Wayward Winds (54 page)

 108 
A Recollection

Maggie McFee sat slowly rocking back and forth in her favorite chair in the sitting room of the cottage. Her Bobby had now been gone two weeks.

She was slowly growing accustomed to the silence. But would she ever accustom herself to the isolation?

She knew this season of a woman's aloneness to be in the usual order of things. It was a time, as in youth, to kindle afresh one's vows to the Bridegroom of all believers.

She missed Bobby. Yet her thoughts of him were so pleasant—always with his smiling face and cheery disposition—how could she think of him and be sad?

As she glanced about, Maggie's eyes came to rest on a piece of unfinished tatting she had been working on the last time Catharine was here. And with Catharine in her mind, Amanda soon followed.

More and more these days she found herself reflecting anew on the daughter of Master Charles and Lady Jocelyn. Amanda's brief visit to them the previous March had been fortunate. Otherwise she would never have seen Grandpa Bobby again.

Had Bobby possessed some premonition of what was coming? He had spoken to her almost with similar benediction as he had uttered on his deathbed to the others of her family. Maggie had only heard a portion of his words, for as she came upon Bobby and Amanda outside the barn, they had already been talking for several
minutes. But the words remained with her, as if they contained more significance than he intended, or even knew.

“ . . . recall when ye was here as a lass,” Maggie had heard him from a distance as she slowly approached. “We spoke t' ye then about yer father an' the heritage that is yers on account o' his faith. 'Tis time ye woke up, lass . . . woke up t' discover that heritage. Ye're wastin' the best years o' yer young life, lass, with this foolish rebellion o' yer heart toward the two best friends ye'll ever have in this life. . . .”

Why Amanda had stood listening was a wonder. Even as a youngster she had not put up with their sermonizing with such tolerance.

“ . . . afore it's too late,” Maggie recalled Bobby's voice. “Ye can't go back an' get the years ye waste, lass. Someday the pain an' regret'll come upon ye, and then ye'll shed bitter tears o' remorse. An' ye'll say, ‘How could I have been so blind!' Open yer eyes now, lass. Don't wait too long. Ye got t' discover yer heritage. 'Tis different than folks think, different than ye imagine. 'Tis a legacy ye're given t' discover, though it be hidden from yer eyes at present. A
hidden
legacy, lass, do ye hear me? Find it. Ye
must
find it!”

Now on this day, Bobby's words rang over and over in Maggie's brain.

A hidden legacy . . . different than folks think . . . ye
must find it
.

What could the words mean? Did they mean more than even Bobby intended?

 109 
Heartbreaking News

The letter which arrived at Heathersleigh Hall fortuitously came when Charles was home after his initial training exercises at the naval facility at Portsmouth. He had not yet been assigned a ship, and would be home for an undetermined period of time. George was presently training in the Orkneys.

Jocelyn saw the familiar handwriting and tore open the envelope, hardly noting the Austrian stamp.

Moments later her face went ashen. She collapsed rather than sank into a chair. The letter fell to the floor. Charles stooped to retrieve it and read,

Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford,

My husband Ramsay felt it proper that I inform you that he and I were married three days ago in a private civil ceremony in Vienna, where I have been living the last few months with Ramsay's mother, Lady Hildegard Halifax. You may be worried about me because of the war, but I assure you that I am safe. However, you will probably not be hearing from me again.

Yours sincerely,
Amanda Halifax

Charles exhaled a deep sigh of heartache, for he had come to recognize all the more clearly the character of those individuals with whom Amanda had become involved. After her brief return home
in March, they had been hopeful that a change of her heart was at hand. This was indeed a severe and crushing blow.

He reached down and took Jocelyn's hand, pulled her to her feet, and slowly led her outside. It was time to seek the heather garden.

Jocelyn was already weeping as they slowly walked across the grass east of the Hall.

“Oh, Charles,” she said, “I don't know if I can bear any more heartache. It seems everything we worked for and hoped for as parents was for naught.”

What could he say? Never had he felt so low as a father, as a man, as a Christian. What had his faith accomplished if he could not even pass it along to his own children? What did it mean? What manner of man could be so despised by his own flesh and blood? Perhaps Amanda was right. Perhaps he
was
a hypocrite, an empty shell of a man spouting meaningless spiritual words of pretended faith that had no substance.

What comfort could he offer his wife? What did he have to give anyone!

They sat on the familiar bench. Both knew they should pray. But how could prayers rise out of such despondency and emptiness? For ten minutes husband and wife sat silent . . . staring blankly ahead, stunned by the deepening shock of this devastating turn, so brusquely and unexpectedly delivered.

Everything had suddenly changed. Amanda was married. And they had not been part of it.

“Oh, Lord,”
cried Jocelyn at length,
“how much
more must we endure?”

She paused briefly, then cried out in anguish,
“God, I want my daughter!”

Jocelyn broke down in convulsive sobs the moment the words were out of her mouth.

Charles rose and walked a few paces away, tears streaming down his face, his heart in an agony of sorrow. He had no words with which to comfort his wife, for he had no words with which to comfort himself. Never had he been acquainted with such despair.

The cry of her frustration and grief briefly stilled the tumult of Jocelyn's heart. Presently she rose and followed her husband, slipping her hand into his. Slowly they made their way along the curving familiar trails of the heather garden.

“I know we ought to consider Catharine and George,” Charles sighed at length, “and tell ourselves it
hasn't
all been for nothing. Yet I can't make that help ease the suffering I feel for Amanda. I feel like such a failure as a father, and as a spiritual example.”

“I know,” said Jocelyn. “Yet poor Amanda is going to suffer in the end most of all. As much as I hurt, I feel awful for her. She is the one who has jeopardized her future. When she wakes up and realizes what she has done, not only to us, but to herself, how she has thrown away her purity for a man who may not genuinely love her . . . it will be a burden she will have to carry for the rest of her life.”

“The poor girl . . . the poor confused girl,” said Charles. “Why . . . why did she do such a thing!”

“Don't you think she was manipulated into it?”

“No doubt. But that doesn't change the fact that she is now married. I know everything Timothy told us about praying for her, and that God himself would continue to woo her, but it is so hard to hold on to belief after so long, seeing no results. And now this. I wish there were something we could do.”

“What else can we do but keep praying for moments of clarity, and that her eyes would eventually come open?”

“It is so hard to pray with any kind of faith at all. We have been praying so long and hard. Why would God allow it, in the midst of so much prayer for Amanda? I don't understand. We prayed for protection . . . and now this.”

Charles sighed and shook his head.

“I have to tell you, Jocie,” he went on, “I am very confused. This situation with Amanda is testing my faith to the depths. Not my belief itself, but my faith. I know God is good. If I didn't have that fact to hang on to, I sometimes think the despair would overcome me entirely. But if he is good . . . then why are our prayers seemingly unheeded?”

“Perhaps because they are only
seemingly
unheeded,” suggested Jocelyn.

Charles pondered his wife's words.

“I have heard you yourself talk many times,” she went on, “about his larger purposes that we cannot see. Perhaps now we must begin to pray for Amanda's future, for how God might be able to use her—even use this present season of her life—to help other families and other young women
not
to experience such breaking and heartache.”

“I'm certain you are right,” sighed Charles. “But it seems that every time I pray for Amanda I must add the words, ‘Lord, help my unbelief.'”

“I know, Charles. Yet we must continue to pray. ‘Help my unbelief' is a legitimate prayer. It was after the man uttered those words that Jesus healed his son. Perhaps out of your own honest admission of weakness before God, he will work a miracle in Amanda's life. Even if our own hope is gone, we
must
continue to pray. Jesus told his disciples to pray and faint not.”

In one accord, husband and wife stopped and, hand in hand, sank to their knees.

Their emotional entreaties on this day were silent. No audible expressions were capable of giving vent to the outpourings flowing through their hearts on behalf of their daughter.

 110 
Kaffe Kellar Again

Though the British fleet commanded the seas, initial losses were heavier than anticipated. Off the coast of India, on September 10, six British steamers were captured by the German cruiser
Emden
. Two weeks later a German U-boat sank three British cruisers, the
Aboukir, Cressy
, and
Hogue
. On October 15, the British cruiser
Hawke
was sunk by another German submarine.

Meanwhile in Vienna, the blue haze of the Kaffe Kellar hung thinly suspended over the heads of its patrons as the cloud of war now hung over the map of Europe. Its clientele had shrunk and changed. Uniformed soldiers now made up many of its declining number.

The low voices at its now half-vacant tables were no longer discussing potential communist revolt but rather the very present war against England, France, and Russia.

Two months of fighting had resulted in nothing decisive. In the west, the German advance into France, in a wide sweeping von Schlieffen arc through Belgium had been halted at the Seine, the Marne, and the Meuse. Already the Germans had begun a slow retreat. A long, protracted struggle seemed in store. Their own Austrian army had just been badly defeated by the Russians at Lemberg in fierce week-long fighting.

A young man in his late twenties sat with two older individuals—a woman of Hungarian blood and an Englishman with pure white hair. The youth had been here many times throughout the years.
But what he now heard exceeded all previous and naïve notions of socialist ideals. No more would he be a mere spectator and minor player in the coming of the new order. That had all changed the day after his arrival. The ruling duo had been expanded to a leadership triumvirate of power.

He had been given a test and had passed it.

His own moment of destiny had come, and he had shown himself ready to step into it.