Shadows over Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  “I will, child. I think he knows!”

  “I will miss the two of you,” said Joanna, weeping afresh.

  “I have asked myself what final words I would leave you with. But I think I have given you all I have to give. If not, I suppose it is too late now.”

  She chuckled softly. “Twenty-two years ago I gave you the heritage of my family, though you hardly knew what it meant at the time. You had to come to Scotland to discover it for yourself.”

  Margaret paused. The lengthy speech was clearly taking its toll, but she struggled to continue. “But now, Joanna,” she went on, “I leave you with the most important gift of all—the very sustenance and lifeblood of Stonewycke—the one inheritance that can never leave you: the love and hope of our Lord. I pray our heavenly Father will pass on to you a hundredfold whatever I might have. I think what you will face in this modern twentieth-century world will far surpass anything we of previous generations could imagine. But I know His strength will be equal to it, and He will remain faithful to you.”

  By now Margaret’s eyes were flashing with the fire of her younger years, and tears streamed down Joanna’s face. The fire, however, was not of youth but rather the final swelling glow of a dying ember, as the light from this life faded into the light of the life to come. When Joanna looked up through her glistening eyes a moment later, the dear lady’s eyes were closed and she slept peacefully. Joanna bent down and kissed the wrinkled cheek, then rose to leave the room.

  When she returned in two hours to bring her tea, Maggie had breathed her last breath and her peacefulness was not of this world.

  Joanna fell upon her knees and quietly wept. For so many generations the continuation of the Stonewycke bloodline had lain with the woman. Alec was a strong, godly, man, worthy to head a great house. Yet in that moment Joanna knew that, as the next woman in the Ramsey/Duncan lineage, a heavy responsibility now rested on her shoulders. Thus at forty-three, she became matriarch of the proud and ancient family. From that moment she was always conscious of the memory of both Atlanta and Margaret, seeking not only to follow the guidance of their God and hers, but aware of their spirit, their love for Stonewycke, and their legacy living on through her.

  Now, at fifty-one, the gray had taken over more of her hair. She was a grandmother herself. Her husband and two of her sons were out of the country fighting in a fearful war. And her eldest daughter’s marriage, begun with such high hopes, was charting a dangerous course through rocky water, and she seemed powerless to help.

  She looked up, saw Allison drawing near, raised her hand in a wave, and smiled warmly.

  “Good morning, dear,” said Joanna. “Do you mind some company?”

  “Of course not. I was just out . . . you know, thinking.”

  “It is a beautiful day for that,” replied Joanna.

  “But the more I think, and even try to pray, the more confusing it all becomes,” said Allison in frustration.

  Joanna reached around her daughter’s shoulder and gave her a hug as they continued to walk slowly.

  Allison sighed deeply, glancing away into the distance. In her heart she knew her words to be, though true, only a shadow of the whole truth. She realized that she had offered no more than perfunctory prayers, having somehow convinced herself that God expected her to work everything out for herself. She had drifted from her Father, she knew that. How to recapture the intimacy she had once known was another matter. That was a path she had never walked. And admitting to her mother the void that had crept into her heart would have been more difficult still.

  But Joanna was not Maggie’s granddaughter for nothing.

  “He will speak,” she said at length, “but you must be open to hear Him. God’s guidance always involves both His speaking and our listening.”

  Allison did not reply for a moment. “Mother,” she said abruptly, as if she had not heard Joanna’s words, “what do you think will happen if Logan and I can’t . . . well, work things out?”

  “There is always a solution, Allison.”

  “I . . . I’m just not sure that’s true—marriages do break up, you know.”

  Joanna winced inwardly. She tried hard to mask the stab of pain at the thought.

  “I really hoped the months apart would improve things. But Christmas showed me nothing has changed. I really don’t think he loves me anymore.”

  “Oh, Allison, dear! That can’t be true!”

  “He barely talks to me,” said Allison, her eyes filling with tears.

  “He’s been through many changes in the last few years,” said Joanna. “A whole new lifestyle, both spiritually and socially. Perhaps we’ve expected too much of him too quickly.”

  “Are you defending him, Mother?” Allison shot back, a hint of anger surfacing through her tears of hurt.

  “I’m only saying there are always two sides to every problem. It always helps to try to look at things from the other person’s perspective. I know he’s been under a great deal of pressure, both from the war and trying to find a job he’s happy with. But I’m sure his motives still spring from his love for you.”

  “I tried to believe that for a while. But you don’t know what it’s been like, Mother. And his job! That’s part of his problem!”

  “You mean his not finding anything lucrative? Times have been—”

  “I don’t care how much money we have. I just want him—like it used to be. But I’m afraid he’s gone back to his old life.”

  “You don’t really think so!”

  “Why else has he been so mysterious about it?”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “Every time I so much as hint at trying to find out what he does, he explodes with his usual evasiveness. I just can’t trust anything he says.”

  “I know it may be especially difficult just now,” said Joanna slowly. “But once you begin to doubt someone you love, a close relationship can fall apart quickly. Perhaps if you could trust him and—”

  “How can I? He lied to me, Mother!” Allison burst out. “When I left London, months ago, he gave me a phone number. He said never to use it except for an emergency. So I never did. It was supposed to be his office number.”

  “And?”

  “All during the time he was here at Christmas I tried to drag out of him some of the details about his job, but he was more evasive than ever. So last week I called the number. I just had to know! Mother, the number he gave me was for Billy Cochran’s shop!”

  “Is that so terrible?” asked Joanna.

  “Don’t you see? He lied! He told me he was working for the government, but he’s just back into the old life—I know it.”

  “There may be some other explanation. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to give out the office number and knew Billy would be able to reach him.”

  “Oh, Mother, if only that were true! But there’s more! After the call to Billy’s, I decided to try the apartment. Ever since he told me he had a position with the government, I couldn’t help wondering. There was something in his tone that didn’t ring true. I found myself—well, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think the worst. But when I called, someone I didn’t know answered—in our apartment! Someone with a distinct German accent!”

  “Allison, what are you saying?”

  “I don’t know, Mother. But if he is working for the government, I can’t help wondering just what government. He’s been acting more and more strange . . . distant—upset about not being able to get into the army. He’s said some things—”

  Allison paused and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly and thoughtfully. “Well,” she said at length, “I suppose what he’s doing doesn’t matter all that much anyway. Our problems began long before now.”

  Joanna kept further thoughts to herself. For all she knew, her daughter’s assessment could be right. Yet from the very beginning she had seen a core of rectitude in Logan. Lady Margaret had seen it too, even when he had first come to Stonewycke with fraudulent intentions. She had sensed s
omething amiss in his motives back then, but she had not failed to sense the heart of honor that beat within him—the heritage of Digory’s blood, her grandmother had always maintained.

  Whatever secret Logan now possessed, Joanna knew he would never use it to intentionally hurt his family or those he loved, especially Allison.

  Yet it was possible, she had to admit to herself, that his perception of honor could have become confused and distorted amid the pressures and struggles of his present situation. Some men even convince themselves their wives will be better off without them, and use such wrong rationalizations for their own self-centered ends. She prayed such would not happen with Logan.

  Could he possibly return to his old life? His turnabout had been so complete. He even made financial restitution wherever possible, and was still faithfully repaying a loan he had obtained from her and Alec in order to clear off one sizable old debt. His initial faith may have cooled, but had it gone so far? Was he trying to right his past wrongs by allowing himself to become involved in new present ones?

  No! She would not believe it! She had talked to Allison about trust, and now here she herself was starting to doubt her son-in-law. She would not believe it! He was a good man, an honorable man, a faithful man to his wife and young daughter! She would believe that! She had to!

  Allison’s last words had been spoken with such finality that Joanna could not find an easy response.

  Perhaps the time for words was past. She gave her daughter another hug, then released her. The women parted in silence. Allison continued along the crusty path toward their home. Joanna watched her go for a moment, then turned in the opposite direction.

  Ten minutes later she stood before a simple marker, her warm breath sending white clouds into the frosty morning air. The words on the stone were simple—Maggie had wanted it that way, to match her husband’s. No frills, no quotations, not even Lady. The stone read: Margaret Ramsey Duncan 1846–1933.

  How could future generations, from that humble inscription, know all that she had meant—first as Maggie, later as Lady Margaret—to this valley? I must be faithful to my journal, Joanna thought to herself. Maggie and what she had stood for must not be forgotten.

  Joanna glanced at the small family plot. To the right of Maggie and Ian lay James and Atlanta Duncan. Toward the rear of the fenced, well-kept grounds, with a larger stone than the rest, lay the grave of Anson Ramsey, flanked by his wife and two sons. But this was not the time to dwell on the past; the present contained cares enough. Oh, Grandmother! thought Joanna, glancing down at Maggie’s grave again, what would you do for Allison and Logan if you were alive?

  Joanna sighed. She knew the answer. Maggie would tell her to trust God, just as she herself gave that same advice to Allison. Who else but God was capable to heal and restore her daughter’s marriage, and most important of all, to revive both Allison’s and Logan’s waning faith? He had worked mightily in Maggie’s life. He had reunited her and Ian. He had saved Ian from the turmoil of his middle years. He had brought her to Scotland against all odds. How could she doubt that the same God who had been so repeatedly faithful in the past would not work in this new generation as He had in those of the past?

  Silently Joanna prayed the prayer that could only be born out of one’s deep relationship with the Lord through the years:

  And even as Joanna turned and slowly followed Allison back to the ancient family castle known for centuries simply as Stonewycke, she had done what Maggie herself would have done. Even in what she considered her own weakness, she had performed the one vital act, the most important single thing she could have done for her daughter and son-in-law: she had given them in prayer into the hands of God.

  The granite walls of Stonewycke gave her comfort when she entered them a few moments later; she sensed once again that the Spirit of the living God dwelt here still. He who had profoundly touched and changed so many lives in the past would not fail to touch the lives of future generations through the prayers of those who had come before, through her own prayers, and through prayers yet to be prayed. God’s ways were beyond finding out. But of one thing she could be certain: the prayers of His people would never go unheeded.

  6

  Recruitment

  The telephone’s insistent ringing echoed through the cold London flat.

  Logan paused at the open front door, hesitating. He was running late and couldn’t afford a delay. He started to close the door, then thought, What if it’s headquarters? Could there have been a change in plans?

  Still the phone rang, and again.

  “Blast!” he said with a frustrated sigh, slamming the door behind him and reentering the apartment.

  He reached the phone and picked up the receiver on the sixth ring. His heart sank when he heard the voice on the other end.

  “Logan, dear? Hello! It’s me—Allison!”

  “Ali,” replied Logan, doing his best to instill enthusiasm into his tone. But this was the worst possible time for a call. He was too keyed up about his meeting with Gunther coming up to give her the kind of attention she would expect.

  “Are you okay, Logan?”

  “Sure, of course . . . fine.”

  “You sound . . . funny, just now.”

  “It’s just a surprise, that’s all. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

  “I miss you so much, Logan.”

  “I miss you too . . . of course,” Logan replied. The words were true, in spite of their troubles.

  “Do you?”

  “You know I do! How could you—?” He stopped himself. He couldn’t get into an argument about it now.

  “Logan, why don’t you come to Scotland?”

  “I can’t just leave. You know that. Especially now. There are important things going on.” His words made him remember his pressing appointment. He glanced at his watch.

  “What could be more important than your own family? Your daughter is growing so fast, and you have hardly seen her in—”

  “Don’t start on me, Ali—” interrupted Logan. How could he make her understand what he hardly understood himself? He loved her. He loved them both. Yet at the same time maybe it was easier to be away, not reminded every time they tried to talk of the tensions which so easily sprang up between them. As he hesitated, searching for the right words, the clock on the mantel chimed the quarter hour.

  “Allison, let’s not talk about it right now,” he continued lamely.

  “When is there ever going to come a time when you will talk about it?” she retorted. The bitterness in her voice was not even disguised.

  The line was silent a moment. He attempted to pacify her.

  “Sometime when we’re together,” he said, his tone hinting at past tenderness. “Talking by phone when we’re four hundred miles apart is hardly the best way.”

  “But there’ll never come a good time. Even when we’re together you won’t talk. You were here just three weeks ago. But you might as well have been a thousand miles away!”

  The accusation sent Logan back behind his wall of self-preservation. “I have to go,” he said flatly. “I’ve got an appointment. We’ll talk about it sometime later.”

  “By then it may be too late!” she said stiffly, and before he could utter another word, a loud click was heard on the other end of the line.

  ———

  The knot in Logan’s stomach grew tighter as he approached Euston station and his rendezvous with Gunther.

  He should have let the phone ring; now was no time to be beset with personal problems! He had to concentrate on the business at hand! But try as he might, he could not erase from his mind the mental picture of Allison slamming down the phone, and probably bursting into tears of mingled anguish and anger.

  Why did she have to call right then? She certainly managed to make things difficult for him! At last he had found a job he was suited for, and one he liked. If he had to keep it secret from his wife, thousands of other men did no less, and their wives didn’t fly into an uproar o
ver it. Why couldn’t she be proud of him for once, instead of always badgering him to “talk things over”? There was nothing to talk over if she wouldn’t trust him!

  Who was he trying to kid? Skits would have seen right through his facade in a second. For the first time he found himself glad his old mentor wasn’t there. He would have had no kind words for Logan, trying to pass off tight security as an excuse to avoid communication with his wife. He wouldn’t have believed it any more than Allison did.

  But why couldn’t she just trust him! His past life made his need for her confidence more imperative than for other men. He had to sense that she believed in him, that she wanted him to succeed.

  But sometimes he had the feeling she was just waiting for him to slip up, to backslide, to drift into his old “techniques” for raising cash—especially between jobs when money was tight. Not that he wasn’t tempted. How many times had he strolled past an old hangout, only to feel his heart race at the thought of how easy it would be to strike up a card game and bring home a nice thick bankroll to tide them over?

  If the years of frustration had dulled his relationship with God, they had not negated the moral commitments that had sprung from that commitment. Moreover, his morality seemed about the only thing he had left to offer Allison.

  If he was going to work so hard to keep straight, he thought, the least she can do is keep her suspicions in check every time some tiny questionable uncertainty arises in her mind.

  Well, he stubbornly said to himself, I’m not going to quit the only job I seem cut out for just to please her.

  He’d been waiting too long for this chance. It had taken two months since that first meeting with Gunther on London Bridge in November. There’d been two failed attempts. He had almost begun to fear that the whole thing would fizzle out. And if this assignment went, so would his new job. This deal with Gunther was his one chance to make good, to convince them to keep him on. He hoped he wasn’t placing too much hope in one assignment. But he couldn’t help thinking that some of the higher-ups were watching him, and that if he showed well and displayed some pluck, well—it would lead to bigger things.