddy replied. “Bregdan is the Gaelic and Old English term for weaving and braiding. I realized long ago that every life that has been lived until today is a part of the woven braid of life.”
Faith smiled as she broke in. “It takes every person’s story to create history.” She caught each eye around the table. “ Your life will help determine the course of history.”
Biddy picked it up again. “You may think you don’t have much of an impact. You do,” she said, pausing while she let her words sink in. “Every action you take will reflect in someone else’s life. Someone else’s decisions.”
“Someone else’s future,” Faith said solemnly. “Both good
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